Chapter 32
The new Order of the Phoenix were seated around the table in her kitchen at Grimmauld Place, their numbers swollen even more by the arrival of Seamus, whom Professor McGonagall had managed to smuggle out of Hogwarts under the guise of detention in her private office. Hermione had leapt out of her chair when her friend had come through the Floo, looking bewildered at the people around him and clearly wondering where the bloody hell he was.
Seamus seemed relieved, as well as pleased, to have Hermione jump into his arms and reassure him that she, and everything here, was safe and could be trusted. As usual, his face showed the signs of physical punishment – a yellowing bruise on his jaw and the remains of a split lip.
"I was worried sick," he grumbled, into her neck as he returned her hug. "Last day of exams, then poof, you were gone."
"No one could tell you anything, it's not safe at the school, you know that," she replied, squeezing the tops of his broad arms. "But you're here now, and we have so much to tell you. I promise that I am ok, I'm not hurt, I'm not in danger. Well, I am, but not here. This is number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and it's my home that Harry left to me in his Will. He was bequeathed it himself after the death of Sirius Black, and it's under a Fidelius Charm so its Secret-Kept. No one can find me here unless I want them to."
"Harry left a Will?"
"He did. Isn't that incredible? He arranged a legal Will to be left with a wizarding notary at the Ministry just after the Tri-Wizard tournament, leaving this house to Ron and me, should anything happen to him."
"Prophetic," Seamus said, sadly.
"It was an amazing thing for him to have done at such a young age, and not told anyone about," she agreed.
"I miss everyone so much," he added, seeming reluctant to break their embrace. "Harry, Ron, Nev, Dean, Lav, and then Parv …"
"It's just us now, Seamus. But we have all these people too," she told him, gesturing around the room. "We are a rather disparate group, but we are all fighting for the same cause, however we can."
He'd seemed satisfied, and had released her, venturing further into the room to greet Lupin, who was juggling a sleeping baby, trying to get Teddy into his cradle at the side of the kitchen without waking him, and looking like he needed an extra arm to accomplish his mission.
Remus looked tired after his transformation, but was clean and had no fresh, self-inflicted wounds. None that she could see, anyway. That wasn't to say there weren't more under his clothes.
The short stay at Shell Cottage had been fine, Charlie and Orla had cared for Teddy most amicably together, and she'd not had to do anything in the way of baby care, which was a relief. It had also been a relief that there'd been no awkwardness after her unexpected snog with Charlie – he'd offered her physical and emotional comfort, but as much as she adored the second-born Weasley, it had taken that kiss to make her realise that her true affections lay elsewhere. With a surly, dark professor who was currently sitting not a million miles away from her, at her own kitchen table.
She'd known that Snape was able to elicit all manner of sexual responses from her, and her stomach curled over even now at the thought of all the ways he had pleasured her. However, she'd presumed her responses to be purely a result of the compulsion curse.
When Charlie had kissed her, it had been nice, but that was all. Just friendly, comforting, and … nice. Hermione Granger wanted more than nice. Thoughts of Professor Snape had danced through her head, all sharp angles and black eyes teasing her to admit her unwarranted desire for him.
Charlie and Fleur had been much more demonstrative once their … arrangement was out in the open. For the rest of the day, and for the second night that Hermione, Orla and Teddy had been staying in the cottage, the two had been openly affectionate with each other, and it was clear that both were meeting needs in the other.
Both Charlie and Fleur were grieving terribly, and were seeking comfort and peace of mind - no one could blame them for that. Long-term it would remain to be seen what would happen between the two of them, but in the immediacy and rawness of the moment, their closeness actually made sense. Sometimes in the depths of very tragic grief; physical and sexual release helped you remember you were still alive, confirmed that you lived and breathed and felt. Fleur and Charlie would take care of one another, emotionally too, whatever the result of their unusual union.
When Kingsley and Audrina Shacklebolt arrived through the Floo from the Burrow, their group was complete, and Snape wasted no time in calling for quiet and telling the assembled Order members that the snake, and therefore the final Horcrux, had been destroyed.
A babble of excited chatter at this news ran around the table, but he quelled it with a single raised eyebrow, just as he'd quieted a class during her schooldays. She shouldn't find it attractive … but she did. Oh, Merlin. A small but insistent pulse in the seat of her knickers confirmed that she would need to spend some private time with the professor tonight, before he returned to the castle.
"Hermione killed the snake using the Sword of Gryffindor, which presented itself to her at her time of need."
A ripple of applause rang out, the other Gryffindors in attendance being particularly impressed.
"The death of Nagini also resulted in the death of Draco Malfoy," he announced, and Hermione saw his eyes dart briefly towards Orla. "Young Mr Malfoy had shown all signs of wishing to distance himself, and Miss Roach here, from the Death Eaters, and appears to have made all possible attempts to secure the pair of them from discovery once they had managed to escape from the castle together. I therefore believe that his death should be considered a tragedy, and that were he still alive, he would have stood with us."
He paused to allow the Order members to digest the meaning of his words, and Orla shot him a grateful look that he had not alluded to the sexual and romantic relationship that had developed between the two of them whilst on the run.
"On the night when these events occurred, it was also discovered that Miss Roach is, in fact, the genetic daughter of Lucius Malfoy. Not, I might add, of Narcissa Malfoy. I apologise for revealing your personal information, Orla, but I have attended a Death Eating meeting since then, and I must advise you, and everyone here, that Malfoy Senior has indicated he will stop at nothing to find and retrieve his daughter, intending to bring her home to Malfoy Manor."
The look of horror on Orla's face was a sight to behold, clearly, she had not expected this possibility.
"At the same meeting, Lucius was allowed to exact his revenge upon Yaxley for his abuse of Miss Roach in the weeks whilst she had resumed her studies at Hogwarts. I am sure I do not need to give exact details, but let me make it clear that Malfoy stopped only a few curses of short of taking the man's life."
"I can attest to that," chimed in Audrina Shacklebolt. "Corban Yaxley is currently resident on the ward reserved solely for the Death Eaters at St Mungo's, and he is in a critical condition from both spell damage, and a physical attack. His wounds and injuries are numerous and severe."
"Good," retorted Orla, loudly, surprisingly them all. "He took me apart from the inside out, and enjoyed doing it. He deserves everything he gets, even if it was Malfoy that did it to him."
There wasn't a single person around the Grimmauld table who did not wince at her bold choice of words. Seamus reached for and took Orla's hand on the wooden surface, squeezing it tightly. They'd never been particular friends at school, but then again, she and Orla hadn't either. This situation was all about making alliances where you could, and fast.
"Unfortunately, I have some more unpleasant news for you, Orla," Kingsley announced, in his deep voice and pulling a scroll of parchment out from the inner pocket of his robes and passing it to her. "Lucius Malfoy has had your name officially changed from Roach to Malfoy, both magically and legally, and this is now registered at the Ministry."
"What? But that's sick!" Hermione protested, as Orla looked too shocked to speak. "How can he do that?"
"Blood purity and paternal bloodlines are paramount in Voldemort's new administration. It matters not that Orla is of age, her paternity was magically proved, before several witnesses, and therefore he entitled to change her name from that of a man who is not her genetic father, to his own," Kingsley replied.
"That's a load of shite," Orla spat, angrily. "Gerard Roach raised me as his own, although whether he knew it or not, I'll never know."
"I'm sorry, Orla," Kingsley continued, "but it is done. You are now Orla Malfoy and there is no way around that, I'm afraid. All I can suggest, that depending on how this, all of this, meaning the war, plays out, that your Malfoy blood may be the one thing that saves your own life."
"Save myself and dump all of you? Never!"
"Keep the Ministry scroll with proof of paternity. You never know when you will need it," Snape advised her, in a quiet voice. "For now, you are fully concealed under the Fidelius Charm and even if Lucius Malfoy seeks you, he will not be successful in locating you. Now, Audrina, should we consider that Yaxley will be unable to return to work in the near future?"
"Most certainly, Severus," Audrina confirmed.
She was now working six days a week at the hospital, she told the group, and had managed to get herself placed on the Death Eater ward in order to gain as much information as possible. People tended to talk and share more when in pain and feeling vulnerable, she advised.
"I do not think he will be fit to work again, for he was so badly injured. I cannot see Yaxley even managing to walk upright out of St Mungo's, if he ever leaves there at all. I take it that you witnessed the attack on him?"
"Indeed, I did," he confirmed, giving no further details, or his opinion, but his eyes were neutral and did not give away any unnecessary clues. "That means the position of Head of the Auror Office will be vacant. Kingsley, would there be a chance that you can edge yourself into the role? It would be most useful to have an Order member amongst the Death Eaters that make up the heads of all the other key departments."
"I have kept my head down," Kingsley told him. "Had Voldemort not seized control of the Ministry and placed Dolores Umbridge in charge, I would have been in line for promotion after Scrimgeour and Thicknesse, and certainly before Yaxley. I have grounds for asking to be considered for the role, but there is no guarantee that I will get it. It will depend on whether Umbridge trusts me, or not."
"I understand that," Snape replied. "You can only do your best, Kingsley."
Kingsley nodded in agreement, and a few others around the table did, too, thinking how having an Order member at the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement would put them in an excellent position to continue their resistance work.
"I 'ave news to report, too."
Fleur spoke up, and everyone turned to look at her, looking beautiful but terribly tired, at one end of the long table.
"Do you remember 'ow I told you zat a large vault 'ad been reserved at ze banque, for ze Dark Lord? Zat vault ees now being used. Ze Dark Lord 'imself 'as been in to Gringotts to enter eet. No goblin ees allowed to enter, or any of us. But Feelius, 'ee 'as used 'is wand, for 'ee ees so good at ze charms, and been inside 'ze vault."
"What has Voldemort stored inside? Is it money?" Lupin asked, impatient for her to finish her tale, her slow manner of speaking obviously irritating him.
"No, not money. Feelius tells me zere is a table in ze middle of ze vault. Zere are items on ze table, protected with a dark spell. Ze rest of ze vault lies empty."
"What items?"
That was Lupin, again, trying to hurry the story along.
"Feelius tells me all ze items are broken. A locket, broken. A trophy cup, with an 'ole in ze side. An old book, again with an 'ole, and a ring zat looks like it 'as been crushed."
Hermione gasped loudly, and saw her expression of fear mirrored in the faces of both Snape and Lupin.
"The Horcruxes," she whispered. "The Horcruxes that were destroyed. Why does he have them?"
"I do not know," Snape replied. "I have not been party to any discussions where he has sought their retrieval. Most of them would have been at Hogwarts, yet he did not ask me to find them. I find it difficult to believe that any of the Death Eaters there would have been entrusted with a mission that I was unaware of, yet that seems to be the case, unless there are students or staff within the castle that have hidden their allegiances far too well."
"Harry kept the destroyed locket with him. Voldemort must have found it in his pocket after … after he killed him. Ron and I left the cup in the Chamber of Secrets, exactly where we destroyed it. It was swept away in a wave of water."
"The diary and the ring were both in Dumbledore's office, concealed behind his portrait with the real Sword of Gryffindor," Snape added.
"Ze vault was only entered for ze first time zis week," Fleur confirmed.
"Minerva, could anyone have been in the heads' office between the time that my wards were disabled and yours raised?"
"I have no idea, Severus. There was certainly a period of time when the castle was unprotected, before I was advised to take on the interim headship."
"More importantly," interrupted Remus, "why does Voldemort have the broken Horcruxes under magical lock and key in the most secure place in wizarding Britain?"
The Defence Against the Dark Arts specialist was thinking ahead of them all.
"What do you mean, Horcruxes?" asked Professor Sprout, and there were several others who looked just as confused as the old Herbology teacher.
"Lupin will explain," Severus told them, waving a hand to indicate that Remus should speak. "But, before he does, it would be my guess that to be guarding these items so securely, it may be the Dark Lord's belief that he may be able to use his prodigious magical skill to somehow reawaken the fragments of soul that were contained within them. He cannot make more, for the tiny sliver of soul that remains inside his corporeal form would not survive further splitting, and not even Voldemort is foolish enough to attempt it. I believe that he is intending to try and revive some of the damaged Horcruxes. Even if he only succeeds once, that is one too many, given how long it has taken us to destroy the final one."
"Remus," said McGonagall, rather crossly. "Will you please explain to us all exactly what Severus is talking about?"
The silence around the table was absolute, apart from the babyish sleep noises being made by Teddy, and the drowsy snuffles emitting from Garth's large nostrils as the little dragon lay basking on the hearth like a scaly cat.
Lupin began to tell the whole Order everything he knew about Voldemort's Horcruxes. By the time he finished, each person knew the full extent of what Harry Potter had achieved.
-xxx-
It was well after midnight, and everyone had finally left. McGonagall was going to smuggle Seamus back into his dormitory via the Floo, so that he did not have to walk the corridors of the castle, and risk running into a Death Eater, who would have no compunction in serving him with further punishment. Orla had gone to bed, and Remus was lifting a sleeping Teddy from the kitchen cradle to take him upstairs, hopefully for a good long night's sleep, for the wizard looked exhausted. Snape was still seated at the table, no doubt he had picked up on her discomfort that was being caused by the compulsion and knew she would need him. Remus seemed to be loitering in the kitchen, however, as if waiting for Snape to leave before heading up to bed.
"For fuck's sake, Lupin, you have checked twice that you have everything that belongs to the baby. You know exactly why I am waiting here for Miss Granger, so unless you wish me to relieve her curse symptoms in front of you, I suggest that you remove yourself to your bedroom forthwith."
Remus shot him such a look of embarrassment and disgust that Hermione had to try very hard to contain the smile that was making her cheeks ache, biting down on the inside of her mouth to avoid it looking as if she were laughing at her housemate. Lupin was, after all, merely concerned for her welfare. However, the itch that she needed Snape to scratch was making itself known loud and clear, and she was only too keen to have the room to themselves.
He took the hint. Well, not so much of a hint, rather an outright dismissal from the room. As Remus closed the kitchen door firmly behind him, Snape shot a fizzing security ward at it to prevent his re-entry, that Lupin would no doubt have heard being set. It was immature, but faintly amusing.
The dark wizard she had been waiting so very long for turned and walked towards her, his face deathly serious and one eyebrow quirked in enquiry. Her stomach turned over in anticipation.
They stood facing one another by the stove, where Hermione was ineffectually clearing up the tea mugs, her hands visibly a little shaky.
"Are you compelled?" he asked, his voice heady and travelling straight to where she needed it most.
She nodded.
"I'm sorry."
"Why are you sorry? I believe I advised you that it was no hardship for me to assist you."
"I kissed Charlie Weasley," she blurted out, not really sure why she felt the need to confess the inadvertent snog to him.
A strange look passed over the professor's face, and he looked at her for a long time before answering, as if scrutinising her feelings.
"And you are telling me this because …?"
"I don't know. I think I feel guilty."
"There is no need to feel guilt. We are not in a relationship. We have made one another no promises."
"I know, but …"
"How do you know that I am, in fact, not taking witches to my bed every night of the week?"
Oh.
She hadn't thought about that. Now Snape was released from the curse he could indeed have resumed his previous activities, which were clearly prolific if his skill was any indication. He told hold of her chin and tilted it upwards to face him.
"Let me be clear, Miss Granger, that I have taken no witch to my bed apart from yourself since we were cursed."
She let out a relieved breath, rather too loudly, and he chuckled. It was a lovely sound.
"I am more interested that you were able to kiss Mr Weasley and not activate the stinging jinx?"
"I wondered about that, too. Perhaps its only … more intimate areas that can't be touched by another. Or maybe something to do with intent? I practise my own personal hygiene with no problems, you know, using flannels and toilet paper, maybe it's just if the touching is intended to be sexual?"
"Your kissing of Charles Weasley was not sexual?"
"Not really. It was more, um, gentle … and nice."
"Nice. I see."
Hermione was convinced that he was laughing at her, albeit internally. His black eyes appeared to be sparking with amusement. She summoned her courage, because the sensitive area between her legs was beginning to throb, and she needed him to touch her.
"I don't want nice, Sir."
"Is that so? And what do you want, Granger?"
"I'm very sorry that I kissed Charlie," she answered, and he arched that eyebrow again.
Without thinking too deeply about what she was doing, just simply responding to the pull of what the compulsion was screaming for and not losing eye contact with him, she kicked the chair out of the way, and bent over the head of the table, her face hidden in her folded arms. She was mortified, but also unable to stop herself.
He said nothing, and she did not hear him move. How fucking embarrassing.
It seemed like an eternity had passed, and she felt him move in behind her, his groin pressed firmly against her jeans-covered bottom. He leaned fully over her, his chest on her back, squashing her against the table and placing his mouth directly next to her ear. She could feel his long, hooked nose burrowing in her hair.
"Are you sure this is what you want, Granger?" he whispered, each syllable perfectly pronounced and clipped.
Fuck, his voice really was heaven when she was in this state.
"Yes," she managed to gasp. "I feel bad about Charlie, and I need you to take that feeling away. I don't want him. I want you, Sir."
Hermione heard his sharp intake of breath as he stood up.
"Very well."
Snape must have drawn his wand and cast non-verbally, as she was instantly divested of every stitch of her clothing, and her bare nipples were rubbing on the uneven wood of the table surface.
"A punishment spanking, Granger, is always administered naked. I find it adds to the humiliation and increases the penitence of the culprit," he told her, in his low, smooth voice, as if he were delivering a classroom lecture.
His large hands began to stroke down her back, warm and dry over the dip in her spine and down towards her buttocks, igniting every nerve ending they skimmed over. She had no doubt she would be covered in goosepimples at his touch. As he reached her bottom, he cupped her cheeks in both hands and squeezed, pulling them apart, and she could not help but gasp and thrust her rear end upwards as it was opened to the air, to push further into his palms.
"Such enthusiasm," he teased, letting go and trailing his fingertips all over her round arse cheeks, standing so close that she could feel his erection pressing against her leg through his trousers.
"Ow!"
With no warning, he brought a firm slap down on one cheek.
"That was just the beginning," he warned, before slapping each in turn, varying the speed and target of his spanks, again and again, never landing in exactly the same place twice.
"Oh, my god," she breathed, when he paused for rest, after what seemed like a dozen spanks.
"Not quite god," he drawled, and she could hear the smirk in his voice.
She liked that, too.
"Open your legs."
Hermione complied, for really, could she do anything but? She could feel herself dripping wet as she opened her thighs for him, and he ran a hand quickly over her sex, making her squeal.
"You are dripping wet, Granger," he remarked, and she heard the distinct sound of him licking her juices from his fingers. "I am not sure you are taking your punishment seriously, and instead you are enjoying it rather more than you should be."
She could not answer. All she wanted was for him to continue everything he was doing. His hands and voice and actions were driving her to distraction. He peppered her inner thighs with several quick swats, and she had no doubt she was dripping her excitement on his hand as he did so.
"Spread yourself wider," he ordered. "I want to see every bit of your hungry little cunt open before me."
Holding on to the table for support, she lifted her bottom in the air and opened her legs further apart, feeling the cool air hit her burning pussy. Whilst she did so, Hermione could hear the almost silent sound of his zip and buttons being unfastened, and the trousers sliding down his legs and bunching around his boots, his belt buckle hitting the stone tile of the kitchen floor.
Snape attacked her pussy with some gentler slaps, even gently flicking her clitoris with three fingers like a miniature spanking, but it was still enough to make her bottom twitch with that curious mix of pain and pleasure that she was starting to love. His breathing was now heavy and laboured behind her, and she felt him push the round head of his penis inside her exposed vagina, and grasp her hips, roughly.
"You, Granger, are a teasing little cunt," he growled, cramming the rest of his cock inside her with a single hard thrust. "And you should know that I love it, and will fuck you endlessly, because of it."
"Oh! Bloody hell!" she gasped, as he began to pound into her, his wide, heavy cock filling every inch that she needed him to reach, his balls slapping against her aroused clit.
He was muttering now, his divine mouth spilling incoherence mingled with the odd swear or bout of filth.
"Fuck … oh, fuck … shit …"
Hermione felt herself begin to come, for he was rubbing against her inner spot with every thrust. Snape held her hips so tightly that she could barely move, driving her insane with the desire to come, and her internal walls shook and clenched around him as she released, feeling the juice of her orgasm squelching around his cock as he continued to thrust into her hard and fast.
"Shit … you're coming … oh, fuck, I feel you, girl … I can feel you … fuck!"
The headmaster groaned out his release with such passion that he sounded almost feral in his desire, spurting warm jets of his own come deep inside her, and she felt each one.
Just as he slowed his thrusts, he pulled out of her and encircled her waist with his arms, pulling her up from her face-down position on the table and seating her on the edge, not seeming to care that their combined emissions were dripping out of her and on to the wooden surface. He took a firm, commanding hold of her head in one hand, insinuating his long fingers into her hair to achieve a better grip, and helped himself to a breast in the other, fondling it and plying the nipple with his thumb.
"I do not think, Granger," he hissed, tilting her head back so she was looking up at him and continuing to excite her nipple, "that you will be kissing Weasley again anytime soon?"
"No, Sir," she breathed. "I won't be. But … will you kiss me instead?"
"Do you desire that from me?"
"I need that from you."
Hermione loved the resigned moan he made as he swooped down hard upon her mouth. It sounded like annoyance, but was far sexier than that. As he moved his lips emphatically, he used his skilled mouth to open hers, and as soon as he'd succeeded his tongue was upon her, darting out of his mouth and coiling frantically with her own, desperate tongue.
He allowed her to reach up and tangle her own hand in his long hair, permitting her to tug gently on the handful she had grasped, pulling him closer. Her other hand was on his waist, clutching his black robes as he kissed her with increasing passion. She could never have imagined, in all the years of knowing this wizard, that he could deliver a kiss that would leave her panting for more, every time.
And yet, he did.
Professor Snape kissed with his whole body, every essence of his feeling, and skill, and capability were poured into it. As his lips plundered her mouth, his tongue sharp and purposeful, Hermione felt his hand tighten in her hair, and his fingers massage and excite her breast as if he'd never touched it before in his life. His softened but still-naked cock was pressed against her wet pussy, rubbing slightly. He was all acceptance, appreciation, and base desire.
Merlin, she wanted him. For everything that he was, and everything that he wasn't, she wanted him.
He stopped abruptly, stepped back, and re-clothed her with an intricate little wave of his wand. She was surprised by the sudden curtailment of their outstanding kiss, and felt strangely bereft with the speed that his lips had left hers.
"I must return to the school, before I take leave of my senses and carry you to bed," he told her, with more than a hint of regret in his voice, as he lifted his trousers from around his ankles and refastened them, before buckling his belt.
"You can …"
"I cannot. I have a role to play. Your compulsion is assuaged, is it not?"
"It is."
"Then I will speak with you soon. We have much to do, and each one of us have our roles to play. Your job is to search the Black library from top to bottom for books on Dark Magic, of which I have no doubt you will find plenty, and once you find them, see if you can discover anything of Horcruxes, specifically about repairing them once made. Also - Soul Magic, anything you can find on that would also be of great use. There are books in the school library of course, but the dark ones are more likely to be found here. I also suggest that the new Miss Malfoy considers making a connection with her father, if only to purloin from his vast library and personal knowledge of the Dark Arts."
Hermione gasped. He was recommending that Orla should seek her father?
"In the current wizarding world, Granger, her blood guarantees her a safety net that the rest of us can only dream of."
Snape leaned forward and kissed her forehead, and it felt like a very final farewell.
"Please take care, Sir," she whispered.
"Severus," he replied, with a small, lop-sided smile that just crooked one side of his mouth. "Not Sir."
With that, he spun around, his robe swishing behind him, and headed for the kitchen fireplace. In one gush of green flame, he was gone.
