Parvus Obitus - Part 4

[darnedchild]

Summary: Voldemort wants a potion made, and Severus is having difficulty finding the most important ingredient.
Originally completed in early 2004.
Rating: NC-17 (to be safe)
A/N - Anything you recognize, I don't own. The Harry Potter-verse belongs to J.K. Rowlings.

Parvus Obitus
Choices

Snape dived to the floor as the first volley of spells exploded into the room. A quick glance assured him the Dark Lord had more important things to worry about than his newest captive.

Snape crawled across the floor to her, dodging scrambling Death Eaters and flying furniture.

She was curled up on her side coughing, streams of dark liquid covering the lower half of her face. She’d spit up as much of the potion as possible, but would it be enough? Snape looked for the vial; maybe he could see how much was left to better determine how much she had ingested.

A small, black pool and shards of glass were his only answer. The fools must have dropped the vial when the attack began.

She was breathing and relatively unharmed for the moment; time enough to assess the danger of the potion later when the effects began to kick in. For now Snape’s immediate concern was getting her out of the middle of the war zone.

The cottage door was too far away. He spotted a sturdy wooden side table near the closest corner of the room; it would have to do.

Snape pulled a small dagger out of an inner pocket of his robes and sliced through the cords at her wrists and ankles.

“We need to move, Ms. Granger. That corner.” He jerked his head to indicate where. “Can you make it?”

Her eyes were still wide with panic, but she nodded to show she understood. “You’ll have to help me. My legs are numb.”

Snape grabbed hold of her wrist and nearly ended up dragging her across the room. Hermione did her best to help. Snape could tell she was in pain as feeling began to return to limbs that had been restrained, but she refused to complain.

He flipped the table, making a barricade. No one seemed to notice or care about the two people huddled in the corner, so Snape turned his attention to her.

He used the hem of his robe to wipe the remains of the potion off her chin. “Are you okay? How much did you ingest?”

She pulled the robe out of his hands and used it to scrub the taste of the potion of her tongue.

“Not much. I spit out everything I could. What’s going to happen? Am I going to die?” There was a faint tremor to her voice.

Snape was pleased to see that she was fighting off the panic. He pulled off one of his gloves and found her wrist. She flinched as his skin touched hers.

“I doubt you will die, Ms. Granger. Your pulse is racing but not dangerously so. If you had ingested a fatal amount the effects would have been instantaneous and violent.”

Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned toward him; her nostrils flared slightly as she caught his scent. She immediately caught herself and scooted as far away from him as the cramped space would allow. The flush of her skin told him all that he needed to know.

“What’s the plan? Tell me what I need to do.”

He admired her strength of will. The potion was starting to effect her but she was doing her best not to let it show. How long she would be able to hold off before her need grew too powerful depended on her control. Snape realized that it could break at any minute.

“As soon as it is safe enough I am taking you back to the castle. Poppy has a room set up in case you were hurt. You can take care of ...”

A dark-robed figure fell against the table barricade. Snape recognized him as the man who had dragged Hermione in front of the Dark Lord.

Hermione launched herself across the small space and tangled her hands in the back of the intruder’s robes. A sharp tug had him over-balancing backward into the hidden nook.

“He’s got my wand! He took it!”

The Death Eater looked surprised to find himself hanging upside down over the upturned table, being pawed at by his frantic former captive.

Snape snatched the Death Eater’s wand out of his hand. Hermione continued to search the struggling villain, growing more upset with each second. When he managed to grab one of her hands she snapped, letting loose a vicious snarl and sinking her teeth into the skin of his arm.

The startled Death Eater’s yelp spurred Snape into action. He cast Stupefy and began to help her search.

Seconds later – with a triumphant “Yes!” – she brandished her wand. Catching her intent, Snape shoved the stunned man back over the table and closed his fingers around the wrist of her wand hand.

Her other hand closed around his as she tried to free herself. “Clear your mind. We’re leaving.” He waited just long enough for her to nod as her eyes to narrow menacingly.

Their surroundings blurred, and seconds later they were kneeling on the school grounds, face-to-face, outside the castle wards. Snape still had her wrist grasped tightly in his hand. He ignored the murderous look in her eye and tugged on her captured wrist, intending to snag her attention. “If you are ready, Ms. Granger, I believe Pop...”

His words were cut short by the sudden force of her body colliding with his.

Snape’s vision blurred when the back of his head hit the grass-covered ground. He forced his eyes to focus on the woman straddling his waist, pulling her wrist free from his grasp.

“Stop touching me! You have to stop ...” She froze, staring down at his lips. Snape ran his tongue across his lower lip, discovering the copper taste of blood. He must have bitten his lip when she collided with him.

He watched her face, preparing to defend himself from her next blow, as she stared at him.

Suddenly she was on him, hands pressing against his shoulders, her full body weight across his chest, and her tongue ...

Snape’s eyes closed involuntarily and all thoughts of resistance momentarily fled as she lapped at the blood on his lip.

Her mouth closed over his, and her tongue slid past his unprotesting lips. The metallic tang of blood and something else, something that had to be her, filled his mouth. Her teeth nipped at his bruised lip and he moaned.

She jerked her head back at the sound. Her look of horror met his for a second before she scrambled off him.

She looked embarrassed and scared and ... aroused. Snape felt his body respond.

He sat up and gingerly probed his sore lip with his tongue. Hermione’s eyes followed the movement in a way that caused Snape’s blood to pool in his groin.

She covered her face with her hands, wand forgotten beside her, and began to rock back and forth. “I’m so sorry, Professor. Please forgive me. I don’t know what came over me.”

Snape picked up her wand and held it out to her, careful to leave plenty of space between her hand and his. “I do. It is the potion, Ms. Granger. It is a powerful dark magic that you have managed to resist far longer than most.” He stood and indicated that she should as well.

“Can you hold on just a bit longer?”

She bit her lip and nodded, carefully tucking her hands behind her back and standing several feet away from the tall Potions Master.

They hurried to the infirmary, each very aware of Hermione’s tenuous hold on her self control. Thankfully the halls were empty and the trip was a short one.

Pomfrey had readied the infirmary. All of the candles were lit, the beds prepped.

Snape held up his hand, forestalling the medi-witch’s questions, and led his trembling apprentice to the prepared room.

There was a sensuous glow to her skin, her lower lip swollen from being worried between her teeth. Desperate sounds, almost whimpers, were escaping from her. Snape had never seen a woman look more desirable.

Dark chocolate eyes peeked up at him through heavy lashes. “I feel strange. Not at all like myself. I want to do things, need to ...” The plea in her voice, in her eyes, was almost too much for him to withstand.

He stepped into the room and cast a silencing charm to protect her modesty.

As she passed by him, her body brushed against his. Snape flushed when he realized the contact was not accidental.

Hermione stopped near the solitary hospital bed and turned to look at him. She lifted one hand to her face and let her fingers drift across her cheek to her mouth.

She watched him as her tongue slid out to lick the tip of her index finger. Her lips closed around the digit. He could see her cheeks hollow as she sucked on her finger.

His knees threatened to buckle.

Very slowly Hermione drew the wet finger out of her mouth and down the graceful line of her throat toward the neckline of her shirt. Both hands reached for the buttons and as the first one slid free Snape slammed the door shut, blocking the tantalizing image from sight.

Several deep breaths later, Snape felt his control had returned. He turned to find Pomfrey standing where he had left her, waiting for an explanation.

As she tended to his damaged lip he informed her of Ms. Granger’s condition, leaving out some of the details – like how his lip was split. Better to let Poppy believe I got hit in the fight.

Several minutes later, as Pomfrey was proclaiming Snape’s lip as good as new, the battered (and judging by the good spirits, victorious) troops began to arrive.

Immediately Pomfrey scurried to help the wounded.

Dumbledore was standing next to a bed containing the Weasley boy. Potter was nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Snape’s heart stopped, then kicked into overdrive. He didn’t know if he was gleeful or saddened at the thought that the Boy-Who-Lived didn’t. Before he could analyze the feeling further, Potter walked through the door clutching his left arm protectively to his chest.

Dumbledore noticed the Potions Master and signaled for Snape to join him.

Reluctantly, Snape did so. “Mr. Weasley, I see that you managed to survive.”

The red-head grinned. “Nothing like a little sport to get the blood flowing. I’m only here because the Pepper-Up started to fade, and I got a wee bit dizzy.”

“He passed out.” Snape steeled himself against the grating sound of Potter’s voice.

Someone had tended to Potter’s arm and it now hung in a sling. “He kept himself going until the Aurors captured Voldemort, then he dropped like a stone.”

The young men grinned at each other.

Snape bit back his growing impatience. “Sir,” he directed himself to Dumbledore. “I would like to give you my report and return to the dungeon. If we could find somewhere to discuss ...”

Potter interrupted him. “Where’s ‘Mione? Don’t tell me you let her get hurt?”

Snape leveled a cold glare at him. “I am sure she will find your concern touching. Especially as it was your incompetence which landed her in that mess to begin with.”

Weasely and Potter both began hurling insults and excuses. Dumbledore took a step back, out of the line of fire. Coward.

Snape cut the young men off with a snarl. “Silence. Do you have any idea what Death Eaters do to women? They administered the Parvus Obitus, gentlemen. They had every intention of making her beg for the privilege of being used like a Knockturn Alley whore.”

Finally, the little bastards look contrite. Always thinking of themselves, selfish prats.

Dumbledore placed a reassuring hand on Potter’s shoulder. “Hermione will be fine. She’s being isolated until the effects of the potion wear off.” At Snape’s suspicious look, Dumbledore shrugged. “Poppy.”

The door to Hermione’s temporary room flew open, and the tousled witch stood in the doorway. Her hair was disheveled, her shirt half-unbuttoned and completely untucked from her denim trousers.

Snape found himself moving toward her before he realized what he was doing. He pointedly ignored the curious look he knew Dumbledore was giving him.

“Hermione!” Weasley tried to climb out of the bed, but a stern glance from Pomfrey held him back.

Potter nearly fell over himself trying to get to her. Snape rolled his eyes at the pathetic display. When Potter tried to wrap his good arm around her in a hug she neatly side-stepped him.

“Please, don’t touch me.” She wrapped her arms around herself and looked around the room.

“Look, ‘Mione, I’m sorry about what happened. I really am. Snape told us about the potion.” Potter faltered as he suddenly had her undivided attention.

“What are you going on about?”

He moved to reach for her again only to draw back when she flinched. “Are you mad at me? Hermione?” He realized that she wasn’t listening to him. She left him standing there and made straight for Snape.

Snape glanced at Dumbledore, who looked just as confused as he felt, and then back at the determined woman stalking across the room toward him.

She stopped less than a foot away, close enough that Snape could see how tense she was.

“It’s not working. Something’s wrong. I’m going crazy.”

Even though she’d made no move to touch him, gone out of her way to leave space between them, Snape felt crowded. Deep brown eyes studied him much like a cat studied a mouse, waiting for the perfect opportunity to pounce.

Somehow, the thought of Hermione pouncing on him wasn’t nearly as distasteful as he had expected it to be.

Dumbledore cleared his throat, and Snape remembered his surroundings. The Headmaster looked from his tense Potions staff to the gathering audience and back again. “Perhaps we should discuss this elsewhere?” He indicated the room Hermione had just left.

She shook her head. “No. I’m not going back in there. I’m going to my room; there might be something in one of my books.”

She was looking at him again. Snape couldn’t contain the small shiver that raced up his spine.

“Professor, since you are more familiar with the potion than any one else, would you be willing to search your personal library? I would be so very, very grateful.”

Her tone conjured images of all the different ways she could express her gratitude.

Snape could see he wasn’t the only male affected by her.

“Of course, Ms. Granger. Might I suggest using the floo? It could be awkward if you were seen in your ... condition.”

He resisted the urge to back away when she leaned closer and placed her hand above his heart. “My ... condition is being controlled by calming charms that are growing more difficult to maintain every second. When my concentration finally snaps, something deliciously wicked is going to happen, and, frankly, I’m beginning to look forward to it.”

Hermione shoved and Snape fell back a step or two.

She crossed to the fireplace, ignoring the shocked reactions of most of the room, and grabbed a handful of floo powder. With a sensuous grace few knew she was capable of, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and smiled. “Coming, boys?”

Snape hid his matching grin. Oh Hell yes.

– ~ –

Twenty minutes later Snape arrived at Hermione’s chambers, his arms loaded down with a stack of books from his collection. He had hopes that one of them might contain the answer for Hermione’s dilemma.

The potion wasn’t reacting as it should. The magic should have dissipated the minute she found release.

Dumbledore met him at the door. He made no effort to hid his worry from Snape.

“She was in the shower when we arrived. That seemed to help for a few minutes, but she’s had to recast the calming charm twice since then.”

Weasley and Potter looked up when he entered the room. They were in the chairs next to the fire, large tomes propped in their laps. Identical looks of confusion seemed to be permanently plastered across their faces.

For the first time Snape noticed that Dumbledore had a book as well. She had even put the Headmaster to work. For some reason Snape found the thought immensely amusing.

The task mistress herself was seated on the couch, rapidly scanning through a book. Her wet hair was piled up in a nest of messy curls, much like it had been that night in his lab.

She’d changed into a huge white sweatshirt that was long enough to cover her knees and a pair of shiny black footless tights, what some of the female students referred to as leggings. Her feet were bare, her toe nails painted gold.

They should be red.

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Snape turned to see Dumbledore dive for the chair behind Hermione’s desk. The old goat shot him a pained, almost apologetic look and quickly began reading. Weasley and Potter immediately did the same.

A quick appraisal of the room showed him why. Seating was at a premium, and the three cowards had left him with only two options: the floor or the couch. With Hermione.

Severus Snape does not sit on the floor like a toddler.

Reminding himself to expect anything, Snape hefted his stack of books and carried them to the couch.

“Ms. Granger.”

Her rapid page turning stilled. Slowly, Hermione lifted her head to look up at him. Her voice was husky when she answered. “Professor.”

Snape deposited the load of books on to the couch next to her. “These are the most likely to mention the Parvus Obitus.”

She added the book she’d been paging through to the large discard stack beside the couch and reached for the top book from Snape’s pile.

His hand shot out to stop her, his iron grip keeping her hand from escaping. He pretended not to notice her shiver at the contact.

Time stood still for a second as her eyes met his.

He leaned down and her gaze fell to his lips. Hers parted on a sigh and he could see the barest hint of her pink tongue.

“These books are from my private collection; they do not belong to the school.” His voice was low, for her ears only. “Some of them are quite old, all of them rare. The subject matter is ... delicate and I would be very disappointed if the wrong people learned of it. Therefore, I must ask that you refrain from discussing any thing you may read with anyone other than myself. Is that clear?”

He waited for her answer, hand still wrapped tightly around hers. She was not going near those books until he had her word.

“Take me.”

Snape’s head snapped back as if she’d hit him. Hermione slapped her free hand over her mouth, eyes wide in panic.

She pulled her hand free and bolted off the sofa to her bedroom, the door slamming shut behind her.

“What happened?” Weasley’s voice broke on the question.

Snape realized he had been staring at her closed bedroom door, mouth gawping like a fish, and quickly schooled his features.

“I believe the charm failed.”

The four men traded worried looks as the implications began to sink in. The silence seemed to go on forever before Snape sat down and pulled a small hardbound journal out of his stack of books.

“Don’t just sit there, research.”

He used his no-nonsense teacher voice and was pleased to see the boys jump.

Keeping one eye on Hermione’s door, Snape settled back to scan the journal. It was slow work at first, the antiquated French was difficult to translate, but soon he began to believe he was on to something.

The journal had belonged to a dark warlock with voyeuristic tendencies named Geriant Sebastian. In the early 1800's he became fascinated with Donatien Alphonse Francois de Sade’s work, particularly the uncompleted One Hundred and Twenty Days of Sodom.

Sebastian began to mix de Sade’s methods with magic. A few of his experiments involved the Parvus Obitus.

He had procured a small vial of the potion and administered it to a bar wench. Needless to say, he had enjoyed the results.

Eventually the potion ran out, and Sebastian discovered the secrets to making his own. He knew of a young girl in his employ, a chamber maid who harbored a “secret” infatuation for him. He used that infatuation to get the key ingredient. The young woman was nearly deflowered the same night as the potion was completed.

Sebastian found her “quaint shyness” to be an amusing diversion for a few weeks, then wanted something more from his new pet. The potion was used and the whippings began. Eventually he issued permission for her to seek her own fulfillment. He watched as the poor girl did as he asked, thus ending the magic’s hold. Or so he thought. Within a quarter of an hour, the young maid was again writhing on the floor, begging for release.

He let the cycle continue for several hours, the girl no longer trying to fight the spell. She gave herself over to the feelings.

Her abandon inspired the warlock, and together they tortured a young stable hand. Their enthusiasm enabled the normally sexually dysfunctional Sebastian to claim her maidenhead.

“It was as close as I may ever come to an act of love,” wrote Sebastian.

At some point during the prolonged encounter – which Sebastian detailed in length – the spell must have been countered, since the young woman was able to fall into an exhausted sleep soon after.

Sebastian hypothesized that the dark magic “recognized” the donor and the spell reacted differently.

Whatever the reason, the spell did not end until Sebastian claimed the maid as his consort.

Snape had a sneaking suspicion that Hermione would not be pleased with the news.

His lips twitched at the mental image of Dumbledore explaining why it would be a good idea for Hermione to suddenly take a lover.

His amusement ended when he realized the Headmaster would undoubtably make Snape tell her.

What the bleeding Hell am I supposed to say? “Now would be a good time to convince Mr. Potter or Mr. Weasley that you are, in fact, a female?”

He doubted that would go over very well with her.

Snape carried the journal across the room to Dumbledore. He indicated the passage the Headmaster should read, and waited.

The older wizard read it twice, taking pains to make sure he completely understood the implications.

“Does this mean ...?” he asked, still not wanting to believe the answer.

Snape nodded.

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to tell her?” His hopeful look quickly fell at Snape’s mutinous glare. “I didn’t think so. Well, no time like the present.”

With one last glance at Snape – who shook his head emphatically – Dumbledore gently knocked on the bedroom door.

“Hermione. May I speak with you for a moment, dear?”

The door cracked open and Dumbledore slipped through.

Minutes passed and Snape was beginning to wonder if she’d killed the Headmaster.

Her voice rang out, echoing off the walls of the small chamber. “What?”

The rather loud thump of a tome being dropped confirmed Snape’s suspicion that Potter hadn’t been reading and had, in fact, been asleep with a book in his lap.

The bedroom door flew open and Dumbledore backed out, hands up as if warding off danger. “I’m sorry, my dear, it’s the only answer we’ve found ...”

“I’m sure it is, you sick bastard.” She stood in the doorway, wet hair caressing her furious face. She must have taken another shower. Snape noticed her legs were bare below the gargantuan sweatshirt.

She glared at the four men in her living room. “Have you picked the poor sot? Drawn straws, loser gets stuck with taking the know-it-all to bed?”

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances, unsure about what was happening.

“Of course not, Hermione. It should be your choice.” Dumbledore tried to sound reassuring.

“My choice? My choice would be no one, you old fool.” Her gaze found Snape and he felt a chill race up his spine. She began to stalk toward him and he suddenly felt ... not fear, surely. Apprehension?

“What’s your say in all this?”

“Is there someone you would like us to owl? Someone you would feel comfortable with?” Snape offered. The distaste was plain in his voice. “Potter? Weasley?”

She stopped a few feet away from him. She looked, really looked for the first time since she had reemerged from her room, at the four men. It was true. Her first time was really going to be because of this stupid potion.

“It will just keep getting worse, right? I’ll go mad.”

Snape nodded, no point in hiding the truth from her.

Hermione covered her face in both hands and forced herself to draw in deep, calming breaths. She peeked over her fingers, looking from face to face. Finally she made a decision, her hand dropping to her sides.

“Fine. Let’s get it over with.”

The men traded anxious glances, who was she talking to?

“Harry.” Snape tensed when she called Potter’s name. She wasn’t really going waste her first time on him, was she?

“Ron.”

Not the idiot, please, not the idiot.

“Albus.”

That is wrong on so many levels.

“I think you should all leave. Professor Snape and I need to discuss some things.”

Snape wasn’t sure who was more surprised, the other men or him.

Potter stepped forward. “Really, ‘Mione. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but if you need help I’m willing. We’ll get through this together. You don’t need to settle for Snape.”

Settle? Snape ran through a list of hexes in his head trying to pinpoint the one least likely to cause the Headmaster to chastise him.

Hermione’s look would have been comical if not for the murderous glint in her eye. “Settle? Willing? Excuse me, Harry Potter, if I refuse your oh-so-generous offer. How kind of you to offer yourself like some sacrificial lamb. I think not. I want a man, not a boy. A man who can make me tremble at his touch.

“I’ve spent years watching those fingers, thinking about their touch. I want his hands on me, Harry, not yours. I want Severus.”


Part 1 / Part 5