Biding Time

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Chapter 11: Piecing the Jigsaw

The Professor led her outside to walk beneath an arbour of maple trees. The skeletal branches stretched upwards, silhouetted against the darkened sky. Fallen leaves crunched beneath their feet. The Professor still had her by the arm, but, somehow, it felt right. A soft chuckling broke their silence.

“You can only imagine my surprise, my horror, when I received the owl telling me of my betrothal.” He was stretching his long, graceful fingers towards her throat, and she flinched, her mind skipping back to that dream where she was being strangled, the dark, placid eyes staring on as she died. He must have sensed her apprehension, but he did not show it. With one nimble finger, he caught up the ring around her throat and toyed with it, watching as it caught the light and glimmered as it spun.
“At first, I was horrified. I felt I was being bartered for: my knowledge, my usefulness, for a bride. But, as I thought about it over the weeks and months that followed, the idea grew on me. Yes, you had been a thorn in my side at Hogwarts – so eager, so ready to prove yourself worthy of praise. Then, you had your insufferable friends – you were practically joined at the hip. You were devoted. Then, when I applied these traits to my situation, I realized their value. You were eager; you were devoted. You shared my love of knowledge. You could prove a useful ally.”

Hermione’s voice cracked a little, and her heart sank as she interrupted him.
“Was that all I was to you? An ally? A useful allegiance?” He patted her shoulder consolingly.

“You sound a little disappointed, my dear. No – you were not just an ally. Although, in a marriage, that is a characteristic for a good, long marriage – having a partner who shares your ideals, a partner you can trust. An ally in every sense of the word. No, once I moved past that rationale, I became rather fixated on visions of our marital bed.” Another throaty chuckle echoed in the dark. The sound thrilled her, running up and down her spine like a droplet of water. She was glad he couldn’t see her face very well in the dark, the crimson flush that bloomed on her cheeks. She could only hope he wouldn’t read her thoughts. If he did, he would see some strange and fanciful things.

“So, I fulfilled my end of the bargain with Dumbledore – I had, to my knowledge, killed him, thus endearing me further to Voldemort. I was summoned and apparated to that grim, rear garden. At that final battle, the thought of you and this night was what kept my focus. I helped Harry; he vanquished Voldemort. Then, I enlisted young Potter’s assistance. I had been notified of the triad charm, which Potter knew nothing about, and I arranged for him to help stage a little gathering of the golden, Gryffindor trio. He apparated here and, once I knew you had been decoyed here and young Weasley was here and that the charm was taking effect, I then apparated here myself. He didn’t know my motivations, but he was only too eager to help me. It was all quite simple.” He was running his fingertip along the chain, his other hand dancing over her bare collarbone.

“How very resourceful of you. Devious, really.” She said, trying to forget his touch on her skin.

“You don’t know the half of it, my dear.” He crooned in her ear. His one hand still fiddled with the ring, but his other hand strayed to graze the swell of her breast. She quickly sucked in a breath.
“Once I had warmed to the idea of our betrothal, I set about protecting what I had been promised. I cast a simple chastity charm on you. I liked the idea of you remaining untouched until I was able to come to you. I know it sounds terribly old fashioned, but I have been called worse things than old fashioned. Poor Ronald Weasley – I imagine he was taken quite by surprise.”

“He got quite a nasty bite from that zipper.” Hermione offered. The Professor’s eyes danced with suppressed laughter.

“Poor Ron.” He mocked.

“It’s not funny.” She insisted, but the look on his face made it difficult for her to keep from laughing herself.

“Yes, it is.” He said, his lips quivering, twisting, barely holding back his laughter.

“Okay, yes it is. Poor Ron.” She sighed, her lips stretched in a gleeful smile. She shook her head softly.

“Anyways, I have always been an optimist: when life gives me lemons, I make lemonade.” The Professor quirked an eyebrow and smirked. Hermione gasped. The words he had used, words he had said in a dream once upon a time – surely it couldn’t be mere coincidence.

“What did you say?” She narrowed her eyes, trying to look annoyed or angry. It was hard to do when his thumb was stroking her nipple as if he were tweaking a guitar string. His smirk grew.

“Oh, did I fail to mention that I am quite gifted at insinuating my way into dreams?” Her mind raced back over all of the dreams she had had: the quizzical Snape-raven, the distant strangler, the Snape who hovered over her bed, waiting to ravish her.

“Oh.” Words failed her, for once. He had wanted her to think all of those weird and strangely enticing things. He wanted her. The idea made her legs go weak, as if the bones had been stolen from her body.

“Now, that’s enough talking.” His lips were moving up the column of her throat, his words making the flesh tickle. Her inner voice jabbered in her head “How does he know I like to be kissed on the nape of my neck? How does he know just the right pressure on my breast?” The inner-voice ramblings continued, but Hermione shut them out.

She found herself wanting to read the lines on his body like Braille, to let her fingertips travel over his body, over the mapwork of scars and the silk of his skin. She tugged at his cloak, fingering the buttons as she tried to release them. Without thought, her lips were on his throat and she was whispering:
“What have you done to me?” Her words were hushed. His hands were traveling up her spine, making synapses spark like fireworks. He brought his face close to hers and his breath was warm on her cheek.

“Once a bond is created,” His lips grazed her throat “it cannot be broken.” The words were almost identical to those the Headmistress had used all those years before. She caught his eye and held his gaze. He leaned in and his lips were at her ear, moving slowly, torturously slow, when he murmured “You were promised to me, and I will make you mine.”