“beyond wandpoint” 005 by gingerbred

[beyondwandpoint]

“11 07c Friday - Freed”

Severus and Hermione

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Originally Published: 2017-11-09 on AO3
Chapter: 005

Pairing: Hermione Granger / Severus Snape
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con

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He takes a deep breath, calming himself before returning to the poor woman still tied to the chair in the classroom.

Her wriggling has clearly progressed to writhing, and he wishes desperately that he could just ask her to stop, but then that was rather the point - that she couldn't. Damn. He tries to ignore it. He's only moderately successful, but his poker face is a marvel, and they shall get through this, too.

He walks behind her and picks briefly at her knots. Unfortunately, they aren't getting anywhere quickly. Damn and damn again. He sighs and looks around. On the floor between the seats he spies an abandoned quill; he crawls awkwardly after it and transfigures it into a small knife. Forty-nine.

He didn't even have the energy to summon it. Crawling about on the floor is just so... dignified. Then he catches himself thinking that, and after everything this young woman's been through tonight, that he should find such a thing embarrassing leaves him at a bit of a loss. He shakes his head at himself and sets to sawing at her bonds.

While he does so, he begins to explain things to her. "You heard Miss Granger?" She nods in response, and her mouth is still moving, but given her writhing, he's not at all sure that anything she has to say is fit for his ears. He decides he should clarify that first. "I have placed a Muffliato around you; I believe you are familiar with the spell." And isn't that fact a source of annoyance... Damn Potter to the nine circles of Hell.

She nods.

"Neither Mr. Malfoy nor I were able to hear you, and the few memories he had of... of your... reactions, your... vocalisations before I placed it, I have Obliviated. He has no memory of you so... indisposed." The look she shoots him is exceedingly grateful. He can't imagine deserving it.

"I didn't wish to silence you without speaking to you first. Should you find the... comments," he sounds unsure of his word choice but pushes on, "you are making to be a source of discomfort to you, I'm prepared to apply a Silencio, but only at your express request. I didn't want to take away your voice. Is this current solution... adequate, or..." Once more, she nods.

"Very well. I shall have your arm freed briefly. We shall then agree that you will tug on my lapel should you wish for me to lift the Muffliato. Acceptable?" She nods again. He's discovering this evening that as long as students don't actually speak with him, they get along famously. He sighs.

"Are you able to follow what I'm saying despite the potion's effects?" She nods in reply. "Very good."

He pauses a bit and then resumes. "I apologise for not explaining to you about the Privacy Charm before. I'm sure it would have spared you some anxiety, but I needed to get the... boys managed first. Additionally, there is unfortunately the need to maintain a certain... image. Once again, I apologise if that prolonged your discomfort."

Her first wrist is now free, and he rubs it gently to encourage the blood flow and ease the pain. He has no desire to exacerbate her problems. He is unimaginably tender. It reminds her of the way she's seen him handle certain delicate potions ingredients, and she's never been treated with such care. For years now, she's known that he is on their side, but she never would have thought he could prove so considerate or caring. She's a bit ashamed that she has underestimated him.

And then she's trying, hard, to focus on that aspect, instead of the feel of his hands... She doesn't have much luck. His fingers feel fabulous; his touch is... simply amazing. She's only half sure that thought is due to the potion. Possibly even less. Now where she'd like him to put those magnificent hands of his, or just what she'd like him to do with them is almost definitely thanks to the potion... Gods.

Her eyes roll up. She inhales sharply. Her eyes squeeze shut against the thoughts and sensations. She moans... And promptly dies of embarrassment.

She's knows he can't hear it, but she's very glad he's behind her and can't see her face, because there's no mistaking her expression. She bites her lip, with some force, trying to shake it off. She tries again to corral her thoughts; that way lies madness.

Endeavouring not to notice the signs of her inner struggle, Severus concentrates on his task. He sets to work on her next wrist, cursing himself silently for not freeing her wand hand first. Sawing, sawing.

That is until she starts trying to stroke his hair, and then he curses himself for not attending to her ankles first instead. He's off his game. He takes a steadying breath and moves further to the side, trying to use the chair to shield himself. His escape is hindered by his need to work on her wrist, and he's not completely successful in avoiding her free hand. He does his best to ignore it. Class with her Monday should be an absolute delight if this keeps up. But maybe he won't live that long and be spared that particular trial. He lives in hope.

"As you've no doubt surmised, I deliberately let you hear my... conversation with Mr. Malfoy so you would know where things stand. There are a number of aspects in play here. First and foremost, I would like to acknowledge that I am almost certain there will be no official punishment for the... transgressions tonight, and certainly none to the extent that there should be. I realise this. I understand the reasons for this and for the most part even accept them. But I still do not find the situation palatable, and do not ask that you should either."

The look of surprise she gives him makes him wonder how much of an ogre the students take him for. Stupid question. But she must be plenty surprised indeed, for it to override the lascivious looks she'd begun giving him. And still, she can't seem to stop chewing on her lower lip enticingly.

"With the climate such as it is outside of the school, the Headmaster is not inclined to... punish certain infractions as he perhaps... should."

She struggles to withdraw her hand from his hair, when all she really wants to do is knot her fingers in those fine strands, pull him to her and never let go... He's doing his level best to ignore her, recognising sarcasm and insults will in no way cause her to stop, dosed as she is. He opts for denial as his approach.

He's finally freed her second wrist, and expects that she'll rub the feeling back into it herself. It's only then that he realises the extent of the effects of the potion. She's got even less control over her body than he does over his, her... undulations evidently worse than his tremors. Any hope he had of giving her her wand to cut through the rest of the ropes fades. Again he lightly massages her bruised skin, his touch soft, but hardly soothing from her vantage point.

Thinking it will feel reassuring for her, even if it isn't currently all that useful, when he rises to change position to better free her legs, he picks the wand off the nearby desk it's lying on and tucks it into the pocket of her robes with a pat. He sighs again and gets to work on the rope around one of her ankles. Somehow he senses he should save the rope at her waist for last. The last thing he needs is her gyrating in his face.

She can't help wondering why he hasn't just sliced through her bonds with a spell, but he is undoubtedly serious about the progress he's making and she thinks working far harder than a spell would require of him. She trusts he has his reasons, she just can't fathom what they'd be. And of course, it doesn't hurt that she doesn't particularly mind. He's welcome to continue this for quite some time, in fact; she's in no hurry whatsoever. He looks so bleeding intense crouched there... The damn potion again.

He calls for Sunny and asks the elf to begin setting the room to rights. Again she wonders that he didn't deal with this himself, but it's just a passing thought as her fingers return to running through his hair with both hands now. He closes his eyes as she begins massaging his scalp and keeps working, his discomfort at the present situation far outweighing any pleasure to be derived from the touch. That is until her nails drag lightly across his skin and he lets out an involuntary hiss.

His eyes fly open in time to watch as the remaining pig's blood is vanished and the furniture is righted. It helps call to mind what he's trying to accomplish, and he redoubles his efforts. Soon there's no trace of what happened here but this small vignette. Hermione, still fastened to Professor McGonagall's chair, her inscrutable Potions Professor kneeling at her feet, sawing resolutely away at her bonds. She really, really rather likes the sight of him there. Damn that potion.

Before the elf leaves, the Professor asks him to remove all Headache and Pain Relieving Potions from Slytherin. She can't begin to think what to make of it. It's more than passing odd.

Her ankles freed and massaged, and her ragged inhale as he did that won't prove at all embarrassing to either of them after the fact, they're both sure, he sets about removing the last rope attached to her waist, fervently wishing he couldn't so clearly smell her arousal while doing so. He tells himself it's merely biology, nothing worthy of note; part of his mind might even be listening.

Her small hands return to his scalp. They're unrelenting. It's taking every bit of self control she can muster not to pull him into her lap. Face first. She swallows and fights to keep her hands from latching onto his ears for that purpose. If he had properly thought this through, he'd have attacked this last rope from behind the chair, but he's too knackered to think straight.

When her dainty fingers start caressing his face, he takes another deep breath and keeps cutting. When they move from his cheeks to his brow, he closes his eyes and keeps going. When she shifts from the sensitive skin of his eyelids to stroking his nose, he reminds himself she can't help her reactions. When one hand begins to trace his lips, when her thumb begins to seek, demand entrance, he finally pauses his work to take her hands in both of his and try to put a stop them.

As gently as he can, he takes each of her delicate hands in one of his and removes them from his face. He even manages to keep all reproach from his voice as he tries to encourage her, "Miss Granger, hang in there just a little..." And then he makes the fatal mistake of lifting his head and meeting her eyes. He realises it's a mistake even as he does it, but before he can look away he's seen her face and freezes.

The concupiscence, avarice and only barely bridled desire he registers are no surprise after a dose of a variant of Liquid Lust. A shock, naturally, but no surprise. It's not a look he wanted to associate with her, certainly not directed at himself, and he'd have been happier not seeing it. He would, however, have expected to see any or all of that had he thought about it. He's really just not thinking clearly at the moment.

It's the touch of softness, the hint of wonder that arrests his movement and leaves him staring for what feels like an age. The longing...

"...longer." He wishes he'd managed that without the all too obvious pause or catch in his voice. He's only glad he skirted the Freudian slip. Narrowly, to be sure.

The problem is the apparent sincerity of those gentler notes. That does't happen. It cannot happen. No known version of Liquid Lust can produce anything like it, much like Amortentia can compel an obsession but certainly not love. And if Amortentia couldn't, no love potion would. It was Hector Dagworth-Granger, in point of fact, relation to the witch before him unknown, who had proven as much. Potions don't, can't create sincere feelings.

Severus is a dyed in the wool Potions Master. He's had an abiding interest in them since childhood. He can't help wondering what is in the potion to have generated that look, because it's... something else. It's a bit of genius, frankly. Throughly inappropriate between them, but... No, he shakes it off, thoroughly inappropriate full stop.

Amortentia is an abomination. Liquid Lust, naturally, even more so. As far as he's concerned, they should both be banned. But the imbecilic adulation the so-called Love Potion produces means all but the most wilfully blind see the sham for what it is. It's nothing real.

This, this is a mockery.

What makes it worse, insufferably so, is he's never been looked at like that before. He can't even imagine it.

Of course, now he doesn't need to imagine the look, merely the circumstances that might lead to it.

Fucking hell.

It leaves him feeling stunned. Angry. Uncomfortable. Robbed. Not. Best. Pleased...

If he thought the sight of her miserable and crying in that chair would haunt him, this will be far worse.

He's startled out of his thoughts as his knife suddenly jerks free, the resistance gone, the last restraint cut. Too late it occurs to him that having her no longer... restrained might cause completely different problems. As she begins to fall forward, his hands close around her upper arms, holding her in place. He rights her in the chair, bracing her there.

"Miss Granger, can I rely on you to..." She can't help it. She can't help it. She can't help it. He removes one hand to reflexively pinch the bridge of his nose, breathes a sigh of relief when she doesn't take it as an invitation to squirm from his lightened grasp and changes his approach. "Do you think you're sufficiently recovered for us to make our way to the Infirmary?"

Hermione understands his plight all too clearly but thinks she can keep from doing anything that will embarrass either of them too much. At least not more than she has already, that is. She nods.

Belatedly, he really isn't thinking particularly well tonight, it occurs to Severus that he doesn't know for sure that she's understood a single thing he's asked. She just keeps nodding. He decides he needs to test it before he can risk letting her out of that chair, for both their sakes.

Seemingly apropos of nothing, he poses a question, inspired perhaps by recent thoughts, "Which of the following wouldn't you put in Amortentia: Ashwinder eggs, Pearl Dust," she looks at him like he's mad, but he continues unperturbed, "powdered Moonstone, Alihotsy leaves..." And now she's grinning like a mad woman and shaking her head, apparently understanding his concern.

"Very well, shall we see if you can stand?"

A smirk firmly in place on her face, she returns to nodding. He finds himself returning the smirk, just a little.

He helps her gingerly to her feet, but is forced to acknowledge that she won't make it to the Infirmary without help. He slings her arm carefully over his shoulders and wraps his around her slight waist to help keep her upright. He considers whether or not he can break the rules again and ask Sunny to take her there. He knows he himself is in no shape to be Apparated. He will have to make it under his own steam.

The remains of the ropes disappear, as does his transfigured knife, and the chair she had been sitting on suddenly moves back into position behind the teacher's desk. Sunny is still close, even if he can't be seen.

Severus isn't even sure if he can chance turning her over to Poppy unsupervised yet. He's quite confident he knows what Albus will want to do, he has his own cover to maintain, and the instant Potter and Weasley hear of this, there will be no containing the situation any longer. He's not honestly certain he wants it contained, but Potter's histrionics are equally not a solution. He's so tired of all this.

He can't afford to let this get out of hand, and he's juggling too many balls at once. He has no idea how to keep them all in the air. He laughs at himself - with a Wingardium Leviosa, of course. Except that he's already dropped the ball on that particular charm once tonight... He scoffs. Fucking firstie would have done better. He isn't even remotely amusing.

He sighs. He can't use a Mobilicorpus to get her to the Infirmary. He'll have to try carrying her. He hopes he doesn't collapse en route.

"Come, Miss Granger, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."