17-Nov

Chapter Eleven

Day 63

Finally Snape is no longer ignoring what's happened between us. Every other time it's as though I've imagined everything, but after our talk and that first kiss (that's what I count as the first kiss...it wasn't under duress or forced upon him. He was a willing participant), I know he's acknowledging what we did.

Snape has morals. Who would have guessed it? But he does. He won't say much about it, but I think he's uncomfortable with the idea of having sex with someone he's got locked up in his cellar. I'll admit, it's not the most appealing way of going about things...I'd very much prefer some flowers and chocolates to a new showerhead (complete with 'hot' option) and a Repleo plate that provides cheese and crackers.

Still, being close to him helps me forget about everything that's happening, or is likely happening, though I haven't really a clue if it's happening or not. Snape is back to being tight-lipped...except in one area. He kisses me now. He kisses me. I might encourage him a little, sure, but I don't outright force myself on him. He's definitely doing it because he wants to, wants me.

But there's no point in having regrets, and really, I don't. If I hadn't had sex with Ron, I'd be totally at a loss as to how to seduce Snape...though I'm starting to doubt I'm not totally clueless despite my 'experience.' Snape doesn't seem to want to be seduced. I know he feels guilty, and I have a simple solution to that: let me go. I know I could be helping Harry. I know that if I were free, we'd be closer to winning the war. I just know I'd be able to help.

"How is Harry doing?" Hermione asked, slouching down on the bed beside Snape, who put the book down in his lap as if he'd expected the question.

"As far as I know, Potter is fine."

"As far as you know? Why don't you know?"

Snape rolled his eyes dramatically. Hermione tried not to snicker. "I am not privy to his comings and goings in excruciating detail, thank Merlin for small favours. I have a number of eyes and ears on him as often as possible, and as of the last update, he is fine."

"What's he doing?"

"I have no idea. Searching for Horcruxes, one would hope."

"You know," she said musingly, "if you bring me some books to research, I might be able to help, and you could send him the information."

"Potter already has a number of helpers in that arena."

Yeah, but they're not me, she mentally groused. "So what's one more?"

"No." And that was final, Hermione knew. The tone was easy to recognise, but Hermione wasn't finished.

"Why not?"

"I just told you why," he countered, shifting on the bed. That meant he was going to leave any second.

"No, you said why it wasn't necessary, but not why I couldn't. What difference would it make? What could it hurt?"

"Miss Granger," Snape began in that voice that was preparing to rip her to shreds, if she'd let it. Which she never did anymore. "How would it look for me to go perusing libraries looking for information on the destruction of Horcruxes? Not only is the practise almost completely foreign to most wizards and witches, those to whom it is not unfamiliar would report me to the Ministry sooner than I could get the book home."

"Oh," she said, startled both by the reasonable explanation and the willingness with which it was offered.

"'Oh,' indeed. Shall we keep on with this farce, or can I continue to read? I hadn't even gotten to the end of a chapter, you know, you impatient wretch."

"Right. So, er, the Dark Lord is still alive, right?"

He stared at her. She shrugged. Asking the questions in order gave her a sense of routine, which made her feel secure.

"How is Hogwarts faring?"

"No better, no worse. No further kidnappings."

"That's good," she said, nodding slowly. "What's happening with the war? Are we any further than before? Has there been any headway?"

Snape settled back onto the bed. His familiar heat and smell made Hermione curl in a little closer, and he stiffened but didn't turn away.

"Any headway has been equalled by the headway made by the other side. No one is gaining any significant ground. The war rests almost solely on the narrow shoulders of our unlikely saviour."

"You know," Hermione said, suddenly angry. "He didn't choose any of this. He hates it, all the expectations, all the limelight. It wasn't fair of you...any of you...to put that kind of pressure on an eleven-year-old boy. Didn't you ever stop to think that resting all your hopes on him is selfish and cruel?"

Snape didn't answer her. He just looked at her in that considering way of his, as though she'd said neither anything interesting nor new, but that he was curious as to how she believed she had.

"Whatever," she snapped, out of sorts. "Can I go home?"

Snape shook his head, and that fleeting look of regret passed his features again.

"Can I go outside today?"

"Miss Granger," he said, obviously exasperated. "How do you expect me to let you outside? Just how would that work? I should let you wander up and down the street, ready to scream any moment or help? Or perhaps I should take you to the market, where you can buy whatever milk you prefer, as what I purchase is obviously not to your liking, judging by the grimace on your face whenever you drink it!"

Hermione's eyes bulged a little at all that information. "I like the tea," she said slowly. "I can't help what it reminds me of!"

"And what is that?" he asked tiredly.

"Hogwarts. Home. Christmas. Friends. Freedom."

A muscle clenched in Snape's jaw. Hermione looked away.

"You wouldn't have to take me out on your street, Snape. Apparate us to the middle of a desert somewhere, throw up wards and barriers, I don't care. When I ask to go outside, I'm not asking to be freed, I just want to see the sky and know that it's real, that I still exist in relation to the universe, insignificant and yet somehow precious."

"Next question."

Hermione swallowed hard. Maybe she shouldn't care so much that he ignored her like that, and she certainly shouldn't have expected him to actually do as she suggested, but when it seemed he didn't even care, it made her feel sick, especially when she still wanted to kiss the bastard so badly.

"That was my last question, Professor Snape," she said in a small voice. She didn't ask for him to open the cell door, and now that he was in the cage with her, it didn't bother her as much. He was trapped, too. Symbolically, maybe, but still trapped.

"You're certain?" he prompted, and Hermione wondered what he was getting at. He was usually anxious to finish the question-asking portion of the day.

"There's nothing else I need to know, sir." And he knew and she knew her response was about more than questions.

"Come, then," he said, standing. He straightened his robes while Hermione watched in incredulity.

"Where?" she breathed, hating the way her heart was racing.

"Trust me."

And with those simple words, Hermione's entire existence these past months came together to create a swirling, snarling supernova. Like with so much else between them, he was saying more than he said. If she stayed on this bed, everything would change. He'd go back to bringing her food and reading to himself, or worse, not staying at all. If she agreed, she was consenting to this imprisonment in a way. She didn't want to be here. She didn't deserve to be in a cage. But she did trust him, which was why it hurt so much to think it was his dungeon she was locked in.

She stood. There really was no other option; there never had been, for Hermione. From the moment she'd been stolen from her bed at Hogwarts, circumstances had been carried forward inevitably. There was nothing between them that had not been predestined. Everything was going according to some plan, much larger than Hermione knew how to step back from.

Even though Snape might have known her thoughts, her struggle, he gave no indication.

He casually spelled the door open as if he gave her freedom every single day. After stepping through, he turned and held an arm out, some ugly and strange form of etiquette that left her mouth tasting of sick. She stepped through the door.

It was easier when she wasn't alone.

She dutifully followed him up the stairs, stomach clenching at the fear she'd felt the last time she'd made this walk, both from the paralysing inability to actually leave the security of her home for the past weeks, and because of what she'd feared to find: Snape, dead.

"This will change nothing, you understand," Snape said, stopping in the middle of the sitting room.

Hermione knew that denial would change his mind, and affirmation would be too obviously false. So she said nothing and only looked at him curiously.

Sighing heavily, as he was so very wont to do these days, Snape took her arm, raising an eyebrow at her. She nodded in response. She was ready.

She knew from the intensity of the discomfort that they had Apparated over a long distance. Until this moment, she'd been too afraid to actually think he would go through with taking her away, but now, she was only gratitude.

The first thing she noticed when they popped up in the middle of a huge, empty field was that it wasn't a very nice day. The sky was overcast, the air heavy on her tongue.

It was the best day of her life.

She closed her eyes and turned her face to the sky. Even without the sun bearing down on her, she could feel the warmth of the day. It must have been around the beginning of April, but the field was dry, no puddles to fill her shoes.

Looking at Snape, she was sure she had never seen him quite so uncomfortable. He was busy casting spells in a circle around them, and she knew that to try to run away would result in something likely more unpleasant than an immediate Disapparition back to Snape's house. When he was satisfied, he crossed his arms over his chest and started at her, eyebrows raised as if in challenge. She wasn't sure what he expected her to do, but from the look on his face, plopping down onto her arse in the neatly trimmed grass wasn't it.

"Where are we?" she asked quietly, afraid to break the spell that had brought her here.

"Prince land." Snape took out a handkerchief and transfigured it into a large blanket, his initials still serpentine in the corner. Hermione traced them with a finger.

"Is there a Manor around here, then?"

"We are a generation too late to see the Manor," Snape drawled, sitting on the blanket with one knee bent, his arms resting on it. It was possibly the most casual pose she'd ever seen him adopt, the only possible exception being the way he slid down the bed after having read for a long time.

"What happened to it?"

"It burned down." He shrugged an eloquent shoulder, and Hermione didn't press. It didn't matter, anyway. He'd taken her to his own land. He could have taken her anywhere in the world, even a clearing in the Forbidden Forest at Hogwarts (though she was very grateful he hadn't, she was nostalgic enough as it was right now), but he'd taken her here. Maybe it didn't mean a thing. Maybe it did.

"I'm sorry," she said truthfully.

"It wasn't my home."

"And where we came from, that was your home?" Hermione didn't want to pry, but she felt she deserved some answers after everything she'd been through at his hands.

"It is a house that I own," Snape said evasively, making Hermione laugh. He glanced at her quickly, his lip quirking only just a little.

Hermione fell back onto the blanket. It was strange to sit with Snape like this, so similar to how they sat together on her bed, and yet so different. He seemed smaller outside, not physically, just less overpowering, now that his presence didn't take up the entirety of her small space.

"Do you think we'll win the war?" Hermione asked, plucking a few pieces of grass and tossing them aside.

"We will." And he said it with such conviction that Hermione really had no choice but to believe him, or at least believe that he believed it. She didn't often let herself think about what would happen if they lost. Her ideology had been centred on the idea that good always triumphed over evil, but as Sirius had once said, the world just wasn't divided so cleanly. Did Death Eaters know they were evil? Were they all evil? Was it possible for an entire faction of people to be without redeeming qualities?

"What happens if we don't?" For some reason, she felt suspiciously close to tears.

Snape was quite for a moment. "Then we wait, and fight again."

She shifted closer to him. He allowed it.

"And what if we lose again?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Then we wait," he said slowly, "and fight again. "

Hermione felt her eyes get itchy, and she swallowed. "And what if..."

"Hermione," Snape hissed insistently, and she started with surprise at hearing her first name for the first time in months. "We fight again. "

And suddenly the itchy feeling went away. She managed a weak smile. "We fight again," she confirmed, and it was like a promise.

"Good girl," Snape said, and she lightly smacked his arm. He caught her hand in his, and she froze. He seemed to be studying her fingernails, then the palm of her hand. She watched his face as he did. His brows were drawn a little...it was his thinking face. She held her breath as he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed a kiss to the centre, over the lifeline.

There was that damn itchiness in her eyes again. Hermione moved in to kiss Snape, something she'd been desperate to do since he'd landed them here, and Snape made a low noise in his throat and pushed her back onto the blanket. He leaned over her, so close, hovering for a moment as if to decide whether this would change things. Hermione already knew that everything they did these days changed things between them. If he kissed her, if he took the first step and the dominant position and actually kissed her like this, then of course things would change. He could no longer pretend that he was acting the way he was because it was convenient, and she couldn't escape the fact that she wanted this so badly it hurt.

When his mouth fell on hers, it was the sort of moment that she would look back on and say, That was it.

She moaned into his mouth and his lips moved over hers. His kisses were always so demanding, almost oppressive. He wouldn't break the kiss until he was ready, no matter that she'd be panting and gasping by the end. He was skilled at kissing, but there was a sort of innocence there as well, as though the kisses he was used to giving weren't the same as the ones he gave her.

His tongue flitted into her mouth, and she met it eagerly, sliding along it as his hand moved from her cheek to her neck, angling her face to meet his more fully. She allowed him to move her the way he wanted...she was his to guide. Her arms were loosely clasped around his neck, not holding him, just making sure he knew she was involved, aware, present.

He pulled back from the kiss to nibble on her lower lip, biting it a little, sending sparking shocks down her body.

"You're mad to want this," Snape said into her ear, licking the shell and making her shiver.

"Why?" She knew her reasons, but she couldn't begin to fathom his.

"Because I'm a Death Eater, your captor, a murderer."

Hermione sighed. "You can list your deficiencies as long as you like, but it doesn't change how I feel, what I want. You don't want to be those things, do you?"

"But I am."

"But don't you see? Are you so blind? You want to change; you're doing your damnedest to make it so. Didn't Professor Dumbledore always say it is our choices that make us who we are?"

A pained looked settled on Snape's face, and for the first time, he didn't try to mask it. Hermione wrapped her arms more tightly around him, hoping he took it for the acceptance and forgiveness it was. Dumbledore was dead at his hand, but that had been the Headmaster's doing. Snape was just as much a victim, if not more.

"Maybe I could have brought you back to the castle," he said in a scratchy voice.

"And maybe I would have been taken again, or worse. And if you had, we'd have lost our only spy, and Vol...the Dark Lord might have killed you for freeing me. I don't like it, Professor Snape, but I understand it."

"But there are things you don't understand, the Dark Lord, he grows restless..."

"You don't have to tell me," she reassured when his face lost all colour. "Just do your best to keep me safe, keep Harry and Ron safe, and the Order. It's a lot to put on your shoulders, but if ever there was an Atlas so capable, it is you."

"You are such a Gryffindor," Snape said in a scathing voice, and Hermione smiled because he thought he was insulting her.

"I want you," she said simply, bringing his head down for a kiss.

And then Snape's hands were everywhere, as though what she'd said had punctured the dam, and everything he wanted was freely flowing with the water.

His mouth on her throat, Hermione squirmed as he marked her. She could feel the blood rising to the surface beneath his lips, and she let him place a claim, if that's what he felt he needed to do. She didn't mind being his.

When his hand slipped under her shirt, Hermione shifted so she could pull it off. He stared down at her, a blank expression on his face, but she knew by the bulge in his trousers and the pumping of the vein in his neck that he wasn't unaffected. She slowly, a little awkwardly, reached beneath herself to unclip her bra and remove it.

Snape had been watching her face, and now it seemed that he needed permission to look away, to look at her. Hermione smiled gently and took one of his hands, placing it on her breast.

The action seemed to spur Snape into moving again. He kissed her, roughly and harshly, his fingers moving expertly over her breast, teasing and tweaking the nipple. Hermione whimpered a little as pain entered the fold, but her body transmuted it into pleasure, and she was grateful.

Then his mouth was on her nipple, and her back arched, desperate for more of that. His teeth were sharp and crooked, giving her a sensation she wasn't used to, but that was no less desirable for its unfamiliarity. Her hands were running over his body, but when one trailed down his midsection to try to reach the front of his trousers, Snape shifted between her legs and knelt.

"I have to taste you," he told her, his face perfect in its flaws against the similarly imperfect afternoon sky, the pallor of his skin, blackness of his hair and the grey of the sky making her think her world had gone greyscale.

"Please," she whispered, wantonly spreading her legs to give him more room, though she had to close them again to allow him to slip her jeans down and off her body. She wriggled a little under his intense scrutiny, only her knickers shielding her from his critical gaze.

And to show him she didn't care that he stared at her so seamlessly, Hermione lowered her underpants, completely nude before him, spread out like lunch on his oversized handkerchief. She raised her hands over her head, her entire body arching and stretching to entice him. She wasn't sure where she'd learned such behaviour, only that it was certainly working, if his lust-filled eyes and impressive arousal were any indication.

Her belly was quivering; she could see that as she looked down her body at him. Desire thrummed through her as he held himself still, and she knew he did it only to infuriate her, as he did so many things.

"Lovely," he said as he drew a hand down her pale shin, lifting it so he could trace kisses along the side of her leg. She'd begged for weeks for a razor for her legs and underarms, but he hadn't given in until he'd actually begun to allow her kisses. Not quite altruistic, but pragmatic to the extreme. That was how she knew him, though; she didn't want him to be anything but the way he was.

Snape's mouth was on the inside of her thigh. She knew he'd be able to smell her arousal, and a deep flush spread over her body, though she tried not to show her embarrassment. That became impossible when, watching her face instead of his hand, he drew a long finger between her folds, immediately mired in her slickness. Hermione moaned. The only other time he'd touched her like that, it had been through her knickers. Having his hand directly on her body was enough to make her tremble.

Two fingers slid inside her, and her hips rolled. She couldn't remember ever feeling so sexual, like she was nothing more than the passion in her blood, and he was only the ability to please her.

"Sir, more," she said huskily, needing his fingers to move more firmly, deeply, inside her, the teasing akin to torture.

The Snape lowered his body to the blanket and spread her open with two slender fingers. Hermione blushed again, unaccountably embarrassed but heady with desire at the same time.

The first swipe of his tongue on her slit made her cry out. He chuckled a little, and the vibration made her moan. She couldn't stop making noise as his mouth moved over her, playing her like an instrument, her body completely open to him.

When his fingers re-entered her, her back arched completely off the blanket. When Ron had done this to her, there'd been a lot of directions on her part, even though she barely knew her own body well enough to be able to tell him what she needed. It had ended in frustration on both their parts, causing Hermione to give the most lacklustre reciprocal blowjob in the history of blowjobs.

But this... this was something entirely new. Hermione didn't need to direct, she didn't need to take charge, and she certainly didn't need to make false noises in order to feed Snape's ego; Snape knew exactly what he was doing, and he did it like he loved it.

And even though he led her to that precipice again and again before backing off and starting over, soon there was no chance of going back. Her climax built and built until her fingers were devoid of blood, and her mind a pleasant buzzing beside tightly clenched eyes.

She almost wished Snape could order her to come, but that would have involved removing that sinful mouth, and there was no way she could allow that to happen. She cried out his surname, the word escaping her lips before she could censor herself, and as pulsing waves of pleasure caressed, she found she didn't care. His name tasted good on her lips, a word she wouldn't mind saying in the throes of passion for the rest of her life, if only he'd let her.

Hermione was still panting as Snape settled back on the blanket beside her. She saw him unobtrusively readjust his erection, and she licked her lips.

She moved over him to kiss him, and he jerked a little, as if he didn't want that, but she pressed on. She knew by now that most of his hesitation was born from a misguided sense of right and wrong, and most of what he wanted was right, anyway. At least with her.

She tasted herself on his lips, and while the taste itself wasn't completely foreign to her, the underlying taste of him that added to her own flavour made her moan as she pressed harder for more.

"You're very good at that," she said, smiling, brushing a lank strand of pitch hair out of his face.

"From someone with no comparative experience, I shan't take your word on that," Snape said, but his eyes held a smug gleam, and she allowed it, not denying his words except with refusal to respond to them.

"Now I want to taste you," she purred, her hand moving his cup him. She felt him twitch against her hand, and she squeezed in return. She'd rather sink herself onto his cock and take from him again, but she didn't want to lose this, whatever it was.

Here she was, under the greyest of skies, free for the first time in two months, and all she wanted was so taste her captor's come. There should have been a problem in there, somewhere, but it all felt fine to her.

"You are not obligated," Snape said, swallowing hard, eyes unreadable. Hermione realised how very little he'd given her to fall for, how few his smiles had been, how seldom his kindness. And yet she cared about him, wanted him, needed him in a way she'd never experienced with anyone else. It didn't seem to matter that he didn't explicitly tell her he wanted her back. She got enough from his actions, minute though they may be.

"I want to, though. Very much. Have for ages," she admitted, moving down his body to unbutton and part his robes, leaving him in shirtsleeves and trousers. Hermione trailed longing fingers over the outline of his cock, her mouth watering in a way that was completely unfamiliar. She'd never wanted to put her mouth on a man before, not like this. She knew that sucking him would bring her as much pleasure as she hoped it gave him.

She nudged at his knee to encourage him to part his thighs. He did, and Hermione moved between them, kneeling. She then opened the placket and reached into his pants, drawing him out carefully. The weight of him in her hand, the heat, and texture, it all built together to make her pussy clench, and again, she wished she could just ravish him. But she wanted him to make the first move for that, if nothing else.

His cock was large and rather foreboding. Ron's had been more... manageable. It seemed there was too much of Snape for her to handle without fumbling. She tightened her grip, feeling an answering throb in the vein on the underside.

Hermione spared a moment to look at Snape's face. He was reclined on his elbows, watching her. She blushed at the scrutiny, but he didn't seem to be mocking her in any way. His face was perfectly serious, his eyes bottomless. Hermione, not wanting to fall in, turned her attention back to her task.

She shifted a little and lowered her mouth on him. His breath hitched, and she became a little less tentative in her actions. Guarding her teeth, she slicked as much of his cock as she could manage, stroking the shaft with her hand. Hermione tongued under the foreskin, tickling that spot that Ron had liked so much. Apparently, he hadn't been the only one. Snape dropped flat onto his back, groaning low in his throat.

Hermione gained confidence, moving her mouth and tongue faster, learning what he liked from his reactions. Her other hand gripped his thigh as she took as much as she could into her mouth. Ron had always asked her to take more, but Snape seemed perfectly content with what she was doing.

His fingers laced in her hair, not pressing down, just resting there. She suckled on the upstroke and was rewarded with a stream of pre-come. Hermione repeated that action again, pairing it with her tightening hand and flicking tongue, and suddenly Snape was pulling on her hair. She didn't move though...he'd tasted her, this was only fair.

His come flooded her mouth, and she tried her best to swallow around him as he continued to spurt. The taste was bitter and made her mouth water, but she still wanted more.

When the flow stopped, she pulled back and gently licked him clean. His cock wasn't nearly so intimidating now that it was losing hardness, but it was still foreign to her. She tucked him back into his pants and buttoned his trousers.

"An admirable job," Snape said in a rusty voice, "for a novice."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Maybe not as novice as you think," she retorted, not quite liking the condescension in his voice.

"Oh, no?" he asked, raising himself up slowly. He took her chin in his hand, his thumb moving over her lip, and she felt the slickness there, indicating that she hadn't cleaned herself as thoroughly as she had him. Her tongue darted out to catch the stray emission, and Snape groaned.

"This is, quite possibly, the most foolish thing I've ever done," Snape drawled, staring at her. Hermione met his eyes for as long as possible and was almost shocked when he looked away. She couldn't ever remember winning a staring contest with the great master Occlumens himself. It was an empty victory because of what he'd just said.

"Don't you think I feel stupid, too?" she demanded quietly, adjusting her clothing and staring up at the sky. "Falling for the man who has me chained in his dungeon. I couldn't possibly be more messed up." But even as she said it, she realised she didn't care. Sure, this would probably end horribly, with one or both of them dying, possibly even because of the weakness they felt for one another, but with the threat of a full-scale war imminent, what else could they do? She wouldn't be the first person in history to fall for absolutely the wrong man.

"Then you're... 'falling'?" Snape said a little stiltedly, making Hermione almost laugh at the absurdity of it all.

"I hate to say it, but it sure looks like it, Professor."

Snape was quite a long time, leaning back on his hands and staring up at the seamless grey skies. There was absolutely nothing to indicate that anything of import had occurred, and yet she felt as though things all around her were changing.

"It's time to return, Miss Granger."

Hermione sighed and lurched to her feet. She was still a little wobbly, and she lost her balance, reaching out wildly for support. Snape grabbed her roughly around the middle, and her face was planted against his chest. Hermione had the feeling that she could stay there forever. She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, and when he held her firmly and actually hugged her, Hermione cried.

For everything she'd lost, for everything she'd found, she cried.

Author's Note: I managed to not post this chapter last week, so you guys get two chapters today. My sincerest apologies.