I'm late again, apologies.
It has been less than twenty-four hours.
Less than a day since he took her innocence and she in return took something much more precious, much more dangerous from him. Something he can't focus on, lest he forfeit everything.
Severus has not left the place in his bed where she had lay, their mingled union becoming cold and rigid on the sheets throughout the night. His fingers brush against the spot now as he stares across the room to the dark stone wall unblinking.
The dungeons hold no sense of time, it's part of the reason he enjoys residing here. Without windows and the bustling hallways of the floors above him, he can on occasion— when he allows it—become lost in his own thoughts. A dangerous place to be at present.
He has battled throughout the night with his mind, his memory, attempting in vain to mould this encounter into something he can share.
The truth is distressing, the truth is dangerous, the truth spells the end for him.
He does not want to share her.
Even now as he picks the memories apart and reshuffles them he is throbbing with need— throbbing for her. In another life he might treasure a moment in which he awakens with the witch tucked neatly against his chest, vanilla curls tickling his nose. But Severus is all too familiar with the mantra that 'life isn't fair'.
How can he still battle this feeling now? How is the guilt that tastes like bitterness and bile, hanging in his throat suddenly overpowered by his mounting arousal?
His jaw clenches tightly as he fights the urge to lash out, to destroy his chambers and flee.
He cannot put off what is inevitable.
The Headmaster awaits, the Dark Lord too. He must get a grip on this and present himself for penetration. With this thought in mind he rises, still naked and shivering in the frigid dungeon air. Severus strips the sheets from his bed, unwilling to look at the evidence any longer he throws them to the floor and makes his way to his shower.
The spray is cold, he refuses to play slave to his libido any longer. The Granger girl will be neatly tucked away in the darkest tresses of his subconscious. He will not give into the urges of his body any longer, his task is complete but his burden remains and he must continue on this cursed path.
With cool skin he can think again. Miss Granger and her scent circle the shower drain, leaving his senses free to construct and manipulate.
The pieces don't blend as seamlessly as Severus is accustomed to. She demands his full attention. Each time he dips into his subconscious to retrieve her image, she beckons him with wide eyes and wild hair.
He is reminded of the early stages in his double-life, the insurmountable fear of standing before Voldemort with manufactured memories. Albus knows not the knife's edge he threads on—even now.
It's alarming to him that creating a story for Albus is coming together without much effort. A story in which Granger is gently lured and taken to his bed, where she is praised and rewarded for her affection. There are rich details he hadn't noticed in the throes, like her breath stuttering in her throat just as her orgasm peaked and washed over her. The crinkle in her nose, her eyes shut tight when he first started to thrust in her.
There are many pros to being a master of Occlumency and he is most aware of this now as he focuses his subconscious onto minute details he might not have noticed in his passion. In another life he would likely spend every waking hour dipping into his mind and watching the clench of her torso as she came apart under his tongue.
Merlin knows how much time has passed or how he dried and dressed post-shower, but he is standing before the familiar gargoyle who watches him as Severus contemplates his ascent to Albus's throne.
"Severus?" Albus's voice rouses him from his musings.
He sits behind the vast desk, decorated with spinning and whirring objects as he surveys Severus probingly.
"It is done?"
Severus drops his eyes and nods his confirmation softly.
"Is the girl alright?"
Guilt.
He needs Albus to feed his guilt, Severus needs to see disgust in the eyes of his sturdiest support. It will remind him how to feel in the aftermath of his actions, it will help him refocus, he's sure of it.
Severus places himself before Albus, seated at a lower height and looking into his wizened face for guidance.
"She is physically unharmed," he assures the Headmaster.
"And her mental wellbeing?"
"I can't know for sure."
"I will employ Minerva to check in with her," he says gently, seeing the panic rising on Severus's face he adds, "she will not be informed, just a general check in, difficult times, difficult times for all and especially a young Muggle-born."
"If you think it's for the best," Severus relents.
"You should inform Tom," Albus says, piercing him with his unwavering gaze.
"You don't want—"
"No," Albus said with damning finality. "I do not wish to bear witness to such… recollections."
Severus recoils slightly under the weight of the Headmaster's aversion. But isn't this what he needs in order to reevaluate the mess that has been created by his actions?
"I will inform the Dark Lord," he says dutifully.
His body is filled with lead as he thumps down the spiral staircase away from Albus, guilt envelopes him further with each step.
He expects summons to come almost instantaneously, but he is left without word from his second master. Severus hides his shame in his chambers, lurking in shadows and fighting his base instincts and most importantly, avoiding Miss Granger at all costs.
His worried mind is cut off. He keeps himself as numb as possible through dangerous levels of Occlumency and whiskey. Occasionally he dips into his subconscious to ensure the ruse still resides, testing its strength and stability.
All he can focus on is the hope that Voldemort will summon him before he must face her again.
He has shattered object after object only to repair them in the aftermath— tumblers, books, ink pots, his bed— the rage escapes him like uncontrolled magic as he waits out the Dark Lord.
When his summons finally comes he is staring at the clean sheets that adorn his bed, his eyes focused on the spot where she gifted him her body and her essence. His forearm burns with such ferocity and yet his eyes are still trained where she should be.
There is a familiarity that carries him forward, puts him through the motions required to get from his rooms and out into the crisp autumnal air. It's too early for the first frost, but the scent of winter lingers, ready to pounce.
The sight of Malfoy Manor draws up a familiar queasiness even as his shields remain intact and formidable. He has seen too many atrocities carried out here, even before the Dark Lord resurrected. Lucius has a penchant for cruelty and violence that is— or was— seemingly unquenchable. Only his failure and subsequent punishment has muted his desire for bloodlust and torture. Severus wonders will his incarceration change him? Force him to see the error of his ways?
His eyes are trained on Draco as he approaches the gathering, the boy is haunted. His once strikingly pale complexion is ashen and gaunt. The weight of his burden has sent the boy into a frighteningly rapid decline.
Sins of the father.
The silence which falls over the Malfoy's extravagant dining room is deafening as Severus approaches the long, ornate table.
He should have known better than to expect a private meeting with the Dark Lord.
"Ah Severus my boy," Voldemort says cheerfully, like he had not just summoned him moments before. "Look at you, there is a glow of mudblood lust simply radiating from you."
The gathered crowd reacts accordingly, snickering, muttering and sounds of disgust, none louder than Bellatrix who sits to the right of her master. Her eyes are slits of suspicion as she watches Severus's movements closely, her face framed in disgust.
"How was she?" Voldemort asks. "Actually, don't spoil the show."
His mind is a well-oiled machine, functioning only on a level of servitude and precision. If he were to allow his true thoughts to seep past the walls he has forged there is no doubt that this would be his last day. It's a tempting thought— or it would be if he let it intrude upon his duty.
"Come Severus," his master summons him forward with a crook of his finger.
It's unnatural how calmly he moves through the room. They are the movements only that a well seasoned spy can make— or an unhinged lunatic with nothing left to fear, nothing left to give.
"Tell me my boy, did the mudblood enjoy her time?"
Severus takes his seat next to the Dark Lord, a seat which is privileged beyond others and one which causes his so-called brethren to look on in envy. The seat was once Lucius's to occupy smugly, it's a fickle thing, being Voldemort's favourite. Bellatrix has maintained her seat opposite throughout many blunders, Severus suspects she pays dearly for any transgressions by other means.
"Yes, my Lord," he replies stiffly.
"Did you manage to fuck the Muggle out of her? Or perhaps reclaim the magic she has stolen?"
He is quiet. Unable to see a sufficiently pleasing answer, he has learned through previous mistakes that sometimes no answer is the right one.
"Well then," the Dark Lord says with a clap of his hands. "Let's not waste any more time shall we?"
It's hard to say what feels more intrusive, the brutality with which Voldemort enters his mind, squirming and seeking or the feel of his fingers pressing into Severus's face.
His stomach churns as the memories float to the surface and he can feel his master's intrigue grow.
She is stripped bare, her form tight and young, her breasts pert and nipples erect for his attention. Miss Granger is trembling in fear and lust.
"On the bed, now!" Memory Severus snaps.
As she climbs onto his sheets they are greeted with the perfect vision of her glistening folds tucked neatly between her thighs. It's hard to focus on anything but the twitch of her tight little hole as she glances back over her shoulder to Severus.
Severus can feel the Dark Lord's presence intensifying to levels he has rarely felt before. He is queasy in the knowledge that there seems to be an undercurrent of arousal pulsating through his mind.
She is on her back now, big amber eyes pleading with him to fill her, to take her. Her hand comes to rest against his jaw softly, gently and memory Severus bats it away impatiently, pinning it to his mattress instead.
"Ha!" The Dark Lord exclaims excitedly to the room.
Severus is certain his body cannot take much more if this onslaught, his hand trembles by his side and he can feel his grasp on his shields begin to slip. His master is relentless, his penetration is fierce and longing, his fervour growing in intensity as he watches eagerly.
She is white heat as he feels her innocence break around him and her shattered screams. His architected grunts are wild and feral, memory Severus is uncaring to her discomfort.
"You wanted this girl," he pants, turning her face to one side and grasping her throat violently. "Don't you forget that, your cunt called to me, now you can take all I have to give."
He is slumped in his seat. It's hard to gauge what is reality and what is the constructed, fictitious reflection that he pushes forward. The strangled moans and heavy grunting are surely his thoughts, but they seem to be spilling into the dining room. Severus can feel his eyes beginning to roll back, he is on the brink of losing consciousness.
"P—please sir?"
"You can do better than that little witch."
"Please sir, please fill me up, make me yours!"
Severus is back in Malfoy Manor— or so it seems— he is so dizzy and nauseated that it's hard to focus. There is still an echo of feral lust prodding around in his skull.
"Good show Severus, good show," the Dark Lord says, grasping his shoulder and pulling him upright in his seat.
It's all he can do not to vomit on Narcissa's perfectly set table. His eyes flicker, struggling even with the low light that fills the room, Severus takes great shuddering breaths. The room is too silent.
"Now Draco," Voldemort says conversationally, "take note from Severus, when you are bequeathed a task— an honour— and you are expected to deliver with the same gusto and house-elf-like obedience."
There is an uproar of nervous laughter around the table, the Death Eaters uncertain whether they have been granted permission to enjoy Severus's task.
The memories retreat back into his subconscious, his stomach twists with guilt and shame of having allowed the Dark Lord to see Granger in such a light. He can only hope that in his aggressive recreation that he has done his deed in protecting her from further harm— for now.
"She is smitten Severus," the Dark Lord tells him gleefully, "the Mudblood even under a firm hand is still eager for your attention, she is attracted to your power, she knows she is beneath you and like the succubus she is, wants to take that power."
His stomach lurches again, his master's words are only half formed as he attempts to filter them through the violence of his intrusion.
"It's decided, you will keep her."
"My Lord?" He questions weakly.
"You heard me, my boy," Voldemort says with a hint of impatience, "she is my gift to you. Miss Granger will be your source of release, your willing cunt— albeit filthy— until such time that we can find you a worthier witch. For now, all you need is a pet."
"You are too kind," Severus says with a bow of his head.
The eyes of the table weigh heavily on him, none as much as Draco who harbours a look of horror.
"Wonderful, I look forward to our next meeting. Severus, keep her wanting— a girl in love is a powerful weapon."
He doesn't know how long he spends staring up at the castle gates upon his return. The night steals his breath and taunts it in front of him as he works up the courage to cross the threshold into his cursed life.
How has his role become yet more complicated and dangerous, he thought that surely it had reached its peak. He should know better than to doubt the Dark Lord's capacity for overloading his followers. Now he must decide whether to inform the Headmaster of this new development or not.
Not tonight.
Tonight he will drink himself into a haze of guilt and regret. Tomorrow he will weigh his options, he is in no fit state now. His mind is completely fractured, Severus stumbles over even the most basic building of shields that are second nature to him. His head throbs heavily as he seeks out a pain potion to chase his Firewhiskey. As a master of Potions he is frighteningly aware of the dangers in overdosing while imbibing alcohol, but can't bring himself to care. If he was to slip into the sweet unknown while sleeping it would be a kindness— one he's not worthy of.
Even with the relief of his perfectly brewed headache reliever Severus cannot seem to shift the feeling of Voldemort's invasion.
The memories he had constructed are clinging to his subconscious, he can't seem to shift the images of her pained expression.
He stumbles to his bed and lays a hand on the spot he now thinks of as hers.
His sheets are fresh, they smell nothing like her vanilla warmth or lusty release but he clings to them like a touch-starved maniac. If she could see him now—- naked and holding his sheets like they might morph into her if he wills them to— what would she think? Would she still open up for him? Would she let him crawl on her even in his desperate, drunken state? She is a virus that burns hotly, Fiendfyre in his veins.
Severus can't seem to control the pull her form creates as he pumps his cock desperately seeking relief from Hermione Granger.
He awakes to pain. His body is a vessel of pain, fear and despair.
Today he must face her.
A lump seems to have formed in his throat overnight, tight and restricting. He could name it, if only he could decide which call it relates to. Concrete sits heavily in his gut, making it difficult to lift himself from his sweat sheened sheets.
Classes blend together as a blur. Annoyance after annoyance tickling his already exhausted mind. His Occlumency is frayed at the edges, delicate fingers are tugging on the strings that bind him together and trailing between her thighs instead.
Her teeth.
It's all he can focus on.
Miss Granger sits before him, her foot tapping restlessly against the leg of her desk, a dusky pink, full bottom lip caught under the force of perfectly aligned teeth as she watches him from under her lashes. The energy that surrounds her is skittish and erratic.
In his own haze of despair he has neglected his duty of care, he hasn't given a second thought to how she might feel since their coupling. Avoiding her seemed like the best choice, but as he watches her now— anxious and confused— he is reminded of his role. It seems her face is what he needs to settle his fears.
"For now, all you need is a pet."
There is little disturbance throughout class, it seems that Potter has finally learned his lesson— for now. If only the little shit knew.
When the bell calls for the end of class he feels more whole than he has since this whole debacle began. It's frightening how soothing the sight of her uncertainty is to his tortured mind.
"Sir?"
His shoulders tense at the sound of her voice, the hollowness in his gut is alive with a sensation he would rather not name.
"Yes Miss Granger?" His tone is sharp, pointed armour to protect them both.
Severus can hear the slight stutter of her breath, the thickness in her voice as she tries to compose herself.
"I—I'm sorry if I did something to upset you—"
"Don't be ridiculous," he snaps.
"I don't understand," she pleads.
"You don't understand what?" he asks, finally turning to face her. Severus moves forward, locks the door and places a silencing charm over them for good measure. "What did you think? That we would play happy families? Pass love notes in class? Live happily ever after?"
Big tears form behind long lashes, her already hypnotic eyes become watery and desperate, seeking some kind of validation. He wants to pry her abused lip from between her teeth and suckle on it.
"We are at war Miss Granger," he whispers coldly, coming at a stop to loom over her, there is a desk sitting behind her thighs, he could easily— "there are no happy endings."
"I'm aware sir, I didn't expect—"
"Then what did you expect you foolish girl?"
"I didn't think you'd fuck me and scream at me to leave! I didn't think you'd avoid me for days, missing meals so that you didn't have to face me. I didn't think you would hurt me like that—" her words are hurt but her tone is longing, heat radiating from her.
"Foolish," he whispers again, standing between her thighs as she tugs on the sleeve of his robe.
"Please sir?" she begs as his hand suddenly hovers near her centre, she is leading him where she needs him most.
The muffled sounds of his next class break through the tension, pulling Severus from the trance that seems to have overcome him.
He stands tall, cancelling the charm that buzzes around them.
"Get to class Miss Granger," he hisses, "no special treatment for little swots regardless of how insufferable. You can use the designated office hours like everyone else for your grievances."
Her eyes are alight with the almost invitation.
"Get out of my sight."
Severus whips around, his cloak billowing in his wake. She leaves in a blur of bouncing curls and quickened steps. A deep sigh leaves him, for the first time in days he can feel his mind coming back under his control.
He's certain he has set something in motion, something so dangerous that he cannot comprehend the potential consequences while he can still detect the scent of her arousal.
"—a girl in love is a powerful weapon."
That very well might prove to be true, but only if the sentiment remains unrequited.