Plaything

Title: Plaything 12
Rating: Hard R
Pairing: HG/SS, HG/LM
A/N: The plot of this fic (and some other good things) comes from Amenuensis’ powerful fic “A Spell to Turn Tigers to Butter.”
Warning: This fic is full of decadence, obsession, lust, and lots of other naughty things. Read at your own risk.


~*Severus*~

The sunlight is nearly blinding in its intensity. I cannot remember the last time I have opened the heavy velvet drapes that shroud the picture window in my bedroom. Blue skies and balmy weather have always provoked me. I’ve always preferred my days grey, rather like my mood. I’ve never found anything particularly interesting about sunshine or fluffy white clouds.

Yes, the wonders of nature are lost on me. I prefer more worldly delights. I find beauty in every day objects such as my treasured leather-bound books, my swan-feathered quills, and the sanctity of my antique desk. So, I stumbled out of bed, blinking and cursing until I remembered the aforementioned picture window with its rather large view. Thankfully, I only managed to shock some small fuzzy creatures before I threw on my robe.

That’s when I noticed that Hermione wasn’t in the room. Had Malfoy already come for her? But then I heard her in the other room humming to herself. Humming. She only does that when she’s pleased with herself. I couldn’t help the smile that spread across my face. She used to do that in class. I used to hear her cheerful little music as she chopped up whatever ghastly ingredients I had chosen for that day’s assignment.

Obviously, last night had been a revelation for her as well. How ironic that I’ve been consumed with marking her as my own, only to have her claim me. Hermione bed med me last night – claimed me her gentle hands, greedy little mouth, and fathomless eyes. I know now that our association is not a fleeting sexual obsession, nor is it a passionate love affair. It is a curious mix of those two extremes and defies all reason or explanation. Last night was a turning point.

I’ve always felt that she’s held herself back during our coupling. Naturally, I understand the guilt associ wit with feeling pleasure at my hands but I’ve never been able to wring a response from her body like I did last night. She surrendered herself to her passion last night – allowed herself to be in the moment with me. Only me. She will never be free of me and I shall never be free of her either.

Of course, I’m still left with the Malfoy problem. I have given the situation much thought and what I’m about to do can never be taken back. Launching an attack on another Death Eater is grounds for the harshest of punishments. Even death is too merciful a sentence for traitors of this ilk. No, my penalty would involve some sort of living torment that only a true master of torture could dole out. This must be a clean, efficient kill with no witnesses. And I do this without qualm for Hermione. I believe she might even be worth whatever torment they might inflict on me if they were to find out – which they won’t.

I may not have Malfoy’s wealth or power, but my intellect is far greater. Of course, I usemindmind to do more than memorize cunning new ways to tie a cravat. I try not to think about what I could have done with his connections and resources. I would probably be the Minister of Magic at this point. . .or the Dark Lord. I never know quite where my loyalties lie and they seem to shift at will – my will, at least. I believe that ambivalence is a far greater threat than depravity or wickedness.


When I sauntered into the kitchen I found her sitting at my kitchen table with a steaming mug of tea in her hands. My owl, Eerie, sat on her shoulder and was patiently preening her wet hair. Hermione clucked to him softly as she plied him with a crust of bread.

“Good morning,” I drawled.

Her eyes rounded when she saw me. Hermione dutifully bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Severus. I know I’m not supposed to be on the furniture.” She started to slide to the floor when I cleared my throat.

“You have furniture privileges now,” I said benignly, anxious to keep her on the chair.

Somehow, this small sign gave me hope. Hermione was becoming comfortable with her surroundings and with me. She was able to make herself a cup of tea and a piece of toast. She’s starting to settle in and think of this place as home. Hermione’s consent and cooperation have become very important to me.

In many ways, she and I are very similar creatures. Both of us are ruled by our intellect in most matters. And when our emotions do become involved we are fiercely protective. I know that her devotion still lies with Potter but I believe that my influence is slowly beginning to show. I’m creeping into her thoughts and actions. Hermione isn’t immune to me as she wants to be – last night proved that! She even sought to protect me by warning about Malfoy’s activities. Of course, she is too stubborn to ever admit to these thoughts and is probably not even aware of them. Gryffindors cherish their ideals no matter how costly. Martyrs every one.

I settled me gaze on the bird whose eyes were half-closed in an open-mouthed display of abject bliss. And I know why. Her touch is terribly addictive. “And what are you doing with Eerie?” I asked quietly.

“Petting him,” Hermione murmured, studying the white barn owl with a haunted expression. “His feathers are. . . striking. It’s been a while since I’ve seen an owl. Not since. . .“

“Hogwarts?” I supplied patiently, scrutinizing her expression. Had she used Eerie to send a message? I didn’t even think to lock him away from her.
And here I was bragging about my mental prowess.

“When Ron, Harry, and I escaped we saw what we thought was snow falling. I thought it was a sign,” she said hoarsely. That we were going to be okay. It’s white and pure and beautiful. . .” She looked at me briefly before her face crumpled. “It took me a minute before I realized that the snow was bloody. It was feathers we were seeing, down feather spattered with blood.” Her face was streaked with tears. “They killed all of the owls -- even the babies.”

I nodded because I had supplied the Death Eaters with the passwords to the Owlery. “They. . .we didn’t want any owls being sent to the Ministry.” I knew that the owls would have to die—not that I had the stomach to do it myself. I despise the destruction of anything beautiful but I’m not above sitting by while it happens. Especially if said destruction benefits me. “Cutting off an enemy’s lines of communications are standard warfare tactics.”

“Standard warfare tactics,” Hermione repeated. “Yes, I guess you have to sacrifice some humanity to win, especially this war.” Her eyes held mine. “You have to do whatever it takes.”

There was an unmistakable challenge in her gaze. Hermione’s behavior has become increasingly unpredictable and erratic. Perhaps the inner Gryffindor is stirring. I knew that couldn’t stay a passive little pet forever. I didn’t want her to but she had to have respect for the rules – even the unwritten ones or we were both in jeopardy.

Yet, I didn’t ask her the question I was burning to ask. If I did, I might have to act on the information. How could she do something so foolish? It smacked of one of Potter’s insane little schemes. Irrationally, I sought to blame him for her alleged actions. Would that boys infernal meddling haunt me for the rest of my life? What if the owl had been intercepted? I shudder to think what Voldemort would do to her – and to me. But what if she did send a message to Potter? Well, I’d worry about that if the time came.

“You are a very troublesome girl,” I said with a scowl, using the same tone I’d taken with her when I was her professor.

“I know,” she said, a tad smugly.

I’d had enough. “Come with me.” I drew her into the bedroom before the picture window and thrust her into the proverbial harsh light of day.

She wound her arms around herself. “Severus, someone might see us.”

“No, my dear, someone might see you.” I was still covered by the robe. “And what if they did? I believe we’ve already had the discussion about what rights you have now.”

“B-but—“

I silence her protests by taking her mouth with mine.

Hermione is exquisite. Every inch of her skin is unblemished perfection. Baring her body is my right, my privilege. And I desperately wanted to humble her, assert control once more. But I know it’s futile. Somehow the balance of power has shifted and I’m the one who is left floundering. I turned her to face the window and pressed her against the cool glass. “Put your hands on the window sill,” I rasped as I ran my hands down her body. Her breasts are fuller now and her stomach is slightly rounded. I’ve never seen her look more lush or inviting.

Hermione complied and fastened her eyes on mine in the muted reflection of the windowpane. Her expression was stormy – a tempestuous mix of lust, embarrassment, and anger. It’s a beautiful sight to behold.

I knocked her legs apart with my own, nearly catching her off balance. Her breath caught, her lips parted in a delightful ‘o’ of surprise. Then I pulled her hips against mine and placed my hands on her back, arching her body for my invasion. Hermione made a breathy sound laced with need as I sank into her.

My eyes shut at the pleasure of it all. Yet again Hermione and I are caught in a decadent dance of lust and more tender emotions that I am trying to repress. Her body feels as though it is made for me alone. And she pushed back against me, seeking a deeper connection. I held her still and continued to thrust at a pace of my choosing. I could feel her quivering around me, begging me with her body for more.

“Yes! Please,” she cried as she tried in vain to pull me deeper inside. “Harder.”

She was lucky I was in the mood to take requests and I obligingly tilted my hips to give her the added stimulation. Of course, I knew that I was hurting her a bit. I could see it by the way she gripped the sill and the way her back tensed. I started to pull back a bit but she shook her head furiously.

“I need you! Please, Lu—“

I looked up sharply.

Her eyes widened in the muted mirror of the windowpane but she didn’t finish the sentence.

But I could.

She’d been about to say his na It It almost brought tears to my eyes. Tears! Hermione had been thinking about that bastard while I was inside her. The pain of it nearly doubled me over. I pulled out of her quickly, leaving both of us unsatisfied.

“Severus?” she asked breathlessly.

At least she remembers my name. It was on the tip of my tongue to spill all of it. – my terrible jealousy, my hatred for the man, and my unreasonable insecurities. But I have never been one to share my wounds with anyone. I simply glared at her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, eyes wide.

My hands curled into fists at my side. The urge to strike her was almost overpowering. But I needed to save it for the real target – Malfoy. I would not let him goad me into putting yet another barrier between Hermione and myself. “Nothing,” I spat, turning around and walking out of the room.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could almost swear I saw a look of triumph in her eyes.