The Love You Take

A/N: This chapter is dedicated to sshg316, who asked for one of the scenes herein as a drabble, many moons ago. Here’s your prezzie, Shug m’love.

The Love You Take

Chapter 16: Possession


Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace onto the hearthrug in her room and stood breathing hard, her hand pressed to her heart. Professor Snape had always been difficult and prickly — one had to take care not to offend him — but, in general, since they had been forced to spend so much time together, she had found him to be good company. And before the Valentine’s Day Ball, there had been times when she had felt that he was attracted to her — that he liked her, for herself. But ever since the night she had taken her music box to his room and they had danced with no audience, heart-to-heart, he had been acting like the world’s most malignant prat. And his parting shot at her — ‘Love does not exist’ — was like a personal insult. How could he be such an unmitigated bastard? He had to know how she felt about him — and he damn well knew she was utterly dependent upon him — how could he jerk from beneath her unsure feet the possibility of hope? If she could not hope that one day they might find peace together — in one another — what hope did she have for the future?

She staggered to her mirror, too distraught to manage tears, and she stared at her reflection, her mind repeating over and again, Now what? Now what? Now what?

‘Hermione?’

She tore her gaze from the mirror and stared vaguely at Ginny Weasley.

‘I’m sorry; I knocked twice, but you didn’t answer.’ Ginny stood in the doorway of Hermione’s room, her hand upon the handle of the open door, and looked at her with undisguised concern. ‘Are you all right?’

Hermione passed a trembling hand over her face and managed a smile for Ginny. ‘I’m all right. Did you need me for something?’

Ginny grinned, then, reassured by Hermione’s words. ‘Neville asked me to come up and fetch you. Viktor Krum is down in the common room waiting for you, and the crowd of girls around him is about five deep, now.’ She giggled. ‘He's ignoring them, but they’re blocking the portrait hole.’

Hermione’s attention was captured. ‘Viktor? In the common room?’

Ginny’s ‘yes’ was lost as Hermione hurried past her and into the corridor, heading for the stairs. ‘You might want to do something about your hair,’ she called, but Hermione did not respond.

---

Viktor sat stiffly on a sofa in the common room, oblivious to the growing gaggle of girls sitting around him. His transition from student to fulltime paid athlete had improved him in many ways. One of the best benefits had been the services of a professional trainer, whose workout regimen had bulked up the Seeker’s muscles and corrected his pigeon-toed walk. Not much could be done for his dour expression, but the smile he gave when he saw Hermione coming towards him made his face almost attractive.

‘Herm-own-ninny,’ he said, immediately rising to his feet and going forward to meet her, his hands outstretched.

Hermione concentrated on Viktor as if he was her rock in the crashing sea, allowing him to grasp her hands and looking up into his eyes rather piteously. ‘I need to talk to you, alone,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ Viktor responded promptly, and he took her hand and led her through the portrait hole. With the Fat Lady closed behind them, Viktor gave her a hesitant smile. ‘We could go to my room ….’

An observer would have known from the widening of his eyes that he was surprised when Hermione immediately took him up on the suggestion.

‘That's perfect,’ she said, marching off in the proper direction, trying very hard to ignore the insistent thrumming of the compulsion through her body.

---

Hermione paced with growing discomfort before Viktor’s fireplace, haltingly explaining her situation to him.

‘But, Herm-own-ninny,’ he said, frowning, ‘if you haf been cursed vif Eternus Perturbatio, then you vould be driven to have sexual relations several times a day with the person who cast the curse. Are you sure that's vat it vas?’

Hermione stopped for a moment, covering her face and fighting against the urge to hurry back to Professor Snape’s rooms. After a moment she looked at Viktor with her increasingly stormy eyes. ‘Yes, I’m positive! The person who cast the curse is Vol —’ but Viktor’s sudden violent move to his feet made her rephrase, ‘You-Know-Who. And he did not cast it to imprint me upon him — he wanted to imprint me on Professor Dumbledore.’ She ignored the look of revulsion which crossed her friend’s face. ‘But Dumbledore took me to someone else — someone he trusted.’

Viktor took a step towards her. ‘Who?’ he asked urgently. ‘Who took your virginity and gave you the Nexus, Herm-own-ninny?’

Hermione made a gesture as if to hold him off, and Viktor stopped where he stood. ‘I can’t tell you that,’ Hermione said, her agitation mounting. ‘Please don’t ask me again!’

Viktor seemed reluctant to give up the question, but he bowed to her insistence. ‘I vill not ask,’ he agreed. ‘But how can I help you, Herm-own-ninny? I cannot —’ he seemed to struggle for words before continuing, ‘help you vif the compulsion — only your lover can do that.’

Hermione came closer to him, grasping his powerful arms just beneath his biceps. ‘He is terrible to me!’ she cried. ‘He is unkind and hateful and he says cruel things — and I would rather die than have to go to him again!’

Viktor looked down at her helplessly. ‘Look at you,’ he said softly, trying to reason with her. ‘Already you burn for his touch. How can I possibly help you?’

She tightened her hold upon his arms. ‘You know the Dark Arts!’ she cried. ‘Isn’t there something you can do — put me to sleep, or into a state of suspended animation — please don’t make me go to him now! He hates me! Please!’

But Viktor was shaking his head. ‘Herm-own-ninny, none of those spells will combat a compulsion curse,’ he said. His face reflected his uneasiness for her as he began to speak in a coaxing tone. ‘You haf quarrelled vif him, but Professor Dumbledore trusts this man — can’t you make up your quarrel?’ He grimaced at the wildness in her face. ‘I vould do anything for you, Herm-own-ninny — I vanted you for my own — but I cannot make this go avay.’

Hermione turned from him with apparent disgust. ‘You're no more use to me than Harry and Ron!’ she cried. A fresh upsurge of desire dampened her knickers and sent a commanding wave of longing through her body. Her hand was reaching for the fake Galleon to call Professor Snape to her, uncaring that she would be found in another man’s room, her need for him beginning to pound in her like a raging tide against the shore. Struggling against the urge, she doubled over, her arms wrapped about her body, and she bit her lip until it bled. Clearly, in her mind’s eye, she could see again the disdainful, cavalier expression upon his face as he said, ‘Love does not exist.’

‘Help me!’ she screeched, straightening and hurling herself at Viktor. ‘If you have ever cared for me at all, help me now!’ He seemed frozen, horrified by her frenzy. Impatiently, she grasped the wand sheathed at his waist. ‘Do something!’

She fell to her knees at his feet, incapacitated as she fought to resist the compulsion, and even as her knees hit the floor, her hand delved into her pocket and plucked from it a golden Galleon.

Viktor dropped to his knees before her. ‘There is one thing …’ he said, anxiety twisting his features. ‘But it's a bad spell, Herm —’

‘DO IT!’ she screamed, and he pulled his hornbeam wand.

‘Imperio!’ he cried.

Hermione was aware of the sudden relief which flooded her being. She didn’t have to do anything except obey the voice. Everything would be all right, now.

Rising upon the command of the voice, the coin in her hand fell unheeded to the floor, and she left it behind as she followed the voice from the sitting room into the bedroom.

---

Severus brought down the ward with the jerk of his wand and entered the hidden chamber within which the Mirror of Erised was kept. Not long ago, Dumbledore had used the Mirror as an aid in protecting the Philosopher’s Stone — more likely, Severus now believed, as a prop to create an interesting obstacle course for a first-year to traverse on his first quest.

Created in times long gone by an Arabic djinni as a device by which an enemy might be driven mad by his own desires, the Mirror of Erised had long since been deemed too dangerous for public display. It had been kept hidden away by the Arabian Ministry of Magic, brought out only for academic research — for the secret of how the Mirror had been created had been lost in antiquity. Gifted scholars in many fields had studied the Mirror, but to no avail; in modern times, the Magic of the Mirror could not be duplicated.

Dumbledore had explained that at a younger age, he and a like-minded companion had avidly studied the arts of ancient magic. They had believed that the Mirror of Erised would show them the locations of even more potent magical items. Dumbledore had spent years of his life researching and looking for the legendary Mirror, but it was not until he became famous for defeating the great Dark Wizard, Grindelwald, that he had been approached by the Arabian Wizarding Museum. Reports of the new hero’s ambition to find the Mirror had reached the ears of its keepers, and they had been happy to lend the piece to the most powerful wizard of Light in the world — particularly as Dumbledore was willing to find a safe place to keep it.

As a student, Severus had stumbled upon the Mirror in the dungeons one night when he was fleeing from James Potter and Sirius Black. He had mistakenly believed his enemies would not dare enter Slytherin territory to pursue him — but he had been wrong. There was no act of daring too bold for the Gryffindor Golden Boys to undertake. He had rushed, his blood pounding in his ears, through the twisting corridors into the very bowels of the castle, and still he had heard the footsteps and taunting calls of his tormentors. At last, he had stumbled over his own feet and fallen through a hidden doorway into a room whose braziers had burst into flame upon his entrance, showing a massive gold-framed mirror in its centre.

Within the Mirror, Severus had been mesmerised to see himself atop Lily Evans, tenderly and passionately making love to her. Evans’ red hair had fanned over the white sheets like copper satin, and as Severus had watched, she had arched beneath him, sighing deeply and breathing, ‘Sev.’ To this day he could remember every detail of what he had seen, including the matching silver wedding rings they had worn, his Slytherin green-and-silver dress robes lying in a heap upon a chair beside their bed, with Lily’s wedding veil overflowing the chair and spreading over the floor in an avalanche of white lace.

Now he entered the room as an adult — a reasonable, feet-upon-the-ground sort of fellow, with realistic expectations of what the world had on offer. He understood now, as he had not at seventeen, that the Mirror showed one’s most urgent desire — it did not show the future. He would never again make the error of mistaking his dreams for his destiny. Life had been far too clear with him upon that subject: The likes of Severus Snape did not realise their dreams; instead, they sacrificed their lives for the greater good, as it was their destiny to do.

Without pausing or breaking stride, he walked across the room, and a wave of his wand removed the shroud-like cover from the Mirror’s face.

‘All right, you bastard,’ he said aloud, situating himself directly before the looking glass, ‘do your worst.’

---

Hermione lay down upon the bed, as instructed by the voice. Hands touched her face and stroked down her sides; lips pressed to hers, and a tongue sought entrance to her mouth. Hermione stared at the ceiling, her eyes unfocussed. It was delightful to drift along, obeying the voice, but the hands and tongue upon her body were troubling. A forceful emotion welled within her, but she was powerless to deal with it or to act upon it. The voice determined her actions, and the voice told her to relax and to open her mouth.

Over a period of time, hands burrowed beneath her clothing and touched her skin, lips and tongue touched places besides her mouth, the voice instructed her to put her hand here, to move her legs thus, and Hermione drifted along, obeying. Yet the uncomfortable feeling lurked just beyond her fuzzy awareness, disturbing her contentment. Soon, her eyes began to leak.

The voice continued to instruct her. Upon the command to lift her hips, she did so, and she felt hands at the waist of her jeans, but an odd sound escaped her throat, in conjunction with her leaking eyes, and the activity changed. She was pulled against a large, bare, male-smelling chest, and a hand wiped at her face with a piece of cloth. Then she was closed up in strong male arms and rocked, the voice crooning to her. The disquieting feeling receded, and Hermione relaxed bonelessly into the human embrace.

After a period of time, the warm presence left her, and the voice commanded her to remain where she was and to be quiet. From a distance, she heard the voice speaking to another voice. She floated in the quiet, existing. Then the hands were upon her again, helping her to stand, buttoning, straightening, tucking, smoothing. The voice commanded her to walk, instructed her to speak normally when spoken to, and her hand was enclosed in a larger one. Mindless, she was guided out into the corridor, and she walked. Soon, the frigid night air blew into her face as she was led from the castle.

---

I show not your face but your heart’s desire.

The tableau before him was at once striking and mesmerising. It was like a memory loop, which played itself out over and again as he stared, memorising each component.

As the Dark Lord stood upon a hill, a burst of magic from Severus’ wand glowed green, and Tom Riddle fell, his corporeal form evaporating into mist, leaving only his empty cloak behind. Severus turned from the pile of empty clothing which had once been his master, and held his wand hand up in the air; his sleeve fell, and the Dark Mark leeched away, leaving behind an unblemished stretch of white flesh. Harry Potter then stepped up to him, respect written upon his face, and Severus spoke to Potter, clearly thanking him for providing the diversion which had enabled Severus to cast the Killing Curse upon Lord Voldemort.

From the knot of people gathered below the crown of the hill, Severus saw Hermione Granger standing within the protective arms of Viktor Krum. As he watched her, the compulsion curse was lifted; her entire body pulsed a brilliant blue one time, then the magic dissipated into the air and left her. Before his incredulous eyes, the girl erupted from Krum’s hold, racing without a backward glance up the hill and colliding with Severus, clinging to him and sobbing thankfully into his chest. His Mirror-self tilted her face to his, and then, before the eyes of all assembled, he kissed her. It was then that Severus saw the people staring up at him as he publicly claimed his prize, and noticed amongst their number some familiar faces. James Potter and Sirius Black looked on with reluctant admiration; Lily Evans Potter stood beside her husband and watched Severus with acceptance and regret. His mother and father slowly approached the hill upon which Severus stood, their faces filled with love and pride. And standing apart from them all, watching him with approval, was Albus Dumbledore. When Severus’ Mirror-self broke his kiss with the girl and turned to grin down into the crowd with saturnine glee, Dumbledore gave him an acknowledging salute — and then the loop began again, with Severus facing down the Dark Lord, his wand all that stood between Evil Incarnate and the people Severus had striven all his adult life to protect.

Immobile before the Mirror, he watched the sequence play out before him again and again. It’s not the future — but it’s what I wish the future to be, he reminded himself. Not what will happen, but the deepest, most desperate desires of my heart.

For once, he did not reject out-of-hand the references to hearts and wishes — for once, he allowed for the possibility that he might be in possession of each of these things. He had been so fearful that a second session with the Mirror of Erised would show him again the fruitless, puerile infatuation with Lily Evans — this representation was no less grounded in fantasy, but it showed he had moved on in his life.

For the umpteenth time, he watched as the curse which had imprinted Hermione upon him fell away from her, and she pushed away from the young, muscle-bound Viktor Krum and ran to him, Severus.

I want her, he thought. I want her, and I want for her to want me when the curse is done.

Encouraged by the change in his Mirror of Erised vision, the thrill of possibility buoyed him. Has it occurred to you that she might be fond of you? Dumbledore had asked him. Of course it had occurred to him. He was fairly sure the girl thought she was fond of him. He had no true faith that any such affection would survive the lifting of the curse — but suddenly, with an energising ferocity, he didn’t care.

By God, she was his. He knew every curve of her body, could interpret every sigh she uttered; he knew how she took her tea, knew her opinions on art, poetry, and literature — he recognised every change in her facial expressions, and had seen her in exaltation, in agony, in anger and in amusement. He knew her more intimately than her parents knew her — more thoroughly than her so-called ‘best friends’ knew her …

She was his.

He whirled on the spot, his cloak billowing about him as if charmed to do so, and he swept out of the room, unaware of the figure which materialised from the shadows and replaced the cover on the Mirror of Erised with a satisfied smile.

---

Hermione trudged over the frozen ground at the behest of the voice, and she became aware of being surrounded by other voices, some of which addressed her by name. Speak when spoken to, the voice had commanded her. She complied.

‘Hi, Harry,’ she said dully. ‘Hi, Ron.’

She was led up steps and settled on a hard surface, then swaddled in a very warm, fur-lined garment and left alone. Content, she gazed into space.

---

Severus made a quick tour of his rooms, although he felt certain she would not be there. No, on this day, Hermione Granger was leading him on a pretty dance, but he would put an end to that, once and for all.

As soon as he found her.

Untroubled by his usual reticence, he Flooed to her room, which was empty. ‘Winky!’ he called.

The diminutive house-elf popped into the room and bowed deeply. ‘Yes, Professor Snape, sir?’ she said.

‘Where is Miss Granger?’ he asked impatiently.

‘Miss is gone with Master Krum,’ Winky answered promptly.

‘Gone where?’

Winky bowed again. ‘Miss is not taking her cloak, Professor Snape, sir, so she must be going to Master Krum’s room.’

Severus swore and Winky cringed. ‘Bring me Miss’s cloak,’ he commanded. Might as well lay down the law on everything at once, including her stubborn refusal to wear the cloak he had provided for her.

Winky pulled the garment from the cupboard and Severus tapped it with his wand before putting the miniaturised cloak into his pocket. One foot upon the hearth, he asked as an afterthought, ‘Where are Potter and Weasley?’

‘They is off to Quidditch practice, Professor, sir,’ Winky reported.

‘Very well,’ he said, rewarding Winky with a nod of his head before he Flooed to the headmaster’s office. He didn’t really want to speak with Dumbledore right now, but Krum’s guestroom was on the seventh floor, as was Dumbledore’s office — much closer than his own quarters in the dungeons — and he certainly couldn’t walk through the Gryffindor common room to get where he wanted to go.

To his relief, only Fawkes was present in Dumbledore’s office when Severus stepped out of the fireplace. The magnificent scarlet bird chirped once at Severus as he strode across the room to the door, and the sweet pearl of hope which dropped into his consciousness stayed his feet. He turned to Fawkes. ‘Thank you,’ he said respectfully.

The golden-beaked creature bowed his head in acknowledgement, and Severus inclined his head as well before turning again and exiting Dumbledore’s office, his temper somewhat soothed and his spirit strengthened by the encounter with phoenix-song.

The peace did not last long.

His imperious knock upon Krum’s door went unanswered, and a simple Alohomora! opened the door. Immediately, he registered the emptiness of the room — but he spotted the abandoned fake Galleon upon the rug. He picked it up and closed his hand into a fist — she would not have been able to call for him even had she wished to do so. Had Krum taken it from her on purpose? Or had she cast it away with the same pique which had caused her to scorn the cloak?

He thrust the coin into the pocket holding her cloak and stormed into the bedroom without bothering to knock. It was empty as well, although the bedclothes were in some disorder, as if someone had lain upon the bed without taking the covers down. He frowned and performed a cursory examination of the room.

There! Upon the flagstone floor, half-hidden beneath the fringe of an area rug, was one of Hermione’s hair slides. She kept them by her constantly and used them to put her hair out of her way when she brewed a potion or when she took a bath and did not wish to wash her hair — she always had one in her pocket.

How had the contents of Hermione’s pocket landed upon the floor in Krum’s bedroom?

It would be his pleasure to require an answer of Krum in the very near future.

The force with which he closed the door to Krum’s suite caused the shepherd girl to stumble in her frame upon the opposite wall. ‘Someone’s in a right snit,’ she complained to one of her lambs.

---

When Severus exited the castle, his eyes were immediately assaulted by the dazzling light coming from the Quidditch pitch. Such spells were, of course, available for professional use, but they had not previously been used at Hogwarts. Severus sneered; this was undoubtedly the work of Krum, supposedly visiting as a guest flying instructor, but truly there to coach Gryffindor to victory over Slytherin in the coming Quidditch match.
Severus’ lips thinned into an angry line. He would do something about that, as well.

---

Hermione sat in the dazzling bright light and listened to the shouted instructions from the coach and the captain as the Quidditch players zoomed about on their brooms. She had been told to sit and keep warm; the fur-lined covering made that quite easy. Untroubled by thought, she hovered on the edge of consciousness.

Then a Voice intruded upon her notice — different from the voice from which she had been accepting instruction, but a very important Voice, nonetheless. At the sound of this new Voice, agitation rose within her with the force of volition, and suddenly, she struggled against the Imperius Curse.

She would push off the warm covering! She would rise up! She would go to the Voice! She struggled to do so to no avail. She couldn’t move. The newly-awakened disturbance in her mind quickly communicated itself to her body, and she was inwardly clamouring for the Voice — she had to reach it! If only she could be in its presence, all would be well …

Once again, her eyes began to leak, as she fought to throw off the Imperius Curse.

‘Finite Incantatem.’

The words were spoken with an almost brutal intonation, and Hermione felt the Imperius Curse fall away from her. Immediately, she was on her feet, looking desperately about, but she was quickly grounded by ungentle hands upon her upper arms.

Professor Snape was there, and although she had seldom seen him so angry, she was so relieved by his presence that she sobbed aloud. He pushed the heavy red cloak, lined with fur — Viktor’s cloak, she realised — from her shoulders and pulled a swatch of black fabric from his pocket. An unspoken incantation restored her own cloak to its proper size, and he wrapped her in it before saying loudly, ‘…nearly an hour late for detention? Twenty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger! Were you under the impression that being Head Girl exempted you from the necessity of following the rules? Let me be the first to disabuse you of that notion!’

His words, spoken with wounding venom, did not register with her; instead, the thirteen hours since her last encounter with him assaulted her body with an instant influx of lust. Her nipples crinkled with painful need as a veritable flood of moisture from her suddenly-swollen vaginal tissues dampened the tops of her thighs. She swayed towards him, and she knew from the flaring of his over-large nostrils that he had caught her scent.

‘Oh please — sir!’ she whimpered, worried that her legs would not support her.

‘To the castle,’ he said intractably. ‘Walk.’

‘I don’t think …’ she swayed.

‘If you do not wish to apprise your classmates of your condition, you will walk,’ he snarled.

‘Please,’ she said.

‘Come with me,’ he commanded, turning from her.

Goaded, Hermione stood and moved along the bench behind her professor, following him onto the steps. Surreptitiously, she grabbed a handful of his cloak and steadied herself against his back; he paused accommodatingly as she regained her balance, then he continued down the steps of the Quidditch stands with her right behind him.

When they reached the ground, Viktor met them; he was clearly confused. ‘Hermione is here vif me,’ he informed the older wizard.

Professor Snape’s lip curled. ‘Yes, Krum — I just relieved her of your Imperius Curse.’

Viktor’s face paled; the use of the Imperius Curse was illegal in Britain, regardless of the circumstances. ‘There vas a reason for that,’ he said nervously, his eyes flicking from left to right to see if anyone was close enough to overhear their conversation. But all of the Gryffindor Quidditch players were in the air; no one was listening.

‘Of course,’ the professor responded silkily, using his most threatening voice. ‘You will have the opportunity to explain it to me — in detail — but not until I have delivered Miss Granger safely to the castle and seen to her comfort.’

Viktor’s eyes widened. ‘You!’ he gasped. ‘The Nexus — it was you …’

‘You’re not as stupid as you look,’ Professor Snape replied nastily, and suddenly, Hermione had borne all she could of the male posturing.

‘Sir!’ she cried, not trying to keep her voice down. ‘Please!’ Her knees finally buckled, and a quiver ran through her limbs, reminiscent of the sensation which had preceded the convulsion she had suffered scant days before.

Professor Snape bent and hooked an arm beneath her knees, swinging her up into his arms, then he turned and walked away from Krum. In three strides they had moved out of the unnatural light illuminating the Quidditch pitch, and they were in the dark.

‘It’s going to happen again,’ Hermione said pathetically, hating her dependency. ‘I’m going to convulse!’

She thought he swore then, and she felt a sweep of silky material pass over her face before they were in an enclosure oddly striped with the bright lights from the pitch. She was set gently upon her feet, and her professor thrust his arm up through one of the slats through which the light shone, emerging again with Viktor’s furry cloak clutched in his fist.

‘We’re under the Quidditch stands!’ she said weakly as a tremor went through her body.

‘Brilliant,’ he ground out sarcastically. He spread the cloak upon the frozen ground and murmured a warming spell upon it, then turned to Hermione. ‘Lean on me if you need to,’ he said gruffly, then began to unfasten her clothes with ruthless efficiency. He assisted her to lie down upon the blanket of fur and tugged her shoes, jeans and knickers completely off.

As her clothing rasped over her mons, she cried out and shivered violently with acute need. ‘Oh, God, please, sir — PLEASE.’

He was upon her then, hands and mouth and oh God YES, his erect penis, thrusting into her. His teeth were upon her throat, then his tongue was in her mouth, his lean body moving over hers, and within a minute, she arched beneath him, answering the demands of the compulsion with a quick and dirty orgasm. She had scarcely regained her breath when he pinned her wrists to the ground and rose over her, the slow rotation of his hips wringing a moan of deep appreciation from her.

‘Are you listening to me?’ he demanded, his black eyes glittering dangerously as he moved relentlessly in and out of her.

‘Yes,’ she gasped, wrapping her legs about his hips, aware of her housemates moving to sit on the slats directly above their heads and not caring. She hooked her heels around his thighs and deliberately ground her pelvis against his, glorying in the groan her movement forced from his throat.

‘For the duration of this curse,’ he panted, lowering his head until his lips were upon her ear, ‘you belong to me.’ He stilled then, seeming to require great self-control to halt his movements. He lifted his head and stared into her face. ‘Do you understand me?’

Hermione stopped moving as well, shocked into speechlessness by his words. She knew she should object to such out-dated rhetoric, but her emotional and physical response to his declaration was visceral — her body answered his question before her mind could instruct it. She reached up and buried both hands in his lank black hair and pulled him down until his face was millimetres above hers.

‘Yes,’ she breathed, her tongue darting out to lave his slightly parted lips. ‘Yes, I understand — yes, I belong to you.’

He growled his approval of her words and nipped at her lips before pushing his tongue into her mouth, where she greedily sucked upon it. He began then to demonstrate the benefit of belonging to him, making love to her with such slow intensity that he brought her repeatedly to climax, seeming neither to tire nor to reach his own orgasm. Mindless, as she had been under Viktor’s Imperius Curse, yet finding no comparison between that lack of volition and this transcendence of body and spirit, she writhed and squirmed beneath her professor, her soft cries and eager kisses conveying all she could to him of her agreement and acceptance.

---

Glad that he had thought to swallow the potency potion before reaching the Quidditch pitch, Severus slowly and deliberately fucked Hermione beneath the Quidditch stands, not a little turned on by the notion of Potter, Weasley, and Krum sitting directly over their heads as he did so. Had one of the dunderheads thought to look between their feet, they would have got an eyeful.

Of not inconsequential further importance was the fact that Krum’s entire coaching plan for the Gryffindor Quidditch team was explained whilst Severus pleasured Hermione to orgasm after orgasm, at once making up to her as best he could for his unkindness and neglect, and taking the additional opportunity presented as well, as any Slytherin would do.

---

The meeting between Severus and Krum took place in the wee hours in Krum’s quarters, and was unexpectedly attended by Dumbledore, which resulted in a highly unsatisfactory result, from Severus’ point of view.

Krum steadfastly averred he had cast the curse upon Hermione’s insistence and that he had not taken advantage of her whilst she was under it. Since Hermione had said virtually the same thing — and because Dumbledore was there to prevent Severus from hexing the Bulgarian — Severus had no choice but to accept Krum’s word as truth.

It was further agreed that Krum would keep his distance from Hermione for the rest of his visit.

---

Severus left Krum’s quarters and returned to his own, entering his bedroom to see Hermione’s untameable hair spread over her pillow. She was in his bed — where she belonged.

Undressing and letting his clothing fall where he stood, Severus slipped into bed with her again, waking her with his lips upon her nipples. She lay languidly, her soft, pleasured whimpers filling his head like a symphony. He moved next between her thighs, spreading her labia wide and lapping at her sweetness to the accompaniment of her ever louder cries, then covering her body with his and pushing into her warmth, dipping his face to hers and letting her kiss her essence from his lips.

‘Mine,’ he told her implacably, reaffirming his claim with every thrust of his hips.

---

Oddly enough, Slytherin defeated Gryffindor in their match the next weekend. It seemed as if the Slytherin team anticipated Gryffindor’s every move. Moreover, Minerva McGonagall lost her bet, and Severus acquired a case of Ogden’s Finest, as well as a delicate crystal decanter for the drinks tray in his rooms.

Hermione took it upon herself to make sure the decanter was always full and seemed as proud of its acquisition as if she were a Slytherin, herself — or, as if she had some score to settle with Krum.

Severus wisely kept his mouth shut and his eyes open. For now, she was irrefutably his — and if he and Krum ever met in a dark alley … well, all bets were off.

---

A/N: This chapter was beta read by Dee Michelle, Brit-picked by MagicAlly, and alpha read, as always, by Shug (sshg316).

Shug, you can hold this chapter to your chest and glare at the other kids and imitate Severus — say, ‘MINE!’

Ten thousand thank-you’s to Elfarren, who suggested the Mirror of Erised as a way for Severus to know his own mind, and to FerPorcel, who pointed out to me long ago that the Mirror shows not the future, but the desires of one’s heart.

In my description of the Quidditch stands, I took from the movies; when Hermione feels the silk pass over her face, Severus has taken her beneath the cloth covering hanging down from the stands in movie 2. I remember it most vividly from the scenes of Harry and Draco chasing the Snitch under the stands.