Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2155752.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Severus_Snape
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Severus_Snape
  Additional Tags:
      Dark, Heavy_BDSM, I_thought_that_BDSM_and_romance_were_the_same_thing,
      What_Was_I_Thinking
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-08-18 Chapters: 5/5 Words: 15390
****** The Fifty-Third Time ******
by riotcow
Summary
     Hermione initiates a strange affair with Snape, which mostly consists
     of her coming to him after Revels and helping him unwind with some
     very kinky sex, but without really talking about it. This is a
     strange, quite dark fic.
Notes
     Written in 2005 or 2006.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Later, he would often take comfort in the fact that the first time had been
entirely her fault.
He had returned to Grimmauld Place in the dead of night, and had he been a man
with less self-discipline, he would have been stumbling. Actually, had he
endured Cruciatus for even a moment longer that evening, even he would have
been stumbling.  Self-discipline only goes so far.
He'd returned, he'd made it into the kitchen, and he'd fallen with less grace
than usual into a chair.  He'd Accio'd a bottle of brandy from a cabinet and
glanced wearily, reflexively at the level of the liquid to see if the Weasley
twins had gotten into it again.   They hadn't.  This time.
He filled a tumbler with hands that barely shook.  Knocked it back.  Refilled
it.  Knocked it back.  Refilled it.
There, that was enough to start to take the edge off.
Even profoundly exhausted, halfway to inebriated, and suffering from an
extended bout of the Cruciatus, Snape heard her well before she appeared in the
doorway.  The house was old and the steps creaked, which was to Snape's liking.
 It meant that the brats presently in residence had even less of a chance of
catching him unawares than usual.
The creak was slight.  Too slight for a male or for Molly Weasley, and Minerva
McGonagall never slept here, while Tonks would have just tumbled down the steps
headfirst... which meant that either Hermione Granger or Ginny Weasley was
about to interrupt his binge in order to get herself a cup of cocoa or some
absurd thing.
He stirred vaguely.  He ought to light a candle, so that the brat wouldn't be
startled by finding him in the dark.  He ought to transfigure the Death Eater
robes that he wore into something more suitable.  Really, the best option would
be to exit by the back door and Apparate away from here, in order to avoid the
interaction all together.
It was a bitter and uncharitable impulse that kept him from doing any of these
things.  He donned the thrice-damned robe and mask and went without hesitation
before the darkest wizard in the world and suffered the Cruciatus and responded
by begging forgiveness and the chance to continue to serve.  He did it to
protect the innocents of the wizarding world.  And he was supposed to go out of
his way to make sure that they weren't a little unsettled by being confronted
by the evidence of what he did on their behalf?
Bugger that.
The Headmaster would have words for him later for allowing one of his precious
Gryffindors to see her Potions Master in Death Eater garb, but tonight the
thought gave Snape a sudden rush of nasty satisfaction.  And so he did nothing
but knock back the contents of his tumbler as the brat appeared in the doorway
of the kitchen.
He couldn't see her face in the darkness, but even though his vision swam
slightly he could make out the bushy hair that distinguished Granger from the
youngest Weasley.
She stood in the doorway, and he realized that she was looking at him.  So
she'd known he was here, had she?  So much for his brief and spiteful fantasy
of the look of terror on her face when she found a Death Eater in the kitchen.
Strangely, given her tendency toward babbling, the swot wasn't saying anything.
 Snape semi-fuzzily considered what he could deduct house points for that would
anger her the most.
That was when she crossed the kitchen and sank to her knees in front of him.
He knew later that being taken by surprise wasn't much of an excuse.  It had
taken her many seconds to open the front of his robes, unbutton his slacks, and
free his prick from its confines, during which he did nothing but stare at the
top of her head in shock.  But at some point the half-formed thought intruded -
- her mouth would be so wet and hot -- and it was because of that thought that
he had to admit that he'd known what was coming and somehow should have
summoned the initiative to stop her, but he hadn't.
Her mouth felt nearly scalding in its heat.  He wanted to believe that he was
flaccid when she first enveloped him, but the reality was that he was already
half-erect at the astonishing moment that she wrapped her lips around the head
of his cock.  His head began to swim more dramatically as a heady rush of
arousal magnified the muddying effects of alcohol and Cruciatus, though the wet
soft pleasure of her tongue was distracting him significantly from the aches
and pains throughout the rest of his body.
Her technique was far from expert, but she did manage to keep her teeth off of
him and she was both eager and insistent, and it turned out that that was more
than enough.  The fingers of his right hand tightened around the now-empty
tumbler on the table, and the fingers of his left gripped the side of the chair
where he was sitting.  At no point did he touch her... he didn't wrap his
fingers in her frizzy curls, he didn't press on the back of her head to
encourage her to take him deeper, he didn't grip her shoulders... his posture
never really shifted from the moment that she appeared in the doorway to the
moment when he tensed and stifled a groan and finally let his head tilt back
minutely as he filled her hot mouth with his seed.
He still didn't move as she ran her tongue over his length one last time to
leave him as clean as possible.  She tugged on his trousers in such a way that
they slid mostly back into place over his prick.  Finally she pulled his blood-
red robes closed in the front before she rose to her feet in front of him.
It was too dark to see her face, so maybe he imagined that she flashed a sad,
half-rueful smile at him before she turned and left the kitchen and left him
sitting in silent astonishment.
And for several long moments, Snape's stuttering brain tried to convince him
that it was impossible that that had just happened.
===============================================================================
So there could really be no debate that the first time was entirely her fault.
 Yes, absolutely, he should have stopped her.  As her professor, he shouldered
the lion's share of the responsibility for allowing the encounter to happen.
 But the point was, that no one could have seen that first time and thought
that he coerced her into it.
He often clung to that notion later.
Snape had successfully avoided Grimmauld Place for nearly a week after his
unexpected indiscretion.  Once or twice he wondered if he had an irate
confrontation with Dumbledore in his near future, but for some reason Snape
felt strangely certain from the girl's behavior that she was not going to tell
anyone what she had done to him in the kitchen in the stillness of that one
night.
But Grimmauld Place was the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, and Snape
could not avoid it for long.  The next time he'd gone for a meeting of the
Order, he had glimpsed her in the library as he passed down the hallway and had
braced himself for her to follow him, to speak to him, but she didn't.  She'd
merely looked up, caught his eye for the split-second it'd taken him to pass,
and there had been no reaction at all.  Snape had been unsettled by imagining
all the wildly inappropriate reactions that she might have after their
encounter, so why the hell was some strange part of him disappointed when there
was just... none?
On his way out, after the meeting, he was not going to glance into the library.
 And yet he did.
She was gone.  She clearly wasn't hanging around anywhere waiting for a glimpse
of him.
The second time... he couldn't exactly say that the second time was entirely
her fault.  Because it had already happened once, and so clearly he should have
returned to his chambers at Hogwarts or to his musty house at Spinner's End
after his summons instead of going to Grimmauld Place and stationing himself in
the darkened kitchen.  Never mind that it had been Grimmauld Place where he'd
gone a dozen times before, because at least it had the feeling of a place where
other people lived and wasn't quite so suffocatingly isolated in the hours
after he'd been before the Dark Lord.  Those dozen other times had been before
a student had come upon him in the night and given him a silent and unasked-for
blowjob.
He refused to think about the fact that, instead of sitting at the table, he
leaned against the counter as he repeatedly emptied his tumbler of bourbon.  It
was certainly not because he expected a repeat of the previous encounter; it
was not because this time he wanted to loom over her in the darkness as she
knelt before him.  It wasn't for those reasons, obviously, because it wasn't
going to happen again.
It wasn't until the third time that he found himself unable to resist the
temptation to bury his hand in her frizzy hair and wrap his long fingers around
the strands and press himself deeper into her silent mouth.  It was also the
third time that the moon had been bright and there'd been no clouds, and so
he'd been unable to avoid actually meeting her eyes afterwards as she'd stood
up.  It was still dark enough that her face was indistinct, but the silvery
light filtering through the grimy window had allowed their gazes to
unmistakably connect for a moment.
Something clenched hard in his stomach when that happened; he experienced a
moment of terror that she might not just turn and walk away this time.  But she
did.
The fourth time was the time that he slipped from his bed at Spinner's End in
the middle of the night and Apparated to Grimmauld Place and thus found himself
in the kitchen, with the Gryffindor prefect on her knees before him because
he'd gone there exactly for that.
It was after that fourth strange encounter that he'd Apparated home in the
night, and then back again in the early hours to eat breakfast at Grimmauld
Place.  His schedule and activities were such that he could show up at the
Order's headquarters at any meal time and expect Molly Weasley to feed him
without questions about why he was there right then, though he rarely took
advantage of this and had not at all since the first time that Hermione Granger
had happened upon him in the kitchen.
Indeed, Molly Weasley had been in the kitchen banging pots together when he
arrived, and the aromas of breakfast were just starting to drift up the stairs.
 The redheaded matriarch greeted Snape with only a few words of surprise as she
ushered him to the kitchen table, put strong black coffee in front of him, and
handed him the Daily Prophet.  They spoke intermittently and softly of various
matters of importance to the Order before the first of the houseful of students
made their way downstairs for their Mrs. Weasley's fortifying breakfast.
Fred Weasley was the first to arrive, and he paused in the doorway with a
surprised "My my, it's Professor Snape!" before going on to help himself to a
plateful of eggs and bacon.  The youngest Weasley was next, wearing patterned
pajamas with patches on the knees and with her hair hastily pulled into a
ponytail, and she just half-heartedly smiled at him before looking away.
Remus Lupin joined them and Snape blatantly ignored him.  Lupin just glanced at
Snape before sitting down and beginning to talk to the students in detail about
what exactly they had learned in their previous year's Defense Against the Dark
Arts classes.
Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley entered the kitchen together.  He could hear
their voices all the way from the top of the steps, so he'd known she was
coming.  They were bickering about how much time he spent obsessing about
Quidditch and how much time she spent obsessing about schoolwork, which had the
sound of a much-practiced dialogue.
It was impossible that his pulse had elevated slightly over the prospect of
seeing a 17-year-old student, even one whose mouth he had come in the night
before.  He didn't look up as the pair entered the kitchen.  He noticed her
pause slightly and there was a startled break in her nagging monologue at the
boy.  But then she picked it back up -- "... I tell you this EVERY year,
Ron..." and it was clear that she had no intentions of doing anything to betray
their late-night encounters to the rest of the household.
She did acknowledge his presence, though, with a polite "Professor Snape," as
she lifted some toast onto her plate.  And maybe her voice sounded just a
little strange as she said it, but not much.  It was no more or less than she
would have said to him on a morning like this before... before the first time.
He nodded curtly, not looking up from his newspaper.
Conversation ebbed and flowed in a natural manner, with the company largely
ignoring him as usual other than Molly's occasional attempts to foist some
actual food onto him.  He waited until Granger had recovered from the shock of
his presence enough to actually become embroiled in a conversation with Ronald
and Ginny Weasley before he took the chance to look up from under his brows and
study her at all.
He noted with chagrin that she looked like nothing more than a typical Hogwarts
student to him.
There was nothing obvious to distinguish her from any other seventh-year girl.
 She was not womanly where they were childish... she looked exactly like any
girl on the verge of womanhood, prettier than some, less pretty than others.
 Her hair, like Ginny Weasley's, had been pulled back into a messy ponytail,
though hers was at the nape of her neck instead of higher on the back of her
head.  She wore one of the plain, short-sleeved Muggle garments that the
students referred to as a t-shirt, brown, faded, turned inside out for some
reason, as well as oversized paisley shorts and fuzzy striped socks.  Snape was
disappointed that there was nothing that he could put his finger on in order to
talk himself into believing that she was somehow different than the other girls
whom he taught.
And then suddenly he found himself noticing her mouth.  She was talking to
Ginny, but her gaze flickered to him for the briefest of moments, which meant
that she caught him studying her but also that he had a sudden, unexpectedly
visceral memory of what exactly that mouth had felt like on his body only hours
before.
He dropped his eyes quickly, and that was when he noticed that her knees were
slightly bruised from the tile.
Snape stood up suddenly, putting his coffee cup on its saucer with more force
than was really necessary.  Molly Weasley and Remus Lupin glanced at him in
surprise but said nothing as he swept quickly from the kitchen.  He didn't look
back to see if Granger's eyes were following him.
But he imagined that they were.
***** Chapter 2 *****
It was the fifth time that he went straight to her room and fetched her.
That was a night when he'd been summoned, and he'd watched Bellatrix Lestrange
torture and murder an adolescent Muggle boy who looked quite like Harry Potter,
for the amusement of the Dark Lord.  Snape's stomach was churning when he
Apparated away, which was normal, but what was most decidedly not normal was
the feeling that he could no longer cope with what he'd seen without some kind
of physical contact from another human being.
Why?  He'd been able to cope with it before.
Without thinking too much about what he was doing, he Apparated to Grimmauld
Place, and Disillusioned himself as he silently crossed the threshold.  He knew
which steps to avoid, and so he opened the door to the room where Granger and
the Weasley girl slept without having made a single noise to awaken her.
He stood over her bed for several long moments, trying to avoid thinking.  He
could barely make out the side of her face among the tangle of her hair on the
pillow.  She'd pushed the covers down almost to her waist, and her smooth pale
arms were bare thanks to the sleeveless shirt she was wearing tonight.
The young boy had begged to live and then, eventually, begged for death until
his voice gave out, but it was not a situation where Snape could have stepped
in and used Avada Kadavra to end his suffering.
Snape leaned forward, dispelled the Disillusionment charm, and clamped his hand
over her mouth, thus awakening her.  She started violently and her hands flew
to his wrist before she even recognized her Potions professor looming over her
in the near-darkness.  They stared at each other, and he waited a few seconds
for her heart rate to slow just a little.  After a moment she blinked at him,
and he eased his hand off her mouth and took hold of her wrist instead, pulling
her out of bed.
She came with him.
He led her down the hall to an unused room.  It hadn't been cleaned yet, and
smelled musty from the dust and cobwebs that were thick on the furniture.  He
pulled her into the room behind him, turned abruptly, and towered over her as
he raised a hand and wordlessly caused the door to shut.  She was gazing up at
him and this time he could truly see her face in the faint moonlight.  Her eyes
were wide and hungry and her mouth hung slightly open as she panted; he noticed
that her nipples were already hard beneath the tight cotton shirt she wore.
He whispered aloud the words to lock the door and ward the room, so that she
would know that not only were others locked out, but she was locked in with him
without a chance for anyone to hear.
Her eyes widened even further.
He started to push her to her knees, but she raised her hands to his chest
instead.  She was too short to try to kiss him, so he paused a moment to see
what she intended to do.
She ran his hands down the sides of his robes, stopping near his waist where
she found a lump.  Snape tilted his head as she located and reached into a
pocket of his robes and pulled out his reduced mask.
She didn't want it on his person while she went down on him, he thought.  But
then instead of putting it aside, she looked up into his face again, biting her
lip, and pressed the mask into his hand.
Snape blinked.  If she wasn't trying to get rid of it, then she...
He growled deep in his throat, drew his wand, and enlarged the mask to its
normal proportions.  She didn't flinch -- this was actually what she wanted
from him.  Snape bared his teeth at her as he slipped the mask into place over
his face.  She continued to stare up at him, eyes glazed with unmistakable
lust, and he could practically see the pulse at her throat speed up.
Snape shoved her to her knees, hard, and she gasped.  She would be more than
slightly bruised in the morning this time, he knew.  He parted his robes,
unbuttoning his pants to draw out his cock, and this time he thrust himself
into her hot mouth instead of waiting for her to envelop him.
Her passion was unmistakable.  She was aroused by the garb of a Death Eater.
Snape tilted his head back, inflamed by her perversion.  He tangled his long
fingers in her hair and forcibly held her head still as he thrust into her
mouth.  It took her a moment to adjust to this new technique, but she quickly
figured out to loosen her jaw and wrap her tongue around the underside of his
prick and let him do the work.  After a few moments he was close to climax, and
he began to guide her head back and forth again.  She resumed her usual
ministrations.
Snape had said nothing to her during any of their previous indiscretions,
knowing that to speak would be to cross a line in being present with what was
actually happening.  But he had never fully initiated an encounter before this
one either.  The last time, when he'd come to Grimmauld Place for no reason
other than her, he'd worn his Death Eater robes just so that she would not know
that he wasn't returning from a summons.  But this time he'd pulled her from
her bed to serve him, and there was no denying to himself or to her that he
wanted this.
"More pressure," he instructed her curtly.  "Press up with your tongue."
The swotty little Prefect obeyed him instantly.  Snape looked down at the top
of her head, and as if she could sense his regard, she pulled back so that only
the head of his cock was in her mouth, her face tilting back so that she could
meet his eyes.  He could see the soft planes of her girlish features limned in
moonlight, her big eyes looking up at his masked face, her mouth stretched wide
to accommodate his swollen member.  It was pornographic -- a lovely, disgusting
image of everything that was unmistakably wrong with what he was doing.  He
abruptly re-sheathed himself in her mouth and exploded in the back of her
throat, stifling any impulse to groan.
She gagged.  Before either she'd been in control, or he'd considerately pulled
her head back some before he came so that he didn't choke her on it.  This
night, he let go of her hair as she started to gag and she pulled back and
managed to control herself for long enough for him to finish coming in her
mouth.  He was barely done, though, when she pulled away from him and began
coughing and gasping for breath.
He waited silently, didn't remove the mask.
After a moment she caught her breath and looked up at him.  Always before, she
had immediately gotten to her feet after he was finished, but not now.  Snape
could not help but entertain thoughts of what else he could do to her.
Instead, he reached down and grabbed her hair and pulled her to her feet.  She
moaned softly as she scrabbled on the hardwood floor to rise.  Snape pulled her
against his elaborately robed form.  There was too much fabric between them for
him to feel the curves of her young body, but the effect on her was marked.
 Her eyes were once again glazed as she stared up at him.  He was so much
taller than her that her neck was wrenched back at quite an angle due to his
painful grip on her hair.
He reached up with his other hand and shoved two long, slender fingers between
her lips, down the length of her tongue, to the back of her mouth.  She gagged
very slightly, and he leaned forward enough so that the cool metal mask he wore
was nearly touching her face.
"Teach yourself to control that," he whispered coldly.
She could barely nod with his fingers pressed into her mouth, but she did
inasmuch as she could.  Snape pulled both of his hands away from her, pushing
her outward, and she stumbled, nearly falling, as he turned and swept from the
room.
===============================================================================
That fifth time had happened only a few nights before the students were
scheduled to return to Hogwarts.  Snape refused to notice the fact that he had
already thought about how to continue his encounters with the newly dubbed Head
Girl after she returned to school.  Right under the watchful gaze of Albus
Dumbledore.
It made no sense that after a lifetime spent wrestling with the ethical
dilemmas of his precarious position, Snape was managing to do what he was doing
by simply refusing to think about the deep wrongness of it.  But somehow she
had taken precisely the right action in precisely the right circumstances, that
first time, to do what she had done without him finding it in himself to stop
her.  And once she had done it, it was if she had opened a floodgate.  And now
Snape was violating every standard that a teacher ought to uphold by his
comportment with her, and simply could not find it in himself to care.  Not
after every fucking thing else that he was required to care about on a daily
basis in order to stay alive.
And so it was that he found himself handing back her first assignment of the
year with its customary 'O' scrawled across the top, and an unusual note on the
bottom of the scroll:
The Baron's corridor
The steps by the bronze armor
Ten o'clock
Quincunx
He saw her unroll it, glance at his script at the bottom, and bite her lower
lip.  She had better remember that, he thought, and she nodded minutely as the
ink began to fade before her eyes.  He was not the type to leave evidence
around.
She was there right on time, as he expected, and she even figured out that the
last line of his note was the password, so that he was watching her slip
through the door to his receiving room at exactly ten o'clock.
He was wearing the blood red robes and mask, of course.  He'd been curious to
see what she would choose to wear when she actually knew that an encounter
would be coming.  He had only a single candle burning so that they would not be
able to see each other clearly.  She crossed the threshold wearing her student
robes, which was clearly the most innocuous thing for her to wear through the
corridors of Hogwarts, and she froze once she was inside, her eyes fixed on his
form.  He flicked his wand at her and divested her of her robes.
Underneath she wore a short, silky chemise that was not entirely opaque but
concealed her well enough in the near-darkness; he could tell even from across
the room that she wore no bra beneath it.  It was then that he instantly
decided that tonight he would have to touch her body.
Her breathing was already shallower as she gazed at him.  He raised his hand
and again spoke the words that would seal and ward the door.  Her eyes flitted
around the room as she confirmed that she was indeed in his private chambers,
which she must have suspected upon receiving his note.
Snape raised his wand again and she flinched -- clearly she was fully aware of
what a terribly risky situation she had put herself in.  The kitchen of
Grimmauld Place with Molly Weasley asleep upstairs was one thing.  An abandoned
bedroom in Grimmauld Place with a silence charm on the room was another.  But
standing near nude in his own chambers at Hogwarts, when no one knew where she
was?
She was right to be frightened.  He cast Imperio.
There was barely a fraction of a second for the beginnings of panic to flicker
across her pretty face before the characteristic blankness came over her.
 Snape smiled unpleasantly beneath his mask and beckoned her forward with his
wand, which she obeyed as if it were a spoken command.  He guided her to the
middle of the room, then instructed, "Lie down, on your back," in his softest
tones.
She complied.
He strode over to her and stood beside her, looking down at her in the
flickering candlelight.
"Lift your nightgown," he purred silkily, and she did it with the wooden
motions of a victim of Imperius, which resulted in fresh wave of arousal
washing through him.  She wiggled to raise the short shift until it was bunched
under her armpits, on her upper chest, so that her small breasts were bare to
him.  She was wearing knickers under the chemise, but Snape barely noticed as
he eyed her well-formed tits appraisingly.
"Lower your knickers," he told her, and she obeyed him in that as well, pushing
them down around her knees with her hands and then pulling one leg free so that
they pooled around her other ankle.  She wore exquisitely feminine black shoes
with a strap across the ankle and a low heel, and he let her keep those on.
"Look at me," he instructed finally, and her empty eyes locked on his mask as
he pulled his prick free and began to stroke himself over her.
It took only a moment to bring himself to readiness.  He stepped over her with
one foot so that he was standing straddling her at the level of her upper
thighs, facing her head.  He was careful to brush his robes back so that all of
his come would fall on her body.  He leaned forward slightly and grunted,
"Finite Incantatum," right before he began to come on her face and tits.
The girl gasped loudly as the curse lifted and began to sob in the stifled
manner of one who is trying to control herself.  What she did not do, however,
was stop obeying his last command to look at him.  Snape felt a surge of
tremendous triumph as his semen fell on her face and chest and she neither tore
her eyes away nor put up her hands to try to protect herself.
She brought herself back under control fairly quickly, with long, slow,
shuddering breaths.  Though she looked frightened and alarmed, for some reason
she did not explode in rage.  She lay still beneath him, covered in his seed,
and he stepped away from her and seated himself on the nearby couch.
She started to raise a hand to wipe at her face.  "Don't," he barked, and she
froze, then lowered her trembling hand again, her gaze locked on him.
Snape tilted his head and examined her thoughtfully, leaving her lying on his
floor.  She didn't try to speak to him, just turned her head and returned his
gaze.  There was no reproach there.  Just longing.
He'd just Imperio'd the girl, and she was merely lying on his floor, waiting
patiently to see what he would do with her next.  It made no sense to him, and
yet it seemed to be true.
"Come here," he told her, and she pushed herself to her hands and knees and
crawled to him, positioning herself in her now-customary posture between his
legs, rising up to put her hands on his spread knees.  Snape grabbed her
stained chemise and yanked it over her head, using it to roughly wipe the
remains of his come off her face and chest.  She closed her eyes and parted her
lips as he did it, and it was clear that being subject to his ministrations
aroused her.
He threw the slip aside and considered her some more.  She lowered her head and
looked at him from beneath her lashes, waiting expectantly.
Her submissiveness inflamed him, and he suddenly smacked her in the face with a
sharp crack.
She gasped and flinched, her right hand flying to her cheek.  "Professor..."
she breathed, and it was the first thing that she'd ever said during one of
their encounters.
"Shut up," he snapped instantly, not wanting to hear the voice that had
answered so many of his questions in the Potions classroom.
Eyes lowered, she drew a deep breath and then, amazingly, she nodded and
lowered her hand.  His sense of triumph returned, and he again wondered if
there was any limit to the ways in which she would allow him to abuse her.
He reached out again and cupped the side of her face where he had just smacked
her, as if in a loving gesture.  She tilted her face into his touch, and he
slowly ran a finger down her reddened cheek... over her jaw... down the line of
her throat.  She sighed, her eyelids fluttering.  He continued to trace his
path over her upper chest and finally to her breast, outlining its lovely swell
with a single fingertip.
Her respiration was fast and shallow again.  Never before had he fondled her
like this.  He savored the anticipation for a long moment as he stroked the
sides of her breasts and trailed his fingers lightly over her breastbone.
Finally he flicked his fingers over the taut peak of her breast, eliciting a
sharp intake of breath from between her teeth.  "Look at me," he commanded
again, and her eyes flew open and locked on his.  Satisfied, he took her nipple
between his long fingers and began to squeeze and tug on it gently.
Her body began to tremble and she moaned, keeping her eyes where they belonged.
 He nodded his approval as he applied more pressure to her pink nipple.  Her
eyes clearly wanted to flutter closed again, but she kept them open and her
moan dragged out.  Smiling beneath his mask, Snape increased the pressure and
pull on the tight nub to the point where she began to squirm and the pitch of
the noise she was making became considerably higher.  Good, she was still
looking at him, her eyes reflecting her increasing discomfort.  Snape's renewed
erection began to throb against his thigh as he squeezed her nipple still
harder and it became too much for her, forcing her to shut her eyes as she
began to cry out in real pain, trying to twist away from him.
He let go and she caught her breath, then straightened to look at him again.
 She really was a good girl.
But not good enough.  Yet.
This time he reached out with his left hand, finding her right nipple, and
began the process over.  A light, pleasurable pressure and tug at first,
increasing steadily until it began to hurt, and continuing to increase past
that.  This time she knew what was coming -- her eyes pleaded with him even
before the pressure became painful.  This time, when she finally succumbed and
closed her eyes against the pain and started to twist, he reached out with his
right hand and smacked her face sharply again, drawing another gasp.
"I told you to look at me!" he barked, and somehow she managed to open her eyes
and resume looking at him while he continued to crush her nipple between his
powerful fingers.  He rolled the little nub ever-so-slightly between his
fingers and she cried out once more, and though this time she managed to keep
her eyes on his mask, she could not help but to try to twist again.  He
punished her with a third slap to the cheek.
"Don't you pull away from me," he snarled, and sobbing, she stopped trying to
pull free and accepted it as he savaged her flesh.
He nodded, once, and let go, and she gasped to catch her breath.  Snape gave
her a moment, then reached out with both hands and captured the entirety of her
tits and began slowly to squeeze the mounds of flesh in his grip.
She understood the game now, and though she bit her lip in fearful
anticipation, she kept her eyes locked on his and tried her best not to jerk
away as he squeezed her flesh with slowly increasing pressure, carefully
watching her as if daring her to break the rules while he tormented her.  She
tried hard to always keep her eyes on his and never pull away, but at times it
simply became too much for her and she failed and was punished with another
blow.
This game maintained his attention until her nipples were swollen and bruised,
her breasts slightly discolored by sickly yellow fingermarks, her cheeks both
pink from being slapped.  Tears were running freely down her face but still she
looked at him, at his eyes behind the mask he wore.
Finally he sat back and pulled his cock free.  She slumped a bit as she was
relieved from the effort of holding herself still while he tormented her.
"Touch yourself," he instructed her softly.  She bit her lip and looked down,
but she obeyed him.
"Are you wet?"
Apparently Miss Granger was better at doing what she was told than she was at
answering explicit questions, because she inhaled sharply and did not seem
quite able to respond.
Snape leaned forward, grabbed a handful of her hair, and put his face right
next to hers.  She looked transfixed as the cold metal came within centimetres
of her skin.
"I asked you if you are wet," he drawled in dangerous tones.
"Yes," she breathed, in a voice tight with embarrassment.
He pulled back and shoved her face down onto his cock.  Her mouth wrapped
around him in a way that was beginning to feel familiar, and as he leaned back
a feeling of profound contentment came over him.  "Get your fingers out of your
cunt," he snapped and she obeyed, her hands flying up to rest on his knees.  He
smiled there where she could not see him.  "I want you to remember that.
 Remember that it made you wet," he told her in a low voice as her pace
increased and he moved closer to orgasm.  He thrust upward slightly into her
mouth and savored the little sound that she made in response.  With half a
thought he summoned her school robes to him just before he emptied himself in
her mouth, waiting for her to lick him clean as she normally did, and thrust it
at her even before she had risen to her feet.
"Get out," he told her flatly, and she did.
***** Chapter 3 *****
It was between the sixth and seventh times that he finally got around to
realizing that it couldn't happen anymore, and so he stopped.
Granger said nothing.  She came to class, she turned in her essays, which
exceeded their assigned length by about the same proportion that they had the
previous years and which he graded exactly as harshly.  Only twice did he catch
her gazing at him in a way that she had not before, and both times she reddened
and looked away immediately.
And both times he felt something tighten in his stomach and his groin when
their eyes connected.
There was only one other difference, and that was that when she waved her hand
at him in class just like she'd always done, when he eventually called on her
and then derided her answers just like he'd always done, she now looked at a
spot just over his left ear instead of into his eyes when she answered.  No one
else could have noticed, but Snape did.  He was glad of it, because it made him
feel just a little less like throttling the air from her body and fucking her
while she choked whenever she was in the same room with him.
So a month passed, where not more than a week had passed before any of their
previous encounters.  Still she said nothing.  And for some reason, it was the
fact that she said nothing about it and demanded no explanation that finally
drove him to offer one.
At the bottom of her latest essay, which received her customary 'O', he wrote
simply:
Everything about this essay is wrong.
Convince yourself it never happened.
He watched her unroll it and purse her lips as the ink faded away.
But her next assignment to him had an addendum at the bottom.
My last essay was entirely correct, but I will not write another like it unless
you want me to.
She had, he noted with relief, picked up his trick with the disappearing ink.
 That was their only communication on the topic.
The seventh time was after the next Dark Revel.  Snape had had to rape a woman
again, but at least he had managed to kill her without torturing her.  He'd
been avoiding unnecessary violence for too long again, and his comrades were
casting him sidelong looks of distrust, so he'd done what he had to do to
rectify that.  It was not so much that they could not conceive that he did not
have the same bloody appetites that they did, as it was the fact that their
atrocities were what bound the Death Eaters together and assured each of them
that his brethren could not betray him without being villified themselves.
Going into the seventh year Gryffindor dorm to get her was the stupidest thing
that he had done to date in the name of their strange affair.  It was not the
girls themselves who cast the wards on the dorm, of course, but Minerva
McGonagall, who perhaps was not as versed as Snape in wards but who was
certainly versed enough to present a serious challenge.  He cast a
Disillusionment charm on himself, and beyond that could only trust to the fact
that he'd wakened the girl like this once at Grimmauld Place so she ought to be
able to figure out what was going on.
She started to consciousness with a violent twitch, and this time he was glad
to note that while one hand immediately grasped at the hand that covered her
mouth, the other just as swiftly shot beneath her pillow and pulled her wand
out.  She could not see him thanks to the charm, though, and he held still
while her fingers explored the hand over her mouth to confirm that it was him.
 She relaxed and blinked up at where she knew him to be, and a strange thrill
shot through him at the realisation that she could identify him from the feel
of his hand.
He pulled her from the bed by her wrist and pushed her toward the fireplace.
 There was no floo powder in the girls' dorm, of course, and the students
themselves had been told that their fireplaces weren't connected to the network
at all.  The reality was that they were connected to all the other locations
inside the castle except for the other student dorms.  Snape drew a handful of
powder from the pouch in his pocket, flung it into the fire, and whispered,
"Charms classroom," before pushing Hermione into the flaring green flames.
He followed her to the named destination, seized her wrist again, flung more
powder into the fire and said, aloud this time, "Professor Snape's office,"
before pushing her through.
From his office he led her through a dank, unlit corridor concealed behind a
bookcase back to his private chambers.  He spoke to her not at all.
In his receiving room he whirled on her and she flinched.  She was wearing an
oversized pajama top and socks, but no pants.  He was clad in his Death Eater
robes but not the mask.  "Incendio," he proclaimed in a raspy voice, and a
dozen candles flared to life so that they were alone, face to face in a room
where they could see each other clearly for the first time.
He took a step back from her and spread his arms dramatically, so that she
could see the copious bloodstains on his robes.  Some part of him wanted her to
see that it was not just the illusion of a Death Eater that she was playing
with, but the real thing.
Hermione scrutinized him slowly from head to toe, nodding slowly as if she was
figuring out why he was displaying himself before her like this, and though she
looked unnerved, yes, she did not look horrified.  She raised her hand, and
that was when he realized that she had kept a firm grip on her wand ever since
he woke her.
"Scourgify," she said in the precise voice that she used to cast all of her
spells, and the blood was gone.  Snape lowered his arms slowly and stared at
her, and she gazed back with a firm jaw, despite the mildly frightened look in
her eyes.
Snape parted his robes and unbuttoned his trousers.  She dropped to her knees
where she stood, tucked her wand into her sock, and rested her hands on her
thighs.  There were still two paces between them and they could see each other
for the first time as their ritual began.
He pulled his prick free and stroked it.  Her eyes fixed on it hungrily -- she
still clearly wanted him.  He wondered if this was her first good look at a
man's sex, but decided that there was no way she would have approached him the
way she did the first time if she'd never given head before.
Snape closed the distance between them, pressed the head of his cock against
her mouth, and she parted her lips, ready to take him in.
He didn't enter her, just stood there for a long moment with his sex in his
hand, her soft mouth ready to receive him.  When he didn't penetrate her she
tilted her head back again and looked up at him, mouth still open for him.
 Snape gazed down at her, entirely unable to avoid thinking about the fact that
he was fucking his student when they were in a room well-lit enough for him to
see her face.
She extended her tongue, just the tip, to touch the head of his cock, and he
jerked back.
He turned away and tucked his sex back into his pants, buttoning them up with
angry motions.  Hermione closed her mouth but stayed where she was, kneeling,
silent, her gaze following him intently.
After a moment's thought, he strode over to her and grabbed her by the hair,
pulling her toward an ottoman that rested in front of one of the wingback
chairs.  He flicked his wand at it and it became slightly larger and higher, so
that it was the right height to push her forward across it and have her knees
rest, spread, on the floor.
"Divestio," he snapped, and both her pajama top and her socks disappeared,
which allowed her wand to clatter to the floor by her right calf.  Hermione
reached back for it and was startled when he Accio'd it to himself.
For the first time, she deliberately disobeyed one of his orders, albeit an
unspoken one.  Instead of staying where she'd been put across the ottoman, she
came fully up onto her knees and turned sharply to see him holding her wand.
It was not uncommon for teachers to disarm students who were getting out of
hand through either lack of skill or an excess of temper, but in any situation
other than that it was considered to go well beyond rude into unthinkable for
one wizard or witch to come between another and his wand without express
permission.
Snape paused at her reaction and stared at her.  She opened her mouth as if to
speak and he suddenly raised one pale finger of the hand that was not holding
her wand.
Hermione closed her mouth, though her eyes still looked rebellious.  He drew
his Death Eater mask out of his robes and slowly slid it into place.
She inhaled shakily.  He was reminding her of who he was, and clearly she was
getting the message.  Slowly, watching her gazing at him, he slid her wand into
a pocket of his robes and gestured for her to resume her previous position.
 Slowly, she obeyed.
Snape admired the lines of her arse and thighs.
He walked around her again and she looked up at him.  He stared down at her
from behind his mask and was gratified to note how glazed her eyes were again.
 But he was finding that he was not quite ready to fuck his student when he
could see her face like this, and so he reached out his hand and used a
summoning spell.  He was pleased to note her brow furrow slightly as she looked
at the black fabric that had appeared in his hand and tried to work out what he
had summoned from the spell that he had used.  He crouched down on the balls of
his feet before her, gathered up her bushy mess of tangles in one hand, and
raised the black hood to slide over her face.
The last he saw of her expression before he covered it up was the same flash of
panic that she'd displayed when he cast Imperio on her.
Good.
Once he'd hooded her, he pressed down on the back on her head and she lowered
it again.  He walked around behind her again, stepped up between her calves,
and kicked her thighs further apart with his booted feet.
She grunted.
He knelt between her thighs and unbuttoned his trousers again.
Her head snapped up even though she couldn't see anything, and he noted that
she was beginning to tremble, quite hard.  He smiled.
He leaned forward and pressed the length of his cock into the cleft of her
arse, then pulled back.  Her vibrations communicated her fear to him quite
clearly and deliciously.  He leaned forward again, this time pressing his cock
down first so that it slid between her thighs and came to rest between the lips
of her pussy instead of in the cleft of her arse.  He could feel her immense
heat and slickness as he pulled back again, and now his prick was lubricated
with her juices.
Still not penetrating her, he slid his cock between her lips.  Then he
carefully shifted each of his knees outside of her spread ones, pushing her
thighs together so that his prick was held very, very tightly in the folds of
her pussy.  Carefully he began to thrust, noting just how far back he could
pull without slipping out from between her labia.  Her body shook violently
around him, but he had still not penetrated either her ass or her pussy.
As he took the measure of her body, he began to thrust more violently.  The
ottoman slid forward, which he was able to rectify with a quick spell.  It
didn't feel quite the same as truly fucking her would, but it was still an
entire world of pleasure.  Snape leaned forward and, due to his superior
height, was able to wrap his forearm around the front of her throat while
continuing to thrust.  He applied careful pressure to her windpipe and savored
the sound of her panicked whimpers.
Snape nuzzled against her shoulder so that his masked face was right beside her
ear, which was concealed beneath the black fabric of her hood, though she would
be able to hear just fine.
"Shut up," he hissed, and was pleased when she tried to choke back her sobs.
 He could feel her swallowing hard against his forearm, which was constricting
her breathing just enough to make it hurt.
"You like to see me in this mask, but you wouldn't like to know what I do while
I wear it, would you?" he whispered right against her ear.  Her own hands had
come up to grip his forearm, but he was far too strong for her and the best
that it was was a place for her to cling to him.  He pressed just a little
harder against her windpipe and she coughed behind her hood and he hissed, "I
raped a Muggle tonight wearing this mask, you sick little cunt.  Does THAT turn
you on?"
Her choking sounds turned into full-out sobs in response, and Snape thrust
forward as hard as he could, bruising the front of her pelvis and hips against
the ottoman.  He pulled back with his forearm enough to completely block her
breathing for several long seconds as he climbed toward climax, then suddenly
let get of her and sat upright, pulled his prick from between her slick thighs,
and jacked his hand down its throbbing length twice before he groaned and came
on her arse, his other hand now braced on her lower back for balance.
Snape pulled away from her and somehow got to his feet without staggering.  She
was sobbing loudly and he stood behind her without moving, staring down at her.
 He smirked ruefully, certain that he had finally gone too far, feeling a
strange mingled sense of dread and relief over knowing that this would be his
last time using her.
She came back onto her heels and turned around, still sobbing, and peeled the
hood from over her head.  Her face was a red, blotchy mess as she looked up at
him, and her hair was entirely a rat's nest.  He still stood with his prick in
his hand as he stared down at her from his great height, wondering with idle,
detached curiously what she would do now.
She crawled forward without a break in her crying and desperately took his cock
into her mouth.
Snape stood there, truly dumbfounded for the first time since that first night.
 She cleaned his cock of his juices and hers with her mouth frantically as
tears ran down her cheeks and she hiccoughed violently.
Snape pushed her off of him and buttoned his pants with jerky motions as she
fell back on the floor into a heap.  She stayed where she landed, nude and
debauched, and cried herself out as he paced angrily around the room.
After a few moments she had stopped, and he strode over to her and crouched
down before her on the balls of his feet again.  He had still not removed his
mask, and he reached out and grabbed her chin and turned her face to him.
She couldn't meet his eyes.
"It turned you on, knowing I'd raped another woman before dragging you out of
bed to use you," he said in a voice that was entirely flat.
She shook her head hard in the negative.  "No," she whispered desperately,
closing her eyes tightly.  "No, no, no."
He shook her by the chin.  "It did," he snarled.  "Look at me!"
For some reason, her eyes still flew open at his command, and she looked at him
wildly.  "What you had to do tonight was terrible," she rasped out.
He let go of her chin and plunged his hand between her thighs and she shrieked.
 He jerked his fingers away, sticky with her slickness, and wiped them across
her mouth, in the same motion that he'd used before to slap her, but this time
just proving a point.  She flinched.
"It turned you on," he spat again.
Her eyes narrowed suddenly, and she too reached between her thighs.  But she
reached further back, to the cleft of her arse, and stuck out her hand to show
him a wet glob that was clearly semen and not lubrication from her cunt.
He stared at it silently.  Her jaw firmed, and she reached up with her other
hand and pulled his Death Eater mask from his face and dropped it onto the
floor.
Her other hand pressed itself against the side of his face and she stared into
his eyes.  "Clearly there is something wrong with both of us, Professor, but I
have to point out that no one was harmed by what happened between us tonight."
He swallowed hard, his face stony, and reached out to touch the bruises on the
front of her throat.  "Yes, someone was.  This has to stop."
She shook her head.  "It's not going to, Professor."
He jerked away from her but didn't stand up.  "Don't call me that here."
She shrugged.  "Then what would you like me to call you here?"
"It doesn't matter, as you're not going to be here again."  He suddenly drew
his wand and flicked it in her direction, and she found herself clothed in the
same garments she'd been wearing when he pulled her out of bed, with a
nightdress belted over it.  He then produced her wand and thrust it back into
her hand.  "Floo back to the Charms classroom, then walk back to your dorm," he
told her wearily.
As always, she obeyed him without hesitation.  She glanced back over her
shoulder, though, as she took a handful of floo powder from the silver tin on
top of his mantle.
"I'll be waiting when you want me again," she told him simply, and he glared at
her as she stepped into the flames.
***** Chapter 4 *****
It was the eighth time that he gave up and accepted that it was going to
continue.
It was the night of the Yule Ball, and she'd come to it with Ron Weasley.  Her
hair had been pinned up in an elegant up-do, and her delicate rose-colored
dress hugged her curves and showed off the skin of her lovely shoulders.
Weasley, for his part, had somewhere finally managed to find himself a decent
pair of dress robes, and Snape realized as he saw the redheaded prat escort her
into the hall that he now had the height and breadth of a grown man.
The two danced, just like a young witch and wizard attending a Yule Ball
together ought to dance, and she smiled up at him fondly as her hand rested
lightly in his.  They were the picture of teenaged normality, and Snape found
himself staring at them malevolently with the sound of her sobbing in pleasure
as he thrust himself between her thighs, clad in the garb of a Death Eater,
reverberating in his ears.
Weasley was grinning down at her like a fool and saying something that was
undoubtedly meant to be charming, and Snape had a powerful impulse to grab the
prat by the shoulder and spin him around to snarl, "She's as sick as I am, and
you're never going to be able to make her want you like she does me," in his
face.
Instead he stalked outside and tried, somehow, to breathe, to calm himself.
 After all his years of staying composed when his life hung by a thread in
front of the Dark Lord, it made no sense to actually become unhinged over a few
blowjobs by a student.  He stalked through the gardens outside the Great Hall
and found himself standing with his hand braced against a high stone wall that
bordered one of the lawns, alongside a row of ancient oaks.  There he managed
to bring his pulse back under control, to calm his mind enough to think
clearly, to banish the raging erection that had inflamed him in the Hall.
He was clearly going mad, and it was going to get him killed.
A half-hour must have passed as he stood there, still as one of the oaks,
mastering himself and his body.
He heard approaching footsteps, but he did not turn.  If it was her, then he
was going to have to have her again.  If it was someone else, then he would
make his excuses and return to the Hall.
She did not put her hand on him while she was still behind him, but instead she
came around to his side and insinuated herself between him and the wall.
Snape was silent as she eased him away from the wall far enough to drop to her
knees in front of him.  She lifted her skirts so that it was her knees that
would get dirty and not her dress, then unbuttoned his pants unhurriedly, found
his cock, and wrapped her mouth around it.  He leaned far forward with his arms
braced high over her head and began to thrust between her lips.
It didn't take him long to come, and she knew when it was coming and pushed far
forward so that his prick slid deep into the back of her throat.  When he came
she didn't choke or gag, though he could feel her throat working to overcome
the reflex.
She swallowed his seed, licked him clean, and rebuttoned his pants for him, all
without a movement or word from him to encourage her.  Then, unlike the first
few times she had done this, she stayed on her knees before him, looking up to
see what he wanted her to do.
"Get up," he told her softly, and she did.
She stood between him and the wall, meeting his gaze, her own still hot but
undemanding.
"This is the first time that I've fucked you without wearing my Death Eater
robes," he observed, a strange note in his voice.
She nodded shyly, and he realized that this was also the first time that he'd
initiated anything approaching conversation with her, aside from their little
meltdown in the aftermath of their last encounter.
Snape still had both his hands on the wall somewhere above her head.  He moved
one to her upper chest, spreading his fingers and thumbs to opposite sides of
her throat, above her collarbone, and pressing her back against the cold stone.
 She shivered and looked up at him from beneath her lashes.
He leaned forward and pressed his face into the hollow beside her throat.  Her
heart was beating fast beneath his hand.  He drew back an inch, raising his
mouth to hover over hers.
"Please don't kiss me," she murmured quietly.
"No?" he breathed into her parted lips.
"Please don't," she begged.
"And if I do, will you try to stop me?"  He reached downward to find her two
hands and lifted them over her hand, pinning her slender wrists to the wall in
his strong grip.  She could not help but arch her back slightly, but still her
head was pressed back against the stone as far as it could go, trying to evade
his mouth.
"Of course not," she replied in a small voice, her eyes not meeting his for
once.
He closed the space between them, brushing his lips lightly against hers, which
did not part but did not turn away.  "Open your mouth," he murmured smoothly,
and she complied by parting her lips a centimetre but not by kissing him, and
he pulled away just a bit.
He adjusted his grip so that he could hold both her wrists in his long grasp,
and lowered his other hand to her breast.  Her nipple was hard as he tugged on
it through the thin fabric of her dress; she groaned but still she did not kiss
him, though his mouth hovered over hers.  He made a thoughtful sound in his
throat and lowered his hand further still, bunching up the fabric of her skirts
and pulling it up over her hips, insinuating his knee between her thighs to
spread them and running his fingers beneath the edge of her knickers to trail
one digit lightly along the slick cleft between her legs.
She gasped loudly into his mouth but still made no move to reciprocate when his
lips brushed hers.  Frowning, Snape banished her knickers, then slid a finger
between her lips, into her heat.  "Look at me," he growled as her eyes drifted
closed, and she opened them immediately so that she was looking him full in the
face as he slid a finger deep inside of her for the first time.
Her breath caught in her throat and her eyes were wide.  A sneer played about
his thin lips as he slipped a second finger inside of her.  She shifted as he
pressed into her so far that the palm of his hand cupped her mons.
"Clearly not a virgin, Miss Granger," he said in a mocking voice, pulling his
hand away and slamming it back into her body forcefully.
Still he could not entice her to kiss him, though their eyes were locked and
the electricity between them was nearly intolerable.  "A third finger then?" he
asked her angrily, and suited actions to words, satisfied by the feeling of her
cunt stretching around his fingers as he pressed as deeply into her as he
could.
She spread her thighs further by lifting one to the side against the wall, her
foot hooked over his bony hip.
"I could just kiss you," he snarled as he fucked her against the wall with his
long fingers, and she nodded minutely as she stared at him and whimpered but
did not give him what he wanted.
He grimaced, pulled his hand free of her, and shifted his angle so that he
could slip all four of his fingertips into the slick passage of her cunt.  Her
eyes looked alarmed as he began to slowly press into her, but she was still,
her hands buried in the fabric of his robes.
"This is going to hurt," he told her in his silkiest voice, and she nodded, her
mouth open and panting.
He pressed forward to his first set of knuckles, and her cunt was clamped down
around his fingers tightly enough that it was clear that, while she might not
be a virgin, she was hardly experienced with being stretched like this either.
"I suggest you relax, or I might tear you open," he murmured against her mouth,
though he did not ease the pressure of pushing into her in the slightest.
He smiled a bit as he felt her gulp a lungful of air, then another, before
deliberately trying to slow her breathing and relax her body.  The tightness of
her pussy relaxed just enough to notice, and his fingers slid into her up to
the second set of knuckles as she whimpered in pain.
"If you kiss me, I'll stop," he told her persuasively, employing all the power
of his velvet voice.  And though the alarm in her eyes was beginning to shift
to actual panic, she still would not do it, and he pressed harder with his hand
and forced his way into her body up to the widest part of his hand, across his
last knuckles, and she cried out.
His hand was wedged hard between her pelvic bone and her perineum now, and her
sobbing was continuous.  He nibbled on her lips as he pondered aloud, "The only
way to get the rest of the way in is to either put you on your back or just
tear my way through," he told her thoughtfully, "and I'm not going to do the
former.  Are you sure you wouldn't just like to kiss me?"
She opened her mouth beneath his and he felt a hot surge of triumph.  It
quickly evaporated, though, as he angled his mouth over hers and realized that
she still wouldn't actually kiss him back.  He pulled away, angrier than he had
been in the first place.  "For Merlin's sake, just DO it, you stupid bint.  Or
do you think my threats are empty?"
She shook her head desperately.  "I know they're not," she breathed between
sobs.  "I know you'll do it."
"Dammit," he snarled, and pressed forward with all his strength, slipping his
hand into her down to the thumb through sheer force.  The pressure crushing his
hand was amazing, but well worth it as she writhed, impaled.  She keened
sharply and he slammed his other hand over her mouth to stifle the sound.
He began fucking her mercilessly, his nostrils flaring wide as he smelled the
blood dripping over his wrist and her thighs.  He'd torn her good, he could
feel it, and she must have been in intense pain as he punished her for refusing
to kiss him.
Through it all she'd kept her eyes locked on his so that he could savor her
every expression.  Her whimpers had died down a bit now, though he still had
his other hand pressed hard across her mouth.  Too late to escape her fate by
kissing him now.
It took him several minutes to expend his fury, and through it all she clung to
him and cried, taking what he was giving her.  When he finally eased his hand
from her body, she gasped loudly twice more from the pain of unclenching, then
settled into soft whimpering as she was pushed bonelessly against the wall.  He
was the only thing keeping her on her feet now, and Snape slid with her to the
ground, where he maneuvered himself to lean against the wall to pull her into
his lap.
"Spread your legs," he instructed her softly, and though her eyes flew open in
terror and she shook her head, she did as she was told.
Snape drew his wand and slid the tip of it along her slickness, finding the
now-bloody passage that he had invaded with his hand.  He murmured a spell and
the fear in her eyes became relief as he healed the tear and soothing warmth
replaced the fiery burn between her legs.  He then cast a cleansing charm, and
the blood on her thighs and dress disappeared.
He let her lay there in silence for many long moments as he pondered the
situation.
"You shall address me simply as 'sir' when we're alone together," he told her
finally.  "Not 'Professor.'"
"Yes, sir," she murmured, nuzzling against his thigh.
"If you in any way betray our secret, intentionally or unintentionally, you
will never see me again, and if it was intentional I will do everything in my
considerable power to ruin your future in the wizarding world.  You understand
me?"
"Yes, sir," she replied again, in a less sleepy tone this time.
Another long moment passed, though he could tell from her breathing that she
was more alert now.
He sighed in annoyance.  "I can't be forever fetching you from your dormitory
when I want you, but neither do I want to have to know well enough ahead of
time to arrange for a note every time."  He fingered a locket that dangled
around her neck from a light chain.  "I will have to give you something to wear
that will let you know when I want you."
She looked up at him from his lap.  "Thank you."
Snape scoffed and raised one hand to pinch at the bride of his nose.  "'Thank
you'?  Hades, girl, we are both entirely mad.  We are bringing out something
terrible in each other and one or both of us is going to wind up in St.
Mungo's."
"Maybe," she said softly.  "But at least you won't be going mad alone."
Snape had nothing to say to that, so merely put Hermione Granger back on her
feet, made sure that she wasn't too disheveled, and sent her back to the Great
Hall.
===============================================================================
That was the eighth time, and for a while after that he returned to his earlier
habit of not thinking about the wrongness and simply enjoying the depths of her
depravity.  It was also when he stopped keeping track of how many times it had
happened.
She wore the necklace that he gave her to replace her locket, and came to him
whenever it warmed.  She, however, had no way to keep track of him, which was
why he was baffled by the fact that she came to him whether he'd called for her
or not after every summons he received from the Dark Lord.
As a spy, he supposed that he should be bothered by the fact that she somehow
knew about activities of his that she ought not to.  But the fact was that
there were nights when he was too disgusted with himself to call for her, and
yet there she was, wrapping her mouth around his prick, letting him bruise her
and violate her while she writhed for him in lust, obeying his commands
silently and never trying to converse with him about what he did or what they
were doing other than in response to the rare comment that he offered.
He never addressed her by name, and he smacked her hard on the one occasion
when she slipped and called him Professor.
She learned to take his cock up her pretty arse as well as she took it in her
eager mouth, but he never fucked her cunt.  He did regularly invade her with
his hand, and over time she learned to relax well enough for him to press all
his fingers and his thumb into her without having to tear her.  It left her
bruised and exhausted and usually made her weep, but after a while she learned
to crave it anyway.
She never, ever came, and she never mentioned it or complained about it.  He
didn't know whether she frigged herself in the bath or whether she was frigid,
and whenever he found himself wondering about it too much he reminded himself
that that wasn't what this was about.
He never tried to force her to kiss him again, though once in a while he would
see if he could entice her into it, and though she would let him press his
mouth to hers, she never gave him that one thing.
And that was how it was, until the night before the Final Battle.
***** Chapter 5 *****
He had stopped keeping track, so he didn't know it, but it was the thirty-first
time.
He had gone straight to Dumbledore's office after Apparating back to Hogwarts
from the Riddle home.  It was nearly three A.M. by the time he stumbled back to
his quarters, and he knew that the attack on the school would come before
dinner the next day.
The war had escalated to the point where there could be no denying it.  Even
Severus Snape was stumbling.  He was exhausted and horrified by the tightrope
he'd had to walk and the things he'd had to do in the last months of his life,
and there could be no vision in his head except making it to the Final Battle.
Not beyond.  Just to.
Hermione Granger was already in his chambers.  She stood by the sideboard as he
slammed through the door.  She was nude in the light of the fireplace, her hair
pulled back, and she turned to him with a tumbler of brandy in her hand.
He snatched the drink with one hand and shoved her to her knees with the other;
she parted the folds of his robes and engulfed him in her mouth as he downed
the brandy and refilled it twice.  Then he summoned a chair, collapsed back
into it with her hardly missing a stroke, and came in her mouth with a grunt.
"You shouldn't be here.  You have your own business to attend to," he observed
wearily after a moment.
"Harry and Ron and I are prepared, and we will be together tomorrow.  For now,
Ginny is with Harry and Ron has taken Dreamless Sleep.  This is where I
belong," she told him from her place at his feet.
He grabbed a handful of her upswept hair and pressed her face against his upper
thigh.  She sighed.
He was exhausted but far too wired to sleep, and could not afford the after-
effects of Dreamless Sleep on the morrow himself.  Better to spend the night
fucking Hermione.  It might be his last chance.
The thought enraged him anew.  He had no idea how he could possibly have
emotion left in him at this point, but clearly he did.
Snape rose from the chair, his hand still tangled in her hair, and dragged her
after him on her hands and knees.  She squealed and did her best to keep up.
 In the bedroom, he summoned the ottoman that he'd bent her over many times by
now, but this time he pushed her to stand on it, so that her head was actually
above his by a few inches.
Hermione watched him warily, but her juices glistened visibly at the cleft of
her pussy.  He prowled the room angrily, sometimes muttering to himself, while
she waited nervously but without comment.
Finally he whirled on her and stalked across the room.  He snatched off the
blood-red robes that he still wore, and swirled them around her naked shoulders
instead.  He was much taller than she, but the extra length of fabric fell
around the ottoman.
Her respiration increased as he glared at her in the Death Eater robes with
something akin to hatred.
"How do they feel?" he asked her in a menacing voice.
"They're awful," she replied quietly, her own tones vibrating with her fear or
her arousal, and as usual he didn't much care which it was.
He nodded, then drew his mask from its pocket in the robes and enlarged it.
 She stared at it in his hands with her breath caught in her throat, and he
reached up and slipped it over her face.
Her shaking was pronounced now.  Snape stepped back as if to survey her
thoughtfully, and then with a flick of his wand she found her hands jerked
overhead, bound uncomfortably at the wrist and chained to the ceiling far
above.
Another flick of his wand and the robes were swept open in the front to hang
back over her shoulders, so that her nudity was exposed to him.  His eyes
glittered blackly as he stared at the image she made, his own personal Death
Eater doll, to use as he liked.
He could feel his erection straining against the pants he wore.  He stared at
her in silence for a long moment, then raised his hand and sneered.
"Sectumsempra," he intoned, and Hermione shrieked as a gash appeared across her
right breast, above the nipple, and began to bleed freely.
"Sectumsempra," again, and another gash on her left thigh.  Snape had a degree
of control with this spell that no one else could possibly achieve.
"Sectumsempra."  This time the hex fell across her cheek, beneath the mask,
without shattering the mask itself, and blood began to slowly drip from beneath
its edge, at her jawline.
She was screaming freely now and writhing in her bonds.  He had hurt her often
over the months, but never quite as savagely as this.
"Sectumsempra... Sectumsempra... Sectumsempra..."
His voice was actually becoming calmer as he continued, even as her screams
became more panicked.    She turned wildly and slashes appeared on her hip, on
the outer curve of her ass, on the delicate line of her bicep.
"Sectumsempra...  Sectumsempra..."
Blood ran down her body and legs and dripped freely from her flailing toes.  A
few drops spattered across his cheek as he stood before her, casting the hex
over and over, but it didn't bother him.
"Sectumsempra!"  His voice was now a harsh whisper, his eyes narrowed in
concentration.  "Sectumsempra!"
As time passed she began to flail less, her screams became hoarse, and a pool
of blood soaked into the ottoman beneath her feet and dripped onto the floor
around it.  She was becoming weaker, and as she became more still he was able
to focus the hex more carefully, causing smaller, shallower gashes to appear on
her inner thighs, across her areolas, and even one across the skin of her
throat.
She did not plead, she did not curse him, but the soft, wet noises she made
from beneath the hated mask were noises of terror and fear.
Snape stepped closer to her, within kicking distance now that she was too weak
to kick him.  He reached up, pushed her bushy hair over one shoulder, and
pressed his fingers against her neck, calmly taking her pulse.
Her head hung limply down, and she continued to bleed.  Anyone who didn't know
much about human anatomy would have looked at the amount of blood that covered
her skin and the floor beneath her and been certain that she had already been
murdered, but Snape knew better.
He studied her, feeling a sense of inner peace that he really only felt while
hurting her.  His erection throbbed uncomfortably, and absently he reached down
to shift its position.  Then his eyes narrowed suddenly and his shoulders
tensed, and Hermione found it in herself to begin to scream anew even before
the first blow landed on her bleeding breast.
He pummeled her thighs, her shoulders, her arse, but more than anywhere else he
pummeled her bouncing, blood-smeared tits.  Many of his blows landed directly
over a gash that he had caused, leading to a fresh well of blood.  Her screams
were no more than pathetic rasps by now, but still he cherished them.
Suddenly he stopped, grabbed her breast in a bruising grip, and pushed himself
close so that he could nearly touch her face with his even with her still above
him.
"I don't know if you should have let me put you in that mask," he hissed
softly, his eyes shining with malice.  "When I can't see your pretty Gryffindor
face reminding me who you are, the temptation to rip you into shreds becomes
much harder to resist."
She whimpered and kicked weakly, once.  He could see the terror in her eyes,
but everything else about her expression was smooth, cool, hidden away.   Which
was, of course, the point of the mask.
Fury surged.  "Death Eater cunt!" he spat, and punched her again in the tit.
"Fucking Death Eater whore!" he screamed, grabbing a handful of hair and
yanking it hard enough to elicit a response from her even in her current state.
"You're filthy, disgusting murdering trash, aren't you?"  He plunged his hand
between her thighs, pushing three long fingers into her just enough to wet his
hand in her juices before pressing the fourth and his thumb in with them.  Of
course, even with her experience with this, it was impossible to simply impale
her instantly, but he pushed as hard as he could and her cunt began to tear
around the invasion.
"You like the things I do in that mask, and that makes you as bad as I am," he
grunted, pushing, pushing hard to get inside of her.  "You fantasize about
being the women that I rape and murder, I know you do.  I know you do!  And so
you're as responsible as I am!"
His hand was inside her now, far enough for his fingers to naturally curl into
his palm.  The tearing wasn't as bad as that first time, but blood dripped from
her pussy now as well as her many wounds.  He considered taking the mask off so
that he could see her face, but part of him knew that it was only the mask that
was letting him go this far and he didn't want to stop.
He slammed his fist into her cervix and she turned and whimpered, but could do
nothing to stop him.  He grabbed her by the throat with his other hand and
squeezed, staring into the eyeholes of the mask to see what he could of her
face.
"Do you think I'll do it?  Do you think I'll finally snap and do it?" he
whispered madly.
And was surprised when she somehow found the strength to shake her head no.
Snape pulled his hand abruptly from her body, which he knew must hurt her
nearly as much as the way he had pressed in.  He backed up two steps sharply
and stared at her in open hatred, and her only response was to minutely shake
her head again.
He exhaled and raised his wand and the chains holding her up disappeared.
 However, he caught her in a fast Mobilicorpus, and levitated her battered body
onto the bed.  She groaned as she landed.
Snape knelt on the bed beside her and rolled her roughly onto her back,
removing the now-tattered red robes in the process and throwing them on the
floor.  Most of her wounds had stopped actively bleeding, but she was covered
in tacky blood and she was entirely limp.
Snape pulled the mask from her face and threw in on the floor beside the robes.
 Her mouth and chin were covered in blood and snot, and tears were crusted on
her cheeks.  She was perfection, beautiful.
He lowered his wand to her pussy and cast a healing charm, which she responded
to only by fluttering her eyelids.
Snape spread her thighs and positioned himself between them, propped on his
arms above her.  Her eyes opened and fixed on his face as he pressed his
swollen cock into her still-bloody cunt.
"I'm fertile this week," she whispered with what little voice she had left.
"I don't care," he replied as he pressed into her all the way to her womb.
It was astonishing that a woman's passage was elastic enough that this was
still enjoyable after invading her with his entire hand.  And though Snape had
a great fondness for fucking a woman's arse -- mainly because so many women
objected to it so strenuously -- there was nothing quite like finding his way
home into the center of her body.
He groaned as he fucked her battered and filthy flesh.  She could barely
whimper anymore, but she blinked up at him, looking somehow content.  She
raised a hand weakly to his face, and he lowered his mouth over hers.
"Kiss me, Hermione, tonight."
Her eyes gazed at him lovingly.  "No."
He sighed, and nuzzled into the hot space by her throat as he continued to use
her body.
===============================================================================
It was the fifty-third time when he finally came to understand what she was
waiting for.
Somehow he'd survived the Final Battle.  If his life had been a storybook, he
would not have, but she also would have finally given in and kissed him on that
last night, or wound up pregnant from his foolhardy lack of contraception.
 Neither happened.  He'd healed her, given her potions to rejuvenate her blood
supply and help her rest beneficially, and sent her back to her dorm.
The next day, Harry Potter had killed Lord Voldemort.  In the process,
Voldemort had nearly killed Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger had taken a few
curses intended for her best friend.  Hermione had spent several days in the
infirmary... Snape, several weeks.  But somehow, both had survived.
And then she'd graduated.
And then she'd gone away.
But she came back to him when the necklace that she wore warmed.  She no longer
needed to come back without being called, because he was no longer being
summoned before the Dark Lord.  Because the Dark Lord was dead.
The hadn't spoken about what would happen after she left Hogwarts.  She'd
graduated, he'd shaken her hand sullenly at the commencement just like he'd
shaken the hands of her classmates, and she'd packed her things and left
Hogwarts for the last time.  The last time as a student, anyway.
And three nights later, not knowing if she'd come, he'd invoked the spell that
would cause her pendant to respond.
And she had Flooed to him.  And he had fucked her mouth, beaten her ass,
derided her, and finally fallen asleep with her curled against his side.
That had been the forty-sixth time.  By the time the fifty-third time came
around, he had been thinking.
And when she stepped out of the fireplace to come to him, then started to sink
to her knees, he grabbed a fistful of her hair to keep her on her feet and she
yelped.
He stared at her, hard.  She bit her lip, meeting his eyes.  He still
frightened her, and he knew that was part of the reason that she still came to
him when he called.
He leaned forward, once again, and brushed his lips over hers, and once again,
she did not kiss him, and he smirked.
"For a long time I thought that you were waiting for me to tell you that I love
you, you know."  He breathed the words into her mouth.
She shook her head minutely, which was not easy with the grip that he had.
 "No, sir," she whispered.
"I've never said it, but you know perfectly well that I love you."
Her eyes widened.  "Yes, sir, I know."
His other hand traced down her body, finding her nipple and tugging on it
through the filmy fabric of her summer dress, which made her groan.  "That's
not what you've been waiting for," he said, and it wasn't really a question.
"No, sir," she agreed in a voice thick with lust.
He stripped her of her dress and knickers, by hand instead of by magic, and
compliantly she lifted her arms so that he could pull the former garment away
from her.
He grabbed her by the upper arm, hauled her into the bedroom and threw her
across the bed.  She crawled to the edge and began to fumble with his pants, to
get at the prick that she serviced every time she came to him.  There was a
time when he would not have allowed her this much license, but by now he
finally believed that she was not lying in wait to try to rebel against his
dominance over their relationship, and so it no longer bothered him when she
took this kind of initiative.
He chuckled as she freed his cock and devoured it hungrily, allowing her to
play for a moment before he pushed her back into a heap on the bed.
He flipped her with an efficient motion, spit on his hand, and worked his
saliva into the pucker of her arsehole.  She wiggled and writhed and he pushed
his cock into her in a smooth, slow, well-practiced motion.
He grabbed her hair again and pressed her face into the pillow.  She knew
better than to try to turn her head, so she fisted her fingers into the
bedsheets and struggled for air, coughing and gasping until he let her breathe
again.
He pounded into her hard, and leaned forward, over her shoulder.
"I've nearly killed you more than once, and you've never lifted a hand to stop
me," he murmured.
"Yes, sir," she exhaled between her whimpers.
He squeezed her throat.  "I'll probably come close again, you know."
"Yes, sir," she managed to choke out before he released his grip.
His hand found his way beneath her, closing on her breast in a mauling grip;
his pace picked up a bit, making her grunt.
"And yet, I'll never do it," he snarled into her ear.
"I know, sir," she ground out, panting.
He pulled free from her arse, flipped her roughly, and drove into her cunt this
time.  He reached down and hooked one strong hand under her knee, raising her
thigh until it was nearly pressed against her torso; then he drove into her
deeply enough to bruise her cervix with his length.
"I love you," he grunted, using all his weight to press into her body.  "I love
you madly.  I love you painfully.  I love you hurtfully."
She jerked and convulsed around him, gazing up at him as she always did when he
fucked her.  Her lips were parted and they glistened invitingly with her spit.
 "I love you too, Professor Snape."
His other hand pressed against her throat again, and she choked as he leaned
forward and continued to pound into her.  His next words came from between
gritted teeth.  "I don't have to punish you for calling me that anymore."
He eased up then on her throat, and she gasped desperately for air, her eyes
glazed with lust.  He stared at her and all she could do for several seconds
was shake her head as she caught her breath.
"No, sir," she rasped, her fingers digging into his biceps, and Snape slammed
home one final time and grunted as he spilled himself inside of her, their eyes
locked.  "No, Professor, you don't.  I can call you that now.  I can call you
by name, even now, when you fuck me, when you hurt me."
He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, his face next to hers.
She turned her face slightly toward him, and he turned his toward her in
response.
"Would you like me to kiss you now, sir?" she asked in a whisper.
Snape pulled back just a few centimetres, just enough to see her expression.
 She was gazing at him with longing, her lips parted.
In response, he smirked down at her.  "No.  Maybe later."
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