1. Caught Between the Scylla and Charibdes

A/N: WARNING! This story contains the following: NC-17 rated sex, disturbing themes including somewhat OOC/ Dark Hermione, BSDM/FemDom, language, and spoilers of a sort from OOTP. Now, if you don’t like the idea of Hermione being a bit cruel and using Snape as her play toy, then you’d best not read this story!! I mean it!! The premise for this is (very) loosely based off the “Hollow Man” concept from the WIKTT challenge. This is my first HG/SS fanfic. If you want to comment, please be constructive. Nobody likes flames.

Disclaimer: All hail the Excellent JK Rowling who owns all things Harry Potter. This is a work of non-profit no copyright infringement intended fanfiction. I own nothing, I earn nothing from it. On with the show.

Wrapped Around Your Finger

Caught Between the Scylla and Charibdes

“When you find your servant is your master

You’ll be wrapped around my finger”

The Police, “Wrapped around Your Finger” from the album “Synchronicity”

I wait for him to emerge from his room.

I know he heard me knock: two slow, loud raps echoing on the thin wooden door. It’s the way I always knock when I intend to possess him. I stand in my customary place in the hall, patient as a spider. He won’t be long. He can’t. Too much hesitation and the cruciatus kicks in, keeps him from defying me. Clever work on the Ministry’s part, really, these “servants”: former Death Eaters who have been altered and given to those who suffered greatly from the final battle. Losing one’s parents in a Death Eater attack seemed to qualify me.

Oh, he didn’t know it was going to happen: I don’t blame him for that. What I do blame him for is the utter callousness he displayed in the face of my suffering. “We’ve all lost something, Miss Granger,” he’d said. Was this his attempt at comfort? Pretty bloody pathetic, if you ask me. Then walking off. Dismissing me that way, as if my hurt was of no real importance. It was at that moment that I decided I would get even. Damn the consequences, Severus Snape would learn a lesson. I thought we’d developed an understanding with each other while working together for the Order. Perhaps we did; perhaps it just wasn’t what I hoped it would be.

You want a confession? Very well. Yes, I did have a crush on him. Even now I burn for him. I ache for what I wanted him to be with a pain that Voldemort himself could not have inflicted upon me. But that will never happen. Instead I have to make do with reality. Yet since I own him body and soul, reality is still much to my liking.

Ah, yes. That was irony if irony ever existed. The former Death Eaters given as servants to muggle-born. When I was informed of my option I didn’t hesitate. My role in the final battle has lent me a certain amount of status now, and that day I milked it for all it’s worth. I stared at Fudge and told him I wanted Snape. He blinked, but made no comment. We of the Order knew Severus was innocent. But unfortunately we could offer no concrete proof. So Fudge threw Severus in with the rest. Stripped of the ability to perform magic, left with only the skill to make potions, then spelled so that he had to obey all orders from me or endure the crippling pain curse. Add instant unconsciousness if he ever made a move to cause harm to another living creature and his enslavement was complete.

He steps out of the room, closing the door behind him. Wordlessly, he kneels, his hands resting on his thighs, his head bent. Good, very good. The first few times he was rebellious, resistant. Trying to defy me, sneering. But he learned rather quickly that I wasn’t about to put up with that. I don’t think me took me seriously at first. He does now.

“Look at me.”

He hesitates, but not long enough to anger me. His dark eyes meet mine. I lean against the wall and let my gaze wander down his body. Black linen trousers, long sleeved black silk shirt. Clothes he might have chosen for himself. But… the top button is undone. Were it up to him, he’d be completely contained within his clothes like he was at Hogwarts. But not now. I like seeing that sliver of pale flesh exposed by that untamed button. It’s a reminder to him that I am the one in control here.

“This is abuse, you know,” he says, his voice devoid of anger despite his words.

“You feel that I abuse you? Would you like me to return you to Azkaban? Or perhaps let someone else have you as a servant? Someone who doesn’t know you weren’t really a Death Eater?” My words slip off my tongue like soured honey.

He flinches at this. Not everyone who took a servant treats them with any sort of compassion or respect. After all, they were Death-Eaters. I’ve heard stories of what happens to Lucius and Draco. And even Harry sometimes visits them for a little “chat.” I don’t blame him a bit. He would’ve taken them himself, except that when all was said and done he’d opted for Bellatrix. I like to visit Harry and Ginny and watch Bellatrix cringe each time he pulls his wand out. She killed Sirius, the only family Harry had left except for the Weasleys and me. Who am I to judge what anyone else does to ease their suffering?

“That doesn’t make this right,” Severus whispers.

“You have your own room and bath. You have good food and clothes. I let you have time to yourself. I even got permission for you to make medicinal potions and set up a lab for you. What more should I do?”

“Set me free!” he cries harshly. “You know I’m innocent!”

I sigh. “Yes, but you know I can’t let you go. Someone else would take you, or worse. The world at large thinks you’re a Death Eater bastard, or have you forgotten?”

“Why do you do this?” he whispers again, defeated.

Such straightforwardness, from a Slytherin no less. He must truly be desperate.

“Because I enjoy it,” I answer.

“You enjoy forcing your will on me? Then you’re no better than a Death Eater,” he spits.

“You might be right,” I say, calm in the face of his anger because I know that’s the best way to deal with him. “But I’ve never killed except in self-defense, and I’ve never tortured someone and laughed while they screamed. Can you say the same, Severus?”

“That’s in my past,” he replies, though he looks uneasy.

“Well, in MY past, I had a family. Guess what? They’re dead now, rotting in the ground along with Lily and James Potter, and Sirius Black, and Dean Thomas, and Professor Flitwick…”

“Stop!” he cries out.

“Murdered by Death Eaters,” I hiss.

“This is still wrong and you know it,” he tells me, his voice flat, hollow.

“I don’t care.”

He stares at me when I say this, as if he’s never seen me before, and perhaps he hasn’t. Little Goody-Two-Shoes Granger. Pride of Gryffindor. Abusing a former professor and liking it. Maybe I’m a Slytherin in Lion’s robes.

He seems to have run out of steam now. Perhaps he’s weary of the argument. He knows he can’t win. We’ve had similar discussions before. He looks away, then shuts his eyes.

“Are you ready?”

“Does it matter?” he asks.

I don’t reply to his question. Instead I point down the hall. “Go on.”

“May I walk this time?” he asks. His tone is soft. After the last fight I made him crawl. It would seem he’ll play nice to avoid that.

“Yes,” I tell him, feeling a twinge of remorse.

He stands, clasping his hands behind his back, and slowly goes forward to meet his fate.