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Possession	By : Goldilocks92 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 9996 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
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Chapter List
- 1-Possession
- 1
Nietzsche: So far as a woman is concerned, for example, a more modest man considers having at his disposal her body and sexual gratification as a satisfactory and sufficient sign of having, of possession.
It was an evening just as any other. Every evening since Hermione Granger had started working at Hogwarts, she had sat in near silence in the staff room opposite Severus Snape, pretending to read a book about the use of advanced transfiguration in potions. Snape always sat there pretending to read a potions journal. Occasionally one would glance up and stare at the other for a few short, agonising moments of self inflicted torture, anticipation building inside of them. Very rarely would they join in the conversation of their colleagues prattling on around them, gossiping and complaining. It was all part of their game. They would sit there in half agony, letting the tension build slowly, a tension which had started developing in each of them from the moment they got up in the morning, continually growing after every surreptitious glance over the high table during meals, after every secret brush of their finger tips when passing each other in the corridors. The hours spent in the staff room pretending to read was the final stage of their game. Desire would well up inside of them. They would increase it by teasing themselves, trying to see how long they could go without glancing up at the other, how long they could take it before one of them made the move which would irrevocably be followed by a night of passion, a night which allowed them to forget the horrors of the war, which allowed them to lose themselves in the other.
In sexual matters, Severus Snape had always considered himself to be a modest man. He didn’t think he needed the emotions, the responsibility and the inner turmoil that always came with relationships. As long as he had full access to her body, her flawless, awe-inspiring body, he didn’t need anything. Her body was his. Therefore, she was his.
Another man, with his more suspicious and more discriminating thirst for possessions sees the “question mark,” the fact that such a possession is only apparent, and wants a more refined test, above all, to know whether the woman not only gives herself to him but also for his sake gives up what she has or would like to have. Only then does he consider her “possessed.”
Severus scowled as he watched Hermione laughing and chatting with Professor Bostridge, the new muggle studies professor at Hogwarts. He was young and handsome, much more so than Severus was. And he was charming, nice, something Severus knew he would never be. As he watched them, Severus felt short, sharp pangs of irritation rise up within him. He refused to acknowledge them for what they were. Besides, jealousy was a perfectly irrational reaction to be having: she belonged to him, her body belonged to him. No one else could touch it, only him. No one else got to see her face twisted in ecstasy, no one else got to hear her cries of desire and longing. No one else.
But what if that wasn’t enough? The suspicion that possessing her body was not quite the same as possessing her began to rise within him. That would not do. She was his. He needed to prove to himself that this was actually the case, he needed to make her show him that he came first, above her other wants and desires.
That night, Severus was the one to give the signal. He abruptly dropped his potion journal on the table and left the room, not bothering to bid any of the staff good night. He waited in their usual alcove and sure enough, Hermione joined him not two minutes later. He would have been surprised that the rest of the staff hadn’t caught on to their little routine yet, had he not known the depths of their blind sightedness.
Hermione stood before him, slightly breathless and flushed. They were only a few centimetres apart, but neither leaned towards the other just yet; that was their game, letting the anticipation and tension grow until it was absolutely unbearable. Severus noticed the lustful sparkle in her honey-brown eyes, he noticed the rapid movement of the swell of her chest, he even noticed the faint smell of her arousal, a smell he had familiarised himself with over the last year. He hardened even further in his trousers, but knew that this time he would have to remain in control.
Hermione swayed towards him, her eyes focused on his lips. They were so close that they were almost touching. He could feel little bursts of her breath on his face. Knowing what he was about to do, he wanted to close that distance more than he ever had before. This could be the end of everything.
“Stop talking to Bostridge” he demanded. “I don’t want to see you interact with him again.” Hermione did not respond at first. She was still focused on his lips. Her eyes slowly lifted up to his, still glazed. Severus was about to give in and kiss her senseless, anything to keep the needy expression on her face, when she suddenly stepped back.
“What did you say?” Hermione was still panting from the exertion it took to step away from him. From the exertion it had taken not to pin him to the wall, undo his belt and finally to feel him in her hand again. But no. “How dare you presume to tell me who I can and cannot talk to?” she demanded.
Severus took a step towards her, she took a step back. And again. Soon she was pressed against the opposite wall, her chin tilted up defiantly, maintaining angry eye-contact with him. He stepped forward again, pressing his erection into her stomach and his chest against hers. His lips lightly brushed hers and retreated again, causing her head to surge forward, trying to capture his lips. He didn’t let her. Instead he dipped his head down to her shoulders and brushed his lips across a piece of exposed flesh. Hermione shivered in anticipation, having already forgotten their words. Severus’ lips gently brushed along her neck until they landed at her ears. After lightly sucking on her earlobe he whispered “I will not take you again, until you stop speaking to him.”
And then he was gone. His robe billowed around him as he strode away quickly, leaving Hermione panting against the cold, stone wall.
That was the first night in a year that the two didn’t spend in a passionate embrace.
The next day, Severus and Hermione both awoke feeling unrested and frustrated. Severus wondered whether or not his actions the previous night had been a bad idea. But no, if she was truly his, and he needed her to be that, then she would be willing to give up the insipid man Bostridge for him. Hermione awoke determined not to give in to her hard headed, arrogant lover. At breakfast however, Severus did not once glance her way as she sat chatting with her kind tempered colleague about some of the bright students currently studying for their NEWTs. As she walked down the corridor with Professor Bostridge later in the day, carrying on the same conversation, Severus failed to make their usual light contact, leaving her feeling bereft and filled with unsatisfied longing.
By the time they sat in the staff room that evening, Hermione was at her wits’ end. She needed Severus, she needed their nights, she needed to feel that she belonged to him, just as she believed he belonged to her. When Bostridge sat next to her and tried to start up a conversation with her, Hermione sat up straighter, after sparing a glance at Severus who was staring resolutely at his journal, and said “Bostridge, please, just stop with your incessant chattering”. She then got up and left the staff room quickly, leaving a bewildered and hurt muggle studies Professor in her wake.
Hermione leant against the wall feeling ashamed. However, arousal and longing overpowered her shame by far and threatened to consume her entirely. By the time Severus had arrived, Hermione had taken off her tights and knickers underneath her gown. Without saying a word, Severus swiftly undid his trousers, pulled down his boxers, lifted Hermione up by the waist and entered her in one swift stroke. They both let out low moans at the feeling and Severus stayed still, staring into her eyes. After a few moments, he pulled out and plunged back into her depths. His lips were hovering just above hers, mimicking their usual game of building anticipation, while he plunged into her over and over again. Hermione needed to feel his lips, his tongue, and tried to lift her head to meet his, but never quite reaching it. She let out small mewls of pleasure and pain, as his cock hit her cervix incessantly, trying to keep as quiet as possible, knowing that they were not far off from the staff room.
When the pleasure became too much to handle, Severus plunged into her harder and faster than ever before and finally covered her mouth with his, meeting her in a brutal, bruising kiss. Just as he felt the pleasure travelling down his spine, he growled out “now you’re mine, witch, you’re mine” before ecstatically exploding within her. Hermione groaned his name when she felt him release inside of her, her walls convulsing around him wildly, uncontrollably.
“I’m yours,” she sighed, before he lifted her into his arms and carried her down to his dungeons.
A third man, however, is at this point not yet finished with his suspicion and desire to possess. He asks himself if the woman, when she gives up everything for him, is not doing this for something like a phantom of himself: he wants to be well known first, fundamentally, even profoundly, in order to be able, in general, to be loved. He dares to allow himself to be revealed. – Only then does he feel that the loved one is fully in his possession, when she is no longer deceived about him, when she loves him just as much for his devilry and hidden insatiability as for his kindness, patience, and spirituality.
            Two months later, Severus and Hermione’s relationship had progressed further than it had in the whole year previously. Their single night apart had made it clear to both of them that even a short separation from the other was unbearable, was something neither wished to repeat. Hermione had all but moved into his quarters, having connected their floos and moved half of her wardrobe into his spare drawers. Eventually, they had replaced their silent game of anticipation, one which they would occasionally repeat for old times’ sake, with a real relationship, one based on mutual understanding and plenty of conversation, interrupted by bouts of passionate love making, something which always resolved their arguments when no eloquent points would.
            However, one night Hermione uttered the three words Severus had never expected to hear. After a particularly fervent night of hot sex Hermione mumbled “I love you” as she was drifting off to sleep. Immediately, Severus was wide awake, a tumult of conflicting emotions writhing around inside him. He already knew that he returned the sentiment, he had realised this a long time ago, back when he had realised that she belonged to him, that she was his. But after having longed to hear her say those very words to him, something seemed wrong.
            How could she love him? He was so dark, so scarred, so tormented. He had done terrible things; sometimes, he still longed to give in to his dark side. But she didn’t know that now, did she? However, this thought did not give him any kind of relief. If she didn’t know that a substantial part of him was dark, if she didn’t even remember that he had done terrible things in his past, how could she truly love him? Until she truly knew him, she would only ever love an idea of him, but not the true him. He needed her to love him, to love him entirely. Only then would she finally, really, be his.
            And so Severus did something he never thought he would do in her presence: he removed the glamour which had been concealing his many scars and his dark mark over the past year.
            The next morning Hermione awoke slowly, stretching out her muscles feeling wonderfully rested, as she was wont to do in the last two months. However, something was missing; Severus’ arms weren’t around her; his morning erection was not pressing against her butt; his long hair wasn’t brushing her shoulders... She turned around to find him lying stiffly on his back, his arms folded beneath his head and his eyes closed, as if he was asleep, except she knew he wasn’t. No sleeping person looked so tense.
            The second thing she noticed was the myriad of scars covering his toned chest. Hermione couldn’t help but gasp. “Do they disgust you?” Severus demanded in a rough voice, his eyes still closed shut. “Have they reminded you of who I am?” Severus pulled one of his arms from beneath his arm, his eyes still closed, as if afraid of what he would see when he opened them. “Does this disgust you?” he asked, holding his left forearm before her gaze.
            There was a long pause.
            “I should have known you didn’t really love me.” Severus turned on his side, his back turned to her, revealing even more scars. “Leave.”
            “Severus” Hermione whispered, trying to keep her composure. “I’m not disgusted. What are you talking about? I’m just shocked. Why have you been hiding these from me for all this time?”
            “Even if you aren’t disgusted, Hermione, have you been reminded of who I am? I joined the dark lord willingly. I wanted to. I enjoyed the power, I enjoyed the darkness. That part of me isn’t gone. I’m a dark man, Hermione. You don’t really know the person you professed your love to.” Severus still hadn’t moved. He lay there stiffly, not daring to hope.
            Hermione leaned forward slowly, letting Severus feel her breath on the back of his neck. She lowered her head and kissed a scar that ran across both of his shoulders. She then gently pulled him back, so that he was lying on his back again, and straddled him. She leant forward again and kissed each of his scars, slowly making her way to his left shoulder and then down his left arm. Finally, she kissed the dark mark, her tongue lingering at the head of the snake on the inside of his wrist. “I know who you are, Severus Snape. I have watched you since I was eleven years old. I saw you were mean, you were dark, you were dangerous. In the war I also saw that you could use those characteristics to the advantage of the light. You saved us, you protected us. You protected me. I love your darkness, just as I love the rest of you.”
            With that she lifted herself again, and rested her body on his, her face once again centimetres from his. “I also know that you love me. You love my irritating personality, my know-it-all, insufferable nature, my stupid hair that attempts to strangle you in your sleep.”
            Severus stared up at her in undisguised wonder, not daring to believe her words, but not being able to prevent his heart from soaring at the same time.
            “And finally,” Hermione said, “I want you to know, that you are mine. You are mine entirely and I’m never letting you go again. You belong to me. And so, you are going to marry me this summer.”
            Severus suddenly surged up and turned them around, throwing her onto her back. In the time it took her to blink, he was inside of her, ruggedly moaning her name, not being able to prevent a single tear from leaking from one of his eyes. But it didn’t matter if she saw, she loved him for all he was. Yes, she was his possession, but then again, he was hers as well.
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Possession