Augury & Ardor

Author's Notes: Please be aware that this chapter and those that follow contain graphic, non-consensual sexual imagery which may be disturbing to some.

Also, unlike the other site where I submitted this story, there's no function that allows me to respond to each reader's review of the chapter. Please know that your comments are greatly appreciated -- thank you for taking the time to review!

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Chapter Four

She didn’t know what she’d expected when she rejoined him minutes later. At first, she hovered in the middle of the room, unsure of his intentions. When he merely glanced up at her and then back down at the book open before him at the table, she took her seat again. He poured her more tea.


With his head down and his eyes occupied, she took the opportunity to study him. He hadn’t bothered to don his shirt and his lean, athletic build once again struck her. It was incongruous in a man whose sole pursuit had always seemed to be knowledge. Apparently, there was much about him she didn’t know.


He placed his fingertips under a passage and lifted his head, his dark eyes taking note of her smoothed hair. For a few uncomfortable moments, she inwardly squirmed as his eyes studied her features. “Tell me how it is you came to be here.”


“I – I was at home,” she began, only to backtrack as his brow furrowed in confusion. “I was at school,” she qualified, “but I’d spent the summer at The Burrow for safety’s sake - ”


His eyes and features hardened slightly, and a spurt of anger hardened her voice. “As you must know, nothing’s been the same since end-of-term. The battle, followed by the mass escapes from Azkaban… Professor McGonagall asked that all Muggle-born witches and wizards remain either at Hogwarts or in the care of wizarding families until order was resumed.”


“I hadn’t seen my parents for months,” she continued after a short pause. “Then an owl came just after my birthday with a message that my father was ill. A chest cold had turned into pneumonia. My mother asked if I could come home just for the weekend to see them both and, maybe, help her about the house a bit. I could tell Professor McGonagall didn’t like the idea, but she finally gave me permission.”


Hermione’s eyes drifted over to the flames dancing in the fireplace. “Alastor Moody escorted me home Friday afternoon, after classes, and added his warning to Professor McGonagall’s that I be watchful and cautious. And I was.”


She glanced over at Snape to check his expression, half expecting it to be mocking. Instead, his mouth was compressed and his eyes intent.


“-- until Sunday afternoon, just before I was to be met and escorted back to school. I was studying while my father slept and my mother ran out to refill a prescription. The doorbell rang and when I looked out, I saw a police officer at the door.”


Tears welled up in her eyes, but her voice belied nothing but anger. “I should have known! There was something odd about the uniform now that I think back on it but, at that moment, all I imagined was something had happened to Mum. I went down and opened the door…and that’s the last thing I remember.”


They sat, not speaking, with only the crackling of the fire to break the silence for a while. Then, Hermione set her jaw and swallowed her pride. “Have you heard if…Are – are my parents all right?”


“I’ve not been informed of anything concerning your capture,” he replied, “but I will find out what I can and let you know.”


She nodded, unable to say the words ‘thank you’.


“You awakened here, I assume?” he asked.


“In the courtyard of the maze.”


“I gather your injuries were a result of you struggling?”


Something about his tone put her on the defensive. “Was I supposed to just lie there and accept my fate?”


“Yes,” he replied, sharply, his black eyes snapping, “when you’re hopelessly outnumbered and obviously at a disadvantage, you comply.”


“I’m sorry, Professor,” she whipped back at him heatedly, “I hadn’t been given a Calming Draught at that point.”


As soon as the words had left her mouth, she knew she’d made a mistake. His voice, when he spoke, was as cold as his eyes had become. “Get into bed, Miss Granger.”


Instead of obeying, she sat frozen in her chair, stunned yet trying to think of a way out – something she could say to allay his anger.


“Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” he said again, slowly closing his book. “I said, ‘Get into bed’.”


“I – I only meant --”


“The time for conversation has passed.” He rose, towering over her. “Now it’s time for a lesson – your first of many, I imagine. This one will be called ‘Conduct Becoming a Prisoner’. When I say, ‘get into bed’, you do so immediately and without argument.”


Despite the fact her heart was beating like a rabbit’s, Hermione rose and lifted her chin. “You disgust me.”


Although his face registered no anger, he lifted his hand and landed a light slap across her cheek. “I don’t believe I asked you to speak.”


“You bastard!” she whispered incredulously, cradling her cheek to her hand more out of shock than real pain.


With lightning speed, he struck her other cheek and his words were delivered with more sting than the blow. “I’m surprised at you, Miss Granger. I thought you more intelligent than this.”


She raised shocked eyes to his and felt her heart slam against her ribs when, without passion or anger, he repeated, “Get into bed.”


Her eyes cut to the door then back to him. She couldn’t just walk to the bed and quietly acquiesce.


“Do you really think that wise?” he asked softly. He paused for two seconds, allowing her the time to consider the folly of running, before continuing, “You do not want to make me repeat this again: Get into bed.”


With a trembling sob, she turned and walked to the bed. Her stomach felt knotted and her throat tight. The night before, when she’d had the Calming Draught, he’d at least been gentle, if not kind. Now, he was every inch the intimidating Potions master she was used to, but even more sinister for his intent. He would touch her – take her – with the detached, contemptuous mien of a professor.


As she pulled the fresh sheets back, his voice cracked over her like a whip. “Remove the robe.”


Another surge of mutinous anger rose in her breast and she clenched the sheet in one hand, angry tears spilling over her cheeks.


“You will learn I dislike repeating myself,” he said, softly. “Do not test me on this.”


With trembling fingers, she jerked the knot on the belt free and shrugged the silk off her shoulders. Without looking back, she slid beneath the covers and stared fixedly at the ceiling, even as tears tracked down her temples and into her hair.


She squeezed her eyes shut when he appeared at the bedside and bit her lip as the sheet was pulled down her body and dropped at her feet.


“Eyes open.”


Hermione had never felt so vulnerable in all her life. Even the night before, losing her virginity, she’d had the darkness and the covers as some means of modesty.


Her eyes flew open in shock at the sensation of his fingers lightly pinching her nipple. As her eyes met his, her breath caught at the warm tingle the action left behind and the corresponding tug of warmth it had elicited between her legs.


“I told you not to make me repeat myself,” he said, his hooded eyes holding hers a second before traveling down the length of her body. “Put your arms above your head.”


She hesitated just long enough for his eyes to flash back to hers in warning, then she did as he commanded, stretching her arms above her head to touch the headboard. Her back arched in response, and she flushed as she realized everything he was doing was to illustrate her vulnerability.


His hands came up and cupped her breasts lightly, his eyes locked on hers. When she did nothing but release a trembling breath, he smiled slightly and slowly slid his thumbs across her nipples, then back. His touch was excruciatingly gentle, his thumbs tracking like feathers over and around her nipples while the lightly calloused tips of his fingers traced the undersides.


He never released her eyes as he continued the torture. At times, he glided the fingertips of one hand across her underarm, making her gasp and jerk in response and, at others, tugged her sensitized nipples between his fingers, causing that same answering tug in her loins.


Heat was spreading through her – the same heat as she’d felt the night before – and she whimpered in frustration and mortification. While illustrating his dominance over her, he was also stripping away the pretense that it was the Calming Draught that had made her respond to his touch.


“Spread your legs.” His voice was smoky and his eyes were dark and intense as they continued to hold hers. A slow smile curled his lips as she immediately complied. “Much better.”


When his fingers glided down her stomach and over her abdomen, she released a series of involuntary gasps, anticipating what was to come. Then, his fingers were skimming over her curls, tracing the outsides of her sex, and she hardly heard the gasps anymore, only felt the heat of the air she gulped. His fingers parted her to find the swollen bundle of nerves at her center, and she released the air on a ragged moan.


“Open your eyes.”


Hermione’s eyes snapped open as his voice lashed out and his fingers stilled their movement. She hadn’t even been aware she’d closed them.


“Keep them open,” he warned, his tone dangerous, “and on me unless I give you permission to do otherwise.”


He held her gaze a moment to make sure she would obey before circling his fingers over her clitoris once more. At first, he touched her as if in lazy exploration, then his eyes darkened and his fingers found a more insistent rhythm until she was trembling and gasping. To her mortification, she wanted him to put his fingers inside her as he had the night before. There was a void inside her that needed filling.


“No!” she shuddered as he stepped back, leaving her throbbing and unfulfilled.


He held her in his narrowed gaze for a moment before reaching down and unfastening his trousers. “As fitting a lesson as it would be for me to leave you like this,” he replied sardonically, “I’m ordered to get you pregnant, which means I have to fuck you.”


Heat and color flooded her cheeks, not only at his crudity, but also at the knowledge that she’d cried out in protest when he’d stopped touching her. She dropped her eyes from his deliberate look only to cry out a moment later at the pressure of his fingers on her jaw.


“Look at me,” he commanded, his face close and his eyes glittering into hers.


Wide-eyed in a combination of surprise and apprehension, she held his gaze as he lowered his body between her legs. To her mortification, she felt the scratch of fabric against her thighs and realized he hadn’t removed his trousers. He had freed himself, though, and now slid the head of his erection along her slit, wetting it in her juices. Then, slowly, he pushed into her, his eyes gauging hers.


Despite his having taken her the night before, she still tensed at the invasive pressure, still gasped at the alien feeling of fullness. It didn’t hurt this time and it didn’t feel bad, it just felt new.


For a moment, he just lay there, looking down at her from his propped elbows, then with a slow, controlled movement, he thrust into her. “You are not required to like me.” He thrust again, his eyes probing hers, “but you will respect me.” He thrust again, and she fought to hold his gaze as a warm thrum of pleasure began to build between her legs. “You will obey me.” Another thrust and she arched into him, unable to help herself. “You will not lie to me.”


The dark intensity of his eyes had the same hypnotic pull on her as it had the night before. Instead of fighting it, she fell into his gaze and let it beckon her as he continued the slow, measured thrusts into her body. She moaned in response to his movement, her hands gripping the rungs of the headboard when they threatened to drop to his hips and urge him on.


This was not what she’d expected. The night before, his body inside hers had been an invasion - a stinging reminder that he didn’t belong. Now, it felt like he was a fluid part of a piece of machinery she’d just recognized inside herself – one designed for pleasure.


Her inexperience was both irritating and exciting to him. In her desire to pursue the feeling building inside her, she was squirming beneath him without rhythm. However, her mewling cries and breathless oh’s of wonder were a heady aphrodisiac. To remedy the former, he wrapped one arm under her hips and stilled their movement, allowing him to time his thrusts. Apt pupil that she was, she quickly realized the benefits of his method and arched into his thrusts, meeting his rhythm rather than working against it.


“There will be no more pretense, only truth,” he said, but his voice had lost its edge. Then, his mouth was at her ear, smoky, low and ragged. “I can feel what you feel. I can feel you pulsing around me, on the brink. I can feel you’re about to come. Do you want me to give you that release?”


“Yes!” she cried, abandoning self-respect to her need, “yes!”


Hermione’s soft cries might have sounded like distress to someone merely listening, but Severus felt the thrumming of her body beneath his and knew she was approaching culmination. Propping himself up on his elbows, he allowed himself the pleasure of watching her face as her orgasm overcame her. Her eyes widened, filled with half wonder, half trepidation, and then her head whipped back and forth as she cried out, caught in the storm of sensation. She arched as if electrified, seemingly offering up the sweet column of her throat to his ministrations.

A look of triumph crossed his face, and then he lowered his mouth to her offering while he, too, was swept up in the sensation and all thought was wiped away in its wake.


Her heartbeat was just slowing from a gallop to a canter when he pulled from her, got to his feet and, fixing his trousers as he went, retrieved his wand. Her flinch, when he returned and touched the wand to her cheek, netted her a mocking curl of his lips. Then, the warmth in her cheek cooled. He touched the other, muttered the same spell and she remembered the light slaps he’d administered, earlier. Warmth rushed back to both cheeks as she realized she’d forgotten about that nearly as soon as he’d begun touching her.


“Tell me, Miss Granger,” he said, when she looked up through her lashes at him, “is a Calming Draught necessary for your compliance?”


The flush in her cheeks spread to the top of her head and her ragged breathing was aggravated by a flash of humiliated anger. His whole purpose in their last encounter had been that one point, and she’d conveniently proven it for him. “No,” she replied through clenched teeth.


“An adequate response,” he drawled, his tone silken and mocking, “but I expect better in the future.”

With a crack, he was gone, Disapparating out of the room and leaving her alone with her troubled thoughts.


~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~**~

“My Lord?”


Voldemort turned an amused look on Severus Snape, letting his eyes hesitate over the man’s bared feet and shirtless torso before coming back up to rest on his confused expression. “Ah, Severus. I apologize for detaining you, but I’ve arranged it so anyone Apparating from the grounds sees me first.”


“I see,” Severus said, composing his face into its usual expressionless mask. “I was going to collect some personal items, since I didn’t come prepared for a prolonged stay. But, if there’s something I can do for you…?”


“Just a few questions before you go,” Voldemort replied, matching Snape’s polite tone. “Are you…pleased with the girl?”


“She’s…”


“Adequate?” Voldemort chuckled, his eyes daring the black-haired wizard to react in anger.


Severus considered his words as he searched the Dark Lord’s face. He’d figured conversations in his rooms weren’t private, but wondered if more than eavesdropping was taking place. “She’s intelligent but headstrong; she requires a different sort of tutelage,” he finally replied.


“One that an old professor is more than able to provide, I’m sure,” Voldemort countered.


“Yes, exactly.” Severus hesitated the space of a few heartbeats before continuing slowly, “I do not perform well to an audience, my Lord.”


Voldemort smirked slightly. “I, alone, have heard what’s transpired between you and the girl,” he said, “and my interest is dispassionate, aside from the anticipated results. I am not…whole enough, yet, to be interested in things carnal.”


The Dark Lord rose from his seat with an eerie grace and moved to put a hand on Severus’ shoulder. “I’m not insensitive to your need for privacy, Severus, but I’ll admit to being slightly worried by your…leniency with the girl, last night. I realize you are unaccustomed to physical intimacy and would hate to think it might cloud your judgment.”


“I believe you mistake patience for leniency, my Lord,” Severus replied evenly. “One can break a horse without crushing its spirit. She’s young and idealistic but also possessed of a passionate nature. Those traits, if she’s handled carefully now, may be manipulated to our advantage in the future.”


“As you say,” Voldemort mused, running his fingertips along his wand in thought. Then, with a wave of his hand, he indicated Severus could leave. “Go and retrieve your items, then. We’ll talk again, soon.”


“Of course,” Severus replied. He swept to the door but paused, his hand on the knob. Turning back slightly, he said, “If it would set your mind at ease: my abstinence is not from lack of opportunity. Even a man such as me appeals to…a certain personality. I’ve found over the years that while the act is pleasurable, it’s hardly worth the emotional byproduct.”


Voldemort chuckled. “I shouldn’t be surprised a self-contained man like you would find even the most fundamental of intimacies too oppressive.” His laughter died, but a self-satisfied smile remained as he waved his hand, again, to dismiss the black-haired wizard. “Go, but don’t be long; I’m anxious to meet your progeny.”