1. Chapter 1 by Moire
Finding solace in another was a luxury Severus Snape hadn't the time - or patience, really - in which to indulge over the course of his lifetime. It was strange, then, to find himself drawing such from the pale, sobbing slip of a girl who was currently burying her face in the shoulder of his rather filthy, battle-torn robes. It was a helpless feeling, this give-and-take, being simultaneously the comforter and comforted. He wasn't quite sure that he liked it... He'd been alone for far too long to easily accept a touch.
"Miss Granger," he said at last, softly, almost reluctantly extricating himself from her relentless embrace. She started at the velvet sound of his voice, the sobs instantly silenced.
"P-professor," the Head Girl whispered, her face gone quite pink in mortification. "I'm sorry." She pushed away, scooting back on her knees until there was at least a meter of breathing room between them. She hid her embarrassment well, he thought, as she glanced around the cold cell they shared. "Are there wards?" she asked at last, her voice now coolly professional.
He raised a single brow, but hid the smirk that so desperately wanted to make itself known. "As if you had any room to doubt." He made an impatient gesture towards the bars at door and window. "Those are metaphysically dead, of course. Impervious to whatever enchantment or hex you have hidden up your torn little sleeve, Miss Granger, so remove all thought of magically whisking us to safety out of your thick, stubborn skull."
She set her jaw angrily, a typically Gryffindor gesture. He bit back a derisive snort at the sight of her crouched there on the cold slate flagstones in the tattered remains of her Yule Ball dress robes, trembling with righteous indignation and rage. Her hair was coming down from its artfully placed jeweled pins, and the anti-frizz charm was rapidly wearing off, leaving a shimmering cinnamon veil of hair floating about her face. He fought the sudden urge to smack the poor girl back into reality. Or kiss her.
Kiss her? He wondered, squirming briefly and uncomfortably. Where did that come from?
"You can't expect me to just sit here and do nothing," she hissed, her tone deadly. "They don't know the danger. I can't not try to escape, not with Harry out there, alone-"
Snape laughed at that, interrupting her little speech before it could transform into a full-on Gryffindor tirade. "Harry Potter, alone? And unable to defend himself? Surely you jest, Miss Granger. I think I know the boy well enough to safely say he's trying at this very moment to valiantly bust his way into Voldemort's lair." He paused then, and cocked his head to the side. "His beloved girlfriend is there, you see, held prisoner in a high, dark tower, sharing a cell with one of the most notoriously bloodthirsty, traitorous Death Eaters known to the wizarding world." He smiled then up into her guilty, startled eyes, and leaned back against the wall with a lazy, careless grace that belied the aching tension that ran long through his exhausted body. "Oh, yes, I know all the rumors, Miss Granger. Do not think I am ignorant of what you believe me capable."
"No," she whispered, and seemed quite stunned. "I never believed any of it. Dumbledore trusts you explicitly, Dumbledore-"
"Is a fool," he snapped. "Or else you'd not be here right now, with me."
Twins spots of color flared on Hermione's pale cheeks, and her dark eyes flashed almost gold in fury. "I'm as surprised as you were to find me here, Professor; we believed you were dead." She said, taking the wind from his sails.
He stilled, all of his frustration at the Headmaster, and anger at the blindly trusting fool of a girl at his feet, flooding out of him and leaving him hollow. He raised a hand to his eyes, mercilessly digging his fingertips into the closed lids. So they believed him dead? Yes, that made sense. No one would look for him, then, not even to give his poor corpse a proper burial. He couldn't possibly expect any of them to risk their lives for a dead man. He couldn't possibly be angry with them anymore for abandoning him.
But what more was left to him, then, if she took away his rage? What else could hold his pieces together? Nothing, nothing.
He took in a haggard breath, beyond sorrow, beyond hate, beyond anything in this world that could touch him. "Of course I'm dead." He murmured. "I've been dead for many years now, so it's no loss, really."
"Stop it!" Hermione said, her voice edged with hysteria. "I refuse to sit here and listen to this self-indulgent drivel."
Snape opened his eyes and gave her a frightening grin. "You have little choice in the matter now, my dear. You're stuck in the middle, as they say."
"I know," she sighed quietly. He was quite surprised by her sudden bout of pragmatism; he fully expected her to be out-and-out hysterical at this point.
"Do you?" he challenged. "Does your boyfriend have any idea how deeply stuck he's got us all?"
She scowled, muttering: "I do wish you'd stop calling Harry my boyfriend. You have no idea how far off the mark you are, Professor." She then crossed her bruised arms over those perky little breasts of hers; Snape was thoroughly disgusted with himself that he even noticed that she possessed breasts, let alone how firm and perfectly well they would fit, unfettered, in the palm of his hand...
"Fuck," he growled, glaring determinedly away from his former student's handsome curves. "I've been in this tower for far too long."
"Do you remember what happened that day?" she asked him, her curiosity winning out over her ire.
"Not everything," he answered cautiously. "I prefer not to revisit that nightmare, actually, if you would be so kind?"
She was relentless. "Is Voldemort keeping you for a reason, or has he forgotten you're here?"
"Voldemort doesn't forget." Snape answered stiffly, although he'd been in this god-forsaken tower for so long that he was beginning to wonder, himself. He also wondered, absently, if that particularly ugly bruise high on Hermione's left thigh went up any higher... "What happened?" he barked out, startling them both.
"What do you mean?" she squeaked, folding her graceful hands together meekly.
"I mean," he began, taking in a deep restorative breath. "What happened to cause your imprisonment here?"
"Oh," Her expression darkened, and her eyes almost stormy. "Viktor Krum happened, actually."
Snape blinked. "Krum? The Chudley Cannons Krum? Big, stupid, ugly Krum?"
"You don't have to be insulting," Hermione said hotly. "Yes, that Krum. He came to see me last night, after the Yule Ball."
Snape made an unpleasant noise, glaring at a newly discovered bruise at the base of her neck. It was obvious what Krum wanted of Granger, then, by that mark alone. "I'm surprised he found the Hogwarts grounds at all, considering he was unexpected and uninvited."
Hermione cleared her throat, and looked away. "I wouldn't say 'uninvited,' actually." She said with no little embarrassment.
"Is that so?" he drawled, distinctly enjoying her unease. "And you, Head Girl. I can't say I'm surprised in the least, considering your history of breaking or rewriting the rules to suit your purposes. Just a means to an end, eh, Miss Granger?"
"It was a mistake," she agreed in a voice that barely reached above a whisper. "I'll admit that this is entirely my fault. But I needed to know-"
Snape held his breath for a moment before letting it out slowly. "You had reason to suspect the boy," he said very quietly. "And you invited him?"
"It was a mistake." She repeated. She rubbed her arms vigorously in an attempt to warm herself. Without thinking, he unclasped what was left of his cloak and handed it to the shivering girl. She settled it around her shoulders, folding herself into the relatively warm woolen folds.
"Yes, a very foolish mistake." He decided coldly. "Was anyone aware of the irrational stunt you were about to pull?" He paused and stared at her baldly, icy fear coiling in the pit of his stomach. "Is anyone even aware that you're missing?"
Her head drooped into her hands wearily, tears of embarrassment and terror leaking steadily from between her fingers. "No!" she choked out. "I thought I could handle him alone."
"So there is no Harry Potter sweeping to your rescue?" Snape muttered the question half to himself.
"I'm so sorry." She whimpered.
He chuckled then, mirthlessly, and she raised her head from her hands to look at him. "O' brave little Hermione Granger," he snarled at her mockingly. "Wanting so much to succeed, to stand out from beneath the shadow of The Boy Who Lived."
"Professor," she began, pale and horror-struck and practically naked beneath the cover of his cloak-
"I'm not your Professor any longer," he snapped bitterly. "I'm a dead man."
"With all due respect, Severus Snape," she said distinctly, with tears steadily running in trails down her dirty face. "Fuck you."
He wanted to crow at those words, to laugh until he fell apart, but her expression alone stilled him; her eyes screamed that she would strike him dead with her bare hands if he so much as dared crack a smile. No, indeed, he did not laugh at her. His body was now too aware of hers, of the close proximity of that satiny battered skin. He wanted too much to put his hands on her, forgetting that he had no right to even think that he could. They gazed at each other, heated, heavy, honest gazes.
She knows exactly what she's doing, he thought with admiration.
He cleared his throat, and murmured. "Touché. I wholly deserved that."
"Yes," she concurred grimly. "You did. But snipping at each other like this gets us nowhere."
He inclined his head. "As you say."
She unfurled herself quite suddenly, rising from the flagstones and allowing his cloak to fall from around her shoulders. "Can you see anything from these windows?" she asked him, pointing to the barred windows high above either of their heads, lining the perimeter of the room.
He gazed up at her again with admiration, wondering if he even had the strength any more to pick himself off the ground. "Obviously not," he answered her truthfully. "Wandless magic is not my forte, for one. And tall though I may be, I'm not that tall; those windows are a good meter or more above my head."
She smiled, a wicked sort of smile that made him almost question if perhaps she mightn't have a little Slytherin in her after all. "Do you think you can manage my weight?"
All sorts of vivid images flew around in his mind, and he felt an unmistakable, and unanticipated, tightening in his groin. He attempted to swallow, but his mouth was quite dry. "I don't believe your weight will be any problem."
"Good." She said with satisfaction. She kicked off her horribly impractical dress shoes, and held out a hand to help him to his feet. He glared at the proffered hand, and she shrugged with indifference as he picked himself up off the ground without her assistance.
"How do you propose we attempt this, Miss Granger?" he said, pretending not to notice how precariously the neckline of her dress was perched on the small ridge of her breasts.
She turned her back to him and lifted her arms, leaving him to admire the clean, elegantly moonlit line starting at the nape of her and ending at the small of her back. "Grab me, and put me onto your shoulders, using the wall for leverage. I'll stand from there, if you think you can keep steady. I should be able to see out of the window then."
Without a word he hooked his hands into the warm, soft flesh beneath her arms, lifting her onto his shoulders with far more ease than he expected. He stumbled slightly as she shifted her weight prematurely. "Patience, Miss Granger," he hissed, bracing their combined weight against the wall before him.
"Sorry, Professor," she mumbled, chagrined. "Are you ready?"
He could feel her heat, imagined that he could almost smell the warm, spicy scent of her, and his head swam briefly with pleasure. He bit his lower lip, angry with her and with himself for being weak. "Yes," he blurted out, fervently. "Let's get this over with."
She stood then carefully, using the wall to help her climb onto his shoulders one foot at a time. She pulled herself to her full height, grasping onto the sill of the window with both hands to help relieve him of some of her weight. "We're- We're in the middle of a desert!" she cried.
"Aye?" he wheezed sardonically. "Whatever gave you that idea?"
She glanced down at him. "You know where we are?"
"Of course I know where we are, Miss Granger. I was a Death Eater for longer than you've been alive." He said, and winced as she began to clamber off of him without warning.
"Why the bloody hell didn't you tell me?" she shouted, openly angry with him. "You really do enjoy watching your students make fools of themselves, don't you, you sadistic bastard?"
He grasped her then, and turned her to face him before she could stomp away. She gasped as he shook her a little, her dark eyes wide and gleaming. "Sometimes." He answered her truthfully, and firmly pushed her into the wall, covering her body with his own. "But you're forgetting something important, Miss Granger, something I've only just recently informed you of."
"And that is?" she breathed, squirming beneath his hands.
He dipped his mouth to her ear and whispered with predatory glee, "I'm. Not. Your. Professor."
"Oh." She squeaked, her gaze locking with his when he pulled away slightly.
"Now," he purred slowly, and lifted a hand to trace his finger along the delicate curve of her brow. "There are considerable number of options available to us, should we seek to pursue them."
She shifted uncomfortably, the friction stoking the fire already burning uncontrollable in his groin. "Is that so, Severus?" she asked breezily, obviously hoping to catch him off guard with the use of his given name. "Care to share those options with me?"
And so he closed his eyes and lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her far more gently than he actually desired. His tongue carefully slipped between the soft curves of her lips, and she opened for him like a winter flower. Her mouth was hot, so hot, her tongue exploring his mouth with similar ardor, her hips grinding against his with almost painful insistence.
He dragged his mouth from hers, his breath heavy. "That's one," he said breathlessly, shocked at his own presumptuousness, and her response.
Her eyes opened then, wider and more beautiful than he thought possible. "It's the charm," she said weakly, trying to catch her own breath.
He kissed her again, ignoring her apparent non sequitur. "That's two," he murmured against her lips, drawing a hand down between their bodies to fondle one of her lovely firm breasts.
She moaned into his mouth, trembling now, and clutching at him desperately. "Please," she whimpered. "Please,"
"'Please' what?" he chuckled, caressing first one breast over the thin fabric of her Yule Ball gown and gently pinching the nipple before lavishing identical attention to the other breast. He then kissed his way down her neck; he was sure to leave a mark upon her flesh to rival the one Viktor Krum had left. His lips grazed her collarbone, and she cried out as he threatened to go ever lower with that skillful mouth of his.
"I-" she tried to speak again, the expression on her face wild. "Please, you have to listen to me."
"Mmm." He murmured, savoring the taste of her in his mouth. "Yes? I'm all ears, my dear Miss Granger."
"Parvati-" she began, and had to pause at he pressed his lips to hers again. She began to struggle in earnest, her hands pushing at him. "Parvati gave me this charm, you see. It's the charm."
Snape took a step back from her then, glaring down at her with the first real, earnest flush of anger since he discovered her in the cell with him. His entire body was rigid with frustration and desire. "What," he said icily. "Does Miss Patil have to do with any of this?"
Hermione reached up to a particularly beautiful, jeweled butterfly clip that was still pinned in the wiry dark mass of her hair and plucked it out carefully. She held it out before him in the palm of her hand, and he stared dumbly as the butterfly fluttered its wings at him prettily. "It's just a charm. Parvati let me borrow it last night, for the Ball. She said it's supposed to make one irresistible. I-I thought it would get me more dances."
Snape drew back in disgust, swiping at the clip with the hand that had only just recently been fondling his former student. It fluttered to the floor, and, ignoring Hermione's cry of protest, he brought the heel of his boot down hard upon it.
"There." He rasped, barely keeping his temper in check. "That takes care of that."
Hermione brought her hand to her throat, her face ashen and her eyes full to bursting with tears. "I'm so sorry." She uttered brokenly.
"Yes, we've established that several times over." Snape said with contempt, wishing fervently that his erection had vanished with the demise of the charmed butterfly clip. "Being sorry isn't going to help either of us from this cell, now is it?"
"No, it isn't." she said, wiping with impatience at the tears running down her face. "So what do you propose we do?"
He smiled at her, a bitter, mirthless grin. "Why, Miss Granger, we wait."
He pushed aside the wave of hopelessness that threatened to overtake him then. God, he had taken advantage of a girl young enough to be his daughter, a girl that he'd taught potions for almost seven years. She was his student, he was her teacher; how could he even have thought to betray that most sacred trust? He'd fallen far in his lifetime, he'd done things that he was ashamed to admit; but he never thought himself capable of doing what he just did to Hermione Granger. The fear within him mixed with venomous self-loathing, and nestled itself even more firmly in the pit of his stomach.
"For how long?" her voice brought him back to himself. She had moved to bridge the gap between them, and she stood so close to him that he could feel the trembling heat of her body. She had one hand poised to touch his arm.
"Don't touch me." He told her hollowly. "I beg of you."
She swallowed and took a few shuffling steps away, backing into the wall. Her gaze was pleading with him now, begging forgiveness and comfort and assurance that everything would be all right. He wished that he could give all of that to her. He wished he could give her back everything he'd just taken from her moments before, but his body, his goddamned fallible body, betrayed him.
"We wait for however long it takes," he finally said, turning his back to her. He stooped and retrieved his fallen cloak. He held it out towards her, keeping them both at arm's length. "Here. It can get very cold in the desert, especially in the winter."
She took the cloak with a grateful, muttered "Thank you." He nodded without looking at her, and crossed the cell until he was on the completely opposite side. He then curled himself there, on the icy slate flagstones, trying with everything he had to forget the sweetly yielding flesh and taste of Hermione Granger.
© Copyright m.r.b. 2002. Do not archive without my permission.
Hermione's feelings were harmed in the making of this fic.