Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Snape arrived at the Ministry's Marriage Department promptly at ten o'clock for their appointment.
Turns out, Miss Granger had arrived one hour early. Always the pleaser.
"Hello, sir!" she said and popped to her feet. She'd been sitting cross-legged on the wooden bench, a book splayed on her lap.
Any trace of confidence that Miss Granger had that night in Grimmauld kitchen fled her. Her cheeks flushed pink and her hands shook until she gripped the book so hard her fingers whitened. Snape thought she may faint.
"Miss Granger, are you sick?"
If she was about to vomit, Snape wanted to keep his boots clean.
"No, of course not," she breathed - the first exhale in several seconds.
With that, she turned on her heel and entered the adjacent office. Snape, smirking, followed after her and he watched the way her bottom rolled under her robes.
"Mister Severus Snape and Miss Hermione Granger, you have been summoned to complete the marriage contract under the law of the Ministry of Magic…" The official, a rather fat and sweaty man, droned on. It seemed Miss Granger was having trouble paying attention. Snape glanced sideways several times, only to find the witch snapping her gaze back to the official.
He chuckled, a warm throaty rumble, and Miss Granger stared at him openly. Her eyes a little round and bright. What was she thinking?
"Ahem…" The official coughed and rolled his eyes. "Shall I continue?"
"Yes, you impertinent lard-arsed swine!" Snape hissed at him. "And this time, remember that you're speaking to two war heroes, or I'll lay your innards across the desk!"
"Don't st-st-stutter at me, fool! Continue!"
Snape relaxed his expression and looked at Miss Granger again. Her eyes were wider now. Was it in fear?
Dammit, that's not what he wanted. She should know that he'd no intention to treat her like he treated some idiotic, ill-mannered stranger.
"The terms of the contract are basic and forthwith: The marriage contract must be signed by both parties, in their married names. This marriage cannot be divorced or renegotiated until a child is conceived. After conceiving, the marriage may be ended by either party. The husband and wife must consummate at least once a week, save the span of her menses. Do you have any questions?"
"No," said Miss Granger. "I've read that contract several times." Her stronger voice had returned. Snape shook his head.
"Alright then," said the official and retrieved a quill from his desk. "Now, you are entitled to a proper ceremony, if you are interested. We have a room prepared if you'd like to do it now, even. There are white owls and streamers and cupid with golden harps, and the cake - oh, the cake…"
The swine stared at Snape and spoke with such enthusiasm that his jowls quivered, like he was offering Snape some sort of amazing treat. Did he expect Snape to hop around and squeal like a virgin chit?
"No," Miss Granger said loudly. Both men looked at her. "Definitely not!"
"I agree - that sounds ludicrous," said Snape.
"Absolutely," Miss Granger added.
"Worse than a cell in Azkaban with twenty sex-starved giants."
"Plus Greyback's mangy arse…" she muttered.
"Indeed?" Snape drawled. What had spurred her hatred of Greyback?
"That's fine!" the officiate said and spread his sausage fingers in the air. "You can just sign the paper and be on your way then. Severus Snape here and Hermione Sn-"
"I'm keeping my name," she said.
"Are you?" Snape retorted. He wanted to own the girl, not pretend to own her.
"You could always change your name," she said. Her bright eyes challenged him.
"Certainly not, witch," he scowled. She lifted her chin at him and smiled.
"Then we are agreed."
That fucking minx.
Snape signed his name next to hers angrily.
"Now if you have any more questions-" said the officiate. Snape cut across him.
"We'll know to use someone else. Let's go Missus… Granger."
The girl looked delicious with a gag in her mouth. She wasn't, of course, as docile as he'd like at the moment, but honestly.
Granger had barely stopped talking since they left the Ministry's office. It had been three days since then.
She'd gone on and on about using his lab and his library and his blah, blah, blah. Then, only to push Snape over his edge, she followed him into his personal and very delicate lab. When she mentioned her new classes and the study techniques she intended to implicate, Snape immediately charmed a ball gag into her mouth.
"You aren't making any sense, witch."
Her hands pulled at the gag but it was no use - only the Professor could remove it. Then, quite unexpectedly, she morphed into a metaphorical hellcat. Her hands darted from the gag to his throat.
"No, no," Snape tutted. He grabbed her arms and twisted them forcefully behind her back so she face away from him.
"Now," he breathed. "I know you have pictured a somewhat agreeable marriage. Perhaps us working side-by-side in the labs. Discussing difficult magical theories. Being… partners, by and by. But you should know this…"
Still gripping her wrist (painfully, he was sure), his other hand wandered to her front. Saliva had begun dripping down her chin from around the gag, and she blushed in embarrassment. His long fingers traced her hip bone.
"I am just as much a Death Eater as your other suitors. You chose me because I'm… safe. And I assure you, I can be. I will protect you, girl," Snape said. His fingers slid onto her lower belly. "But I can also hurt you. I can rip your clothes off, chain you to the ceiling and let you hang for days. Witch, I can make you eat off the floor like a dog. And I'd enjoy it."
The girl now shook in his hands. Tears joined the saliva on her chin.
Snape gently released the ball gag and it disappeared as it fell from her mouth. He carefully turned her about so she faced him.
"But I'm a quiet man, Granger."
"Hermione," she whispered. Her eyes were fixed on his chest. "You're angry because I kept my name. If you keep calling me Granger, it will remind you…"
"Fair enough," he said after a pause. "As I said, I'm a quiet man, and I like quiet evenings and quiet labs. Can you respect that?"
"Thank you, Hermione."
Her cheeks flushed. She looked good with a pink face. If he pressed his fingers to her cheeks, would they be hot? He was tempted to find out…
"But don't ever gag me again, you jerk!" Her wand snapped from her robes.
And Snape flew off his feet, out of his shoes, and into the nearest table.
"Bloody witch! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?" Snape tried to sort himself out of the wreckage of the table. Hermione had already fled the room and was probably running into a hiding spot.
At least, she'd better hope she was.
"I'm going to Avada your little arse!"
Alright, perhaps that wasn't the most reasonable thing to yell at your new wife.
The Professor strode from the lab in his socked feet, his black hair and robes whipping behind him and his eyes like a falcon's. Hermione had one foot out the door when he ran close in three strides and hauled her back by her waist.
"No!" she shrieked. Her arms and legs flailed wildly.
Dammit, she fought like a hellcat. Her nails seared into the flesh of his forearms and Snape found himself smirking at her wildness.
He loved it.
"If you Avada me, everyone will know! Then they'll throw you in Azkaban, where the women are few and the guards are lonely," she hissed. "And you've got two holes to accommodate, Snape."
Snape laughed, still clutching her against his shaking chest.
"You've got a filthy mouth, witch," he chuckled. "One would never assume it."
She'd stopped fighting so hard at his laughter. Her curly head turned toward him.
"You aren't going to Avada me?"
"Of course not, you idiot." Her arms and legs relaxed, her hands falling to the arms about her.
Snape wondered if he should still be angry at her hex. No one fucked about with him like that. Ever. If she were to learn her place, she should be no exception.
But then, he also loved the fire. He'd even love to fight occasionally - would she react the same way to being hogtied suddenly? Before he could consider it much longer, she interrupted him.
"Then let's make a deal," she said. "You don't hex me and I won't hex you."
"Fine." He lied. He never made deals with women.
They stood in silence for several minutes. Hermione's small hands were acquainting themselves with his forearms, running her fingertips over the scratches she'd left and pushing the sinewy muscles. Snape's eyes narrowed lazily at her ministrations - it'd been very long since young hands explored him.
Sweet Circe, her hair smelled delicious under his large nose. Was that vanilla? Or cinnamon? He breathed in. Definitely cinnamon.
"I don't want to wait until the very end of the week," she said quietly. "To… to have sex. I don't want it to be rushed and uncomfortable."
"Naturally," he murmured, alert again. Her fingers, shaking now, explored his hands, turning them over and spreading his fingers with her own.
"So… will we? Soon?"
"No," Snape said. Her shoulders tightened as he stepped around to face her. "How much experience do you have, Hermione?"
"I have some. A little. I never had many chances for experience… boys didn't usually see me that way."
There. There it was - the sign Snape had been looking for. The pained eyes and wrinkled brow that showed her opinion of her sexuality and herself.
Fuck, he hated it.
He remembered his teenaged self, looking in the mirror, cursing his big nose and yellow teeth and crying so hard he'd vomit. Does Hermione do that?
No witch of his would.
"I have to admit something," he said. Hermione raised her head. "I'm a very sexual wizard. I enjoy things your brilliant mind hasn't even wrapped around. I'm going to enjoy bending and bouncing and fucking your body."
Her irises grew, her eyes darkened, and she bit that pretty pink lower lip.
"You're going to love it," he whispered.
She released a shuddering breath.
"Although, I think we need to work up to it," he continued. "At least until you are comfortable."
"It will take longer than four days to make me comfortable with you…" she muttered.
"I mean comfortable with yourself."
Her eyes drifted up at that. He studied her plainly - she looked… hopeful. Perfect.
"Are you willing to let me help, Hermione?"
"You must do everything I say. Everything."
"Good girl," he said. He'd been walking away but glanced over his shoulder when he praised her - Good girl. - and saw her hand flutter to her belly. Hm, she liked that.
Snape beckoned her to the full-length mirror and said, "Remove your clothes." Her expression changed completely around and went from dazed to stricken fear in an instant.
"I won't do that!"
"I won't do things I'm not comfortable with!"
Snape glared at her pointedly and snapped, "That's the point, witch!"
Really, the chit still grated him sometimes. Gryffindors were so bloody self-righteous and stubborn! They were all the same - the whole lot of them - all sniveling, weak ingrates-
"Fine," she mumbled. She wouldn't step in front of the mirror to undress, however, but she did bend to undo her trainers. After that, the socks. Then a deep breath, a swallow, and her shirt landed on the floor beside her pants.
The Professor wet his lips but made no other movement. She was humiliated. A flush had spread through her entire body, under her red cotton panties and bra, so that she looked red all over.
"Everything, Hermione," he said softly. If he didn't speak softly, she may spook and quit.
She turned away from him, slid her bra down her arms, and tried to shimmy out of her panties without bending over too far. Snape shoved his hands in his pockets, his cock aching to be touched by anything, even his own fingertips.
His mouth watered like a succulent feast was before him.
And the girl was succulent - she had the most perfect, roundest, jiggling arse he'd ever seen. He nearly moaned aloud when she looked backwards at him and brought a sexy curve to her spine.
"Come here," he said huskily.
When Hermione reached the mirror, her face was flaming.
"Face the mirror and look at yourself," he commanded. She turned slowly, her hands balled into fists at her sides. Gryffindor bravery, indeed. Sometimes tales were true.
Snape wanted badly to look at her form, to take and drink and consume every sight of her. But now he concentrated on her face and emotions, for this could go badly if he did not. This could break his pet, and he wouldn't let that happen.
He moved close behind her, so she could see them both, his pale face looming over her shoulder and meeting her eyes.
"Aren't you going to touch me?" she said weakly.
"No." He bent his mouth to her ear and brushed her hair with a lusty voice. "Look at yourself, witch."
Hermione's amber eyes, filled with trepidation, finally fell to her reflection.
Alright, so this chapter came pretty easily! Whew. Hopefully the next one does, too. I've got the beginning of it thought out.
So what do you think of the Professor's technique so far? He's not going to jump straight into being Master, I think. She's a little strong-willed for that so quickly.
Review please and thanks for reading!