Chapter 29
Hearing Lupin clomp noisily down the Grimmauld Place stairs whilst singing a tuneless rendition of a strange ditty, hopefully to the baby, that must have come straight from the pages of Beedle the Bard, was not the way that Hermione had wanted to be woken. She'd hoped to sleep late, marking time until Snape's return with as little discomfort from curse-related symptoms as possible.
Surprisingly, she had managed to sleep, no doubt due to the lack of sleep the night before, but her dreams had been filled with images of her dark former professor, and had been distinctly erotic in nature. Her stomach was still tugging with arousal, and wriggling her thighs together, she could feel that the skin there was copiously wet with her emissions that must have been flowing through the night.
Her skin felt flushed, her face and neck particularly hot, and she flapped the sheets over herself ineffectively, before remembering there was a better way to cool down - grabbing her wand and casting a cooling charm over her entire body.
What the hell was she supposed to do now? She was embarrassed, but also terrified of how bad the painful arousal would get. Even the thought of putting clothes on was an unpleasant one, and would no doubt only get worse. Hermione twisted and turned in the bed, trying to get comfortable, the most wanton of thoughts running unbidden through her head.
She could not help but think of the way his deep, devastatingly quiet voice would spill the most incredible filth when they were intimate together, words strung together in a way she never could have dreamed of, enticing her further, pushing her higher, drawing out the pleasure for them both. His sexual experience was so apparent, compared to her zero, but he'd never once made her feel stupid, incompetent or undesirable. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Hermione wondered how this older wizard, this sullen man who had emotionally tortured her and her friends for seven years from the front of his classroom, could have become the centre of her universe. Not just because of the compulsion, but for simply being who he was. Snape had hidden his true self for so long, from so many, and she felt that when they were alone together, he was showing her who he truly was.
Or perhaps he wasn't. Perhaps she was just being fanciful, seeing what she wanted to see, because it made her feel somehow better about what they were being compelled to do.
But, bloody hell, she needed him now. She needed his body, his mouth, his words, his touch to satisfy her compulsion and release her from this physical turmoil she was currently wracked with, but also, she just wanted him here, with her, caring for her, providing that steady, reliable presence she had become accustomed to since that fateful night of the battle of Hogwarts.
Orla knocked on her door to ask if she wanted breakfast, but Hermione ignored her, hoping the girl would go away, thinking she was asleep.
She rolled over and groaned, closing her legs over the eiderdown and rubbing herself on the thick quilt, desperate for any kind of relief – the gnawing ache between her legs like a yawning chasm that only he could fill.
-xxx-
Minerva came through the Floo not long after the Hogwarts elf had delivered breakfast. Teddy had been fed and was kicking his little legs in the kitchen cradle, so he and Orla were seated at the table enjoying eggs and bacon, and the usual pumpkin juice that was so welcome. Hermione had not come down, and Orla had told him she'd called her but received no reply, and had presumed she was still asleep, so they'd left her. It was slightly concerning since she'd had no dinner the night before, either, so Remus resolved to keep a close eye on her. He would pop up and see her after breakfast to check that all was well.
"Good morning, Remus, and to you, Orla," Minerva greeted, as she stepped through the green flames and into the Grimmauld kitchen, and they both noted the surprise on Orla's face.
"Minerva is one of us," he advised her, and many more who you will meet in due course."
"Wow," Orla replied, her toast half way to her mouth. "I had no idea. I wish I'd known …"
"The school was not a safe place to have that kind of conversation, dear," Minerva reassured. "You did what you felt was right, and it probably was. I was very sorry to hear of the death of Mr Malfoy."
Orla nodded in acknowledgement, but did not say anything further as Minerva seated herself at the table.
"Remus, I cannot stay long, I have no doubt that my every move is being watched, so tell me quickly, what on earth is going on?"
He filled her in with a truncated version of everything that Hermione and Orla had told him, including the death of the snake and the disappearance of Severus. Her face became more and more lined with concern and dismay as he went on.
"No doubt," she said, through disapproving, pursed lips, "the Dark Lord blames Severus for what Hermione did. She was, after all, meant to be under his control."
"Have you been told that your appointment to Headmistress is permanent?" Remus asked.
"I have not. Macnair advised me that I would be covering the role for an interim period, not stating whether Severus would be returning or if a new Head was being sought."
"Surely we cannot just wait and see what happens?" he asked. "If Severus is being held, I feel that we should make every effort to find him."
"I'm not sure, Remus. Voldemort is extremely cunning, and Severus knows him well. There have been so many occasions before when Severus was being held, and Albus and I did not know if he would return. But he always did. He'd been tortured and ill-treated, yes, but he always returned."
Remus didn't feel this sounded particularly fair, but he would struggle to think of a better plan just at this moment.
"I would suggest," Minerva continued, "that it would not be prudent to call an Order meeting immediately. As I said, I have no doubt that I am being closely watched, and that if I leave the castle, or spend too long alone in my office with the door locked, that it will raise suspicion."
"I agree," he replied, reluctantly, as she got up to leave.
"After all, there is no urgent reason why Severus needs to return, especially if he is playing out his role before Voldemort. He will not thank us for getting involved, revealing ourselves, and blowing his cover," she concluded, nodding her goodbyes at both himself and Orla before heading back through the Floo to her office.
No urgent reason.
No urgent reason …
Shit.
Leaving Orla watching over Teddy, Remus took the creaky old stairs two at a time, bounding up them and down the first-floor hallway towards the master bedroom that Hermione had claimed as her own, and knocked hard on the door. No answer. He knocked again.
"Hermione, if you are not asleep, I beg you answer me. I have remembered, terribly late, but I have remembered the curse that you and Severus were under. Are you suffering? Please, tell me. Can I come in?"
There was a pause, before he heard a muffled cry that he thought had answered his question in the affirmative, so he slowly opened the bedroom door, and the covers were moving, as if she had just flung them over herself. Approaching the bed, he could see that her face was flushed with guilt and shame, and the poor girl looked as if she'd been having astounding sex all night, so flustered was she. She must be mortified – it was imperative that he handle this gently, and with compassion.
"Are you suffering with the symptoms of the compulsion curse that the two of you told me about?"
She nodded, and tears began to spill from her eyes, down her temples and into her curly hair, that was wild around her head as if she'd been writhing around.
"Is there anything that you can do yourself to relieve it?" he asked, attempting to phrase his question of whether she could masturbate, in the most polite, non-embarrassing way, although there was no easy way to ask something so bloody personal.
Hermione shook her head, and he swallowed hard, knowing that he would have to ask the next question.
"I apologise, please forgive me, but is there anything I can do to relieve your symptoms? I appreciate that would be awkward, but you seem …"
"Remus," she said, thankfully interrupting his stream of mortifying babble. "The curse is keyed only between Professor Snape and myself. He is the only one who can stop … this."
"Shit," was all that he could reply.
"Shit, indeed," she agreed, gritting her teeth as what appeared to be another wave of … whatever it was, ran through her.
"Hermione, we have no idea where he is."
She looked crestfallen, but her eyes were brave.
"Then just leave me up here, please don't check on me, I can't bear the embarrassment. I'll cast a silencing charm too, and ward you all out. There is absolutely nothing you can do."
"Do you wish me to try and remove the curse? I mean, it's unlikely, but maybe even a simple Finite …"
"You cannot. We have already tried everything. The curse can only be lifted if the caster dies, or if he chooses to lift it."
Remus had no idea what to do next. What was he supposed to do, just leave her up here in exquisite sexual agony until she died or went insane?
"Severus will return to you, Hermione, if it is within his power to do so."
"I know he will," she replied, a look of complete certainty upon her face.
"When he arrives here, I will send him to you directly."
"Thank you."
With a regret in his heart that felt as heavy as a lead cauldron, Remus left her bedroom, closing the door behind him, hearing the fizz of the silencing charm and the wards as she set them. Not for the first time, he felt completely and utterly helpless.
-xxx-
Severus was struggling to breathe normally, so tight was his chest, even though he had removed all his clothes in a vain attempt to ease his symptoms. He had managed to use his wand to conjure Aguamenti, despite having no vessel to hold the water, but he'd been able to catch some with his mouth and relieve his parched lips and tongue, and also covered his body in the cold water, lowering his heated temperature, albeit temporarily.
Voldemort had visited twice more, each time crowing over his exhausted physical state, and insisting that Severus still needed to do more to prove himself. The second time, no daylight had shone down the stairwell, so he presumed it was now night time again, that darkness had fallen, marking another full day he had been in this agony.
Granger had to be suffering too, now. She would be relying on him to get to her – they were both now at the mercy of the Dark Lord, not a great place to be at the best of times.
Severus remembered the night he had returned to the Death Eaters, the night, well, multiple nights, that he had been tortured to the brink of death by this madman. He had survived that, when he had thought all was lost. He could survive this. He had to survive this.
He would prove his loyalty to this wizard, unquestionably, and then he would return to the school, and continue his attempt to rid the world of this tyrant and all his vile followers. If he wasn't driven to insanity, first.
-xxx-
Orla looked around the small seaside cottage that Remus had brought her to. This was the home of Fleur Weasley, the young widow of the oldest Weasley son, who had been killed at the battle of Hogwarts. A small, blonde witch, with a slight swelling of early pregnancy around her middle, she was polite and welcoming, and Orla remembered her from the Tri-Wizard tournament in her fourth year, when the delegation had arrived from Fleur's school, Beauxbatons. She had been Fleur Delacour in those days.
Charlie, the second-oldest Weasley and the man who had retrieved her belongings, was living with his sister-in-law in Shell Cottage, along with the tiny dragon, Garth, that Orla was fast taking a great liking to. Along with Lupin's baby, Teddy, it was nice to have small, cute things to coo over in the midst of all this darkness and horror.
Hermione was ill, Remus had told her, and would be remaining at Grimmauld Place whilst they ate dinner here. Charlie always cooked for Fleur, it had been part of their agreement, apparently, and the wild boar casserole with thick gravy and hearty dumplings was enjoyed by all, and she felt like licking her plate it was so delicious.
She looked wistfully out of the window as the sun began to sink below the horizon. The beach looked so beautiful, and she itched to run down to the sea and dip her toes in the surf. Feeling someone step up behind her, Orla turned slightly, seeing that it was the curly red hair of Charlie who had come to join her.
"Want to go out?"
"Desperately. But I can't, can I?"
"Hmmm, not really," he replied, grinning and taking her hand, "but a short time can't hurt. Remus?"
They looked over at Lupin, his tiny son asleep over his shoulder, as if asking a father for permission to go out to play.
"It's not the best idea, Charlie," he warned.
"We'll be back inside, first sign of trouble. Garth, no, you stay here. You're not coming out. Only at night time, remember, kid?"
Fleur picked up the little Longhorn, who was now wearing a rather sulky expression, that made him look even cuter, rather than conveying any anger. Charlie grabbed Orla's hand and pulled her to the cottage door, which he unlatched with one hand and continued to drag her down to the beach, both barefooted since Fleur had insisted everyone remove their shoes when they'd entered.
The wet sand squidged instantly between her toes, cold and tactile.
"Oh!"
"Amazing, isn't it?" Charlie grinned, wiggling his own toes in it.
"It feels so open, so free," she admitted, twirling around despite herself.
"Race you to the water's edge?" he challenged.
She didn't even confirm before setting off in a run towards the sea, suspecting correctly that Charlie would be much faster than her, and she was not wrong, as in a few seconds he had overtaken her, pounding down the beach with his red hair flying behind him, working its way free from the band that held it in a messy knot at the back of his head. He kicked up sand as he ran, and it was clear he was sprinting full-out, not giving her any chances.
Even still, she reached the water just a few seconds after he did, and they walked a few steps in to where the waves tumbled over their toes, both panting hard.
"I'm so unfit," she grumbled.
"You're not the only one," he wheezed back, a little breathless. "When we were little, I mean really little kids, before the younger ones were born, we would come here and stay with our aunt, this used to be her cottage; and me, Bill and Percy would spend hours charging back-and-forth from the cottage door to the sea, not even breaking a sweat. Old age catches up with us all, I suppose."
"You're not old," she chided.
"Older than you, little girl," he shot back, good-naturedly.
"I haven't felt like a little girl for a long time," Orla replied, not sure why she was trying to bring down the light-hearted conversation.
"I'm sure you haven't. You've been through a hell of a lot, kid, from what I've heard."
"We all have."
"I suppose we have," he replied, and she presumed Charlie must be thinking of his own terrible loss - both parents, his sister, and all his brothers killed on the same dreadful day.
Conversation waned as the two of them paddled in the shallows, the dimming of the day creeping up on them as the sun was almost fully sunken beneath the horizon, streaks of orange, red, yellow and pink marking its descent into the night. It was quite stunning, enough to take one's breath away.
Without a word, Charlie offered his hand to her, indicating the cottage with a rueful flick of his eyebrows. She took it, feeling the skin of his large hand rough and dry over hers, with many callouses that must have been earned during his work at the dragon reservation, that he'd told her about over dinner.
In truth, she was keen to get back inside the protective environs of the Secret-Kept cottage, however wonderful it had felt to be on the beach. She chanced a look up at this solid bear of a wizard, his red curls blowing sideways in the breeze as they walked back up to the cottage, far slower than they had run down here. Orla liked holding his hand. It was huge, completely unlike Draco's slim wrists and fingers.
Her brother, Draco. The less she thought about him, the better.
-xxx-
Semi-conscious, Severus was barely aware of the Dark Lord standing over him, hovering much nearer than he had dared to before. He had been hallucinating for hours, like a dying man in the desert, desperate for water. All his thoughts were of Granger – on many occasions he had believed her to be here in the cellar prison with him, and had cried bitterly when he'd realised that she was not real, she was not there.
"I will ask you one more time, Severus," Voldemort was saying. "Do you wish to leave this house and seek relief from the Mudblood?"
"I cannot, My Lord," he choked out, with the last of his energy. "I do not know where she has gone."
His eyes rolled back in his head, and he felt the stab of a sharp Rennervate that the Dark Lord must have cast upon him. Had he finally passed out? Was he dying?
"I have a great many plans that I will need you for, Severus. I am reluctant to let you die, despite the girl who was meant to be under your control killing that which was most precious to me. I trust that I have made my displeasure with you clear?"
"You have … My Lord."
"You have proved that my faith in you is not misplaced. I shall lift the compulsion curse, for you are not able to fulfil it with the disappearance of the Mudblood. You will seek this girl, Severus, and you will bring her to me, where I will rent my wrath upon her, for what she has taken from me, and for the pain she has caused you."
"I shall find her," he spat, trying to inject as much venom into his reply as he could, given his weakened state. "I shall find her, and I shall bring her to you, My Lord."
"Do not let me down, Severus. I can assure you, you will not like the consequences."
Voldemort turned around in a billow of robes, sweeping across the room and up the stone steps. When he reached the top, he lifted his wand, and pointed it towards Snape's wretched, naked body that was lying prostrate on the filthy mattress, and cast.
To his utter relief, Severus felt the hold of the compulsion leave him, sliding down and out of his body as if it were being flushed out from the top of his head, down his body and out of his toes. His erection softened instantly, and although still red and sore from his frantic masturbating, the pain dissipated. His breathing began to return to normal, and he started to realise just how starving hungry he was, having not eaten for all the days and nights he had been here. How long had he been here?
He pushed himself to sitting, his head light from lack of food, and his limbs trembling. He began to put his clothes back on by hand, not trusting himself with magic, trying to calm himself, and muster enough energy for the Apparition he knew he must use in order to leave the fetid cellar of the Riddle house.
Fully dressed, and ignoring the body of the giant snake that still lay there, revoltingly close, he picked up his wand from the stone floor, and concentrated with all his power on the centre of his office at the school. He felt the tell-tale pull of Apparition, and this one was particularly inexpert, crushing all the wind out of him as he travelled.
He landed. Not where he had expected to be, but dumped unceremoniously outside the castle gates in the pitch darkness, barely a window in the castle alight. The wards had been reset. He was no longer recognised as the Headmaster of the school, it was clearly under Minerva's control now.
There was now a choice. He could send a Patronus to Minerva and seek entrance, return himself to his office, explain himself to her, retake his position and reset the wards, but all these things would take time. Time, he suspected that he did not have.
It wasn't a hard decision to make.
He mustered his magical energy, again, and Apparated to the back garden of Grimmauld Place, landing with a thump against the kitchen door, which was flung open by Lupin, in his nightwear and juggling a screaming baby under one arm.
"Where the hell have you been?" the wolf demanded.
"Another time, Lupin," he replied, scowling. "Granger, is she suffering?"
"Hermione is wracked with the compulsion curse, and will not allow anyone entry to her room. I have not seen her since early this morning, for she has warded the door to allow no one entry, except yourself. She is in the master bedroom, the fourth door on the first-floor hallway."
Severus tore through the kitchen, pushing open the door, and ran up the stairs, counting the doors until he found the one he sought, and without knocking, threw it open. The sight that met his eyes as he entered, shattered his heart into a million pieces.
