Hypnos

Chapter 5


DISCLAIMER:

This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

Reviews are welcome.

~

“I did not become aroused!” she protested, but already she felt the betraying blush creeping all over her face and neck.

“You didn’t?” Snape lifted an eyebrow. “Then why is it that you left my armchair completely sodden? Exactly the same as you are leaving that chair right now.” She looked down between her legs in fright, and he smirked. “Aha.”

The chair was dry, but her trousers certainly weren’t as Snape’s black eyes bore mercilessly into hers.

“Why, Miss Granger, at a loss for words, for once? This is indeed a most remarkable day: Hermione Granger won’t read and Hermione Granger won’t speak. Then what is it that Hermione Granger wants? Hmm?”

He put two long fingers beneath her chin and gently forced her to look up at him. “Do you know what I think you want?”

He asked it as an actual question, and she found she couldn’t help denying with her head, transfixed by his gaze. He smiled, leant closer to her ear, and whispered:

“I think you want to stop struggling at last. I think you want to stop thinking and caring and planning and worrying all the time, like the responsible, intelligent young woman you are. You want to lose yourself, Hermione Granger, because you’re sick of yourself. You are sure nobody knows this, but you see, you are – in this, as in so many other things – wrong.” He drew slightly apart to look at her in the face. “I know.”

He kept holding her head back by the jaw, while his other hand snaked down her body until it reached the hard rim of her belt buckle.

“You do think about it, don’t you?” He snapped open the buckle, pulled it aside, and started undoing her fly buttons. “That’s what you secretly fantasize, when you think nobody notices, when you’re alone at night in your bed, and you touch yourself in the dark.” And here his deft fingers slid down through the layers of corduroy and cloth and lace, and buried themselves in the moist, warm folds which were already awaiting them. She groaned in agony, in shame, in helpless pleasure as he searched her and knew her, relentlessly seeking her release, even despite herself. Gently he spread his palm open and cupped her whole triangle, rubbing into her with her own juices, opening her further to his knowing touch. “I’m a Legilimens, Hermione. I’ve seen your thoughts. I’ve seen your dreams.”

“You imagine what it would be like, just giving up control to another. Submitting. Becoming pliant and open and docile. The freedom of it. The mindless ecstasy.” His right hand, which had held her head upright, now wrapped itself around her neck, and pressured slightly around her throat. Enough for her breath to come out slightly rasping and hoarse, more so as his relentless rhythm below caught up speed and thrust.

He grabbed her fleshy mound possessively, and grd ind in her ear: “I think you yearn to be submissive and obedient. I think you yearn to give yourself up utterly, to surrender – though not all the time, of course, and only to one person.” He drew back again to look straight into her eyes.

“I think you want a Master.” His long, long fingers entered her finally, claiming her, and she came as she never had before. Had not his arm suddenly curled around her waist to uphold her as her knees turned to jelly, she would have fallen in a heap to the ground. She came so hard that her eyes were engulfed in the darkness for a moment, and her ears hummed with the white noise of her own pleasure.

And yet through it all, half swooning as she was, she managed to hear Snape’s low laugh: “And I think, my dear, that you are a very lucky young woman, because you just found one.”


~~~~~~~~


She must have lost consciousness for a few minutes – This is getting to be a habit with this man, she thought –, because when she opened her eyes again she was lying on his bed, and he was nowhere to be seen.

Not that as vas very easy to see, anyway. The rooms were in semi-darkness, as they had been during their session the day before: she could see the faint glow of embers in the chimney place through the open door to the main room. She tried to sit up, and then she realised that she was tied down, spreadeagled, to the bed.

“What the f…” She looked up, searching for him. “You really are a twisted pervert, Snape, you know,” she called out.

Snape appeared through the open door, holding something in his hands which he placed at the foot of the bed, where she couldn’t see it. “Really, Miss Granger, speaking like that to your host,” he smiled. “Your manners are dreadful. Your time spent among the Death Eaters can have done you no good, I fear.” He looked up at her face, which must have turned slightly paler. “Ah, but then, you don’t remember anything about it, of course.” He gazed at her intently. “Do you?”

He walked up to sit by her side on the bed, and cast a spell to turn on some hidden, warm low lamps. Then he reached out his hand and caressed her face.

“You know, I’d really rather you untied me. I’m not quite used to making love while trussed up like a chicken.”

“Shhh,” he hushed her. She tugged experimentally at her bindings, but all she managed was to be brought back, repeatedly, to her exposed,neranerable position.

“Well,’” she half-smiled, unsure. “Looks like I’ll have to get used to playing games with you then.”

All of a sudden, his manner grew unexpectedly grim. “Oh, this is no game, I assure you.” He murmured some charm, and her clothes disappeared. She was left naked and trembling on the dark red bedspread, her arms and legs tied to the four bedposts. He stood up and moved down to the foot of the bed, looking at her from there with unnerving intensity.

She lay naked, bound hand and foot under the gaze of the tall, black-clad man who had previously said that he intended to master her. It was alarming, to say the least – yet to her shame, she felt a massive arousal building within her at the same pace as her fear.

He seemed to notice this, for his expression softened somewhat. He slowly started to divest himself from all his clothes, speaking not a word: the heavy black gown, shoes, trousers, tabard, shirt, all fell to the ground in a silence which Hermione suspected was not entirely natural. Silencing charm. No use screaming for Remus then. Damn. Although her own thought did not really carry much conviction.

He crouched down and picked up what he had brought into the room before: a glass jar from which he extracted something which seemed to be roughly the same colour and texture as crystallized ginger. He took a fistful in his hand, and placed the jar on the ground again, then proceeded to crawl up the bed towards her face, naked.

She squirmed at the brush of his skin against her as he moved along her body. He opened his legs and knelt on top of her, one knee on either side of her hips. “Open your mouth,” he said.

“What for?”

“I said, open your mouth.”

“What is that?”

He sighed, bent down and grabbed her by the jaw, forcing her mouth open. Before she could react, he had made her swallow a good part of the crystallized substance. As he drew back and she coughed the thing down, she recognized what it was. “Mandrake.”

Mandrake – the screaming root which sprouted from the seed of a hung man in his dead throes. Both a narcotic, and a powerful aphrodisiac.

“What are you going to do?” she asked him in a small e ase as he stared at her. The fear in which she had held him in their first session was back. Her real question, as they both knew, was What are you going to do to me?

He reached out his hand and grazed her haunch with his fingertips. “I’m afraid I can’t let you go until you tell me what happened at that Dark Revel.”

The mandrake was quick. She was already beginning to feel drowsy. She was already moist, but the drug seemed to induce a peculiar form of arousal: the bor of of her body began to feel blurry, as if it were no longer made of flesh, but some fluid entity, rippling and spreading over the bed. “I am beginning to hallucinate,” she remarked as calmly as she could. Her own voice sounded distant and distorted.

“It was only to be expected,” came his voice, from somewhere – she couldn’t see clearly anymore, the world was flickering and merging all around her. Her own thoughts were now fragmentary and disjointed, like scattered pieces of a mosaic.

She frowned,ryinrying about something – it was important, she knew something was very very important, she had to hold on to it what it was she couldn’t she knew she all in this oh it was spinning now and how was she how could they ask why she didn’t oh the she couldn’t she couldn’t…

She was weeping hot tears of rage and impotence at her own inconsistency which fell, or felt,e moe molten metal down her cheeks.

“Shhhh,” came his voice from somewhere, soothing, consoling her. Caressing her. She was feeling so hot, it was like a furnace, she was like an oven, white hot metal on the point of breaking down, of melting into nothingness…

And then he embraced her, gathering her scattered bits into his arms, and led her spinning down into the maelstrom.


~~~~~

The first time he had been with her, he had thought he could strum her. This t he he had.

His questions – the broken parts she could remember, later – had come between thrust and long thrust. He had interrogated her thoroughly, racking her dazed body with sensory overloads, holding her taut against her need, playing on her, always on the verge of collapse. He had tortured her with her own desire, laid her open to him, torn her apart like the pulp of a ripe fruit and devoured her whole.

She awoke in the small hours, still under the effects of the drug, feeling queasy and drained. He was looking at her with something which she could only read as pity. Pity and self-loathing.

Before she could say anything, he whispered, “Sleep.” And the world fell again into the dark.