17-May

Chapter Five

Day 42

I know he knows I know he's watching. He can't honestly think that I don't hear the door open, his heavy breathing, that I can't see the light of the hallway. I even saw the outline of his body last night.

I have to do som

The door crashed open and Snape strode in. Hermione watched from her desk. There were days when he wouldn't speak to her at all, and if she pressed him, he would leave, returning only to bring her food.

Luckily, his behaviour seemed to reset the next day, so if she annoyed him, he would only torture her with silence for the rest of that day. The next morning would bring him back to her.

It seemed as though this was to be a quiet day. She wouldn't press him. She knew the value of his company, silent or otherwise.

Seeing that he'd opened his copy of Important Modern Magical Discoveries, Hermione grabbed hers off her small shelf, as well. These days, they read the same book more often than not. After, he would almost always treat her to a small discussion, which he invariably used to drive home some point or another, even if she didn't let him lead her at all. She liked the talks even with the annoying smugness.

Curling on her side on the bed, Hermione opened her book to approximately the same place as his, but instead of reading, she watched him.

Having seen her own rather dismal appearance, it was no wonder he looked the way he did, if this was his life. He was in the dungeons almost as often as she. His hair was lank, stringy, and greasy. On certain days, it looked almost clean, but that rarely lasted more than a day. He simply didn't seem to shower often enough, and combined with oily skin, the result was underwhelming.

His nose wasn't anything but huge. It dominated his face, truly, even when she looked objectively. But it was hard to do that these days. Having seen him nearly every day for so long, he just looked like Snape to her. Crooked teeth and black eyes and all. It didn't matter.

Snape looked up from his book. Hermione wasn't sure if she'd darted her own eyes back to her page quickly enough for him to have missed her staring, but he didn't say anything, and she didn't look up again for at least another hour.

Hermione put her book on the bed beside her. She glanced at Snape under lowered eyelashes, but he seemed deep in his reading. She squirmed a little, wondering what it said about her that watching him read made her wet. Her breath quickened as the thoughts she usually saved until after he was gone...or made her think he was gone...raced unbidden across the forefront of her mind: Snape's fingers on her throat, Snape's low voice directing her, Snape's mouth on her body...

Without even realising, Hermione was running her fingertips over her stomach, her shirt having bunched up from all her wriggling. Closing her eyes, she imagined Snape's voice reading the chapter on illicit dark magic in the fifteenth century. A low moan escaped her mouth, barely more than a breath, as her fingers slipped under the waistband of her trousers. She didn't open her eyes.

Using her other hand to unbutton her trousers so her hand had more room to move, Hermione then kicked out of them, leaving her in a shirt and knickers in the middle of her bed. Her hand was just venturing into her underwear when she heard Snape inhale sharply.

"Miss Granger, that is entirely inappropriate!"

A shockwave ran through her at his tone of voice. He was so... disapproving. It made her pussy clench. She wondered if he would talk like that in bed.

Panting a little, Hermione said, "This is my room; you're only a guest here." She couldn't quite bring herself to look at him, but her other hand sought out a taut nipple and she began to stroke it through her shirt.

"This is my house!" Snape said, voice dangerously low. "And you are, in fact, the guest."

Hermione laughed breathlessly, her hand finally delving inside her knickers, fingers playing lightly with her lower lips, not parting them, just teasing. She imagined Snape would love to tease her. "In that case, you're not very much of a host. I'd like to go home, if I'm only a guest."

"That is not possible," Snape ground out. From the clarity of his voice, she knew he was looking right at her as he spoke. "Now cease that at once!"

Hermione moaned, unable to hide her reaction to his voice. The angrier he got, the hotter it made her. She slid one finger within herself, wetting it before coming back to stroke her clit. Her hips were grinding against her hand, and Hermione wasn't ashamed that a lot of her movements were calculated to get a reaction.

"No one is telling you to watch, Professor," Hermione whispered, knowing he could hear her. "No one told you to watch all those other times. But I don't mind." Hermione slid two fingers inside herself and whimpered, "Promise."

Strange silence filled the room, broken only by her hitching breath and the angry inhalations of her audience. She'd thought for sure that he'd try to deny her allegations, but he obviously had no such intentions. Better for her; now she could concentrate on herself rather than trying to hold a conversation while wanking.

Hermione stopped both her hands to take a break and unbutton her shirt. She was sure she heard a sigh of relief before Snape must have realised she hadn't actually planned on stopping for good. When the shirt was parted, Hermione sat up to take it off. She saw Snape watching her intently. His face was partially cast in shadow. The lamps in the room were burning a little lower, and she wondered if he had turned them down, or if he'd been remiss in tending to their oil.

Hermione bit her lip and held his gaze as she drew the shirt off of her shoulders, baring her body to him. He valiantly kept his eyes on hers, but she remained still in challenge, and eventually, he broke the eye contact to sweep over her bared breasts. His searching look was full of greed and possessiveness, and Hermione wondered if he thought he owned her, that she belonged to him. It didn't matter what he thought, though, because between the two of them in this lowlight room, there was no Dark Lord, no Order, no Horcruxes, no Hogwarts. There was only them, Hermione and Snape, desperate with longing and punishing themselves and each other.

When he stared at her, it was almost tangible. Hermione fell back onto the bed, imagining it was his hands pushing her, his body pressing into her. Her legs fell apart, one bending at the knee. Hermione toyed with the hem of her knickers, trying to reconcile the fact that she was actually about to bring herself off in front of Snape.

"Take those off as well, Miss Granger," came Snape's raspy voice, so low it was like whispers across her sensitised skin.

Hermione chuckled. It almost felt like sex, now that he was participating. Hermione squirmed out of her panties, tossing them to the floor beside her bed. She felt like a princess on a pedestal, a slave on an auction block.

She heard him hiss the word yes, and she was encouraged to continue. Now bared to him, there was no point in teasing. She inserted two fingers, moving them around to get herself slick. One hand played with her nipples, pinching them as she knew he would.

Her hands flew as she brought herself to the edge of orgasm faster than she could ever recall. It was as though the hours they spent reading had counted as foreplay. She couldn't ever remember being so worked up. Lowering her hand from her breasts, Hermione used one hand to pump her fingers into herself, and the other to dance across her clit. She was writhing and trembling, her legs moving restlessly as she played with herself for him. All for him.

"Three fingers," Snape directed. Hermione obeyed, and she heard his fingernails drag across the arms of the chair as she stretched herself around her fingers, mewling at the reaction of being so filled. She wished he was doing it.

She was right there, balanced right on the edge. "Tell me to come," she cried, knowing his voice, one more time, was enough to push her over into bliss.

Snape growled low in his throat, and Hermione waited, holding herself there, knowing he would do as she begged.

His voice was rasping when he snarled, "Come. Now!"

Hermione's pussy clamped down around her fingers, and she bit back her screams...ineffectually...as her body rocked and shook in climax. Her lips parted, Hermione drew in sucking breaths as she came back to herself. She was sweaty, the bed sheets were a mess, and her hair was disastrous, but she'd never felt so sated in her life.

Turning her head to the side, Hermione took in Snape. He looked almost as dishevelled as she did. But more than that, he looked furious. His lips were pulled back in a fearsome sneer, and Hermione trembled with something more than afterglow when his baleful gaze pinned her. He abruptly stood and left the room, but not before Hermione saw the immense bulge in the front of his robes. Despite his apparent anger, he was not unaffected.

And that was all she could really ask. For now.

*

"Is Harry okay?"

"Yes."

"Is the Dark Lord still alive?"

"Yes."

"Is everyone at Hogwarts all right?"

"...Yes."

"What?"

"What do you mean?"

"You paused after I asked that last question. What's wrong at Hogwarts?"

"Nothing is wrong, Miss Granger. I do not see why you must torment yourself with these infernal questions. You must know that even if I had the information you desired, it is very likely that I would not tell you the truth. You cannot possibly believe everything I say."

Hermione sighed. "What choice do I have? I have to believe you because there is no one else. You are everything I have."

When Snape had come into her room that morning, there had been no talk about what had occurred the night before, nor had he given any indication that he even remembered. Hermione herself couldn't stop blushing and stammering. She would not make a very good spy. Snape, on the other hand, was obviously well versed in the art of avoidance and detachment.

But she knew the truth. She knew how his eyes burned with desire, how his breath shuddered and hitched.

"You know it is very likely that I am feeding you lies in order to keep you docile."

Hermione laughed. "Do I seem docile to you, Professor Snape?" It was the closest she'd come to referring to the night before, but Snape didn't even bat an eyelash. Infuriating man.

Snape didn't answer, nor did he when she asked the unanswerable, "What is happening out there?"

Hermione sighed, curled up with her back against the bars so she was facing away from Snape. "When can I go home?"

Snape's pause was telling.

"What?" she asked, trying to quell her excitement. Maybe he was considering letting her go!

"You usually ask, 'Can I go home?'"

"Oh," Hermione said, disappointed. "Can I go home?"

"No."

"Because I'm safe here?" she scoffed, rolling her eyes, feeling bold because he couldn't see her face.

"Yes."

"I don't feel very safe!"

"Why ever not?" he queried. "You have everything you need, everything you could possibly want. Nothing unsavoury can get inside your cage. I am the only one keyed to the wards on the bars, besides you, of course. If anyone were to try to get in, they would face spontaneous Disapparition followed by a series of painful hexes and Confunding."

"Oh," Hermione said. That did make her feel a little safer. If another Death Eater found out about her and began to question Snape's loyalties, and then got rid of Snape, the Death Eaters would come for her. Not that it mattered, if she couldn't escape. It would deter them, but she would still eventually die of starvation.

"Even if the door is open?" she asked.

Snape gave Hermione a withering look. "How else would someone attempt to get in, if not through the open door?"

"So, yes?" Hermione clarified, stifling a smirk.

"Yes," Snape snapped. "No one will ever get in."

"And no one will ever get out," she added sadly, fingering the bar. She turned so Snape could see her profile. "Can I go outside today?"

"Miss Granger, that is one question you can cease asking immediately. You will never be permitted to go outside. It is impossible for reasons so vast and varied that I could spend the day enlightening you. You understand why I do not find that appealing in the least."

Actually, Hermione suspected Snape would rather enjoy 'enlightening' her, but she wisely kept mum.

"Will you come inside today?"

"I don't think that would be wise."

"I really enjoyed last night, Professor Snape."

Snape visibly started. Hermione realised it wasn't very Slytherin to be so blunt, but there was a reason she'd been Sorted into Gryffindor.

"Last night was very imprudent. You would do well to forget about it."

Snape reached for his book, obviously having decided the conversation was over, but Hermione wasn't one to give up so easily. She'd ask her final question and then circle back to this conversation.

"Will you open the door?"

Snape almost growled. She did ask these questions every few days, so he must be getting sick of them, but the answers were changing as he grew more accustomed to her presence and began to suspect she wasn't much of a threat, so she had to continue asking. One day he would let her outside, she was sure. One day he would tell her what went on outside the walls.

"For one hour, after you eat dinner," he ground out.

Hermione pressed her warm cheek against the cool bars. It wasn't usually warm in the dungeon, and the heated air was almost unfamiliar to her, as if she'd forgotten what it was like to not have to fend off a chill. It wasn't dinnertime, so she wouldn't enjoy the open door any time soon. The bars weren't so bad, really. After her panic attack, Hermione had chosen a focus image, and whenever she felt scared or sad or angry or confused, she just pictured the image in her find, throwing all her attention into it, imagining every detail and nuance, until the feelings went away.

"I don't mind that you watch me," Hermione said, fingers stroking the bars.

"Miss Granger, I will not have this conversation with you," Snape snapped, pointedly looking at his book and not at her.

"I'll just talk then," Hermione said agreeably. "I like it when you watch. It makes everything feel so much more real. When I did it alone, before you started to watch, sometimes it was really hard to, you know... climax. Like halfway through I would just lose motivation or inspiration. But now that you watch, it feels really good. I just lie back and think... would you like to know what I think about?"

Snape snapped a page on his book so hard she heard a small tearing noise. She shrugged. No one was forcing him to stay and listen. There was a reason he stayed in her room for hours on end. Even if it was just because he was lonely, that didn't matter. One way or another, he wanted to be with her, and that meant he had to put up with her when she worked through her own confused feelings. The door was always open... to him, anyway.

"I think about you."

Snape inhaled sharply, eyes going unfocused, even as he continued to stare at a page. He was obviously listening, and Hermione pretended she didn't know or care.

"I think about your hands on my neck from before, when you were putting the potions on me. Did you like that as much as I did? You have very gentle hands, Professor Snape. Did my skin feel soft to you? After, I would touch my neck and pretend it was you doing it, and not just because you have the best bedside manner, even if it was more impressive than I'd expected it to be."

Hermione stood, sliding her hands up the bars over her head, pressing the length of her body against them, moving her hips very slightly...he'd only notice if he looked right at her, and he seemed to be doing absolutely anything to avoid doing just that.

"I want you to watch me again," she said quietly, stilling all movement.

"No."

"Why not?"

Snape didn't answer, only flipped a page. With how slowly he tended to read in order to absorb, she knew there was no way he'd actually finished the page.

"Professor Snape, are you working for the Order of the Phoenix?"

Snape drew in a hissing breath. He finally looked at her. "Any information you have can and most assuredly will keep you in a state of danger. Even if no Death Eater can cross the threshold of your cell, do you not think they can throw curses at you from beyond the bars?"

Hermione hadn't thought that. The trouble with being a Muggle-born was that she still sometimes thought as a Muggle first, and a witch second. She'd be lying if she hadn't pictured herself pressed against the back wall of the cell, laughing at the Death Eaters who couldn't reach her. It hadn't occurred to her that with one simple spell, she'd be dead, protected cell or not.

"But if you were a Death Eater, I wouldn't be here. If you were loyal to the Dark Lord, you'd have turned me over ages ago!"

"Do you think the Dark Lord does not know of your presence?" Snape roared, throwing his book across the room. Hermione noticed with detached interest that it hit the wall in almost the exact same place as the teacup had, the last time he'd lost his temper like this.

"Rabastan Lestrange took you from your bed; did you think I had killed him for you, stolen you from him to keep you all to myself? For a girl who is so widely acclaimed to be clever, you seem to have a difficult time understanding the politics at work!"

"But if you were a true Death Eater," Hermione persisted, "you would be doing horrible things to me. Not bringing me books and keeping me safe!"

"You are delusional if you do not think that keeping a young woman in a cell for weeks on end is a 'horrible thing.' I've stolen much from you, and with your naïve seductions, you are offering more and more to my avarice."

Hermione held her hand out through the bar, beseechingly. "It isn't stolen if I offer it freely. The only time I feel real is when your eyes are on me."

Snape stood and began to pace, throwing angry glares at her from time to time.

"If you were a real Death Eater," Hermione started again, but Snape interjected. He came right up to the bars, so quickly she withdrew her hand in shock. She wasn't afraid of touch, but his quick movement had surprised her, and she didn't want him to take her hand in anger.

Snape ripped open the buttons on his cuff and yanked up his sleeve, exposing the Dark Mark in all its vile glory, burning edges looking fresh and painful. "I am a real Death Eater, Miss Granger. I am not your hero. I am not your saviour. Leave that to Potter and his sycophants. I am going to come out on top no matter who wins this war. No spy does his job without knowing that if one side loses, he is still safe. I act according to a role that will ensure my survival regardless of the outcome. That is worse than a real Death Eater. "

Hermione reached out to touch his hand, but Snape jerked it away and left the room in a flurry of rage and robes.