3. You Are Obsession

Wrapped Around Your Finger

You Are Obsession

"My fantasy has turned to madness

My life is trembling, I have no control."

"Obsession" by Animotion, from the album "Animotion"

I have seen him naked before, of course. This isn't the first time I've taken him. Need I say that he despises it? Being exposed and vulnerable doesn't sit well with most people, and he's no exception. His head is bent, the sleek raven mass of his hair hiding his face. He's not as agitated as he usually is when stripped, thanks to the three glasses of absinthe. Perhaps I'll get him to drink more often. I wish I didn't have to resort to such measures. Yet there is something arousing about it.

"Get in."

He slips into the rich blue water, leaning back and shutting his eyes. I use my wand to turn some music on low and warm the water a bit more, then slide to the floor near the head of the tub and gaze at him.

He's not a handsome man. It's been said before, by more than one person. He's not even what would be considered attractive by most standards. Why, then, have I always been drawn to him? I've reminded him, and myself, that he's been a horrid person. Cold, harsh, lacking in most redeeming qualities. So why have I wanted him so desperately? Desperately enough to act on it this way?

Albus trusts him. And he has, if nothing else, proved worthy of that. He seemed to despise the children at school, yet unhesitatingly protected them. Even Harry. Quite the contradiction you've been, Severus, I muse as I watch him.

Thoughts of Albus make me wince. No one knows where he is. Harry, Ron and I spent two months trying to find him before we realized that, for whatever reason, he wasn't ready to be found. I can only imagine what he would say if he was aware of what I was doing to his former Potions Master. Legally, Severus has no rights, except to not be mistreated. Technically, non-consensual sexual activities are mistreatment. But the unspoken, unofficial truth of the matter is that not many people really care what happens to ex Death Eaters. Even if Severus could file a complaint, and even if it were taken seriously, he'd just go to Azkaban or be given to someone else. And for all the anger and hatred he must have towards me for what I'm doing to him, he's smart enough to know it's his best choice.

As for me... what would I say if Albus knew? I don't know. I could explain it to him no better than I can to Severus. Well, you see, sir, I've had this absurd crush on Severus for years, despite all his ill treatment of me and my friends, and when my parents died I finally snapped. Then came the offer of a servitor, and I decided I would have him and damn the torpedoes. So I make him do wicked things with me against his will. But I treat him very well otherwise. Care for a lemon drop?

"I'm going to turn into a prune in here," Severus says.

I start. Oh, yes. I cast some quick spells, then take a large washcloth and begin bathing him.

"I can do that myself," he informs me icily.

"You could. But I'd rather do it."

His eyes snap open and look into mine. The intensity of his gaze makes me shiver again.

"I'll say this for you, Hermione: your brand of sadism is quite unique."

"What do you mean?" I ask, frantically trying to still the tremors in my hands.

He shrugs, the movement sending ripples of water dancing across his skin. "The décor, the absinthe, the bath...it's unnecessary and we both know it. In the end I'll have to do whatever you want anyway. So your motive can only be to torment me further."

"Maybe I just want to make it nicer for you," I say quietly.

His expression is grave. "You're violating me, Hermione. There is no way of making that nicer."

I cast my eyes downward. No, I imagine not. A gilded cage is still a cage, and rape is still rape. I curse myself for my moment of weakness in suggesting to him otherwise. Where is the new Hermione? The hardened, I-don't-give-a-damn young woman whose conscience is unlade?

"I'm sure you feel better for making the attempt, though," he adds. "I suppose you think that it makes what you're doing less tainted."

I stop bathing him and scowl, my anger giving fuel to my weakened resolve. Some part of my mind wonders if he's deliberately trying to provoke me, because he knows that I always end up losing my temper with him when he acts this way. Pushing my buttons in the only way he can, the way he always has. What did you expect? I ask myself.

He affects a dramatic sigh and bows his head. "Pretty crude attempt, really."

That does it. I wrap the fingers of my left hand into his hair, pulling his head up so quickly I catch him unprepared. What is that look in his eyes?

"Crude, you say?" I growl. "I'll teach you the meaning of crude."

I reach behind his back and pull the stopper from the tub. As the water swirls away I press him down and grasp his wrists, lifting them above his head on either side near the taps. I grab my wand and point it at his hands. "Deligo."

Instantly his hands are bound to the wall by the unseen force of the spell. He has the grace to look mildly uneasy now. "Hermione..." he begins.

I ignore him and move to the other end of the bath. I seize an ankle in each hand and pull his legs up and apart, then drop them over the edge. "Deligo."

"Hermione..."

"Be silent, or I'll make sure you can't be anything else," I tell him coldly.

His breaths are faster, his anxiety fighting the effects of the drink. A lock of hair has fallen over his eye, but he doesn't move. I can see the faint pulse pounding in his throat, the faint film of perspiration on his forehead. His skin... how can anyone's skin be so pale? Alabaster seems a vibrant color compared to his flesh. There are scars on his chest, some from abuse he suffered before I brought him home with me, some from wounds long gone but not forgotten. His nipples are two small shadowy circles, erect from the slight chill of the room. My eyes wander down. Thankfully, he's gained some weight back since I took him in. I think they weren't given much to eat. He didn't want to discuss it, and I didn't press. I study his slim hips, the long clean lines of his legs, and finally bring my gaze to his sex, the organ somewhat darker than the rest of his skin, a lax but impressive weight against his thigh.

I lean over him, lightly trailing my nails down his chest with one hand, the other hand resting on his leg scant inches from his penis. He tenses, but remains quiet. Slowly, almost casually, I run my hand further down while the other one slides over to grasp his testicles. He gasps.

"You've got a smart mouth, don't you?" I ask tenderly. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you like making me angry."

"Add arrogant and delusional to my list of adjectives for describing you," he rejoins. A mild pain hits him, makes him wince.

How can someone so smart set himself up so easily?

I continue to caress him, using my wand to alter the shape of the bathtub, making it longer and wider. His legs are now pinned to the top of the lower edge, still spread apart. His skin is cold: he shivers.

"I should get you warm," I murmur, resting my hands on his nipples.

"How, by throwing me into Hell? By all means, do so. That would be preferable to this."

I cluck my tongue, pinching his nipples slightly, not enough to really hurt but enough to make him pause. "I told you to be quiet."

"In case you hadn't noticed, I'm usually not good at doing what I'm told," he retorts. Another spasm hits him and he shudders for a moment.

I sigh. "Fine. Talk, then. I'd rather not have you in constant pain for disobeying right now."

"Your continued generosity amazes me."

"There are other ways of shutting you up, you know."

Now he's silent. I dissolve the spell and tell him to get out and dry off.

Once he does, he walks into the bedroom, stopping in the center of the room. "And where would you like me?" he asks. I know he's expecting, hoping, I'll say the bed. Hoping this will be quick. Sadly for him I'm not so inclined at present.

I gesture to the wall. "Over there. Face me. Arms up, legs apart."

He looks apprehensive. But he complies.

I secure him to the wall with the spell again. I found out pretty early in these sessions that if I just ordered him to be still, the cruciatus could kick in with even a small movement. Better to bind him. He tends to move as much as he can.

I cast a warming charm on him. Once he's no longer shivering I sit on the foot of the bed, just staring. The knowledge that I can do anything I want to him is more intoxicating than absinthe could ever be. I feel heady with power and a rush of desire to reprove him for provoking me earlier.

He closes his eyes. "Can't you get on with this?"

"Where would the fun be in that, dear Severus?"

"There is no fun in this for me."

"Since you don't know the meaning of that word anyway, I'll ignore that remark."

What shall I do to him? I wonder idly. The urge to claim him is strong: it usually is when I see him like this. But not swiftly this time. I want things to be different. I want... what do I want? I shake my head, feeling a second of dizziness. It passes as quickly as it came.

"Hermione?"

I see him looking at me. "What?"

"Is something wrong?"

"Would you care if there was?"

He shrugs. "If something happens to you I'll be back in prison. I care about THAT."

"You don't find that idea appealing? I thought you'd rather be in Hell than be here," I say.

"Hell is one thing. Azkaban is another."

"I'm fine."

"Then why are you just sitting there in a stupor?"

I get up and walk to him. "Better?"

"Depends on your point of view."

"Maybe kissing you will shut you up."

"Only if it's the kiss of death."

I almost laugh. I lean forward and claim his mouth again. There's no opposition from him this time. With a sweep of my tongue I take his mouth in mine, sucking in and releasing him again, surprised by the feeling of his body relaxing against me.

I pull back to look at him. "No resistance? Maybe something's wrong with you."

He turns his face. "You're going to have me. Why make it worse on myself?"

Hmm. This is new. I wasn't expecting capitulation from him. Well, not this early into it. Usually he submits from exhaustion borne of cruciatus pain. Once he asked me to give him a lust potion so he at least didn't have to think rationally while it happened. Is he up to something? He is a Slytherin, after all. How long will this last?

I tug gently on his neck, and he turns back. I begin to kiss him again, taking his lower lip between mine and sucking on it, then running my tongue to his upper lip, licking, tracing the outline of his mouth. Then I slowly begin to kiss his face, making my way across his cheeks to his ears, back to his mouth, then sliding my lips along his jaw and down his neck, my tongue darting out in tiny flicks. I swipe the erratic pulse in his throat and travel down his chest, still only touching him with my mouth and tongue, until I reach a nipple. I take it into my mouth, tugging softly, licking and blowing on it until the nub hardens as a physical reaction to the stimulus. I feel him quiver as I repeat the process with the other nipple, but I know it's a sort of reflex response, nothing more.

I continue my descent, nibbling and kissing the inside of his thighs, the tips of my fingers lightly stroking behind his knees. This time I know his shivers aren't from being cold. It's a strange thought to know you can make someone's skin crawl. He pulls slightly against his bonds but that's all.

Very slowly I move to the base of his organ, tongue tracing the tiny folds of skin around his sac, then lick him from base to tip, first hard, then soft, alternating with the top and underside of my tongue, going back and forth. My tongue slips up to the fleshy head of his penis, swirling around, running up and down the shaft. I take him into one hand, pressing gently against the ridged area just below the tip. My lips envelop him and I begin to suck, paying special care to the back of the shaft. Each time I thrust I rest my mouth against the tip, probing the opening, varying the intervals, my other hand continuing to caress.

He's trembling now. I feel him hardening from my ministrations. I stop sucking and wrap both hands around him as I slither up against his body.

His face is flushed, his chest heaves; his eyes bore into mine before he closes them and turns away.

"You drugged me without telling me first," he accuses, but his voice sounds hollow.

"Sure I did."

"I loathe you, you little Gryffindor bitch," he whispers, eyes still tightly shut.

"You might. But your body thinks otherwise."

"What did you use? Ashwinder? Moon Lily?" He turns an even darker shade of red, the trembling worsening as I continue fondling him. A terrible thing, to be betrayed by your own body. I didn't drug him and he knows it. But this... this is the thing he abhors most, the fact that he can't stop his body from reacting. For my part, I wonder again at his lack of resistance. By now he's usually let loose an impressive stream of invective about me and struggled as much as he can before slumping back in defeat. Is he really giving up?

"You won't win, you know," he says, so low and ragged I can barely hear him.

I stop. "Win what?"

Now he fixes his eyes on me. "You can bend me physically to your will. You might even be able to trick my body into thinking it wants you. But you will never, never break me."

I ponder his words.

"I don't want that," I say at length.

"No? Then what DO you want?"

A willing slave, I think. But how is that possible?

Seeing him flushed and intense like this makes me know one thing I want. I release the spell and he stumbles for a second before straightening quickly. I don't need to tell him what to do. With a flickering glance of defiance, he stretches out on the bed.