InsaneJournal

Special delivery for plastraa
Title: Restrictive Covenants
Author: shiv5468 (and warded_portal
Recipient's LJ name: plastraa
Rating: Mature
Pairing(s): Snape/Hermione
Word Count:
Authors notes: You wanted forced bonding. Severus is bound by his past, which is the strongest bond of all.



When Snape had realised that he wasn’t dead, and that he wasn’t going to die, he'd had two thoughts on his mind: to get absolutely ragingly, gloriously drunk, and then to get laid.

In the confusion that followed the battle at Hogwarts, he had managed to stagger into St Mungo’s and get the necessary treatment for snakebite. He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, and they assumed he had been injured defending the children.

He had been, close enough, but he knew that once the story came out of how he had nearly met his end, his welcome would quickly cool, there would be an Auror on the door, and the only kisses he would get would be from a Dementor.

He had stared at the ceiling and contemplated his future. There would be no effort spared to track him down, even if he left the country, and even ceasing to use magic would only protect him for a while. And, really, what was the point? He may not have any friends, the last year had seen to that, but he still shrank from a life lived on his own.

So, he had decided to take his chances with a court case, hope the Old Bastard had had something in mind to secure his freedom, but before that, just in case, he would see to the getting drunk and the getting laid. He’d been saving himself for some dream of Lily Evans all his life, it felt, and it was time to let that go.

Ordinarily, drinking and extremes of sexual performance did not go hand in hand. Ordinarily, was not a rule that applied to potions masters. This hadn’t occurred to the sharp-eyed Madam with whom he'd bargained for a week’s debauch for the princely sum of 100 galleons.

She'd had visions of him passing out after the first hour in a drunken stupor, and her expression had grown increasingly pinched as he had drunk his way through bottle after bottle of wine and still managed to tup. He’d worked his way through all of the girls, and had been contemplating taking on two at a time to liven up proceedings when his orgy had been brought to a clattering halt.

He'd been sprawled on the bed, sucking on a bottle of inferior red, whilst a whore was sucking on him, Lucius had walked in, trailing the Madam behind him. The whore had jumped, her teeth had closed around his cock, and Severus had squealed in agony. He hadn’t intended to wade in the deeper waters of pain as pleasure, and that had bloody hurt.

“You bastard,” he said to Lucius. “I could have been killed. Haven’t you heard of knocking?” It would have been just his luck to survive the Dark Lord only to be finished off by an involuntary cock amputation.

“I’m sorry, sir, but he would insist.” The madam plucked at Lucius’ sleeve, trying to persuade him to leave the room.

He shook her off, with a poisonous glare. “Out!” he hissed. “Both of you, now!”

The women went, the tart not even stopping to gather up her clothes, what few of them there were.

“Merlin, it stinks in here.” Lucius strode over to the curtains, flung them apart, and opened the window. Severus didn’t think it improved the atmosphere, but Lucius didn’t look like a man interested in debate.

“It’s a brothel,” he replied, and pulled the sheet over his much-abused cock. “I wasn’t paying for the ambience.”

“What the hell are you thinking?”

“I should think that’s fairly obvious,” Severus said sourly. “The condemned man ate a hearty breakfast and all that.”

Lucius sat down on the edge of the bed, and Severus pulled the sheet tighter to him. Lucius was a married man, but there were rumours... Mind you, there were rumours about him as well, and he knew they weren’t true. Or hadn’t been.

Lucius frowned at him. “Do you mean they didn’t explain...?”

“What? I’ve got a full pardon?” Severus felt something odd move in his stomach, which he thought might be hope, though he hadn’t felt that for a long time.

“Don’t be an arse. I meant about being Headmaster?”

“I’m not Headmaster now.” Severus blinked. “Er, am I?”

“Of course you are. Didn’t you read the bloody contract?” Lucius glared at him, making him feel like an ickle firstie under the gaze of a prefect, yet again. “Never mind, we have to get you back to the school, and then I can explain it all to you. Where are your clothes?”

“Er, there.” Severus waved a hand to the shabby chair in the corner. “How am I still Headmaster?”

“De bene gesserit,” Lucius replied. “Ringing any bells?”

“Fuck.” Severus sat bolt upright, releasing his death grip on the sheet, as a loud carillon rang in his head. “Fuck, and fuck again. Oh fucking fuck fuck fuck.”

“I see the knut has dropped at last.” Lucius summoned Severus’ clothes with a negligent wave of his hand.

“Fuck,” said Severus, as his trousers hit him squarely in the face. “Was that strictly necessary?”

“I’ve just saved you from a lifetime in Azkaban. I should bloody say it is.” And then Lucius grinned like a fox that’s seen a particularly juicy pheasant. “How the Ministry is going to scream about this.”

~ ~ ~

It was difficult to dress and Floo at the same time, but Severus had managed it, though he kept up a constant stream of bad language while he did so. It was unfortunate that Minerva was in the Headmaster’s office when he and Lucius came bursting out of the fire, and even more unfortunate that he hadn’t managed to tuck away all of his person before he had arrived.

She let out a screech that would have made a banshee envious. “You! You’re dead! What are you doing here?”

“I should think that’s obvious, Minerva,” Severus said, as smoothly as someone can who is still arranging his clothing. “I am Headmaster, after all, and there is much to be done.”

“You... I... What....” she said.

“Don’t you have something important to do?” Severus moved towards her and she gave way before him.

“Well, there are the repairs to see to,” she replied, old habits making her answer him as if he had a right to know.

“Quite so.” Another couple of steps saw her next to the door.

“Though I don’t see what he’s doing here.” Minerva glared at Lucius who was smiling at the scene being played out before him.

“Oh, he’s here about Draco’s schooling.”

“I hope he doesn’t expect that Draco will be able to return here.” Minerva pursed her lips, entirely distracted by the prospect of having the near-assassin of the previous but one Headmaster back at the school.

“Obviously not,” Lucius put in, determined to soothe the flames of controversy. “Which is why Severus is going to advise me on alternative schooling methods.”

“Humph,” Minerva said, then turned on her heel to leave, slamming the door behind her.

“That went well,” Lucius remarked, settling down in the wide chair behind the Headmaster’s desk. “Bearing in mind you were gibbering.”

“That was just shock.” Severus stared pointedly at Lucius, who didn’t move.

“Yours, or hers?”

“It’d take more than Minerva McGonagall to face me down,” Severus replied. “Now explain about this damned contract.”

“When the school was founded, the Ministry started poking its nose in – as the Ministry does – and this was resented somewhat. After a couple of years of forceful argument, a settlement was reached – the Headmaster cannot be removed from his post by the Ministry unless he has committed an offence serious enough to get him imprisoned in Azkaban. Until he does, the story goes, the very walls of Hogwarts are bound to protect him.”

There was a murmur from the portraits on the walls, and venerable heads nodded in agreement.

“There is the small difficulty of the method of accession to your current position, but I don’t think that’s insuperable.” Lucius finally rose from his seat, and patted him on the shoulder. “Trust me.”

Minerva was a formidable woman, who recovered her senses barely five minutes after being bullied from the Headmaster’s – from her – office, and ten minutes later she had sent a message to Kingsley telling him about the resurrection of Severus Snape.

Kingsley had a lot to do, so it was a week before two Aurors turned up to investigate.

They didn’t even make it to the Headmaster’s office; the staircases turned against them.

The next group of Aurors didn’t even make it past the front gate, which closed against them and wouldn’t let them pass, even as they protested that they had warrants.

The Ministry might be stupid, but it was persistent, and was not to be denied. The Headmaster might be protected, but he was not invulnerable – a request for a meeting, duly signed, sealed and delivered had to be honoured.

One was received, arrangements made, and a month after the fall of Voldemort, Percy Weasley and assistant entered the school as the duly appointed representative of the Ministry to discuss staffing issues.

They were shown to the Headmaster’s office, and greeted by a sardonically smiling Snape who had found that having Hogwarts on his side had made life rather more fun than it had been for some time. He didn't want to stay in the blessed job, and there was nothing as much fun as some quiet blackmail.

“Weasley,” he said. “And Miss Granger. How nice of you to call.”

“Professor,” Weasley replied.

“Headmaster,” said Miss Granger. She looked a lot older than when he had last seen her, crossing the line from teenager to woman very effectively. With her hair up in a bun, she was clearly trying to look sensible and mature. What she looked like was a woman who needed to be let loose.

Weasley stared at her for a second. “I’m sure you know why we’re here, Headmaster.”

“I imagine you want to discuss the outstanding repairs to the school.” Professor Snape drew a leather folder towards him, and opened it with a flourish. “This is what I have itemised so far.”

Percy made no move to pick up the piece of paper. “It’s more a matter of your appointment, Headmaster.”

“It’s my understanding that Headmaster is a position for life,” he replied, and arched an eyebrow as if he were enquiring as to the whereabouts of some missing homework.

“If,” Percy said, laying heaving stress on the syllable, “the appointment were valid in the first place. Your actions in bringing about the death of Albus Dumbledore – though understandable in the circumstances – are such that...”

“They happened before my appointment, and therefore are irrelevant.” Snape’s smile broadened. “In fact, you could argue that they had been endorsed by the Ministry simply by the appointment. Certainly, it doesn’t allow you to overturn the appointment.”

Percy, a veteran of Ministry meetings, didn’t gape., but tried another tack. “Surely you don’t want to spend your time at Hogwarts.”

Snape shrugged. “Not especially, but I doubt I would like the alternatives on offer.”

“I’m sure something could be arranged.” Percy tried to look Important, merely achieving Constipated.

“When it is, let me know.” Snape pushed the paper over to Weasley again, who took it as a sign to leave, tucking it into his briefcase.

~~~

Having tried persuasion, the Ministry tried scandal.

The report of his sojourn in the brothel was splashed across page three of the Daily Prophet – the lurid details were too saucy for the front page – including a breathless report from someone (under strict conditions of anonymity, with a picture of a dark silhouette instead of a person by the side) as to his stamina.

The only effect this had was to generate a lot of letters to the Prophet about his antics, and a fair few to Severus himself asking for his company for the evening, and some very open-eyed looks from the students when school started.

It also brought three Slytherin sixth formers to his office late at night – at the same time – to make an interesting offer. After they spent six weeks in detention, the news spread quickly that he wasn’t interested.

~~~

Hermione looked at him over the top of her teacup. She'd decided that he couldn't intimidate her. She was a Ministry official doing her job. And her job, most days, was to be showered with abuse. She'd survived his Potions class. This couldn't be that much different.

"I'm here to ask for your resignation."

Snape made no move towards his own teacup, but assessed her coolly, looking for weaknesses. "Are you indeed? I have to wonder at the Ministry's tactics - do they think my heart will be softened by a pretty woman?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "There's no need for, erm, insults, Headmaster. I know I'm unwanted here." She took a sip from her tea and licked her lips. "Simply put, your previous alliance with the Ministry notwithstanding, you're damaged goods."

"I wouldn't dream of insulting a representative of such an august organ of government, and I certainly wouldn't insult a pretty woman." He tipped his head, eyes lingering on her mouth, and smiled. "And I think damaged is putting it a little strongly don't you?"

"Please," she scoffed. "I think it's an accurate description. I think you're the lingering vestige of a dying body. You and your," she coughed conspicuously, "friends are no longer in vogue. It's time to go. Sir."

"Friends?" he said, and that one syllable carried a world of bitterness. "One, rather, who cared to find out what happened to me rather than leaving me to die on a cold, wooden floor. If I'm a lingering vestige at all, it's no thanks to you."

She sat forward in her chair, her cup clattering on its saucer. "Now, just a minute here. It isn't as if you didn't spontaneously ooze your memories onto the floor. How was I supposed to know a Legilimens could do that at will?"

"And it didn't occur to you to do something as simple as check my pulse, even send someone back to carry my corpse somewhere it could have a decent burial?" He rose to his feet, anger bringing him to life.

"Well, forgive me, sir, but it wasn't my decision to leave you there!" She caught herself shouting back and schooled her voice to a more level tone. "And even if it was my decision, what the hell am I supposed to say at headquarters? 'Oh look what the cat dragged in!' You made yourself persona non grata. If you want to retain any shred of dignity, and judging by the Prophet, I'd say that was more of a wisp than anything, I'd suggest you take your leave now before they drag you down the front steps and into the waiting arms of a Dementor!"

"All this talk of kissing is giving me ideas." His eyes narrowed, hard as flint. "I'll tell you my price for a resignation - and it's just gone up." He moved round the desk, his robes flaring behind him. "I would have settled for a pardon, perhaps a little money to set me up in a new business, but now..." He leaned in, forcing her to retreat, sinking back into the chair. "Now, I want you as part of the deal."

"I-- What!?"

"Miss Granger, I would very much like you to suck my cock."

Her cheeks flushed and she sputtered, completely at a loss for words. She looked up at him in complete consternation, and as he watched, consternation unfolded into white hot fury. "If that's your official answer, I'll be sure to put that in my report. Now if you'll excuse me," she stood, sliding passed him, very careful not to make any physical contact, "I'll just show myself out."

"You do that, Miss Granger. I'll expect your answer next week."

"Don't hold your breath, Headmaster."

~~~

He didn't hold his breath, but he did spend a great deal of time thinking about Hermione Granger in the following week. It made the sheer mind-sucking boredom of his routine pass a little quicker. It almost replaced irritating Minerva as his favourite activity.

He had no expectation of her saying yes, but it was such a delight to see her flustered. She arrived at the same time the next week, contracts in hand, quills at the ready. She even had a little lectern, charmed to unfold and display the contracts for his review. She refused to acknowledge his presence until the whole set up was exactly to her liking.

"Go on. Read it. And don't even mention having Malfoy look it over. You're a smart boy. You can work it out for yourself." She took a seat beside the lectern, waiting for him to finish.

The papers were long, and detailed. He had his pardon, and an offer of money that was more generous than he was expecting. Doubtless Miss Granger's idea - shove in a few galleons and see if the old man would bite. "I don't see any reference to the other terms I wanted fulfilled." He looked into her eyes, a vicious smirk on his lips. "You do remember what I asked for, don't you?"

"Section four, paragraph nineteen. 'And such miscellaneous matters necessary to fulfil the intent of this contract as shall be agreed orally between the representative parties.' I think that about covers it, don't you?"

He stared at it, and wondered for a moment if he were back on the floor of the Shack, because in his experience pretty girls didn't suck his cock. Pretty girls told him to bugger off and leave them alone, even if he did get his nerve up to talk to them. "Yes," he said, and thanked Slytherin that his voice didn't crack. "I'd say so."

"So turn around and drop trou. I'm a witch, not a fucking magician."

"Right." He put his hands to his teaching robes, as if to take them off, then stopped. "No, I think we'll leave these on, mmm?" He moved his hands to his fly, unbuttoning them with due care. His cock was already half hard by the time he'd done, rising up to greet her.

Her eyes grew wide and she swallowed hard. She looked up into his face and took in the smirk. He was a bastard, and if this is what it took to unseat him, then by Gryffindor, she was going to do it. She licked her lips and thought about how she was going to turn him inside out with pleasure. She'd see who was smirking by the end of the encounter. She placed a hand on his bare hip and leaned in to breath a puff of warm, wet air against his heated skin. His cock jerked at the stimulus, rising to full mast in a span of heartbeats. She looked up at him, this time with an expression of desire, and brushed her cheek against the shaft.

His expression softened, his eyes still glittering fiercely. "So pretty. Let your hair down. I want to see your hair, feel it against my fingers."

"That's not in the contract. But if you like." She raised her hands to her head and released the charm that held her braid in check.

"Let me help." She nodded. He put a hand on her head, coaxing the hair out of the braid, and spreading it across his fingers. "It's soft," he murmured. "Lovely."

"You're still a bastard," she whispered, and then he felt her hand grasp the base of him, gingerly.

"I am," he said, and the words turned into a long, low moan.

She brushed her cheek over the head, and then the wet warmth of her lips. A light pass at first and then he felt her grip encircle him and felt her downward tug, slow and relentless. She bent to her task, sucking the head passed her lips and pressing him against the hard roof of her mouth. A distant part of her tried not to think about finally impressing the stoic Professor of her past. The thought made her mouth water and something hot pulse between her legs.

"Fuck, that's..."

She smiled around him, moving her hand and mouth in counterpoint. Slowly, she thought. Make it last. Make it so good he'll forget his objections. He tasted like the sea, salt and spice, and musk that penetrated her nose. She'd still be able to smell him on her hands later. She knew that from experience. She pulled back to examine her handiwork, looking up at him as she played him over her lips.

His fingers tightened in her hair, but not enough to hurt. He was careful about that, wanting to experience this to the full. She took him back in, humming now, going just a hair slower than his body wanted. Gods, he was so hard and thick. It was impossible not to imagine doing other things with his cock, and she moaned at the wicked thoughts running through her mind.

It never occurred to her to Occlude her thoughts from him. And it wasn't her first mistake around him. It wouldn't be her last either.

He couldn't resist the chance to dip into her thoughts and, with no barriers against him, he slipped into her mind like a hot knife through butter. His cock hardened still further at what he found - her bent over the Headmaster's desk her skirts rucked up round her waist, her fingers gripping the edge of the desk, while he fucked her from behind. And that was the least of it. She wanted to string him up and mark his arse for this, and she wanted to be put across his knee and spanked, and to see him on his knees before her lapping at her cunt till she passed out.

He groaned again, entranced by the thought of doing all that and more, and she sucked at him again. She liked hearing him moan, he could see that in her thoughts, she liked the control that gave her, and she was determined to make him wait so she could have that power for longer.

"Hermione," he sighed.

Her other hand dipped between his thighs to cradle his balls, fondling them gently, revealing her own enjoyment as she echoed his moans. She gripped him fiercely and sucked, trying to drive him to completion before she lost control and offered something she might regret.

He closed his eyes, shutting out her thoughts, and concentrating on the feel of her mouth and tongue, giving in to the building tension. He took deep breaths, panting as if he'd been running, and then pleasure so strong that it almost hurt ripped through him.

She held on, trying not to restrict his instinctive need to thrust, easing him up and over the peak, and down the far side. She would never have confessed to enjoying the hot surge in the back of her throat, or the little whimpering sounds he made as he descended. When it seemed like there was nothing left, she wiped her mouth and tucked him back in his trousers. "I'll be having that contract now. If you don't mind." Her voice came out far more sultry than she ever intended.

His eyes fixed on her. He hadn't expected this, and he was damned sure she wasn't doing it for the good of the Ministry. He was lucky that his cock was still attached to him, let alone resting happily and sated in his underpants. A glimmer of an idea was taking root in his mind, a mind that was still running slow and sluggish, one that would allow him to test the waters.

"The contract refers to all that is orally agreed." His lips twisted in another smirk. "And I said I wanted you. Cock-sucking was the start, not the whole. I want you in all the ways I can think of - and I can think of quite a few. Not to mention how rude it would be not to reciprocate."

Her eyes went wide and her irises darkened. "The last time I checked it was illegal to traffic in souls, so just what did you think I was agreeing to?" He moved to his knees at her feet. He put a hand on her ankle, and pressed against it, urging it to one side. She resisted.

"The Ministry has what it wants out of this deal, and I have what I want out of this deal, but surely you deserve something - a little side negotiation, perhaps. Some collateral benefits?" he said.
He moved his fingers under the hem of her robes, round her calves, the knee, and they came to rest on her thigh waiting for her reaction. He used his other hand to flip her robes up, so they rested in her lap, baring her legs to mid-thigh. He was surprised to see she wore garters and thigh high stockings. "You'll have to move forward a little," he said. "Slide to me."

She did as instructed, warily. "I want to go on record as saying this is probably a monumentally bad idea."

"Compared to all the other risks we've taken?" He shrugged. "Perhaps we've developed a taste for danger. Don't you get bored at the Ministry?"

He didn't wait for an answer, but moved his hands further under her skirts to hook into her knickers. A sharp tug, a lift of her hips, and they were down round her ankles. "Merlin, yes..." She kicked them off, allowing him to part her legs further. He leaned forward, and drew in the scent of her arousal.

"I want to touch your hair," she said, reaching a hand out but hesitating, waiting for his approval.

"If you want to," he said, surprised. He dipped his head down, his nose between her thighs, then kissed first the left, then the right. He could smell her musk and had no doubt she'd enjoyed herself.

"I do." She drew a finger along his temple, brushing his hair back from his eyes, letting it fall over her fingers. She made another pass, this time letting her fingertips follow his skull, gently but unmistakably guiding him. She leaned back, lifting a knee to rest on his shoulder, baring herself to his gaze. He stroked down the back of her thigh and she sighed, relaxing at his touch.

His breath ruffled her curls, and then his mouth was wet and hot against her pubis, his tongue tracing spirals across her skin.

She mewled when he reached her clit, a surprised sound followed by a louder, more incoherent cry when he began to suckle the swollen nub of flesh. She raised her other leg, encircling his shoulders and drawing him closer with her heels, her hips undulating beneath his mouth. Her hands kneaded gently at his hair.

She arched and tensed beneath him, straining towards that moment of perfection, but her body denied her. "Fingers," she hissed. "Penetrate me."

He snorted, amused at her choice of words, which made her twitch. The twitch turned into a shudder as he did as she asked, sliding first one, then two fingers into her. She was vocal, letting him know when he found the right spot, with the kind of frankness he would never have expected from her, though she'd never been shy in class. He sucked on her clit again, matching the movement of his fingers, increasing speed, until she let out one last shuddering moan and came, eyes closed, head back, mouth open, and hair flaring round her like some debauched woodland nymph.

It took a few moments for her head to clear, and then she was tugging her robes down and pulling away from him, covering her embarrassment as well as her modesty. "There," she huffed, "Are you satisfied now?"

"The question is, are you?" he asked, making no move to rise from his knees. She looked uncertain, then nodded, seeing that he really wanted to know the answer to that question.

He stood up, and offered her his hand. She looked at it, then allowed him to help her from her chair.

"So, you'll sign, then?" she asked. "Now you've got what you wanted."

"Not yet."

She breathed in, a look of anger on her face. "You b..."

"I shall send it to my lawyers." Lucius' lawyers, actually. "And they will read it over to make sure that there are no traps for the unwary. I may trust your honesty, Hermione, but not the Ministry's."

She huffed, but didn't continue speaking.

"Provided there is nothing untoward, I shall sign." He drew his robes more closely around himself, wanting to cross his arms over his chest. "I wonder if you might like to collect it in person, say next week?"

Her eyes closed, with the same expression she wore in class before answering a difficult question. "And if I don't?"

He almost smiled at her bristling indignation, but that would be unwise. She didn't take well to being backed into a corner, and next time might not end so well. "Then I will send it to the Ministry by Owl."

"Oh." She smoothed down her unwrinkled robes, and looked round for her things, gathering them together by hand rather than summoning with her wand. It would always mark her as Muggleborn, that habit. Lily had been the same. "Right," she said.

"Good day, Miss Granger." He put out his hand.

"Erm, yes." She took it, falling back into formal patterns of behaviour automatically, as if he'd never had his fingers in her cunt, and shook it firmly.

She stepped to the door, and turned back to him. Her cheeks were rosy and flushed, her lips full, though he hadn't kissed them. She had the glow of a woman who'd been recently shagged, though they hadn't done that either. "And if I do come to collect the contracts next weekend?"

A whole host of possibilities sprang to mind, some of them her fantasies, and some of them definitely his, and all of them infinitely superior to anything else his life had offered to date. She didn't move away when he bent his head to give her a kiss full of promise, and her hands came up to rest against his chest, on the cusp of pushing him away or twisting into his robes. "That, my dear, is entirely up to you," he said, knowing he had to allow her to make the next move. He might still have a habit of grasping for what he wanted recklessly, but he hoped it was tempered with a little more understanding.

She nodded, then slipped away without saying anything more, leaving Severus to sit at his desk and contemplate the possibilities it might afford on her next visit.