Chapter 2
“Wake up.”
Tiredly, your eyes open. Morning light shines brightly through the crack in the old velvet curtains. A flurry of emotions wash over you - fear, dread, shame and disgust. You do not move. The lumpy old pillow beneath you is cool against your warm face. You’re comfortable.
“[Last name]!” Snape hisses, impatiently.
You jolt and turn your warm head behind your shoulder to face the voice. The voice of your old Potions Master. The voice of the man who claimed your innocence. He’s fully dressed, cloak and all, and briefly you think you’ve slept in and are late for his class. But he cannot punish you, he isn’t your head of house. He does, however, give good-
“I will return Friday evening,” he begins, flatly. He reaches into his pocket and retrieves some muggle money - a modest stack of bills. He lays it on the nightstand. Then, he produces a small vial filled with a light green fluid, along with two others. He sits them down as well. “Here is your contraceptive and some money. Buy groceries…and whatever else you may need for the time being. You will be followed, so do not try anything, Miss [last name].”
You sit up now, seeing his trunk floating behind him. He steps out of the room and prepares to leave. A flood of panic rushes over you.
“Wait, Professor,” you say. Your voice is thick, rough with sleep. He stiffens, doesn’t turn to face you again, merely side eyes you. “What about the…binding? What if we feel…” you begin.
He reaches up and pinches the bridge of his nose, as if it would be an inconvenience to him, as if worrying about it is trivial. “I will be sending you books containing information about binding enchantments. Perhaps they will have the answer for us. If we feel the urge, I will come to take care of it.”
The floor creaks and he disappears from the doorway. You stare for a long moment at the empty hallway, then grab the contraceptive and swallow it. You collapse back onto the lumpy bed and fall back asleep.
When you finally get around to waking up, your anger spikes. Why did it have to be you? You briefly wonder what will become of your Advanced Charms internship. You won’t be showing up next week for the first day. They’ll give your spot away and won’t look at any other applications you hand in ever again. You’ll be stuck spreading your legs for Professor Snape. What of the other women who have been bound to other Death Eaters. Do they have as much to lose as you? More?
Sighing frustratedly, you sit up and swing your legs over the bed. You wince when an unarousing ache grows in your hips and womanhood. The vials on the nightstand catch your eye. You pick them up and examine them. Little notes are tied with thin rope around them. You see Snape’s spidery, cramped handwriting - the same handwriting that filled your essays margins with harsh corrections and passive aggressive attacks.
For pain.
For mood.
Contraceptive.
You roll your eyes at the red tinged vial. He can’t know you’re temperamental. You were a quiet student who only ever raised her voice when the Quidditch matches had unfair fouls. Always had outstanding marks. Only after you graduated did you come into yourself, only then did you really learn who you are.
You swallow the pain potion and wait a few minutes for it to kick in. You suspect Snape has no food in the house, hence the takeaway last night. You’ll have to walk to wherever the market is. Once you feel the ache fade away, you splash water over your face and begin to rummage through the drawers in the spare room. You find old, musty smelling corduroy pants and a plain long sleeved shirt - fine to go to the market in, you suppose.
You creep down the stairs, being mindful of the man who was here last night. You don’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean no one is here. You stop in the kitchen and peruse the refrigerator and cupboards - pathetically empty. Does Snape eat? You huff out a breath and leave.
You make note of the number on his home, then walk down the rows of buildings, keeping your head low. You keep looking over your shoulder to scan the area. Snape stated you’d be followed. You believe him - you sense a magical signature, but see no one. You pick up the pace and make your way down the sidewalk alongside the road.
A seven minute walk to a small town - there’s a gas station, market, and drug store. You slip into the market and pick up the basic necessities, then buy an ugly but simple long sleeved dress from the store. You have a few pounds left, so you buy a bottle of cheap wine and quickly head back.
You throw your shopping bags on the old laminate countertops in the kitchen, then turn back to the door to lock the deadbolt. Stressfully, you rest your forehead against it and let it cool. It is only Monday. You’ll be all alone here for a week. No magic. No way to contact your friends. You could just run to the Ministry - they would surely be able to find some way to manage your symptoms and break the binding. There has to be another witch or wizard around this area. What will happen if you try to run? Is it worth finding out?
You whip up a sandwich and eat it as you browse all of Professor Snape’s books. You’re surprised to find many of them are first editions, limited releases, or signed by the author. He always looked like he adored books, but you didn’t think he could have such a beautiful and rare selection. You grab a leather bound book about dark spells and curl up on the sofa with it, beginning to examine the table of contents. Out of the choice of chapter topics, you flip to chapter eleven, skimming the contents about applying and breaking curses.
You spend a half hour reading the chapter, but look up when you hear light tapping running across the floors. You sit the book on the arm of the sofa and sit up, seeing a small rat beside the unlit fireplace. You stand and grab your book, smiling sweetly at it. You step and kneel beside it.
“Aren’t you an ugly little creature?” you ask. You take the book and slam it down towards him. It scurries away, so you lunge and grasp it into your hand. “Who the fuck are you?”
You throw the rat towards the kitchen and, midair, does he form into the nasty rat looking man you saw last night. This is what Professor Snape meant when he said you wouldn’t be alone. That someone would be watching.
“Why are you here?” you demand. The stocky man sticks his chest out at you.
“I was assigned here by the Dark Lord. You, whore, ought- ought not question me.”
You laugh once. He can’t even form a proper sentence. But, he does have a wand. A wand you can wield.
“The only person I have to listen to is Master Snape,” you play. The man rolls his eyes, then turns away from you. He walks to the kitchen and begins to rummage through the refrigerator, finding what you’ve just bought and eating it. You scoff, grab your book from the floor, and head upstairs.
This is going to be a long week.
The next three days trickle by. When your eyes get too tired to continue searching for information on how to end this insidious binding, you find yourself staring out the window when it rains. It calms you.
You keep to yourself upstairs - you hear that rat man pacing about all day. You’ve thought of seducing him to take his wand, but also thought of the binding between yourself and Snape. It could get Snape in trouble. Not that you necessarily care - he’s a Death Eater, after all.
It’s midday on Thursday when you feel the deep pit in your stomach begin to ache in arousal. It’s manageable at first, more tedious than it is truly bothering. Towards the end of the evening though, it intensifies. Suddenly, another day like this becomes unimaginable and torturing.
You cannot sleep throughout the night. You toss and turn, the pain of needing relief between your legs becomes unbearable. You curl up in a ball at some hour in the early morning, keeping your breathing controlled, trying to tell yourself that Snape will feel it too, that he’ll come and know what to do.
Hogwarts is quiet for the first Friday of the term. Snape finishes his classes and returns to his office to finish up next week's lesson plans. He feels anew, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. He is more focused, more disciplined than ever. He ought to teach these dunderheads some useful things, in the case of the Dark
Lord rising to power in the coming months. Should Dumbledore fall to the curse that’s enveloping his hand, the Dark Lord will have no problem ascending to power, taking control of the Ministry of Magic and Hogwarts, causing ruin across all of England’s Wizarding World.
It doesn’t dawn on him that he has forgotten you this week. It has slipped his mind to retrieve the books on binding spells from the library. He goes to do that, making haste. All week has been wasted now, whilst you have been lounging at his home, you could have been researching.
Once he has a few promising books, he is about to head to the Owlery, to send them. He ought to check in on you, though. Peter Pettigrew is your housemate, after all. He wouldn’t dare touch you - at least, Snape thinks him too cowardly to even think about it. Snape doesn’t feel any effects of the binding curse plague him, which he is grateful for. Surely, you don’t want to be having sex with him. What pretty, young woman would? He gets his action with women, don’t get him wrong, but most of his students have grown to despise him. You feel the same, of course, now more so than ever before since he was the one to take your virginity.
He grabs his wand and heads out of the castle, cutting through the Forbidden Forest, and into Hogsmeade. Once he’s out of the range of the anti-apparation barrier that Hogwarts has, he apparates back to Spinner’s End.
When he enters his home, he finds Wormtail passed out on his arm chair. He sneers at him as he approaches. “Wormtail!” The rat looking man jolts up, looking up at Snape with wide eyes. “Disappear. Go tell the Dark Lord you’re intruding on my time with the whore he’s gifted me. You’re better suited elsewhere,” Snape commands, wand in his hand, defensively.
Wormtail gets to his feet and scurries out. Once he’s gone, he sits the books down on the coffee table and glances upstairs. It’s so quiet, it seems no one is here. He climbs the stairs, looking around, seeing the doors all shut. “[Last name?]” he asks, knocking on the door of the room he left you in. When you don’t answer, he pushes the door in and finds you on the bed.
Your knees are to your chest and your trembling, breathing erratically, eyes squeezed shut. Snape’s own eyes widen. “[Last name!]” Snape exclaims, walking to your side. Your eyes open and tears leak down them now. “Are you…compelled?”
You cannot speak - Snape is unsure if you’re feeling the effects of the binding or if you’re upset that you’re being held against your will. When your hand comes up to grasp the fabric of his trousers, his breath hitches. Assuming the compulsion is making you like this, he groans, then scoops you up with ease into his arms. He takes you out of the small room and down the hall to his. He tosses you down onto the bed and rolls you on your back. He watches your shaky hands dig into the comforter and your legs squeeze tightly together.
Snape looms over you, thinks for a beat, then unbuttons the neck of his frock coat. He kneels at the bedside, grabs each of your legs, and pulls you, so your arse is almost hanging off the edge of the bed. He shoves your dress up and pulls your underwear down, looking up at your face - it’s clearly pained, agonized from arousal. How long have you been like this? He loops his hands around your thighs, pulling them apart, then presses his face between. Snape begins to urgently perform cunnilingus. He presses into your folds with his mouth and nose, beginning to suck and swipe his tongue up and down.
He works you for a few minutes - only checks on you when you aren’t moving. Now, he’s done his fair share of using his mouth between women’s legs. He’s confident in his ability. You aren’t reacting though. Just squeezing the covers and keeping your eyes shut, barely breathing. He continues to eat you out, sucking on your clit, flicking with his tongue. A beat passes and you lean up, looking down at him. His dark eyes meet your reddened, puffy ones. Your chest begins to heave. You collapse back and begin to make the most wonderful sounds he’s ever heard.
“I - ah - didn’t think you were - mmmhmm - coming back,” you choke out, voice hoarse. Snape’s cock immediately grows hard under his trousers. Dammit, you stupid girl, stay quiet. Around Snape’s hands are your thighs, he’s grasping them, digging his fingers into your skin now. Your legs begin to shake, hips buck up.
“Stay still!” Snape yells into your core. You whimper, grasping the fabric of his frock coat on his arms. Snape sees your eyes roll back so he continues to do what he’s doing until you're moaning wildly and uncontrollably. Snape groans, getting turned on, cock stiffening - but it isn’t the binding doing it. It’s how sweet you taste and how lovely you sound.
You moan out loud when you orgasm. Your body shakes and squirms and, damn him for it, Snape enjoys it. He could do it all night. You’re his former student! You shouldn’t have to be subjected to him like this. He cannot help his arousal - you’re too pleasant to look at and listen to. Snape removes his mouth from you when you stop. He stands, turning from you, wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket. He’s buttoning his collar up when he hears your voice - soft and hazy.
“Professor,” you sigh, leaning up. You grab at the side of his trousers, tugging. Your face is flushed and body much more relaxed than how he found you. “Don’t you need me?” you ask, sincere and too innocent.
Snape stares down at you, not feeling the compulsion that devoured you, not feeling any sort of magic of the bond that was cursed upon you both. He turns his hips to you, spreads your legs, and unzips his trousers. He’s going to hell already - his cock is hard and there’s a perfect little thing in his bed. He shouldn’t pass up this opportunity.
He pulls his cock out and pushes you onto your back, pulling your legs around his waist. “Keep them there. I’ll be fast,” Snape assures. He presses in and you sigh, pleasurably. You’re so tight around him and so wet and fucking good. He places his hands beside your shoulders, beginning to thrust. He loses himself quickly, angles his face into the cusp of your head and shoulder, breathing heavy.
“What a good little witch,” he sighs, pushing into you harder, deeper. Your lips part and you moan lowly, clutching at the torso of his jacket. His eyes shut and he grasps the blankets under you, groaning before halting, spilling himself.
Snape removes himself quickly, stuffing himself into his trousers, righting his clothes to be straight. He glances down at you - hair awry and red in the face, cunt dripping with both of your releases. “You’re coming back to Hogwarts with me,” Snape informs, without thinking. He’ll find a way. He has to have you close. Gods know how long you were in such a state of arousal that you couldn’t move or speak. And, he knows what a treat you are. Only until the binding is broken, of course.