lumos_maxima | open rp post #002

open rp post #002

THE OPEN "WE WERE GOING TO RP THAT, REMEMBER?" POST

SO, BASICALLY. If we have ever discussed plotting a PSL or doing a thread but haven't gotten around to doing it,
WELL, NOW WE CAN.

Either comment with a rundown of said plot we'd talked about, or post a starting thread to said plot.

ALSO OPEN TO ANYONE WHO JUST WANTS TO THROW THEIR MUSE AT SNAPE (or Remus, if you'd prefer Remus).
Just leave either a prompt, a thread suggestion, or a thread starter.

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It wasn't like her to allow this. Bellatrix was strong and independent and refused to give anyone the satisfaction of so much as thinking they had anything on her. There was the Dark Lord, of course, the sole exception whose orders she followed (mostly) without question. But there was something about Severus and the way he seemed to study her at that very moment - something that should have made her evidently uncomfortable and defensive, but it did not and she found herself allowing him close, or as close as he was right then, just barely brushing his fingers against her in stark contrast to the previous night, the evidence of which (or part of), she found, he would soon press his fingers to.
She could feel how her skin was sore under direct touch. It was an uncomfortable feeling, a hint of pain that traveled all the way to her jaw and to the back of her neck, but it wasn't nearly enough that she'd complain. Battles fought dark spell after dark spell were far worse, she knew that and at the end of the day, satisfaction or no, Severus was going out of his way to not make her hurt.

A lot could be said about how easily they seemed to be avoiding that ever since they'd woken up. A lot could also be said about the way the man in front of her had reached out to her more than once in the last few moments--

-- but it could wait.

"We wouldn't want to arouse suspicion," she agreed, lowering her chin now, her head tilting sideways to rest on her shoulder; her elbow was propped up on the mattress for support, so that she could regard him properly. They were a little too similar sometimes, the two of them. "Or fail to keep this a secret."

"Hm," was all Severus replied.

He held eye contact with her for a moment, then dropped his eyes down to his hand still around her throat. Then he casually let his gaze wander down to her chest, to her bare breasts. Just above her nipple on one of her breasts was an angry-looking bite mark. He knew he had a few similar bite marks on his own skin.

He released her neck and stretched his arm behind him to reach for his wand. Fingers clasping around the handle, he brought it with him as he faced back to Bellatrix. He touched the tip of his wand against the underside of her neck.

"Are you going to keep this a secret? Knowing you and your mouth..." He began tracing the wand slowly down her throat, down her collarbone, her sternum, between her breasts. And upon reaching the bruise just north of her nipple, he suddenly jabbed and twisted his wand against it, enough to cause pain on the damaged tissue.

"Vulnera Sanentur," he smoothly incanted, a spell he'd created years ago in school, and the bruise immediately began to drain away from Bellatrix skin, as though the wand was drawing it out of her.

Quick as a flash, Severus whipped his wand out from within his sleeve and tightened his hold on her throat a little more as he pressed the tip of his wand against her cheek. It made a dimple depression against her skin.

"I could," he said quietly, "always make this so much worse for you."

He wouldn't, though. He couldn't, not really, unless he wanted to be expelled. But even if he could, that seemed strangely less appealing. He wasn't aroused by the thought of going that far. He was very aroused by the idea of knowing Potter was such a slut for humiliation.

Even still, he was simply reminding Potter: he really could make this much worse for her. He was skilled enough to. She was toying with someone who was capable of being very dangerous.

He slowly released his hold on her throat, then just as slowly eased away the wand. He then grabbed her arm and spun her around again. With a flick of his wand, a small jet of rope shot out and coiled around her wrist. He wrestled her other arm around her back and the other end of the rope seized that wrist, binding both of them firmly together.

He then jabbed his wand up against her shoulder blade. "Lead the way to somewhere more private."

"But you won't," she choked out, her eyes darting to the wand against her cheek. To do anything more than this to her? Was to get expelled. To ensure that everyone here knew what sort of man he was. To lose Lily's friendship for the rest of time.

So she trusted that he wouldn't do such a thing. Did she trust him in general? No, not at all. What they were doing here required trust, but why should she trust him? She was confident in her abilities to take care of herself, to fix things should they ever get dangerous.

Air flew back into her lungs as she eased back against the wall, thankful to have Severus off of her for the time being. But she barely had time to adjust before she was back with her face against the wall. Putting up a struggle, he still managed to get both her hands roped behind her back. Damn it.

Here was the hard part. Getting too said more private space. That is to say: the Room of Requirement. They were lucky she had the entire castle memorized.

Swallowing, she took off, adjusting her robes so her hands were not visible. It didn't take long before they were standing at the entrance.

For a split-second she felt as though, if she didn't turn away of her own volition then, he'd never stop regarding her in this same manner - examining every visible inch of her. It wasn't that it was making her uncomfortable per se, but it was striking her as odd. They were prone to fighting, verbally if anything, more than this.

When he reached for his wand there was another split-second in which he hesitated and nearly moved back to reach for her own, though in the end it was a carefully constructed defense mechanism and not as much a genuine concern that he would try anything. They both had enough bruises on them.

"Far be it from my to stain my own reputation," she remarked with a hint of her typical amusement. Though the wand was there and brushed against her neck, she didn't flinch.
... She did flinch however, when moments later it traced lower down her neck and chest (and oh, she'd almost smirked) and Severus saw it fit to press it onto soft skin, soft but bruised so there was very little to do about the hitched in breath or the way her expression contorted visible into pained discomfort. Nonetheless her gaze remained fixed on herself and on the wand and she watched intently as the incantation made it so that the bruise began to fade.

It was impressive, to say the least.

"... And you're being so kind, aftercare and everything."

"Removing evidence," he corrected her. He was not being kind, nor was he administering aftercare. He was going to stick with that belief, too.

The bruise gone, he moved the wand back up and dug it against the underside of her chin again, forcing her head back. He incanted the same charm, this time running the tip of the wand slowly down the bruise down one side of her neck. They faded as if they were being sucked into the wand. And he did the same on the other side of her neck.

"A pity to get rid of them, really," he said as the last of the bruise on her neck drained away. "They were quite a nice reminder that I finally got my hands around your neck and throttled you, like I've wanted to do for a long time."

Not that throttling her last night had led to shutting her up. The noises she'd made the night before. A memory of her seized up in orgasm underneath him and gasping wantonly, shamelessly, flashed through his mind. No, don't think about that, he scolded himself the moment heat began pooling into his groin.

Severus followed her out, keeping his wand trained on her as he tailed her through the castle corridors and viaducts. They luckily only passed a few younger years, who only looked on with mild curiosity until Potter and himself had passed on by.

The moment they were at the entrance of the Room Of Requirement, though, he shoved her through the door once he was certain no one was around to see. He stepped in after her and the door quickly sealed shut.

The moment it did, Severus grabbed Potter by the hair and dragged her roughly over to a large, old wooden desk the room had provided. He shoved her up against it with a slam.

"Bend over," he demanded, forcing her down against the desk by the back of the neck while he pocketed his wand.

Always the desk, she mused to herself, an eyebrow raised, before she found herself moving with him across the stone floor.

Her hip bones connected with the wood and she let out a small noise of discomfort before he forced her down. Without her hands to protect her, her cheek was smashed up against it as she eased her body into the position he wanted.

"Same old, same old," she said out loud this time, chuckling. "C'mon then, Snivvelus. Let's see what you've got in you this time."

Got a starting point in mind for these two?

"Pishposh," she waved her hand almost dismissively but reached up to push some stands of hair away from her face nonetheless; her hair was a mess, but it added some charm to her overall appearance. Even though he'd begun removing any marks of the previous night's affair from her skin she still looked the part.

His remark was met with a laugh, bubbling with excitement much unlike the hollow sound from only moments after he'd woken up. She tilted her head down, making it so she inched just a little closer, though not enough to close the considerably distance between the two - just enough to add emphasis.

"If that's how you've always envisioned it, then by all means you could have gotten your hands around my neck sooner, Severus."

Granted it was unfeasible as circumstances were, but she was teasing more than anything, as evidenced through the smirk tugging at the corners of her lips and the way she looked at him, almost as defying as the night before when she'd been all fingernails digging into his skin, pulling him closer, wanting more.

"I would've been happy to help you work through that desire."

Severus clenched his jaw slightly at Bellatrix's laugh and at the teasing, almost amused remark. And the look she was giving him: it was as if she was attempting to goad him.

"Would you now?" he replied, being careful to not appear too interested. He pulled his wand away from her neck and casually leaned back to place it back on the side table.

"Is that why you're in no hurry to leave?" he asked when he faced back to her. "Because you want me to strangle you?" Though he'd just removed evidence of having had his hands around her neck, he quickly dashed his hand up to snatch her throat; his thumb pressing into the underside of her chin and his fingers biting into the side of her jaw just below her ear.

"Until last night, I never pegged you for a masochist," he quietly observed, studying her eyes and her face. "Does Rodolphus know how much of a slattern for pain you are?"

Her mouth cracked into a grin, all teeth and a little twitch, a subtle indicator that she might just burst into laughter. It wasn't just her - it was him, too. She was teasing him, planting a seed of doubt, but never daring, not outright anyway; yet there he was, his hand pressed against her skin and - oh - she even tilted her head back for him, not looking away even once.

"Perhaps you should ask him." She answered, though her words were quickly followed by a soft (but no less facetious) oh. "Then again, maybe not."

She glanced at his hand, running her index and middle finger over his own, over the back of his palm and wrist, trailing serpentine lines over his skin. "in my defense," she began, her grin fading to something closer to a flirtatious pout. "You're the one who can't keep his hands off me."

Severus was a stark contrast to the glittering expression of slightly unhinged amusement on Bellatrix's face. Where she was grinning, all teeth and eyes that were sparkling with a sense of dare to them, he was stern, stony faced, observing her like a hawk might observe its prey.

His expression darkened at her comment about him not being able to keep his hands off her. She'd caught him out. He felt like his unspoken, if not repressed craving for human touch had been rudely exposed. Well. He couldn't have that. He tightened his grip around her throat for a moment, eyeing the pout she was giving him, then abruptly let her throat go with a brusque, almost uncaring shove.

"Don't think so highly of yourself," he dismissively retorted.

He pushed himself up into a sitting position, drawing his knees up towards his chest. He draped one arm around his knees while pushing his hair away from his face with his other, before dropping that arm around his knees also. The bed sheet only covered his legs; the cool morning air hit his bare back, which was still lined with faint, haphazard scratch marks from the night before.

"Let's just pretend last night was a bad mistake and leave it at that. I think that'll be a lot simpler."

When she felt his grip tighten, there was a brief moment where concerned pushed its way into the back of her mind and she heavily pondered the possibility of pushing him away. But sooner than she could act, he'd let go and she reached up with her own hand to press against the skin of her throat, rubbing circles over where his fingers had set.

"Am I lying?" She rolled back onto her back, her head tilted back on her pillow, exposing her neck, her chest, all the way down to her waist where the fabric of the bedsheets had began to pool. "You're making a bigger deal out of this than it necessarily needs to be," she commented, closing her eyes. "We might as well obliviate one or the other to spare you the misery."

Severus glanced over his shoulder at Bellatrix. He shouldn't have. The sight of her laid back, wild and messy hair askew on the pillow, throat exposed, breasts bare and arched up, nipples swirled tight, was truly a sight to behold. It was not unlike how she looked last night, pinned underneath him. He could feel his resolve starting to break again.

"I'm not making a deal out of anything. I'm clarifying the easiest approach. We pretend this never happened, things will be much simpler, for both of us."

Even as he said this, though, his eyes never stopped taking in the sight of her, and Severus unclasped a hand from around his knees to snag the bedsheet draped across her. He snapped it back with a sharp yank of his wrist, throwing the sheet back and exposing the rest of her nakedness. In one swift motion, he reached for his wand again, pushed himself around onto his knees, and he stretched up to lean over her.

"But," he said, his voice quieter, lower, pressing his wand up against the underside of her chin again, "I ought to make sure you don't obliviate me. I wouldn't put it past you to try."

"Things will be simpler for you," Bellatrix corrected, cracking one eyelid open to look back at him. By the time she did so, she'd reached up with one hand to tug lightly at strands of her own hair, succeeding only in making it look messier than it already did. Now that the initial shock had died down, so to speak, she seemed to be quickly regaining her (over-)confidence. In a way it was all quite cleverly played: as long as she could convincingly assert him that she was hardly bothered by the situation (which was likely a difficult task, both given the state he'd first found her in moments earlier and the fact that it was, well, him), she could try and convince herself that this wouldn't come back to haunt her.

She'd only just closed her eyes again when the feeling of the bedsheet being yanked away startled her and she looked back at him, a bit wider-eyed than she'd intended--
-- and just like that, there it was; his wand again, threatening. As if she'd allow him as much.

"Now why would I do that?" There was a hint of mirth there, halfway through the question, accented on the why.

"I'd rather you were reminded of it," She was taunting him, it was clear not just from his tone but from her body language - the way she shifted under his gaze, purposefully slower, just to lift her head up to regard him better. She was taunting him because she could, because in her own way, she wanted to see him squirm. "Each and every time you look at me. When that's all you can ever dream of doing, should poor, dear Rodolphus suspect your intentions."

Terrible. She could be so.

It was just a nightmare.

Somewhere, dimly, Hermione realized that. But in the moment, it felt so real, and she could hardly control her reactions in her sleep. She'd retreated to her actual room in Spinner's End for the night, the cat and mouse game with Snape having resumed with vengeance. It seemed like unless they were actually sleeping together, they were doomed to be on each other's last nerve.

She regretted that decision now; even sleeping in his bed, facing his cold shoulder, had kept the nightmares at bay. Now, she was assaulted with them. Each one embodied a fear she had - but this one was the worst. Or at least, it felt like the worst.

In her nightmare, Hermione was face to face with Severus Snape - except, it wasn't him. She could recognize that it wasn't him, the sneer on his face wasn't anything close to the sneers he'd worn at Hogwarts. She thought by now she knew each and every one of his expressions, but this one was too cruel to be imagined. Slowly, he raised a wand and pointed it at her, and a face that she knew emerged from the darkness. Voldemort, behind him, pulling puppet strings.

"It was a fun game, Granger, but you've outlived your uses," Snape-Voldemort drawled, the wand hardly wavering. Hermione found she couldn't speak, couldn't scream - she was fighting for air, something was choking her and there was nothing she could do. Her hands raised to her throat, she fought for breath, the image of Snape going black as she --

She screamed, finally, but the sound was unexpectedly loud - she was awake and screaming in her room, not in her dream, her blankets on the floor having kicked them away, her hands fisted in the sheets. Crookshanks was hissing from a corner, and all Hermione could do was mumble a muffled spell to light the candles and bury her head in ehr hands.

One minute, Severus is sound asleep, after what had felt like hours of struggling to get to sleep (for sleep wasn't something that came easily to him). The next, he jerks awake with a start at the sound of screaming piercing through the silence in his dark, dreary house.

He's disoriented at first as he frantically shoves himself up into a sitting position, the screaming reminding him of-- of things in his past. Horrible things.

Granger, he suddenly realises through the fog still distorting his thoughts. It's Granger screaming.

Throwing the blankets back, untangling himself from them, he snatches his wand off the nightstand as he staggers to his feet, takes a few hurried steps, stops to stoop down and snatch up his pyjama bottoms from the floor.

Granger, he thinks as he blindly steps one foot into a pyjama leg while making his way to the door. Granger, Granger, I'm coming, I'm coming. He hops on one foot while hurriedly stepping into the other pyjama leg, almost tripping over in the process. Tugging them up over his hips, he grabs the door handle and dashes out into the tiny landing, the wooden floor cold under his feet and the icy winter air hitting his bare arms and chest.

He bursts through the door to Granger's room (his old bedroom), wand at the ready, his hair sleep touselled and his tired, beady eyes wide with alarm.

"What? What is it?" he demands, sounding almost panicked. He takes in the scene: that hissing bastard of a cat in the corner, the candles alight and flickering soft but eerie shadows across the walls, the blankets in a heap on the floor, Granger huddled on the bed with her hands covering her face.

"What the bloody hell's going on?"

She hadn't expected anyone to come to her aid; a part of her still thought she was at her flat in Diagon Alley where she'd sound proofed all of the walls with specially tailored spells. No one would hear her scream there. But at Snape's house, things were different - walls were thinner and she hadn't bothered with her wards the evening before, just collapsing into bed haphazardly.

Unsteady footsteps raced down the hall and her door slammed open; Hermione barely had a moment to prepare herself before the exact figure of her nightmares (looking much less put together, to be fair) was inside, wand raised. She flinched away from that, peering at him through red eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know about her dream - he'd only see her frightened of him.

And while she'd stopped crying, she wasn't in any condition to explain as she cowered under her sheets. Crookshanks, at long length stopped hissing and crossed the to the bed, curling around his mistress as Hermione hiccupped in an attempt to get herself under control and explain.

"It was.. I was just...," she gestured around her hopelessly, searching for an answer that made sense without sounding as pathetic as I had a nightmare. If it was enough to bring him here, he probably thought that she was in trouble or that something had attacked.

At the end, she breathed out a long breath, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging herself. "A dream. It was just a dream." Only marginally better than admitting she had a nightmare, but hey. You win some, you lose some.

The way Granger seems to be frightened of him confuses him: he peers at her with a bewildered frown, his gaze darting between her and the blasted cat scurrying over to her. And when she flounders around for an answer, he snaps, "What? Spit it out, for bloody Merlin's sake!"

And when she finally does... The fierceness in his expression eases slightly. A dream. A nightmare, in other words. She wouldn't have screamed like that if it wasn't a nightmare.

He draws in a deep breath and lets it out while sagging against the doorway. "A dream," he echoes.

Contrary to how irritable he sounds, he understands. He's familiar with nightmares. He's familiar with waking up with a scream welling in the back of his throat. Lifting his hand to his face, he scrubs it over his eyes and across his forehead, then drops his arm to his side.

Eyes back on Granger. "Well, you're not dreaming anymore," he continues gruffly, "so there's no need to keep looking at me like that."

It's not him that she's frightened of, not truly; but that doesn't stop her from flinching when he snaps at her, though her chin juts up stubbornly. Maybe that was the Gryffindor in her, refusing to be cowed by Severus Snape snapping at her in his pajamas at near four in the morning.

His relief is palpable, if only because she knew him well enough to monitor the subtle changes in his expression.. and that, in turn, makes her feel ridiculously safe. He didn't seem worried that she was some sort of broken chit crying in his guest bedroom. He didn't seem concerned for her health and hadn't threatened to drag her off to St. Mungo's (yet) as Harry had done the one time she'd confided in him about her dreams. He just seemed..

Relieved. Annoyed, but it was four in the morning. Maybe a little understanding.

"You were there," she blurts out, before she can help herself, petting Crookshanks absently. She can feel herself blush as she fumbles around for words, shuddering. "Not.. not that it was you, it was him, but he was you and you were going to --" Her lower lip trembles and she looks to the ceiling to fight a sudden spate of tears. She'd never shared her nightmares with anyone, not truly. Not in detail. But she'd put her foot in it this time and the last thing she needed was Severus Snape thinking he was the demon who haunted her dreams.

"It was just a dream. I didn't mean to wake you."

He's about to tell her to just-- Go back to sleep, Granger, and he's ready to turn on his heel and wearily slink back to his room, crawl back under the covers, attempt to get back to sleep. He doubts he'll be able to, though.

The words that come blurting out of Granger's mouth give him pause. He peers at her, expressionless, watching the awkward and nervous twitch of her brows as she relays the dream. And when she says that he was him in the dream and that he was going to--

Well. Severus swallows. It sends an irksome shudder through him, the reminder that she would still think of him as connected to the Dark Lord. And why wouldn't she?

He watches her for a few silent moments; he hears in her voice the tears that she's trying to hold back. In another circumstance, he would tell her to get over it, but... He pushes away from the doorframe and takes a slow and hesitant step into her room.

Crookshanks growls protectively as he approaches the bed. The blasted half-Kneazle trusts him, but doesn't like him, nor does Severus like the half-Kneazle, and he flicks his wand at it with an uttered, "Go on, get," a harmless hex zapping it to make it get off Granger's lap. It lands on the floor with a heavy thud of its large paws and an angry hiss and bounds away to jump up on the dresser. It glares at him while Severus sits, almost gingerly, on the edge of Granger's bed; the springs quietly squeak under his weight, and he simply sits in silence for another few, long moments. Wand clasped between his hands, he fiddles absently with it, forefingers and thumbs rolling it back and forth.

Eventually, he speaks; his voice is low, scratchy with sleep now that the shock of being awoken so unexpectedly has passed. "Do you normally have dreams of that nature?"

She glances back up at the doorframe, expecting him to have already left the room and gone back to sleep, and was pleasantly surprised when she found that Snape was still standing there, looking at her with a rather neutral expression on his face. Then he moved toward the bed and she shifted to allow him room, just as Crookshank hisses and abandons her to her fate, keeping watch from atop the dresser like her very own guardian furball.

Hermione fiddles with the end of the large shirt she slept in, her head bowed so that her hair is a curtain between them. Now that she's admitted one nightmare, it doesn't seem too horrible to admit more - she'd tried to tell herself again and again that what she had been through was a war and that no one could begrudge her for a few bad dreams. Considering how badly others had been left, however, she felt immeasurably guilty admitting any sort of lasting effects.

The fact of the matter remained that the war had changed her as much as it changed him, whether she would admit it or not.

"Yes. A few times a week," she murmurs, almost so quietly that it can't be heard. "Sometimes I'm back at Malfoy Manor, with Bellatrix. Other times, the battle of Hogwarts. Sometimes it's things that never happened, but could have."

More often, however, it was Bellatrix, leaning over her arm and slicing deep into skin, and Fenrir Greyback, foul breath in her face as she was pressed into the hard wood floor of the Malfoy's home. Almost protectively, she tucks one of her arms underneath the tangled sheet that had managed to survive her nightmare. She didn't use her glamours when she slept, no need, which meant every scar was on sick display.

"I haven't had any since ...," since we started sleeping in the same bed, since I came to this house, since I had something to occupy my time, she fumbled for words. "Since I began staying with you," Hermione settled on, avoiding his gaze.

The chilly air is making his skin break out in goosebumps down his arms and across his bare chest, which is not without its own scars; slashes and nicks that have faded into silvery scars crisscross here and there. An angrier looking scar, with frayed edges, streaks down his left shoulder blade. Old wounds from his Death Eater days, and even older wounds from his bleak and turbulent childhood.

The chill running through him is accompanies with a chill running down his spine at the thought of Bellatrix and the things he knew Bellatrix had done to her. Her craziness could have been ignored if she hadn't been so dangerous. That she'd tortured Granger fills him with disgust, even more so these days since he's come to strangely care so much about her, but that word Bellatrix had carved on Granger's arm is what sickens him the most.

At her seemingly hesitant remark about the nightmares being more under control since staying with him, he cuts his eyes across to her. He studies her profile, that familiar jut of her chin, the slender slope of her neck, the way her hair is falling down around her face. His right hand letting go of his wand, he hesitates, then stretches his arm across to her and brushes her hair back from her face with his fingers, over her shoulder.

He drops his hand away again, palm resting on the bed. "Dreams are harder to control than thoughts and emotions," he says, "but with enough practice, one can learn to control one's dreams. Or, at the very least, manage them. It does, however, take discipline. Perhaps I might be able to teach you."

If she notices his scars, she doesn't seem to be bothered by them - rather, it brings back memories of her fingers running over his skin, her lips pressing against the few she'd been able to find before they had rolled into bed together. She has a horrible double standard about scars; hers are disgusting, his give him character.

His touch garners her attention and she glances up at him, pulled out of her thoughts of immeasurable nights woken up shouting from bad dreams. Really, she ought to see someone - a healer, something; but that would be admitting a weakness and she'd always been the strong one, the one who could handle anything. Not to mention any move she took would be dutifully reported by the press; it was impossible to do anything quietly anymore, even if she smacked them with libel and slander suits.

"I can?!" She blurts out before she can stop herself, eyes widening before she flushes dark pink. "That is, control them. I hadn't thought that there was anything I could do; magic regarding dreams is so hit-or-miss, not to mention unstudied.."

There was a slight hint of the old Hermione Granger there, the one who would do anything to get her hands on a book, the insufferable know-it-all. Lifting her opposite hand, she presses it on top of his, trying to look less hopeful and more .. together. "I'd appreciate it. It might make my stay here a bit more tolerable for you, as well."

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open rp post #002

ugh sorry for the typos I was on mobile

no wuckers bb <333

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<3

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person #1

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