Seat of Power
Title: Seat of Power
Team: Order of the Phoenix
Characters: Severus/Hermione, Flitwick
Challenge: Compromise Challenge
Word Count: 100 x 7
Rating: PG-13ish or so
Disclaimer: They’re not mine, they’re J.K. Rowling’s. Alas.
Note 1: For camillo1978, who has recently celebrated both a birthday and an engagement and thus is doubly deserving of a present.
Note 2: Now in complete form! LJ originally ate the last drabble, but it's now been restored. If you thought the ending was a little abrupt, that's why.
Severus knew it was the perfect chair.
It was neither too near nor too far from the fireplace, and it was at precisely the right angle, providing a full view of the room, as well as the door.
The cushions fitted against Severus' body as though they had been moulded specifically to support his arse, and they remained comfortable throughout hours-long reading sessions.
There was no more superior chair in the staff room. It was His Chair, and he loved it.
It had been acknowledged as His Chair for twenty years, and nobody would change that fact-not even Hermione Granger.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was, Hermione decided, a perfect chair.
Though the staff room was filled with armchairs of all stripes (and a few unfortunate plaids), she knew the instant she saw the overstuffed specimen that she would love it best. It appealed to her somehow, and it smelt familiar and comforting.
"I wouldn't do that," warned Flitwick, as Hermione snuggled against the cushions, cradling On Transfiguration: A Treatise. "That's Severus' chair. He doesn't share."
"That's absurd," Hermione pointed out. "You can't call dibs when you're not present!"
"He'd disagree."
"Besides, we're friends now. He'll understand."
"Quirrell said the same thing," Flitwick sighed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus entered the near-empty staff room with an exhausted spirit and an overwhelming desire to curl up in His Chair with tea, biscuits and the latest issue of Draughts and Drams.
The problem with this glorious plan was that bloody Granger was occupying His Chair.
She was absorbed in a heavy tome, her forehead wrinkled adorably in thought as she thoughtfully nibbled on the end of her quill.
His first thought was that she looked delicious.
His second thought was that she had some bloody cheek, sitting in His Chair and making him like the view.
"Get out!" he growled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus refused to be reasonable.
"You weren't here," Hermione explained again. "You can't call the chair in absentia."
He glowed with fury. Inwardly, Hermione marvelled at the fact that the anger that had once terrified her now had an entirely different effect.
"It's My Chair!" he thundered, looming over her. "My claim is understood."
Hermione took her time marking her place before shutting her book. She looked up, unmoved.
"I understand that you're being a tyrant. I happen to like this chair. It's comfortable." She smiled. "If you want me to get out, you're going to have to make me."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Granger refused to be reasonable.
Severus had explained many times, but she refused to acknowledge his superior claim. Instead, she remained in His Chair, looking cool and brilliant and frustratingly impervious to him. She'd crossed her arms under her breasts, which only made him cognizant of how lovely they were.
And now she had the audacity to dare him?
It had been a long, filthy bastard of a day. He was tired of being toyed with.
Enough was enough. Before she could hex him, he plucked her up, assumed his rightful seat and set the squirming interloper on his lap.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione struggled on Severus' lap, cursing and trying to hex his eyebrows off.
"Just relinquish your claim, you little thief," he hissed, attempting to hold her still. "Admit it's mine, and you're free to go!"
"Never!" she swore. She wriggled, trying to get in a good kick to his shins-and suddenly encountered an unexpected firmness pressing against her hip.
Both of them froze.
It dawned on Hermione that there were distinct and tangible benefits to sharing the chair in this particular configuration. Benefits, she realized, that were really rather appealing.
Very slowly, very deliberately, Hermione shifted her balance atop Severus.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Their eyes met, and impulsively, she kissed him. He blushed brightly.
"We could share," she murmured.
Severus cleared his throat. "We could."
Her hand found its way down his trousers and squeezed. He inhaled sharply.
"It occurs to me," he whispered, breath hot against her ear, "that this chair is useful for things other than reading, as well."
"Oh?" she asked with mock-seriousness. "I may require a demonstration."
He was more than eager to oblige.
When Flitwick returned later to retrieve his reading glasses, he was kind enough to back straight out and apply the Locking Charm they'd obviously forgotten.
Team: Order of the Phoenix
Characters: Severus/Hermione, Flitwick
Challenge: Compromise Challenge
Word Count: 100 x 7
Rating: PG-13ish or so
Disclaimer: They’re not mine, they’re J.K. Rowling’s. Alas.
Note 1: For camillo1978, who has recently celebrated both a birthday and an engagement and thus is doubly deserving of a present.
Note 2: Now in complete form! LJ originally ate the last drabble, but it's now been restored. If you thought the ending was a little abrupt, that's why.
Severus knew it was the perfect chair.
It was neither too near nor too far from the fireplace, and it was at precisely the right angle, providing a full view of the room, as well as the door.
The cushions fitted against Severus' body as though they had been moulded specifically to support his arse, and they remained comfortable throughout hours-long reading sessions.
There was no more superior chair in the staff room. It was His Chair, and he loved it.
It had been acknowledged as His Chair for twenty years, and nobody would change that fact-not even Hermione Granger.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
It was, Hermione decided, a perfect chair.
Though the staff room was filled with armchairs of all stripes (and a few unfortunate plaids), she knew the instant she saw the overstuffed specimen that she would love it best. It appealed to her somehow, and it smelt familiar and comforting.
"I wouldn't do that," warned Flitwick, as Hermione snuggled against the cushions, cradling On Transfiguration: A Treatise. "That's Severus' chair. He doesn't share."
"That's absurd," Hermione pointed out. "You can't call dibs when you're not present!"
"He'd disagree."
"Besides, we're friends now. He'll understand."
"Quirrell said the same thing," Flitwick sighed.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus entered the near-empty staff room with an exhausted spirit and an overwhelming desire to curl up in His Chair with tea, biscuits and the latest issue of Draughts and Drams.
The problem with this glorious plan was that bloody Granger was occupying His Chair.
She was absorbed in a heavy tome, her forehead wrinkled adorably in thought as she thoughtfully nibbled on the end of her quill.
His first thought was that she looked delicious.
His second thought was that she had some bloody cheek, sitting in His Chair and making him like the view.
"Get out!" he growled.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Severus refused to be reasonable.
"You weren't here," Hermione explained again. "You can't call the chair in absentia."
He glowed with fury. Inwardly, Hermione marvelled at the fact that the anger that had once terrified her now had an entirely different effect.
"It's My Chair!" he thundered, looming over her. "My claim is understood."
Hermione took her time marking her place before shutting her book. She looked up, unmoved.
"I understand that you're being a tyrant. I happen to like this chair. It's comfortable." She smiled. "If you want me to get out, you're going to have to make me."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Granger refused to be reasonable.
Severus had explained many times, but she refused to acknowledge his superior claim. Instead, she remained in His Chair, looking cool and brilliant and frustratingly impervious to him. She'd crossed her arms under her breasts, which only made him cognizant of how lovely they were.
And now she had the audacity to dare him?
It had been a long, filthy bastard of a day. He was tired of being toyed with.
Enough was enough. Before she could hex him, he plucked her up, assumed his rightful seat and set the squirming interloper on his lap.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Hermione struggled on Severus' lap, cursing and trying to hex his eyebrows off.
"Just relinquish your claim, you little thief," he hissed, attempting to hold her still. "Admit it's mine, and you're free to go!"
"Never!" she swore. She wriggled, trying to get in a good kick to his shins-and suddenly encountered an unexpected firmness pressing against her hip.
Both of them froze.
It dawned on Hermione that there were distinct and tangible benefits to sharing the chair in this particular configuration. Benefits, she realized, that were really rather appealing.
Very slowly, very deliberately, Hermione shifted her balance atop Severus.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Their eyes met, and impulsively, she kissed him. He blushed brightly.
"We could share," she murmured.
Severus cleared his throat. "We could."
Her hand found its way down his trousers and squeezed. He inhaled sharply.
"It occurs to me," he whispered, breath hot against her ear, "that this chair is useful for things other than reading, as well."
"Oh?" she asked with mock-seriousness. "I may require a demonstration."
He was more than eager to oblige.
When Flitwick returned later to retrieve his reading glasses, he was kind enough to back straight out and apply the Locking Charm they'd obviously forgotten.