Augury & Ardor

Author's Notes: This chapter contains scenes of graphic, non-consensual sexual imagery. If this sort of imagery would disturb you, please do not read any further.

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When Hermione woke, long shadows announced she’d slept away most of the afternoon. Not only had she slept fitfully the night before, there was nothing to do in the small room that had become her prison. Boredom had overcome her. The windows in the room weren’t real, merely spelled to mirror the outside weather. The armoire was locked and the bureau mostly empty except for a few articles of clothing.


The only thing of interest in the room was the book Snape had left behind and she’d found, to her discouragement, it was written in Latin. While it had enough illustration in it to identify it as a potions book, they were hardly explanatory or interesting without a translation.


For lack of something to do, she’d lain across the bed and watched sunlight play against the far wall of the room. That had been hours ago; the sunlight had changed both color and direction. With a yawn, she sat up and stretched then winced at the tacky feeling between her legs.


In the bathroom, she was surprised to find the house-elves had come and gone while she’d slept. The two wet towels she’d left on the side of the tub were gone and two clean towels hung from the pegs. Although she’d showered, earlier, she was eager for a bath. Not only was she sticky from their last sexual encounter, she was slightly sore. Sitting in a tub of warm water could only make her tender flesh feel better.


She was reclining in the tub after washing up, eyes closed and inhaling the steam rising off the water when he returned. There was no telltale crack of him Apparating and she didn’t hear the door to the room but, when she opened her eyes, he was leaning in the doorway staring at her.


“H-how long have you been there?” she asked, sitting up in surprise.


“Not long,” he replied. He didn’t move or say anything else, merely continued to gaze at her until she self-consciously draped an arm across her breasts and drew her knees in toward her chest. His eyes hardened and he straightened. “Purl and Bitsy said you slept through lunch so I’ve told them to bring tea.”


“Purl and Bitsy?”


“My house-elves,” he replied, his tone short as he turned to leave the room. “Finish up.”


When she came out, a few minutes later, Purl and Bitsy had arrived with tea and a variety of sandwiches. Both female elves smiled and curtsied to her before finishing up and leaving the room.


“Have a seat,” Snape said from his position at the fire.


Hermione sat at the table and watched him stir the contents of the small cauldron. Standing there, fully dressed once more, he was every inch her old Potions master, from the severe expression on his face to the focused look in his eyes. If not for the barest hint of tenderness between her legs, she could almost believe she’d imagined everything that had happened between them.


“Eat something, Miss Granger,” he drawled with exaggerated patience, his eyes never leaving the cauldron.


Surprised that she’d been waiting for him as if they were keeping polite company, she poured herself a cup of tea and took a sandwich quarter from the serving dish. She took a perfunctory bite of it then nearly wolfed it down as her taste buds and appetite roared to life.


Although she tried to retain some semblance of decorum, she ate three more sandwich quarters in nearly as many minutes, washing it down with a cup of hot, sweetened tea. It wasn’t until she glanced up and noticed an amused tilt to Snape’s lips as he tended his potion that she realized she wasn’t as poised as she’d hoped. A flush crept to her cheeks and she dabbed her mouth with her napkin before forcing herself to slow down.


“I take it the sandwiches are to your liking,” he commented as he ladled out a portion of the draught he’d been tending.


“They’re very good,” Hermione replied, primly. As he walked to the table with the cup in his hand, she shot him a harassed look. “Don’t tell me I have to drink that disgusting potion twice in one day.”


“No,” he replied as he sat across from her. “This one is for me.”


“Oh.” Nonplussed by his unexpected response, she watched as he quaffed it. “Is it – is it for…the same purpose?”


“Yes,” he replied, simply, grimacing as he finished it off.


Hermione hid a smile in her teacup, grimly satisfied that he had to endure the foul taste of the potion as well.


After another helping from the sandwich tray, Hermione poured herself a second cup of tea and watched Snape eat. As she did, she was once again struck by the difference in his demeanor. Before her once more, was the controlled, self-contained professor she was accustomed to, dressed in formal black and completely buttoned up. The book he’d left on the table earlier was open beneath his hand and, as he ate, he flipped the pages. He could have been alone for all he seemed aware of her.


As forbidding as she’d always found him since her acceptance into Hogwarts, she’d never truly feared him as Neville and many others did. As frustratingly unfair as he could be, she’d never reviled him as Harry and Ron did. In fact, she’d always harbored a profound respect for his awesome knowledge. He not only seemed to know all the various properties of the innumerable ingredients available to make any given potion, he also knew each of the myriad effects it would have on a subject, how long the effects would last and what counter potions were available.


There were times she even empathized with his abrupt teaching manner. It was obvious he was passionate about potion making and, yet, on a daily basis he had to deal with the ham-handed mixings of careless young witches and wizards who would have happily skipped his class. Many times, he’d had to come to the rescue of those same bored students before their cauldrons blew up and injured them and others. Yes, there were times she fully understood the frustration behind his caustic remarks.


“Have you looked your fill, Miss Granger?”


Hermione dropped her eyes and flushed to the roots of her hair, realizing she’d been staring at him for quite some time. When she looked up, again, his hand was on his book but his eyes were focused on her.


“Get in bed.”


Her breath caught in her throat at his soft command. For a moment she hesitated, daunted at the thought she was about to relive the same humiliating experience from that morning. As if reading her thoughts, he said with level patience, “Do you really want to replay the events of this morning?”


Without a word, she pushed back from the table, rose and walked to the bed.


“Remove the robe.”


She closed her eyes and shrugged out of the robe, letting it fall at her feet before crawling into the bed.


“Lie on your back.”


He placed a bookmark on his page before closing the book and rising to his feet. As he approached the bed, he unbuttoned his frock coat. “I want you to accustom yourself to the weight of my eyes on your skin and accept the fact your modest gestures are useless.”


The frock coat was shrugged off and dropped at the foot of the bed. A similar but new linen shirt was likewise doffed and discarded as he held her gaze.


“Turn over.”


Hermione shot him a glance that was a mixture of trepidation and confusion but did as he ordered. For what seemed an eternity, she kept her eyes on a bar of sunlight dancing along the stone floor. Then, she felt his weight compress the mattress as he joined her.


Because her head was facing away from him and she wasn’t expecting it, she gasped at his touch.


“Relax.”


Neither his murmured command nor his fingertips gliding down her spine lent themselves to relaxation.


“Before our time together is finished, I will have seen and touched every inch of your body.” His fingers swirled a pattern at the small of her back before trailing back up between her shoulder blades causing an involuntary shiver to course through her. With surprising gentleness, he brushed her hair to one side and traced his fingers over her neck and shoulders. “To hide it from me after such intimacy is not only unnecessary but a ridiculous waste of time.”


She shivered again and his hand stroked over her shoulder to cup her arm. “Are you cold?”


Rather than speak and have her voice betray her with its breathiness, she shook her head. Then she blushed, realizing that she’d just as effectively told him it was his touch that was affecting her, not the room’s temperature.


His fingers resumed their exploration and when he spoke again his voice was soft and intoxicating. “Your skin is as supple as silk,” Reversing the position of his hand, the smooth edges of fingernails glided down her back, “and you’re flawlessly shaped. There’s nothing in your form to inspire shame.”


Unable to contain it, she gasped as his hand turned again and the warm, calloused palm smoothed over her bottom. She gasped again and jerked as his thumb traced along the crack then cried out, softly, as it brushed her sex before gliding along her thigh. In a matter of seconds, he had her burning for his touch.


Lying in an agony of building need, she suffered through the teasing flutterings of his fingers over her thighs then her calves. She was anticipating the return path when his fingertips traced the bottom of her foot, making her jerk back in reaction. In response, he didn’t abandon his exploration but merely applied more pressure. His thumb smoothed her arch and she released an involuntary moan of pleasure at the sensation, shocked to realize he could excite a response from even that part of her body.


Repeating the gesture on her other foot he then changed tactics and skated his fingers across her toes and along the instep of her foot, leaving her jerking and gasping beneath his touch.


Hermione squeezed her eyes closed, willing her heartbeat to slow and her breathing to even out. His soft, sometimes teasing exploration had her wet and aching, already. As much as she’d promised herself that she’d be indifferent to his touch, she was unable to fulfill that promise.


“Spread your legs a little,” he whispered next to her ear, sending a tremor through her. When she obeyed, he skimmed back up one calf then spread his fingers to encompass both inner thighs as he moved upward.


She tried to remain still but his fingers at the juncture of her legs were maddeningly light and she was burning for some relief. Without realizing she was doing it, she curled her hips, pressing herself against the mattress in search of stimulation. His fingers trailed, ever so lightly across her opening and she arched back against them only to find them gone.


With a sob of frustration, she pressed back against the mattress and curled her fists in the pillow beneath her hand. She was aching for what he could give her and mortified that she should want it.

“Turn over.”


She rolled onto her back and met his eyes, gasping at the heat in the black depths. For a few pregnant moments, she thought he was going to bend and kiss her but, instead, he reached out and traced her mouth with his thumb. Then, he traced her jaw, the curve of her ears, the column of her throat and the length of each collarbone, dipping into the valleys beneath them as if testing their depth.


Beyond pride and reason, she was writhing beneath his touch, nearly panting with need. Her nipples were torturously tight and a steady, rhythmic throb pulsed between her legs.


With a soft cry she arched from the bed as his fingertips skimmed between her breasts without stopping to soothe them. His fingers, instead, swirled over her abdomen, his thumb dipping into the valley of her navel before skimming above the nest of curls.


Without waiting for his command, she spread her legs and dug her heels into the mattress, straining toward his touch. She felt like she was going to explode into a million tiny pieces beneath his excruciatingly gentle explorations.


“Not yet,” he said, pulling his hand away.


Her eyes flashed to his in disbelief, only to see that he was not as detached and unaffected as he sounded. His eyes were the deep velvet black she now connected to desire and his breathing was ragged. Even so, he rose from the bed and merely looked down at her as he slowly finished undressing.


There seemed no modesty in him as he stood before her, naked. When she let her eyes roam below his abdomen, she gasped and jerked them back upward. His gaze, when she met it, was still depthless but amused as well.


“No, not all the physical traits I was dealt are deficient,” he said, his tone wry, “But don’t look so alarmed. You had no problem accommodating me prior to this and nothing has changed now except your awareness.”


He turned and she watched the taut muscles of his bottom bunch and release as he walked to the table. Turning, he lowered himself to the chair facing the bed and gestured for her. “Come to me.”


Still flushed, hot and trembling, she slid to her feet and stood. He gestured again and she walked over to him, everything from the air against her skin to the brush of her thighs as she walked conspiring to drive her mad.


His erection thrust out from the thick thatch of black curls between his legs and the knowledge that it would soon be buried inside her sent another flush of heat through her already over-heated body. She stopped in front of him and met his eyes.


“Turn around.”


Confused by his request, she turned slightly but kept her eyes on his. His hands came to her waist and guided her around until her back was facing him. Then, loosely, he held one hand on her hip while reaching out with the other. From the table, he lifted his wand and sweeping it in an arc before them, he murmured, “Speculum Recolo”. Satisfied with the outcome, he set the wand down and rested his hand back on her corresponding hip.
“Look at yourself.”


She could hardly disobey. The walls of the room before them were, now, one seamless mirror reflecting them and the room behind them. Other than his legs and his hands on her hips Snape was hidden but she was displayed from head to foot bathed in late afternoon sunlight.


To her surprise, she looked older. She let her eyes run from the tumbled disarray of her hair, fanning around her shoulders, along her body down to her feet. Not just older, she realized in surprise; she looked earthy and sensual.


“This is what I see when I look at you.” She turned at the sound of his voice, low and smoky behind her but he made a discouraging sound and used his hands to indicate he wanted her to continue looking at herself.


Once again, she let her eyes travel over her body and then studied her features. Her eyes were as dark and slumberous as his, with the same heat in their depths. Her mouth was soft, her lips parted. She looked like an erotic picture she’d stumbled across, by accident, on the Muggle Internet.


“I – I’m as you see me?” she asked.


“You are as anyone would see you.” His hands ran, lightly, over her hips and one dipped to stroke across the front of her thigh. “What I wanted was you to see yourself from my perspective. I want you to see yourself, naked.”


She watched as he trailed his fingers upward, dipping to stroke between her legs and felt them go weak beneath her. The sensation, alone, was electrifying but seeing him do it was shockingly erotic.


“Look at your face,” he whispered fiercely, causing her eyes to dart upward. She moaned at the look of pure abandon on her features. “I’ve touched you three times, now, and seen this look upon your face each time,” he continued, his voice like warm smoke against the skin of her back. She shuddered, her head falling back as one hand moved up to cup her breast and tease the nipple. “Covering yourself in my presence is fruitless when I’ve seen you at your most naked, already.”


“Please,” she moaned, hardly able to hold herself erect on her trembling legs and hardly knowing what her plea was for. She felt feverish, mesmerized by the sight of his hands on her and the sight of her own response.


He pulled her back into the V of his legs and, before she realized what was happening, guided her down onto his erection. He was finally filling her, sating the ache that had grown inside her. When she was sunk to the shaft, her back pressed to his chest, he met her eyes in the mirror. “I want you to watch us both.”


Using his hands on her hips to guide her, he rode her on his length. She watched his eyes, glittering like bottomless, midnight lakes as they held hers in the mirror. Then, when she caught the rhythm, he loosed one hip and reached around to stroke her clit. The sensation was too much – she’d been in an agony of waiting too long - and she cried out as her orgasm tore through her.


She was aware, on some level, as she shattered into pieces and then settled back, whole again in his lap, that he was still moving inside her. Her eyes fell, in fascination, to the glistening length of his body entering and filling hers and his dark head bent to her neck.


One of his lean, pale arms was wrapped across her body as he cupped her breast, the other over her thigh as his fingers tangled in her dark brown curls. She looked up to meet her own eyes and saw a woman she didn’t recognize. Raw. Sensual. Hungry.


Her eyes moved to his face. His eyes were closed, a river of dark hair falling across his face as his mouth moved over the column of her throat. His brow was furrowed almost as if he was in pain but, then, his eyes opened and her breath caught in her throat at the hunger there. This was Severus Snape, naked and unconcealed as well.


He met her gaze silently for a moment, then reached up to grasp her jaw and turn her toward him. With his mouth at her ear, he whispered raggedly, “No, you’re not mistaken. You are not without power even in your position, but it’s a power that also ensnares the one who wields it. To use it is to succumb to it as well.”


His arms tightened around her, resuming control of the rhythm as he thrust up into her. With his mouth still against her ear, he coaxed her back into a frenzy of need with both his body and his words. It was with his ragged groan of “Come with me,” however, that sent her over the edge as his body pulsed its release inside her.