Ok folks, here's the next chapter, but let me warn you, it's probably a hot mess! I wanted to get it put up because I'm already a few days later than I like to put out my updates, but I'm doing it on the fly so it doesn't have the normal amount of editing I like to do, nor have I had a chance to send it to my beta. I figured I wouldn't make you guys wait any longer to read it though, so I'm just getting it posted and then making changes later... Sorry again!
They arrived at Spinner's End with a muffled crack. Severus didn't give Hermione a chance to steady herself before he strode toward his home, keeping his grip tight on her arm. She looked around and recognized the street from the pensieve testimony Harry had given at the Wizengamot about Snape. Instead of going to the rundown house she'd seen him go to in his memories, he took them further up the street to a seemingly abandoned warehouse. At the door, he released the warding spells and then put them back in place once they were inside.
Instead of a crumbling, vacant interior like she'd expected based on the appearance of the exterior, she was met with a wide, clean space. The warehouse had been converted into a home on the inside. "Where are we?" she asked, momentarily distracted from their current situation.
"My home." He took his cloak from her shoulders and strode quickly to a set of stairs. He disappeared up them and then reappeared just as quickly, holding a pair of black pyjama pants. "Make yourself decent."
"Why?" she challenged. "It's nothing you haven't seen before."
"Would you rather stand in my house half naked?" he asked, exasperated. She had the grace to blush and took the pants from him. Once she slipped into them, he turned and went toward a large cabinet along the left wall. "Drink this," he ordered, pulling a small vial from one of the many shelves inside.
"What is it?" Hermione demanded suspiciously.
"Polyjuice potion," he sneered sarcastically. As if he would try and poison her. If he'd wanted her to come to harm, he could have simply left her in the whorehouse.
"Why not? You obviously can't stand the sight of me."
"I just paid a great deal of money for the next four and a half years of you," he snapped. "Why would I want to damage my investment?" Hermione felt as if she'd been bowled over when she realized he was right. He'd bought her contract from Madam Peony. A magical contract. For the next four and a half years, he virtually owned her. Suddenly feeling very defeated, she took the potion he held out to her and drank it. He pulled out four more before he was satisfied. "Where else were you... injured?" he asked roughly.
"Just my scalp, and these." She lifted the hem of the shirt to reveal the bruises marring her ribs.
"Fucking hell," he snarled at the sight of them. The vial he'd been gripping in his fist shattered. She jumped a little and gasped. "Stop flinching away from me!" Suddenly, the anger he'd been holding onto so tightly exploded out of him. "Have I ever hurt you like this? Have I ever raised my hand to you?"
"No," she answered truthfully in a small voice.
"Then stop fucking flinching back from me as if I was the one who did this to you."
"Am I supposed to barter for a greater fee off my contract if you decide that you want to?"
"What?"
"You practically own me! What is supposed to stop you from doing this or worse? Tell me what control or rights I have over my life right now!"
"Gods, you infuriate me, witch!" he roared at her. "In this house, the fee for raising a hand to you is your freedom. No one, including me, will ever touch you this way. Whatever else you may think of me, I don't beat women."
"You just pay to fuck them six ways to Sunday."
"A right you gave any man when you signed that contract," he reminded her sharply.
"Yes, I did." Suddenly, what spirit she'd found floundered and she once more felt very small, and very hopeless. "What are you going to do with me?"
"I-" he faltered. "I don't bloody know." He ran his hand through his hair tiredly. What the hell was he doing? He'd bought the blasted contract simply to get her away from sadists like the one who'd beaten her. Beyond that, he hadn't given a single thought to the future. "Right now, I'm going to check and make sure none of your ribs are broken." He lifted her shirt again and pointed his wand at her torso. With a quick spell, the image of her ribs flickered on her skin. Most of them looked good, but a few showed hairline fractures. He grimaced and lowered her shirt, then brought one more potion out of the cabinet. She took it without complaint this time.
Already, the color around her eye was fading and the swelling around her nose had gone down. Her ribs would take longer to heal, but by morning they would be back to normal as well. "Thank you," she murmured softly. He dismissed her thanks with a wave of his hand. He might have said something about it being the least he could do, but considering how she'd spent the last several years, kindness for free wasn't something she had come to expect.
"Go sit down," he ordered when he noticed her swaying on her feet. She turned and dropped into an overstuffed armchair gratefully. "What the hell happened to you?" he asked, sinking into the chair opposite her.
"Huh? A customer, I told you-"
"Not the fucking beating. How did you end up like this? You can't have chosen this life willingly."
"I suppose answering your questions is part of my new contract?" she asked, exhaustion weighing on her heavily.
"You just can't let that go, can you? Fine, what was your contract at the brothel?"
She was surprised by the question and thought quickly. "All costs aside from liquor and potions are covered by the house. Twenty five percent of each customer's fee goes to the house for commission. The rest goes to cover fees. Girls can turn down two customers a week, but no more. Double charge for leaving a mark; lifetime ban for a scar. Working hours are whenever a customer is waiting; the rest of the time is our own."
"No clauses about answering questions?"
She shook her head. "No."
"Then since the contract I bought didn't have any clauses about answering questions, you don't have to. The magic can only hold you to terms of the contract that you signed. Does that ease your mind?"
"Yes." Actually, it did. It meant that there were boundaries to their bargain. Boundaries meant she had rights.
"So I will ask you again, a question you are free to ignore though I strongly suggest you don't, what happened?"
"I...I ran out of options." She swallowed and studied the floor. "After the inquest about my possible involvement with Ron's death, no one would hire me. I couldn't rent a flat. What little money I had saved only lasted me so long."
"Then why not turn to someone for help until the scandal blew over? Surely your pride wasn't so great that-"
"I have no pride left," she inserted honestly. "But there wasn't anyone to ask. My parents don't even know I exist. No one in the world knows where Harry is. Ron is dead."
"Molly still would have taken you in."
"And risked Arthur's job by doing so. Bad enough that the world thinks I broke her son's heart and then had a hand in his death. But then to possibly be the reason her husband lost his job? She couldn't have been expected to help."
"Minerva then. You were always her pet. She would have brought the whorehouse crumbling down to its foundations to see you working there."
"I sent letters. Not just to her, but to other teachers, too. Professor Flitwick, Hagrid, Madam Sprout..." She bit her lip as the betrayal hit her again. "No one ever answered."
"That's just not possible." Severus shook his head. "I know damn well that any of them would have offered you a job."
"I got no letters back. I was out of money, exhausted and hungry."
"And me?" At her blank look, he gritted his teeth and explained. "Did you write to me? Did it cross that overgrown brain of yours to ask for help from the man who spent eight years risking life and limb to protect you?"
"No, it didn't. I...I didn't think you cared about me."
"Idiotic woman! How could you-"
"Because you were awful to me! You bullied me and tormented me!"
"Because I didn't respect your insipid eleven year old enthusiasm? Because I didn't coddle you? Because there were bigger forces at work, bigger things at stake, than your hurt feelings? Should I have cossetted you and pampered you? Blown my cover, gotten myself killed, and left Potter open to be slaughtered by the Dark Lord? Perhaps the greatest irony here is that your position in Voldemort's new order would have been much the same as the one you signed yourself on for!"
"You're right! I'm an idiotic, stupid woman. I should have asked you for help but I didn't. I got myself into this mess because I was desperate and scared. I thought I could do what it took to get myself back on my feet and then restart my life, but I only entangled myself further. Is that what you want to hear?"
Severus sat back and studied her distraught face. It wasn't what he wanted to hear. For once, hearing someone admit they were wrong, admit they'd underestimated him, didn't make him feel better. His anger wasn't even truly at her for her bad decisions. It was at the situation she'd found herself in. It was through no fault of her own that she'd come into the public eye. Even he could admit that Potter wouldn't have stood a chance without her. And the subsequent maiming she'd been dealt by the newspapers wasn't her fault either. The girl had never stepped a toe towards impropriety. Yes, she'd been foolish in the way she'd handled the desperate situation she'd found herself in, but he understood what it was to make decisions based on fear and humiliation.
He knew what it was like to feel like you had no other options. To feel as if the world was closing in on you and the situation was hopeless. She could have turned to darker, more sinister options as he had, but she'd chosen to sacrifice her own body rather than harm others. What fault could he find in that? Besides, what was done was done. She'd gone through hell, but now she was safely under his roof and watchful eye.
In a moment of weakness, his gaze lowered to her chest and he realized that she wore no bra under the thin nightshirt. He could see her budded nipples clearly through the worn material. He swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. Now that he had her here, what the hell was he going to do with her?
He needed to clear his head and think. "Just go to bed," he said gruffly. He couldn't focus with her so close. Exhaustion and frustration and lust were clouding his mind.
"Yours?"
Severus snarled and loomed over her, pinching her chin in his fingers tightly. "I didn't say I was going to fuck you. I told you to get some sleep. Unless you can't keep your legs closed for even one night, I suggest you take me up on my generous offer."
Hurt and angry, Hermione jerked her chin free of his grip. "Where?" she demanded. Severus stood and curled his lip in exasperation.
"Are you a witch or not? Transfigure an appropriate piece of furniture into a bed. Surely such simple magic isn't beyond even you."
Bristling at his condescension, Hermione flicked her wand at the rug he was standing on. It shot two feet higher and would have sent him sprawling on his arse if he hadn't levitated off of it. An instant later the rug was a plush, warm bed. Hermione blinked innocently at the dark look he shot her. "Charming," he sniped, then climbed up the stairs to collapse into his own bed.
As he lay in the darkness, the enormity of what he'd done came crashing down on him. He'd bought a magical contract for a whore. When he and Madam Peony had shaken hands, his home had become her new "house," and he, her new proprietor. If he wanted, he could make her take men to her bed until her contract was up or she'd bought it back. Even thinking the idea made his stomach roil. But how strong was the magic holding her to the contract? The effects of breaking or even evading the terms of a magical contract were different for each one. Would she be compelled to have sex for money? Would she grow sick if she didn't take customers? He'd seen horrible things happen to wizards who went back on magical contracts.
Against his will, the idea rose in his mind that she could service him until her contract expired. He forced himself to admit that were she anyone else, he might propose just that. The problem was that she wasn't anyone else. She was an ex student, a girl he'd watched grow up, a woman who hated him for his treatment of her in her youth. The idea of forcing her to his bed with her looking at him with open disdain, recoiling in disgust at his touch, was not appealing to him.
So what were they supposed to do? She wouldn't be able to leave his house for either four and a half years or until she could pay the forty five hundred Galleons back to him. As much as he would like to think he was selfless enough to let her stay the whole time free of charge and remain chaste in his thoughts about her... he knew himself better. She'd only been in his home for an hour and he'd already had lustful thoughts about her. Wanted her.
No, having her find a well paying job and getting out of his home by buying out the contract was the only option. It had been years since the articles that insinuated she'd had a hand in the Weasley boy's death. Surely public opinion would have turned in her favor by now. And in the meantime, he would have to find other ways to let out his sexual frustrations.
Resolved, he put the matter from his mind and fell asleep. In his dreams, H visited him as she usually did. This time, he had her bent over the bed, fucking her hard and fast. He was close, so close to completion, and then she looked over her shoulder at him- only instead of H's generic face, it was Hermione Granger staring back at him, horrified. She couldn't have been more than thirteen and was cringing away from him in revulsion.
He woke with a start, sweat slicking his skin. The scratching at the window came again and he realized the post owl was waiting to be let in. Once the bloody bird had its expected payment, Severus opened the paper and read the headline hoping to take his mind off his nightmare.
Hermione Granger Sells Herself to the Highest Bidder
Have you ever had a fantasy about the muggle-born female member of the Golden Trio? Well, you might just have a chance to bring that fantasy to life- if you've got the gold! Reliable sources tell this reporter that for the last several years, Miss Granger (who dropped out of the public eye after her possible involvement in sinister activity came to light) has been employed at Madam Peony's whorehouse in Ireland. Few details are known about what led the witch to a life of sin, but rumor is that the same sex addiction that destroyed her relationship with deceased Auror Ron Weasley may have played a part...
Severus balled up the paper and threw it out the window, unable to read another word of the garbage written there. How had word gotten out? Hermione had been working at the brothel for more than two years with no leak to the press. Had Madam Peony realized the truth and taken advantage of the opportunity to sell a story? It was possible, but he didn't think so. Any customers that frequented Madam Peony's would see outing someone from the house (whore or customer) as an act of betrayal. The one time payoff wouldn't be enough to make up for the lost revenue from upset customers.
So who then?
Well it didn't matter. Let the public think whatever the hell they wanted. The only people Hermione should care about, prospective employers and landlords, wouldn't believe such drivel. Right? But those same people had believed the garbage about her possibly being involved with her ex-beau's death, as well...
Either way, it was still their best course of action to have her search for alternate means of employment and buy out her contract as soon as possible. He dressed himself swiftly and went downstairs to face Hermione.
To his surprise, she was already awake and waiting. The rug had been transformed back to it's original form and she was running her fingers through her hair in a desperate bid to put it to rights. He assumed she'd found the lavatory because her face was freshly washed. For a moment, it was easy to forget that it was Hermione, and not H, who was now in his home. If she'd been anyone else, he could have gone up to her, pushed her back on the couch, and ravaged her till they were both satisfied. But no. Hermione would not accept such advances, contract or not.
"After careful consideration, it's become clear to me that the best course of action will be for you to find respectable work and strive to pay off your contract as soon as possible. There may be side effects from evading the spirit of the contract in such a way, but we will deal with those when they arise, and in the meantime not borrow trouble."
"Respectable work?" Hermione quirked a brow at him.
"A job, Miss Granger. One that does not entail you being on your back. Surely you are familiar with the concept."
"Of course I am-"
"Then I suggest you buy yourself some new clothes before you start your search." He curled his lip at the nightshirt she wore. The one he loved. The one he'd do almost anything to strip off of her at the moment.
"I don't understand," she tried to start again but was once more cut off by his sigh of exasperation.
"What about this is beyond your tiny grasp?"
"Can you just stop being a wanker for thirty seconds?" He growled at her terminology but said nothing, so she pressed on. "Do you mean that I'm supposed to get a job in addition to my...regular duties?" She swallowed and crossed her arms over her breasts.
"I am not running a brothel here, Miss Granger. Nor do I have any inclination to start one with you as the main attraction."
"Well yes, but I just assumed-"
"What, that I would be whoring you out to my friends? Fortunately for you, I have none."
"No, dammit! But I thought you, at least, would want..." He glared at her and she faltered. "That we would continue..."
"If you think I have any desire to even touch you, then you are sadly mistaken." He inserted as much disdain into his voice as possible. Hermione shoved to her feet, fed up with his cruelty and condescension.
"That isn't what you felt last week," she snapped.
"That was when I thought you were just another whore, not an insufferable ex student."
"We both know that's a lie!" She stepped closer to him and jabbed him in the chest with her finger accusingly. "You knew who I was the last time you came to the brothel, and still you wanted me."
"Are you really so cock-hungry that you're-" he was cut off abruptly as Hermione slapped him across the face. Like a shot, Severus' hand snatched her wrist and held it in an iron grip. His nostrils flared as he struggled to keep his fury in check. "Yes," he snarled, "I knew who you were, but-" He stopped, realizing that he was dangerously close to confessing weakness to the woman in front of him. The very thought repulsed him.
"But I didn't know who you were?" She finished the thought he'd left unsaid. Some part of her stirred in sympathy but by then she was too angry to let it rise to the fore. "You were the one who cared about that. You never gave me the chance to decide if I was still willing to accept you as a client knowing who you were. Not before you had me that last time or after."
"I didn't have to let you decide. All I would have had to do was go to the brothel three times in a week and you'd have been forced to service me."
"But you didn't even take that chance. You were too much of a coward to face me."
"Don't call me that!" His grip on her wrist grew nearly crushing and she could feel him shaking in rage. "You think I'm afraid to face you? Afraid to fuck you now that you know who I am? You're not that lucky." He twisted her arm behind her back, forced the other one along with it, and snared both wrists in his grasp. With his other hand, he ripped her nightshirt down the middle, exposing her breasts to his ravenous gaze. Before she could protest, he pushed the loose pyjama pants down and backed her up against the arm of the couch. Anger and lust warred within him as he freed his erection and pressed the head of his cock against her. "Tell me you'd have turned me away," he dared her through gritted teeth.
"No," she snapped, raising her chin and meeting his glare. With a groan, he bucked his hips, impaling her in one swift move. Her legs parted easily and she tipped her head to the side. His lips and teeth ravaged her neck. When she raised her legs and locked her heels behind his back, Severus let go of her wrists to lift her onto the arm of the couch. Her hips were at the perfect height to meet his onslaught. One of his hands stayed on her ass and kept her in place while the other tangled in her hair.
Over and over he slammed into her. All the emotions that had been raging in him the last two weeks drove him to take her harder and faster. Anger at her, at her situation, at himself. Frustration, exasperation, desperation. Guilt and self loathing, doubt and confusion. In that moment, he both hated her and loved her. She twisted him up in knots, brought him to the most intense rages and the most shuddering climaxes.
Would he have stopped if she'd admitted that yes, she'd have turned him away as a customer? Honestly he wasn't sure. He was a cruel man, and he was selfish enough to put his own needs first. If she wanted to fight with him, he would show her just how imprudent that was.
He dominated and devoured her. All she could do was accept him. She held on tightly and didn't try to stifle her moans. Somehow, the man taking her was both S and Snape. The hands on her were the ones that her body had come to know and arch to. The dark eyes that drank in the sight of her were the ones that had dismissed her from across the classroom for years. The mouth moving on her neck had drawled vicious insults indiscriminately and also whispered filthy words in her ear. For the first time, she was able to reconcile the two men being one and the same.
Had she meant to bait him into fucking her? It hadn't started out that way, but as their exchange had gone on... She'd been so taken aback at his abrasiveness and how completely he'd dismissed what they had done together. Yes, she far preferred the idea of buying out her contract with money she earned at a real job. But she hadn't really expected him to give up his right to have her. No matter what they'd been to each other years ago, he'd paid a small fortune for her contract. And despite what he claimed, she knew he still wanted her- even knowing who she was. So why had he tried to deny it?
Was it her imagination, or had she seen vulnerability in him? He'd truly expected her to be repulsed by the idea of sex with him. And perhaps, if she'd known who he was the first time he'd come into the brothel, she might have been. The idea of sex with the teacher who'd belittled and dismissed her would have been unpleasant to say the least. But now he was more than that. Yes, he was still the dreaded potions professor, but he was also the man who'd given her pleasure, explored every inch of her body, challenged her wits. Had he turned away from her simply because he'd expected her to reject him?
The words he'd said before they'd slept together the last time at the brothel came back to her. We can hate each other after. Did he hate her, or had he simply assumed she would hate him?
She tried to keep ahold of her thoughts but they were slowly slipping away from her as her body wound tighter and tighter. He tilted his hips up and stroked her inside until she thought she would scream from pleasure. When her eyes closed, he tipped her head back and slowed his thrusts.
"Look at me," he demanded. Her eyes opened and she stared up into his face. "Is this what you wanted?" Each time he moved, waves of pleasure rippled through her. Whatever else happened between them, this was what she wanted.
"Yes," she cried, her body finally reaching its breaking point and catapulting her into sweet release. He let out a garbled groan and followed her into bliss.
When Severus came back to himself, he withdrew from her and rebuttoned his trousers. With a silent Tunicam Repairo her torn nightshirt knit itself back together. He stared at her just-fucked hair and the love bites on her neck. Had she even consented to what they'd just done? Something perilously close to guilt and shame roiled in his stomach. But she was a witch in her own right. She could have hexed his bollocks off if she felt he was forcing himself on her. Even with the contract in place, she would have been well within her rights to reject his advances.
So why did the drops of moisture glistening on her inner thigh seem like an accusation?
He turned to walk away. Hermione tried in vain to put herself back to rights before he left the room. "Wait!"
"What?" he snarled at her, whirling around. Now came the beration. The condemnation. The rejection.
"No tip?" She stared at him, face carefully blank, for ten whole seconds before the grin broke onto her face. At his shocked expression, she snickered.