17-Dec

Chapter Twelve

Day 70

I must be absolutely fucking mad. I can't believe I've found myself in this position. For someone so clever, so swotty, so quick, I'm definitely the dumbest witch around.

But then came that day in the field, that day when he didn't need to help me and he did, the day that proved that even if he isn't a good man, he's a good man.

And I really want him to love me, as well. How much of that is because he's my bloody sun and moon in this cell? I've no bloody clue. Would there be anything between us if he hadn't, say, locked me in a cage for over two months? Who can know these things? What I do know is that he doesn't have to do all that he does for me. In fact, if he wanted a warrior, a fighter, a soldier, he would have been better off giving me nothing. I would have stayed strong, kept fighting, hated him, and one day, I would have escaped, angry enough to kill.

What is happening here?

"Can we go back to the field today?" Hermione asked the minute Snape walked in through the wooden door.

"No, Miss Granger. I have news."

Hermione hated the way he announced that every time, as though waiting for her to beg or break. Which she always did.

"What? What news? Tell me!"

Snape opened the cell door at a leisurely pace, shutting it behind him and waiting for her to scramble out of bed to face him. He didn't seem to want to tell her his news while she was still in bed.

He eyed her critically, and she shrieked in frustration, grabbing her dressing robe and throwing it on. Apparently he also didn't want to tell her the news unless she was clothed. He truly was the most infuriating man she'd ever met.

"Potter has located the fifth Horcrux."

Hermione's eyes fell shut. For a moment, it was as though she was back in the Prince field, dreary air and murky skies and the most glorious freedom one could possibly experience.

"Has he destroyed it?"

"We can only hope. I expect so. I doubt he would wait to destroy it. It would not make sense to do so."

"What are the last Horcruxes, Professor Snape?" she asked.

But he shook his head. "I don't know, and I don't think Potter does, either."

Hermione's head dropped into her hands. "It could all be for nothing," she whispered, the enormity of it hitting her. "If he can't find even one, it's hopeless."

Snape crossed the scant space between them and took her chin in his hand. Tilting her face up to him, he said, "What do we do if we fail, Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked away the blurriness of her sight. "We wait and fight again."

"Very good. You are doing Potter no good in worrying over things you cannot change..."

"But I can change them! I should be out there, helping him! I should be destroying Horcruxes and helping them! They'll never forgive me..."

She wanted to shake her head at her thoughts...she knew they wouldn't blame her for having been kidnapped. It wasn't her fault. But if they knew she living in relative peace while they were risking their lives... no friend could be that forgiving, could they? Wouldn't they always wonder if she'd tried hard enough, fought long enough?

She would. She would always wonder.

"I need to do something," she said insistently, placing her hands firmly on his chest. Her fingers clenched around his robes, and she fought the irrational and more likely dangerous urge to shake him until he gave in. "I need to help! He might not be able to do it without me!"

Snape removed her hands as if they were personally offensive. He took a moment to straighten his garment before he responded. "What upsets you more: that you cannot help, or that you might not be necessary?"

The breath left her in a rush, and Hermione had to stop herself from staggering backward. "I am necessary," she said insistently.

He waved a hand, dismissing her low words. "Potter is proving he can do with without you. Maybe not as quickly, safely, or efficiently, but he can. You may not understand it, but you are more needed here."

Hermione laughed, and it was an ugly sound. "I have done nothing of use here, Professor Snape, and you know it! How can you say I'm needed... you could probably set me free and no one would even know!"

"As long as you are here, and believe me when I say the Dark Lord knows you are here, Potter's actions will seem fruitless. Your reputation as the brains of the operation, so to speak, precedes you. The Dark Lord is more likely to grow careless and lax if he believes that Potter is without your talents. Even I find myself frankly surprised at his success thus far."

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed. "But that doesn't explain why I'm a prisoner. You could just say you have me, and let me out to help Harry."

"Your situation here does more than increase the Dark Lord's confidence in his victory," Snape said slowly, standing very still and making Hermione look deeply between the lines to uncover what he was really saying.

"It also increases his confidence in you... the perfect spy. What are you showing him? How can you hide what's really... been happening between us?"

Snape threw an almost pitying look at her, and she wanted to cringe away from it. "What exactly do you think is... 'happening between us,' Miss Granger?"

Unaccountably nervous, Hermione shrugged. "Something. Even you must realise that. But you're avoiding my question."

The corners of Snape's mouth twitched upward, and Hermione laughed. "You are! You're trying to throw me off course. It must be really bad, then, if even you can't say it. What are you showing the Dark Lord, Professor?"

"Nothing you need to know about. But there must be no more trips to fields, no more niceties. It is becoming more burdensome to throw up old images of your starvation and... devotion, when the new ones are so much more... personally appealing."

Hermione lay back on the bed, bending one knee so the dressing robe fell open to expose the length of her leg. With her arms above her head, the top half was pulled taut over her breasts, and it was all to satisfying to watch Snape swallow with difficulty as his gaze swept up and down her body.

"So, what you're saying is," Hermione began, pitching her voice low and inwardly crowing as he took an involuntary step closer to the bed to better hear her. "You're showing the Dark Lord dirty, naughty thoughts of the things you do to me... things you actually want to do..." She untied the loose knot on her robe and let the side fall open, exposing herself to his searing gaze. "Wouldn't it be better for... verisimilitude... to actually do those things?"

Snape was shaking his head even as he approached the bed. "You know not what you ask," he said hoarsely, bending to trail his fingertips down her thigh.

"Tell me, then."

Taking a seat against the headboard, Snape took a few agonising minutes to look her over. Though she was naked, she'd never felt more exposed. It was more than her nudity; her desire, her want, her wantonness, were all stripped bare for him, if he'd only deign to look closer.

"What we did in the field... by fabricating feelings of disgust, power, triumph, greed, I can turn what you did into something ugly and sordid. I can make the memory a scene of rape and overpowerment."

"What about what you did to me?"

"I dare not show such a thing, even if I did embellish it with the sense that I did it to ingratiate myself with you in order to learn your secrets. If the Dark Lord suspects that I have a... weakness for you, you will not live to see another sunrise."

Wanting to make a quip about how she hadn't seen such a thing in months, anyway, Hermione held her tongue.

"What else do you show him?"

Snape looked at her, his eyes burning and setting her skin aflame until she had to look away, breath coming fast.

"Your desire... your need. I understand it as a product of your capture, and I suspect he must as well, but it thrills him nonetheless to see you... prostrating yourself for me. It is all more amusing to him because of my lack of appeal." Snape said this all very casually without even a hint of bitterness, not even at the last words.

"You are not," Hermione said fiercely, "without appeal."

"Ah," he said, smiling slightly, "but if anyone were to have asked you that a year ago, I'm certain your answer would have been as I suspect. It is of no consequence now, of course. All that matters is that he believe you an unwilling and very confused captive, and I a passionately devoted and twisted servant."

"And are you... passionately devoted?" asked Hermione, a smile threatening to quirk on her lips.

Instead of answering, Snape leaned down to kiss her softly. Maybe he never would admit that his feelings were, if not rival to hers, at least more than he'd led her to believe. She could live without effusive proclamations if it meant that what they had was more than just convenient.

"I asked for you," he said, pulling out of the kiss. He had adopted an almost defensive stance, as if he expected some sort of remonstration from her.

"What do you mean?" Hermione settled them both so they lay facing one another on the bed. Snape's back was to the cell bars, and when she was close to him like this, it was almost easy to pretend the cell didn't exist at all; that they were nothing more than lovers sharing an afternoon of easy talks and lovemaking.

"When Lestrange brought you in, I told the Dark Lord he was inept and not worthy of a reward, despite having managed to capture you."

Hermione nodded. "Yes, you told me that."

"The Dark Lord asked who I believed was worthy of such a boon, and I didn't even hesitate. I told him that I had earned a toy. I had never asked for anything, in all the years since... since my last request was summarily ignored."

Hermione wasn't entirely sure what he was referring to, but he wouldn't reveal anything more if she pressed, she knew that much. "Did you have this plan from the start? Did you ask for me to... to save me from the others, who would have...?"

"...Would have done terrible, unbearable things? Who would have raped and tortured you, shared you until you were broken and then discarded you?" Snape shook his head. "I wish I could claim that martyrdom, that foresight, as my own. The truth is when Lestrange threw your unconscious body to the ground before the Dark Lord and the inner circle, I just... wanted you."

Hermione watched with wide eyes as Snape's upper lip curled in disgust, but she was familiar enough with the gesture these days that she knew it was inwardly directed and not as a result of anything she'd said or done.

"Do you expect me to be angry with you for that?" she asked cautiously, trailing fingers down his cheek, watching at his jaw clenched beneath her touch. "Do you want me to hate you for saving me for yourself instead of for me, when the result was the same? I can't hate you, even if I wanted to, and believe me... there are times when I want nothing more."

"You are seeing this situation through rose-tinted glasses. You think I'm a saviour, don't you?"

Hermione avoided that question. She didn't think him a saviour, not really. A saviour would have delivered her into the hands of someone who wouldn't think a cell was the best way to keep her. But he was a protector. "Why did you ask for me?"

"I told you," he snapped impatiently.

"No, not really," Hermione said in calm tones, continuing her touches on his face and neck. While it seemed to irritate him, he did not try to stop or redirect her hand, and from Snape, that was as good as asking her to continue. "What did you want, when you saw me on the ground like that? What did you intend to do with me if the Dark Lord granted your request?"

"What does any man want with a beautiful woman at his disposal?" Snape asked rhetorically, but his rude words and sneer didn't faze her in the least.

"I don't care what other men want with other women. What did you want at that moment?"

Snape closed his eyes, but he held his features too stiffly to be called relaxed. "To ascertain that no other man touch you."

"So you wanted to protect me?"

"I wanted to keep you for myself! Won't you stop trying to force me into the mould of hero? I wanted to fuck to you. I asked for you because I thought I could coerce you, or perhaps gain your gratitude enough to..." Snape cut himself off abruptly and went to sit up, but Hermione had been waiting for such a move. She immediately straddled him and pressed him back down to the bed, her hands on his shoulders, completely unabashed in her nudity.

"Don't just run away, Professor Snape. This is important. You think you're evil, but it's not evil to think of yourself in trying times. It's not even evil to want to do those things to me. You didn't do them, did you? Surely you must see that I want you as well?"

"It's as I keep saying: you are confused."

"Maybe," she said easily, settling herself more comfortably now that she knew he wouldn't try to leave. "But there's nothing confusing about this, is there?" Hermione took his hand and guided it between her thighs. She was wet; she wanted him, and now he knew it, too.

"It doesn't have to be more than what it is," she said, even as her mind kindly reminded her that for Hermione, it already was more. "It can just be... relief. Forgiveness. Peace."

"I don't deserve those things," Snape said, his voice hoarse and low. His fingers belied his words as they caressed her most intimate parts, slowly, as if learning her.

"Everyone can earn forgiveness," she said huskily, leaning over him and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "If they want it," she added. She lifted as little as his fingers sought entrance, moaning as they slid within.

"He expects... horrible things." Snape's eyes were shuttered as they met hers, and she knew what he was talking about, knew what was always between them. How she hated that fucking despot.

"You are a master Occlumens," she reminded him. "And I'm a passable actress. We can feed him. We can win."

Hermione removed his fingers and shimmed back a little, quickly unbuttoning his trouser placket and freeing his thick cock, already glistening with precome. Hermione wanted to taste him, but she wanted him inside her more.

"Tell me you want me," she demanded, working her hand over his shaft, twisting a little to earn a gratifying moan from her lover.

"You shouldn't play these games, little girl," he growled, and Hermione's pussy clenched at the admonition.

"But I have no one else to play with, sir," she said, pouting. Snape's eyes narrowed, but Hermione rose up, poised over his cock. Steadying it with her hand, Hermione rubbed the smooth head over her folds, spreading her slickness over them both. She whimpered with desire...how she wanted to just sink down onto him and fuck them both to orgasm. But she wanted to hear the words, first. If she did this, she wanted to know... needed to know it wasn't one-sided.

"Say it," she hissed, rubbing him over her clit and gritting her teeth in restraint.

"I want you," he ground out, hips jerking a little as if to thrust up and impale her. "I want to fuck you, you filthy vixen, you troublesome succubus."

Looking at him, it was impossible not to fall into his eyes. His idea of dirty talk was a little unusual, but it was so perfectly Snape that it made her quim throb all the more.

She didn't look away as she slowly lowered herself over him. It had been some time since her romps with Ron, and where Ron was a boy, Snape was very clearly a man. His length and width challenged her as she took him into herself, and her head fell back when she was seated on his hips.

Snape's hands were on her thighs, over her hips and waist, cupping her breasts before moving back down to tease her clit. Hermione's body was nothing but sensation, never knowing where the next touch would alight.

There was something dirty and forbidden about riding a fully dressed man. She felt decadent as she began to move over him. She felt insignificant and yet so utterly important.

He moaned her name...her first name...and it was so shocking it threw her stride, but that didn't matter because he was grabbing her and rolling them both over, a move that, when Ron had tried it, had only pinched her thighs and knocked their heads together. But somehow, with Snape, all these things were elegant and sexual, the motion forcing him so deeply into her that she gasped, her head tilting back and strange noises coming from her throat.

But he seemed to love these noises, for he made her repeat them again and again, thrusting into her and hitting places she hadn't known could be hit.

Bracing his hands on either side of her head, Snape fucked her thoroughly, roughly and without constraint. She'd never been so completely known by a man. Her every reaction was premeditated by him, her every noise searched and executed.

"Put your legs around me," he instructed softly, and she did, wrapping her thighs tightly around his waist, and the new angle almost brought tears to her eyes. She couldn't look away from his face, and he hers, it seemed. Hermione, ever the apt pupil, encircled him with her arms as well, and then they were truly connected, in want, in need, in outcome.

Then his mouth was on her neck, behind her ear, marking her. She turned her head, baring her throat to him. They were nothing but animals at this point, and she knew he'd see her submission as trust. She trusted him implicitly, and he needed to know that.

Too quickly, her climax was upon her. She wanted to stave it off, to force it away, but it was beyond that now. She could only let it build, shaping her to his needs, to hers. Snape shifted his weight to one hand, bringing the other to the joint of their bodies. His fingers manipulated her clit for only seconds before she was crying out, freezing and clamping down around him, making her feel every vein and pulse of his cock.

His mouth was on hers, punishing and demanding, and she weakly gave him everything she had left as he used her body to finish. She drank his surprised-sounding cry of ecstasy as he came. He buried his face in her neck as his body continued to empty itself into her. She held him tightly, too tightly for her protesting muscles, but she had no intention of letting him slip away.

"Just perfect, Professor Snape," she whispered, feeling silly for using such a formal honorific but knowing that she didn't want to, and couldn't, say his name when so much was still at stake...and if she said his first name, as she so wanted to, within the walls of her prison, she'd always know that he'd held her captive, he'd kept her. This way, her captor was Professor Snape... and maybe, some day, Severus would let her go.