Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“That is correct. Five points to Gryffindor for that, Miss Granger.”

For a moment, Hermione thought that she was still delirious from the firewhisky the twins had smuggled into the castle to celebrate her birthday. Did Professor Snape seriously just award her house points?

She glanced to the side where Harry sat with an equally dumbfounded look. In the four years before, Snape had rarely acknowledged her existence. Even if she gave lengthy answers, he’d only nod or insult her for taking up too much time.

Now, suddenly, in year five, he changed his tune?

“Stop staring, Hermione,” Harry whispered from her side. “He’ll just end up deducting points again if you keep frowning at him like that. Take the win.”

She shook herself out of her stupor and turned to him. “But isn’t it strange? Why would he do that?”

“Beats me.” Harry shrugged.

They were barely two weeks into the term, and already, Hermione felt like her whole world had flipped on its head. Of course, knowing that Voldemort was back from the dead added a great deal to that feeling, but if she were honest, she always knew that would happen.

From the very first year she attended Hogwarts and befriended Ron and Harry, all signs pointed clearly to Voldemort’s desperate attempts to crawl back to the living. For a powerful wizard like him, it was a question of when, not if it would happen.

She could stomach that. She could prepare for that.

But Professor Snape suddenly praising her in the form of house points? She licked her lips. And why did his voice sound so silky smooth when he said that? Was it just her teenage hormones being wild now that she turned sixteen?

She crinkled her nose and continued to study him surreptitiously while she listened to his lecture. Now that she thought about it, he did look different this year; his hair was longer, but better maintained. Once, on the first weekend back, she even saw him with it tied back. She had to suppress a giggle at the memory.

Somehow, the longer hair accentuated his big nose in a way that made it appear almost aristocratic. Where his pale skin before always seemed a bit sickly, she now found it elegant. Matching his deep, smooth voice.

She swallowed. No. Absolutely not. She was not one of those silly school girls that had a crush on a teacher. She learned that lesson with Lockhart. No older man deserved her attention like that. Especially not Professor Snape, after all his years of cruelty.

Still. She should make a note about his strange behaviour and keep an eye out for any more weird occurrences. These were dark times and one could never be vigilant enough.

~*~

Severus Snape stood in front of the mirror and stared into his own eyes. He always hated looking at himself, but these days, he couldn’t stop doing it.

Something was…wrong.

Of course, everything was wrong, seeing as the Dark Lord had finally returned.

Albus hadn’t waited one second. First, he had forced Severus to shake Sirius Black’s hand – as if that could erase years of torment – and then he had asked him to resume his old role.

Become a Death Eater once more.

That day, he had thought he was going to his own death. A part of him almost welcomed it. Anything was better than to suffer the judgement of ignorant people like Molly Weasley or the continued insults from Black. His life held little meaning anyway. Harry Potter turned out to be a lot like his father, and nothing like Lily.

But he did as he was commanded, and kept his promise to Albus to seek out the Dark Lord.

What had followed were hours of torture. He hadn’t begged, hadn’t pleaded, he simply endured. Each time the Cruciatus stopped, he thought he would never recover. Each time it resumed, he experienced a new height of pain.

And then, something broke.

That had to be it. The prolonged Cruciatus had to have broken something within him. Why else did he suddenly experience blackouts and memory loss? Why else did he suddenly feel like a bystander in his own body, watching himself do and say things that he would never have before?

Why, for example, had he awarded Hermione Granger house points?

He had one simple rule: Gryffindor students only deserved house points when they did something truly outstanding in his class. Otherwise, they already got enough points blasted up their asses by every other professor. Especially the Granger girl, whom everyone else fawned over.

But as he listened to her lengthy explanation, something within him stirred. He always thought she simply repeated the textbooks verbatim. He was sure that used to be the case. But today, she used her own words and came out better for it. It was clear, easily understood by even the dullest student, and delivered with an eagerness that spoke of true interest in Potions brewing.

He had wanted to reward that, and so he had.

Her stupefied look afterwards instantly made him regret that decision. Even he failed to understand why he felt the urge to acknowledge her answer. After more than four years, it had become so easy for him to brush her achievements aside. It was second nature, something he didn’t even think about anymore.

The mirror held no answer for him, only offered more questions.

So, why didn’t he recognise the face reflected back at him? Those were his eyes, his prominent nose, his lank hair. Yet it didn’t feel like it was him.

Everything was off.

He had tried to talk to Albus about it. Right after he returned from his fist meeting with the Dark Lord, he had voiced his concerns. And again today. But what did the stubborn old fool say?

“I don’t see why you’re worried, Severus.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Isn’t it time you finally recognised that Miss Granger does in fact possess a sharp mind?”

Severus had walked up and down in agitation as he related what had happened during the lesson, but that carefree response stopped him in his tracks. “You are not listening to me. It’s not about whether Granger is intelligent or not. This is not something I would do.”

Albus simply folded his hands over his stomach and smiled. “Yet you did.”

“That’s exactly what I’m concerned about!” He couldn’t believe that this usually observant man was so flippant. “When I say that this is not something I would do, I mean the present. Right now. I did it despite not wanting to do it. I told you! Something is wrong. The Crutiatus did something.”

The headmaster let out a deep sigh. “Drop it, Severus. You know as well as I do that we have bigger concerns than whether or not you award house points to Miss Granger. If you hate it so much, don’t do it again.”

He wanted to scream, but the look in Albus’ eyes told him that the topic was over, as far as the headmaster was concerned. He schooled his features back into the unaffected mask he usually wore and slipped back into the chair.

Albus inclined his head. “Thank you. Now. The Order needs to know everything the Dark Lord is planning. You will continue to report to me, but it is vital that you debrief them as well. There will be a monthly meeting for all of us at Grimmauld Place. I expect you to come prepared.”

“Of course.” He nodded along, suddenly very aware that is role was clearly defined.

“Your insights are invaluable to us, Severus,” the headmaster said emphatically. “We all know the great sacrifices you take on to spy on the Death Eaters.”

He stared back at Albus stoically. The message was clear. Not he was invaluable, only the information he delivered. Even after all these years, even after protecting Potter from his own stupidity again and again, the headmaster could not forgive him for his original sin. For ever being tempted to join Voldemort.

Now that he remembered that conversation, he wanted to vomit. That famed wizard, his confidant, and the undeniably beloved headmaster had so little interest in him that he didn’t take the time to question the change.

It didn’t matter to him, Severus surmised.

Albus Dumbledore abhorred him and only saw him as a pawn to use.

Concern for his wellbeing had no space here.

With a growl, he turned around and grabbed a bottle of firewhiskey from the shelf. The whole summer, he had denied himself the pleasure of an alcohol-induced blackout, but today, he felt powerless against the pull. It was easier to just forget who he was, why he existed, and simply dull the pain.

~*~

Voldemort snorted as he watched Snape take three deep gulps from the bottle. The man had a death wish and no idea how close he came to that wish being fulfilled.

When he first returned to corporeal form, he had felt nothing but triumph. Wormtail did his part and Harry Potter was trapped. What could a fourteen-year-old schoolboy do to survive a duel to the death with him?

But once again, Voldemort had stumbled over the consequences of his inferior upbringing and lack of information. Wormtail should have informed him the boy possessed a wand with the same phoenix feather core as his own. Perhaps he would have researched that matter further. Perhaps, if he had grown up in a pureblooded family, he would have known about the dual-cores already. As it were, he had no idea that there was a phenomenon known as Priori Incantatem that would trigger on its own and thwart his plans.

The boy escaped again, living against all odds.

Then, he had noticed that his new body was more fragile than he thought possible. He easily bruised, his skin tended to split open with the lightest pressure, and he could feel his organs breaking down–slow and sluggish. He was on borrowed time, thanks to Wormtail’s mediocre ritual.

When Severus returned to him far too late after he summoned him, he’d almost killed the wizard. It was clear he only returned under Dumbledore’s orders. His Occlumency shields were impressive, but even the strongest mind broke under continuous torture. His mind unfolded–peeled apart–while Severus was barely conscious.

What he found inside was more enlightening than he had dared hope. Harry Potter was no mere schoolboy. No, he had the insight of a Weasley spawn at his side, someone who didn’t even realise how deep his own knowledge about the magical world went.

And then there was the mudblood.

When she lacked in innate knowledge, she made up for in relentless study. He could sense Snape’s irritation with the girl through his memories. To Severus, she was an annoyance, a know-it-all that couldn’t keep her hand down in class.

To Voldemort, Potter’s luck suddenly made a lot more sense.

It was Hermione Granger who’d realised his treasured beast in the Chamber of Secrets was a basilisk. It was Hermione Granger who’d figured out Lupin was a werewolf. It was Hermione Granger who’d stuck by Potter’s side when everyone else ridiculed him.

She was now sixteen years old and it was clear nobody realised the potential of her sharp mind. Not even Severus, who’d long suffered through being underestimated during his own time at Hogwarts. To him, the girl was just a friend of Potter, not even his best friend, and nothing more.

She had to feel the injustice in that. Nobody who was so obsessed with perfectionism would be content with existing in the shadow of someone else. She simply needed a nudge. Encouragement. Someone to guide her in the right direction.

She was young and a mudblood and so very inexperienced in the ways of the magical world. It would be deliciously easy to corrupt her. Once she understood that true power was only found on the side of the Death Eaters, she would become the perfect pawn to bring down Harry Potter.

It was when he left Snape’s mind again that Voldemort noticed a perk to his useless body. Where once he struggled to penetrate another’s mind, it was now as easy as breathing. He felt a connection to Snape’s inner world even after he stopped forcing Legilimency onto him.

Curious, he had watched Severus regain consciousness again. He remained in his mind with just a small tendril connecting them, and the other wizard never even noticed. Snape returned to Hogwarts, where Voldemort watched him report to Dumbledore, reciting the atrocities Voldemort had inflicted upon him, and then collapsed onto his bed.

And even when Voldemort had returned to full strength several days later inside of Snape’s body, he never noticed his presence. Even when he took over and guided Severus’ hand or his tongue or his eyes, the potion’s master simply frowned and fretted, but he never truly questioned it, passing it off as a side effect of the Cruciatus.

It was because of their connection that Voldemort decided to let him live. Even when Severus reported back to Dumbledore, his usefulness far outweighed his betrayal. He was a trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix, which gained him access to information Voldemort would have never been privy to before.

Still, it was only when he allowed himself some fun and made Severus award house points to the mudblood, that he realised Snape’s full potential. The girl had frowned and shot him a suspicious look, but there had been a gleam in her eyes that spoke a very different language.

This girl was starved for praise by her least favourite professor. And the delectable little blush on her cheeks hinted at something even more devastating. The beginnings of a silly little schoolgirl crush. It would be so easy to lure her in, to control her, and then unleash her on Voldemort’s enemies as the weapon he knew she could be.

Voldemort would clean up Snape’s appearance with the barest direction within his mind, bend his actions more favourably towards her during class, and then Hermione Granger would not be able to resist Professor Snape.

He had the charm of the Dark Lord on his side, after all.

Chapter Text

That mudblood was both more brilliant and more daft than Voldemort could have imagined. Her stupidity was likely due to her youth and not having lived much life beyond the castle walls. But her mind already showed a vicious streak that he didn’t expect from someone like her. In Snape’s memories, she appeared to be a model student, an unsufferable know-it-all—but she was, first and foremost, a stickler for the rules.

One perusal through Snape’s mind showed Voldemort that it was her idea to create an illegal study group after Umbridge’s appointment to the Defence Against the Dark Arts position. That was clever. It was also her idea to hold the inaugural meeting in the Hog’s Head, a location that several of his Death Eaters haunted during the day. That was … not as clever.

But it allowed him a glimpse into her mind outside of Severus’s memories. Unbeknownst to her, Rosier managed a look at the parchment she used to collect the signatures of the students who wanted to participate.

The jinx on the parchment was a work of beauty. Once triggered, it would have devastating effects on the offending student without causing physical harm, and yet, in a very Slytherin fashion, the effects would be impossible to reverse. When Voldemort considered her spell work, he wasn’t even sure he would be able to counter it. It was insidious and thorough and very clearly beyond anything a mudblood in her fifth year at Hogwarts should be capable of.

His eyes wandered to Severus, who was still kneeling in front of him, looking as empty as ever. The man was clearly clouded by his own judgement when it came to the mudblood. Otherwise, it was impossible for him to have missed an asset like Hermione Granger.

Voldemort reclined into the huge armchair Lucius summoned from the house-elves as soon as he declared his intentions to utilise the ball room as his own command room. It was fabricked in dark emerald velvet that contrasted his body—round and comfortable where he was hard edges and sharp angles. He especially enjoyed how unnerved every single one of his Death Eaters was the first time they stepped in front of him in the chair.

They had forgotten the power he held while disembodied and had filled their heads with legends far from reality.

“Tell me about the mudblood,” he ordered Severus with a low hiss.

Snape finally lifted his eyes from his place on the floor, pointed knees grating against the dark parquet floor. Voldemort watched him shift uncomfortably and relished it. “My lord?”

“Potter’s mudblood,” he snapped.

His face remained unmoved, but Voldemort could feel confusion gathering within the wizard’s mind. “She’s a good student, but vexing. She’s with Potter most of the time, but other than that, I couldn’t say she’s anything remarkable other than having excellent recall.”

He actually believed his own words. Voldemort shook his head. Even clever Severus was blind. “What’s her status within the Order?”

Another round of confusion washed through him, and this time, there was the slightest frown between Snape’s brows. “She has no status. She’s a child, so she is not part of it.”

“A child, you say. She is sixteen and according to you, she is a good student. The Potters were only a year older when they became founding members of the first iteration of the Order. Why is she different?”

“Potter and Weasley aren’t members either, my lord.”

Voldemort tapped one long finger against his lips. That was true. He would have expected everyone to be eager to have Potter as an official Order member. But he could also see someone like Molly Weasley forbidding it, caring mother figure that she was. And if he wasn’t a member, his friends obviously couldn’t be either.

They didn’t know what they were missing.

“Keep an eye on her,” he told Severus. “That study group they founded was her idea. I wouldn’t want this to go unnoticed by us.”

Snape dipped his head. “As you wish, my lord.”

Of course, he would keep an eye on her himself. But he couldn’t be with Severus at all times. Having him track her, whether his mind was his own or not, would prove useful.

He got the feeling that there was little time before the Order of the Phoenix realised her potential and recruited her. He needed to get ahead of that and make her his before that happened.

Even if she didn’t know it was the Dark Lord guiding her actions.

~*~

Something had definitely changed in Professor Snape. After awarding her house points for the first time after her birthday, he just kept doing it. Whenever she gave a correct answer that was more than just a sentence, he would reward her for it. Only one or two points at a time, but it was enough.

It didn’t help that his eyes were on her even before she could raise her hand to answer. Or that he would inspect her potion more thoroughly than the others, only to compliment her on it. The first time he stood so closely behind her that she could feel his body heat, it left her drenched in sweat so badly she had to go change her blouse afterwards.

And it was not just fear that caused her anxiety whenever he was close.

Suddenly, his praise was within her grasp. She worried about disappointing him regularly, where before, she never cared about it at all. Only Professor McGonagall could make her feel that way, and she always attributed it to the fact that she was the head of house.

Hermione had no other choice but to confront a very sad truth: she lived for the praise of the people she looked up to.

And unfortunately, Professor Snape now was one of them.

She cursed as she stared down at the crumpled parchment that held her latest Potions essay. It was written last minute, in the dead of night, because she spent the whole week trying to figure out how to make the stupid D.A. galleons operate correctly. She knew there was a way to modify the Protean charm to work as a mass communication device. It just didn’t work quite right…yet.

And now, she dreaded the end of class knowing she would have to submit a subpar essay to Professor Snape.

“Blimey, Hermione, you’re going to rip that parchment apart if you keep gripping it like that.” Ron gently placed one hand over hers.

She let out a deep sigh. Even oblivious Ron could see her anxiety. This did not bode well.

“Seriously, why do you even care? It’s just one essay that might be an E instead of an O. It’s not the end of the world.”

She put down the parchment and buried her hands in her skirt instead. “I know. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but … it just feels like he finally sees me as every other professor does, and I don’t want to ruin it.”

Harry leaned forward on the other side of her table. “I’ll never understand how you can see Snape as just a professor. He’s a bloody Death Eater, regardless of what Dumbledore says.”

“That’s Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore for you, Harry,” she snapped.

“Yeah, yeah.”

The sound of a closing book signalled the end of the class. As everyone else hurried to submit their essays to the teacher’s desk, Hermione found herself idling. Harry and Ron fled as fast as they could, not caring that she wasn’t with them.

Only when the last student left did she find it in herself to approach Snape’s desk, where he sat, eyes cast downwards on the book he just closed. She took a deep breath and put down her parchment on top of the others. It was done. She should leave now.

“Yes, Miss Granger?”

Damn. Of course, he wouldn’t let her strange behaviour go unnoticed. Blushing from head to toe, she steeled herself and looked at him. “I wanted to apologise in advance. My essay is not up to my usual standard.”

He raised a single eyebrow as he folded his hands and rested his chin on them. There was no malice in his gaze, as she was used to in previous years, but a subtle mockery that only heightened her embarrassment.

And made her angry. She swallowed against the knot in her throat and explained, “I got stuck on another project this week, so my research was not sufficient for your essay.”

“And what project was that?”

She blinked. She didn’t expect him to inquire further, just assumed he would ridicule her for her lack of time management, then send her away. A new idea formed in her mind. Before she could talk herself out of it, she gripped the straps of her school bag tighter and resolved to be honest.

“I was studying the Protean Charm as a means of communication through… objects. I believe it can be used to that effect, but the Gal–” She cleared her throat. “The objects don’t react like I want them to.”

There, it was out. Nobody knew what she was working on, but perhaps Professor Snape could point her in the right direction. She held her breath and focused on his eyes while she awaited his answer.

He blinked once, twice, and then, from one moment to the next, something within him shifted. Hermione took an involuntary step back. His eyes. His eyes were definitely different. They were still dark and bottomless, still sat under the same strong eyebrows, still carried dark lines underneath them, but she would swear he looked like a completely different person.

“The Protean Charm, mh, Miss Granger?” Even his voice was different. No, that was not it. It was the same voice, but silky and smooth in a way she’d never heard before.

Goosebumps erupted all over her body. Something inside her screamed danger, but a bigger part wanted to step closer. Caught in the middle, she remained rooted to the spot.

“It’s advanced magic. N.E.W.T. level, and you haven’t even taken your O.W.L.s yet.” He rose from his chair and spread both hands on the wooden surface of his desk. Even though he leaned down, she felt like he was towering over her. “Tell me. What do you really need this for?”

She licked her lips. She really shouldn’t tell him. It was a secret, especially from professors. Umbridge was already onto them and had forbidden the formation of student groups in retaliation. It was why she felt the need to create this in the first place.

But Snape was part of the Order. Harry told her Sirius was proud of them for creating a study group. Why should Snape be different? If any professor would understand, it was him.

“I was looking ... for a way to call all members of my … study group together. Using galleons enchanted with a Protean Charm.”

For a long moment, he stared at her with an unreadable expression. She almost feared he was going to deduct house points or give her detention for breaking school rules. But then, a wicked smile formed on his lips that made her heart skip a beat.

She’d never seen Professor Snape smile before. He looked so very much unlike himself, not just in his eyes, but his whole face. She licked her lips again and willed the blush creeping to her cheeks back down. She would not develop a crush on another professor. Definitely not.

“I think I can help with that.”

Excitement shot through her. She didn’t know what she expected when she admitted to her struggles, but an outright offer of help? That was beyond anything she could have hoped for.

“Really, sir?” Her heart quickened as he neared.

“Really, Miss Granger.” He still smiled. “It will need time, though. You already understand how complex the charm is.”

She leant forward eagerly. “No problem, sir. I’ll happily dedicate as much time to this as needed. Just tell me where to start!”

He chuckled. “I don’t think you understand my meaning. We will need time to work on this together. Outside classes.” He put his hand on top of the stack of parchments, tipping one finger onto the headline of her own essay. “You said this was dreadful? I suggest four hours of detention would be an appropriate punishment for your lack of time management, what do you think, Miss Granger?”

She blanched. She had never received a D before. But he was offering his help even though he had nothing to gain from it. Taking a failing grade for her essay was a small price to pay for that.

“Yes.”

He cocked his head. “Yes, what?”

She shivered. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” That was a purr. There was no other way to describe how his voice just sounded. “I will see you on Thursday evening after dinner.”

She nodded hastily. “Yes, sir.”

“Give me just one second.”

Hermione felt rooted to the spot. Why did his voice make her shiver? She was mortified and sure her face was the same colour as Ron’s hair, but Snape continued on as though nothing had happened. He simply sat down and pulled out a quill. She watched him very quickly grade her essay, plastering it with nasty remarks on almost every line.

But she didn’t even feel embarrassed about the looming grade. All she could think about was the heated tingle she felt low in her belly when he said ‘good girl’. It was wrong. It was so, so wrong. Not only that she reacted that way, but that he even said those words. That was not normal for a professor, was it?

He had definitely changed over the summer holidays.

“Here.” He held out the parchment dripping in red scrawls. “Take it with you and look properly ashamed for the next couple of days. Can you do that, Miss Granger?”

She nodded.

“Use your words, witch.”

“Yes, sir.” Oh god, why did that sound so inappropriate to her own ears?

He smiled again and relaxed back into his chair. With a wave of his hand, he signalled that she was dismissed. Clutching the parchment to her chest, she hurried to the back of the classroom.

She was almost out of the door when his voice stopped her in her tracks again.

“Oh, by the way,” he said, his smile morphing into a wicked, dark grin. “The Dark Lord used the Protean Charm to create the Dark Mark. An inspired choice of spell, Miss Granger. I congratulate you.”

Her knees almost gave out under her.

Chapter Text

Severus Snape stood atop the Astronomy tower and watched the first snow fall of the year. For once, the air was still, and the receding light of the day felt like a welcome embrace. Like it was calling him to go down with it.

It was not the first time he stood here and contemplated death.

The past few weeks were a strange blur of moments, interspersed with blackouts and fits of memory loss. He could no longer deny that the prolonged Cruciatus curse had broken something inside of him.

Albus, of course, would hear none of it. Instead, the Headmaster praised Snape for finally getting over his prejudice and helping the mudblood girl with her project. That this was exactly what he was talking about, the headmaster did not want to hear. In his eyes, this was personal growth instead of a sign that Severus was no longer fully in control of his senses.

Four weeks in a row, she’d shown up in his classroom after dinner, strangely excited for detention. He barely remembered the supposedly dreadful essay she had written or the bratty remarks that got her in trouble with him. Yet, once he invited her in, the whole world around him began to shift.

Sometimes, he only regained awareness after she left. Sometimes, he watched as he instructed her, taught her, engaged with her as if he were watching from afar, unable to control the actions of his body. It was those moments that made him feel especially sick. When his voice sounded like velvet and when his words teased—and she never reproached him for it.

Instead, she blushed and bit her lip, but continued to talk about whatever she was studying. As though he wasn’t flirting with her.

The worst part was he couldn’t stop himself. Even after detention ended, he felt a strange connection to her. When she raised her hand during class, he was no longer annoyed. He found himself intrigued, surprised by her intelligence again and again.

She was sixteen and his student, and it was all completely inappropriate.

But whenever he resolved to ignore her again, treat her like he did the four years before, the Dark Lord’s remarks sounded in his head, ‘Keep an eye on her.’

He knew where this would lead. She was bright and happy and had her whole life before her. Her years at Potter’s side had matured her before her age, but still, she was just an innocent young woman. If he continued on, she would all too soon become disillusioned with this life. She didn’t deserve that.

So, Snape decided that the best thing he could do for the girl would be to throw himself from this tower.

It would free him from this cursed life and ensure that Granger never learned of his inappropriate thoughts. She would be saved from him. And he from himself.

As he peered forward over the lip of the turret, Lily appeared in his mind’s eye. Beautiful and young as ever. He sighed watching her as she shot him a disappointed look. He owed it to her to protect the boy. As much as he loathed that Potter turned out so much like James, he was still her son. The very last thing of her remaining on this earth. He had stopped loving her many years ago, but she would forever remain the only woman who ever showed him genuine warmth. For that, he was eternally grateful.

For that, he would turn around and descend the same steps he came here on.

~*~

Hermione was sure that everybody could read her thoughts. She always blushed when she lied and she knew she was just burning red.

She was supposed to be skiing with her parents right now. Instead, she had taken the Knight Bus to Grimmauld Place to spend the holidays with the Order. She told a surprised Molly that she couldn’t very well go away skiing when Arthur was still recovering from the vicious snake attack.

In truth, she was here because she heard just the day before that Professor Dumbledore had ordered Snape to spend Christmas here as well. The whole Order would come together, discussing the attack and the plans for the next few months, so he was expected to be here as well.

Despite her struggles, she fell for a teacher again. The same silly crush as she had back in year two.

But how could she not fall for him? He helped her with the Protean Charm, which enabled her and the rest of the D.A. to still practice Defence Against the Dark Arts despite all of Umbridge’s schemes. He’d done her a favour and wanted nothing in return. During those detentions, he had been strict with her, pushing her to solve every problem herself. But he never gave up on her. He asked the right questions and when she finally got it, he smiled and called her good girl again.

She could see it in his eyes. He knew. It was like for the first time, someone actually saw her. He knew she could solve this on her own, she just needed a little guidance. He trusted her mind in a way nobody else did before. And his eyes told her that he was pleased to find her intelligent.

Sometimes, his expression turned hungry when he thought she wasn’t looking. Like he wanted to open her up and pick apart her brain because he wanted to see it all. It made her clench her thighs and stifle moans she didn’t fully understand. He had never even touched her and all she could think about were his eyes and his nose and his hands.

Completely inappropriate, stupid schoolgirl crush.

With a firm shake of her head, she unpacked the last of her books and then exited her room. It was time to face the family, even though she dreaded their nosey questions.

Strong arms suddenly circled her waist and pulled her against a broad chest. “I’m so happy you’re here, Mione!”

She giggled and batted Ron against the shoulder. “Let go of me, Ronald, you know I hate it when you pick me up.”

He gripped her harder and pulled her so far up her feet left the floor. “But how else can I show off my awesome Quidditch muscles?”

She squealed, but didn’t actually struggle against him. This friendly familiarity was another reason why she wanted to be here. Crush aside, Ron was still the one she wanted to date. She shot him a fake glare when he sat her back down, but otherwise kept on smiling.

A soft click from the other end of the corridor disrupted her happy moment. Her head whipped around. There stood Severus Snape, his face completely motionless, but she could feel his disapproval from afar. All happiness instantly evaporated. She had made a fool of herself and he of all people was there to witness it. He said nothing, didn’t even raise an eyebrow, and just stalked down the stairs leading to the ground floor.

“I cannot believe Dumbledore is making us all suffer through his presence,” Ron hissed in low tones. “It’s Christmas. We should be merry and celebrate. Instead, that greasy git stalks this house as though he belongs here.”

She flushed hot red at his words, keenly aware that Professor Snape was still in listening distance. She shushed Ron a little harsher than necessary and then quickly descended down the stairs as well.

It was still early in the evening, the dinner not quite ready yet, but the house was buzzing with all the people in it. Despite its dreary interior, the Weasleys had spent a lot of effort to make it homely and warm for the holiday season. She allowed every brother to pull her into a tight hug—even Charlie, who usually was never at home—and then went over to Arthur Weasley to inquire after his health. He looked pale, but at least he was in good spirits.

She could feel Molly’s eyes on her and before the overly excited mum had any chance to enlist her as kitchen helper, she fled into the comparative safety of the library.

“Of course, Hermione Granger would prefer the company of books to people.” The dry voice greeted her as soon as she closed the door behind her.

Wide eyed, she stared at Snape who appeared to also have sought out the library as a respite from all the excitement outside. She licked her lips. “Good evening, professor.”

He only nodded before he returned to the book in his lap, sinking deeper into the armchair he inhabited. Hermione frowned. Over the weeks she had spent in detention, she thought that he had moved past his dislike of her for good. This, on the other hand, felt very much like before.

She straightened her back and decided to ignore him. It was her crush that made her overthink everything. He was just a teacher forced into a situation where he had to mingle with his students in his private life. Of course, he would be surly.

She picked out a book that sounded interesting—Ten ways to use charms to counter curses—and plopped down on the armchair opposite from Snape. He didn’t even look at her as she did, just turned the page and continued reading.

She forced her mind away from him and onto the book. If she could lose herself between the pages, she would be more than grateful for the distraction. And it also never hurt to learn more about charms.

She lasted five minutes before the memory of Ron carrying her in his arms assaulted her. She blushed again, bit her lips, and shook her head. This was the absolute last thing she wanted to think about right now. The embarrassment was too fresh.

“Miss Granger.” Snape’s voice startled her out of her misery. “While your presence is, in fact, slightly less objectionable than that of every other body in this house, if you cannot keep your emotions on the inside, I would be very grateful if you could remove yourself from the library.”

His words were cutting and his tone dry. Exactly what she would have expected from Professor Snape a year ago. She huffed in annoyance. “I apologise, sir. I didn’t know you were this easily disturbed.”

“That is because you don’t know me.”

Her mouth fell open. That hurt. Of course, she was under no delusion that she knew anything about him. But the way he said it. She could hear the derision in his voice. He could as well have slapped her. For the first time since she entered the library, she dared to truly look at him.

He sat in his armchair, eyes fixed on her, the face as carefully blank as ever. But the longer she looked, the more she realised that he did not look like the professor she had spent several hours of detention with. This Snape looked tired and closed off and at least mildly annoyed. He looked like the Snape of the last four years.

She licked her lips. Something was definitely off. How could one and the same person look so different from one day to the next? His hair was still long and smooth, his skin still healthier than ever before, his whole face had this strange attractiveness that she first noticed at the start of the term. And yet, he looked like someone else entirely.

Perhaps, for whatever reason, he wanted to keep this other side of him, the one who actually delighted in teaching her, private, locked away. Perhaps he regretted ever showing her even a modicum of kindness.

“Miss Granger.” Again, he interrupted her spinning thoughts. “I apologise. My words were unnecessarily harsh.”

She watched his eyes closely. There was no change in them. This was still the surly version of the professor. But at least, he didn’t sound angry anymore.

“I prefer reading alone,” he continued. “While, again, your presence isn’t disturbing my concentration quite so much, I can still hear every sigh and every wriggle and every cracked joint. It is distracting.”

That sounded surprisingly honest. She licked her lips and nodded. “I understand. And I’m sorry. I just … I kind of feel embarrassed that you saw me like that earlier with Ron and I know that’s stupid, but I can’t help it. It just felt like that you treated me like an adult the past few weeks and I felt like now you see me as just a stupid child again, like Ron.”

He stared blankly at her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Her breath hitched. “Earlier, in the corridor. Ron was just joking around and picking me up. It was childish and stupid and–”

“Miss Granger,” he interrupted her. “Nothing of the sort happened.”

She wanted to just disappear into the cushions of her armchair. Of course, that scene meant so little to him that he already forgot about it again. It was just her and her stupid crush that made such a big deal out of it.

And why, oh why, did she have to reveal to him how much his opinion mattered to her? If he didn’t suspect her feelings before, he would definitely do so now. She groaned and shut her book quickly. He was right. She would get no reading done and just squirm the entire time. It was better she left him alone.

She quickly discarded the book and exited the library again. Once outside, she felt like she could finally breathe again. Snape’s presence was just too much.

But now that she calmed down, she couldn’t help but find it strange. He hadn’t said anything in the corridor, and his face had appeared cool, but she could have sworn she saw a flash of something in his eyes. It was that tiny moment that made her feel so embarrassed and angry with herself.

Professor Snape’s words in the library made no sense, yet they had sounded so convincing. As though he truly didn’t remember anything remarkable happen.

She bit her lip and closed her eyes, trying to remember what exactly it was she saw in that moment.

But before she got anywhere, Ginny’s voice rang out, calling her to dinner. With a shrug, she pushed it aside and decided to keep her distance from Snape for the rest of the holidays. As much as she yearned for his company, this version of Snape could only hurt her.

Chapter Text

It was funny, really, watching Severus try to teach Potter Occlumency, completely unaware that his own mind had been breached. He was cruel and unyielding in the treatment of the boy. Voldemort almost pitied him. It was clear that Severus took out all his resentment of the father on the son.

And Potter didn’t even know about that.

He chuckled. Perhaps he should interfere at some point. Help poor Harry out a little and give him some insight into the head of his hated Potions professor. Severus would love that, he was sure. Finally revealing to the boy what a bastard his father was. Finally getting that pity he longed for so obviously.

For now, though, he watched with amusement how little Potter progressed. Dumbledore was right to fear the connection he could have with the Chosen One. He didn’t yet understand why it was so easy to penetrate his mind, but it was. Just as Potter easily slipped into his own. Which was a bigger problem.

But one that still could easily be turned to his advantage. Severus would never succeed in teaching this hopeless boy Occlumency. Everyone around him thought Potter was a powerful wizard, capable of doing anything. But in truth, it was all his mudblood friend. She whispered solutions into his ear where nobody saw it. Without her, he had no chance of mastering anything.

And even if he could learn Occlumency, a Dark Lord in the head of the teacher would prove difficult to overcome.

As much as he hated his current body, Voldemort enjoyed all the fun this new life offered him.

~*~

Three times Hermione had to return to the damn door before she found the courage to knock. She knew it was outrageous for her to even try this, but she had to.

When Harry came back from the Occlumency lessons late at night the day before, he had looked a mess. Snape very obviously was not a good teacher in this instance, and Harry was sure that he enjoyed torturing him. She was glad that she knew some healing spells, as that at least relieved the headache he felt after the lesson.

The newspaper the next morning almost made her forget about that. Claiming the front page and most of the pages inside, the Daily Prophet reported that ten Death Eaters escaped Azkaban. Freed by notorious mass murderer Sirius Black. Harry of course was distraught and angry at the lies, but Hermione didn’t know what he expected. The ministry had very clearly shown their stance on the so-called rumours that the Dark Lord was back.

What she was much more interested in was who these wizards and witches were. She knew too little about the world, and nobody among the students was old enough to remember the first Wizarding War. If she wanted to protect Harry from these Death Eaters, she needed information.

And if someone had that, it was Snape.

It just made sense to ask him. She wanted to bring up Harry’s struggle with Occlumency anyway, so she could combine it with questions about the escapees. Snape was the logical choice to go to.

With a huff, she finally raised her hand to knock.

Before her knuckles even touched the wood, the door swung open. A very displeased Severus Snape stared down at her. “What?”

She instinctively took a step back. “I’m sorry, sir, I know it’s after dinner and all, but I had some questions.”

He scowled at her. “That’s what class is for.”

She shook her head, now more determined than ever to at least try. “No, not those kinds. It’s about … well, about this.” She held up the newspaper.

His eyes flickered over the article announcing the escape of the Death Eaters. She could see his mouth set into a harsh line and readied herself for a rejection.

But then, the corners of his mouth softened. He blinked and looked at her and for a moment, she felt like she stood in the summer sun in France. He took her in, really looked at her, and then he smiled and nodded. “Come in.”

A little too eager, she stepped through the door. To her surprise, he didn’t lead her to his desk, but instead opened up another door at the far side that led to a staircase. Blood rushed into her cheeks. Was he taking her to his private quarters?

She had no chance to really think about that. At the top of the stairs, he ushered her through another door that revealed a very dark, very elegant sitting room. A comfortable couch and armchair stood in front of a fire place while the middle of the room was taken up by a massive oaken desk with one chair in front and one behind it. The walls of the room were lined top to bottom with books. Only candles provided light.

She swallowed and stared up at him with big eyes. He smirked in response. “Don’t be alarmed, Miss Granger. I assume the questions you will be asking are of a more confidential nature. As I am disinclined to be overheard by other students, a little bit of privacy was in order.”

In the presence of this Snape, she had a hard time keeping up her focus. All she wanted to do was stare at him and bathe in his smile. It wasn’t even a very friendly smile. If anything, it was devious and arrogant. But it made her feel as though he could see to the bottom of her soul, and she welcomed that.

With shaky legs, she sat down on the one chair while he took the other one. She placed the newspaper onto the desk. “The Death Eaters that escaped today. I want to know who they are. I know everyone is losing their minds over it, but I feel like they’re missing the point. They escaped because Vol–” She stumbled over the name, still not able to say it without a shudder. “Because Voldemort wanted them to. And I am sure every single one of them has it out for Harry. I need to know who they are so I can protect him.”

His eyes flashed as she said the name out loud, and she wasn’t sure whether he approved or not. But if he minded, he didn’t say so. Instead, he opened up the newspaper to the page showing a moving, raging portrait of each Death Eater.

“Every single one of these is dangerous, but I want you to focus on these four.” He tapped the pictures of a woman and three men.

“This here is Antonin Dolohov. While he is a practitioner of the Dark Arts, his claim to fame is as a curse breaker. His family is originally from Russia and they are known for their invention of some very dark curses. Nobody knows as much about curses as he does.” He looked straight at her. “If you ever find yourself at the wrong end of his wand, you should not try to duel him. He is quick and the complexity of his curses is not something you can block with a simple Protego.”

She chewed on her bottom lip as she took in all that he said. His words were clear and concise, delivering the information without hesitation. She was grateful for that. It dispelled some of her discomfort at finding herself in his quarters.

“Next is Rabastan Lestrange. He was one of the youngest Death Eater during the First Wizarding War. He was only eighteen when he was put into Azkaban. He was always extremely quick with his spells, which made him dangerous. But what you should really worry about is the question what it does to someone if he is imprisoned at such a young age and subjected to the torment of Dementors for almost half his life.” His eyes glimmered in the flickering candle light, shining with an emotion she could not quite place. “I don’t believe much of his sanity is left now.”

She crossed her legs in an attempt to alleviate the anxiety she felt. “I cannot believe that the ministry put a young man into Azkaban. The whole prison should be abolished in its current form. It’s inhumane.”

“I agree.” To her surprise, Snape didn’t continue his explanations after that. Instead, he studied her with an intensity that made her shiver.

“What?”

“You should know that it was the Dark Lord’s goal to ban the use of Dementors for correction purposes.” His tone was flat and devoid of any emotion as he said that, but she caught the eager gleam in his eyes.

“That cannot possibly be true,” she whispered.

“Why?”

“Why?” She threw her hands in the air. “Our current ministry is fine using them, so why would Voldemort of all people be against it? Even Dumbledore allowed them around Hogwarts during our third year. Everyone is fine using them, and you’re telling me, the Death Eaters don’t want them?”

He pushed the newspaper aside and leaned far over the desk, staring right into her eyes. “What is your actual problem with this?”

Her breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t noticed that she too had leaned so far forwarded in all her indignation, and now his face was way too close to hers. But she also felt like she couldn’t lean back because that would be admitting that she felt this closeness was inappropriate.

Which it was, but only because her thoughts were inappropriate.

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then met his gaze again. “It just feels wrong that someone like Voldemort, who very obviously wants to destroy the world, would find issue with Dementors, when even the good guys don’t.”

He scoffed, but still didn’t pull away. “Miss Granger. If you truly wish to survive this war, you should stop thinking in absolutes like this. Nobody wants to destroy the world, even the Dark Lord is not that crazy. There would be nothing and no one left to rule if he did. People are complex, even if you see them only as monsters. That our headmaster or the minister don’t have an issue with Dementors should tell you that. Those are your so-called good guys, and still, they don’t only do good things. In the same vein, the ones you would call bad guys don’t always only do bad things.”

“Are you sure you’re no longer a Death Eater?” The question was out before she could stop herself.

Shocked by her own intrusive thoughts, she threw herself back into her chair and clasped her hands over her mouth. This was all kinds of wrong.

“Not a totally surprising question.” Snape’s voice reached out to her, bathed her in a warm embraced that pulled her in again. He sounded not in the least bit offended. If anything, his grin only widened.

“I am here to help you understand those you see as enemies. The truth of the world is that sometimes, we agree with our enemies.” He cocked his head. “To be against something just to spite someone you hate is immature and very dangerous. And you are not immature, are you, Miss Granger?”

She shook her head, breathlessly.

“Use your words.”

“No, sir. I’m not immature.”

“Good girl.”

There it was again. That tiny little phrase that hit her like a truck every time. With his eyes staring into her soul, his lips still twisted into an almost evil grin, it took everything in her not to moan in response. For the first time, she yearned for him to touch her. She felt so empty and she just knew, his fingers could make it right.

His grin widened almost imperceptibly, just as his expression grew hungry. But before she had any mind left to process it, he returned to a polite smile and put his hand on the newspaper again.

The moment was over and Hermione was thankful for it. She knew she was still blushing, but Snape did not acknowledge it, so she would keep her insane thoughts to herself.

“This here is the older brother to Rabastan, Rodolphus Lestrange. Out of the three wizards, he might be the most dangerous because he is unpredictable. Purely driven by his emotions, and with lots of power to back it up. His spells aren’t sophisticated like Dolohov’s, but if he decides you need to die, he will stop at nothing to kill you.”

She simply nodded, not trusting her voice at the moment. She felt hot and weak at the same time and she just knew, if she said something now, he would be able to hear her breathless state of mind.

“Lastly, the witch. Bellatrix Lestrange. Wife to Rodolphus. She is a Black, a sister of Narcissa Malfoy, which makes her Draco’s aunt. The most noble and ancient House of Black is known for their especially narrow views on the purity of blood. That of course only means that no other family is as inbred as they are.” He chuckled, but quickly continued his explanation. “Bellatrix was insane even before Azkaban, and I doubt the prison did anything for her mind. Loyalty among Death Eaters is a fragile thing, as they all want to sit on top and thus hate each other equally. But Bellatrix.” His voice turned almost soft. “I don’t think she wants anything else than to please the Dark Lord. She will do anything for him. Anything. I doubt she would hesitate to kill her own sister or husband if he demanded it.”

Hermione shuddered. When she first saw the picture of that woman, she had thought how very much alike they looked. But then the witch in the image moved and any notion of similarities went out the window. Her eyes spoke of a madness that far exceeded Hermione’s understanding.

“She sees herself as the number two, only second to the Dark Lord. And most Death Eaters recognise that as true. She holds immense power, and probably will resume to her former station now that she escaped.”

“Do you think…” Hermione stopped and coughed, desperate to clear the thickness out of her voice. “Are they a thing? Voldemort and … her?”

For a split second, his eyes widened in true shock. Then he laughed, a loud, roaring laugh, and Hermione realised that she had never before heard Severus Snape actually laugh. A chuckle here, a scoff there, for sure. But true amusement? She didn’t know he was capable of it.

It made her smile, even though the topic was morbid.

“No,” he finally replied after calming down, “I doubt it very much. She might want to slip into his bed, but the Dark Lord is not someone who would be interested.”

She nodded along. “Yeah, that makes sense. I have a hard time imagining him even being interested in that. It would be far too human.”

To her surprise, any smile vanished from his face. His dark eyes glowered at her. “Again, Miss Granger. Do not presume to know the Dark Lord. If you think him not human, you will misjudge him. And that could be dangerous.”

She shrank into her chair. “Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry, sir.”

“As long as you understand.” He folded the newspaper back up and slid it over to her. “Now, was there anything else you wanted to know?”

There was. Hermione distinctly remembered that she had two reasons for coming here. But right in this moment, confronted with all the intensity of his gaze, she found it hard to remember anything. Perhaps she should better return to the Gryffindor dormitories.

“Oh!” She suddenly remembered. “Right. Harry. I’m sorry again, sir, I really am, but … do you think you could … would it be possible to be … a bit more patient with Harry? During your Occlumency lessons, I mean.”

He groaned. “He was instructed not to tell anyone.”

She simply shrugged. “Everyone knows, if you tell Harry something, Ron and I will know it as well. Also, you dodged the question.”

“Well spotted, Miss Granger. But I fear I have to disappoint you. Potter has no time for patient methods. If you want to see him succeed, encourage him to focus his mind at all times.” He smirked at her. “Reading a book for one hour uninterrupted every day would already be a great improvement.”

He sounded almost conspiratorial as he told her that. It made her heart flutter and she instantly let it go. If Snape deemed his methods right, they were right.

“Now, I think I’ve kept you long enough.” He rose from his chair. “You should return to your dormitory.”

She scrambled up and nodded eagerly. “Of course, sir. Thank you so much for taking the time to help me out once more. I truly appreciate it.”

He guided her back down the staircase and into his classroom. There, he stopped her and stepped closer than ever before. For a moment, his eyes roamed over her, sweeping up and down the length of her body, as though he was drinking in every part of her. She could feel her cheeks grow hot again.

“It would be best to keep this between us, Miss Granger.” His voice was barely a whisper. “Try not to share this with your friends, however much you think they should share in all your knowledge. And please, if you can, don’t mention it to me either. I risked more than you know already.”

Her mouth went dry. “Of course. I can keep quiet, no problem. This never happened anyway, so what is there to talk about?”

“You’re being a very good girl. Thank you, Miss Granger. Good night.”

She watched breathlessly as he turned and stalked back up to his rooms. She had learned so much in just half an hour, but more than anything, her heart was beating fast because finally, finally she had the Professor Snape back that she thought she discovered before Christmas.

Chapter Text

“This is your writing, is it not?”

Hermione’s heart was beating fast as she looked up at Snape. He was holding the paper with the list of names on it and Dumbledore’s Army written on top. His gaze was as blank as ever, but his hand holding her shoulder gripped her with a strength that betrayed his agitation.

She nodded weakly. She had just listened from afar as Harry was confronted about this piece of parchment, and realised to her horror that Professor Dumbledore was intentionally taking the fall for something he didn’t even know about. Now, the headmaster was gone and she just knew that the ministry would make Umbridge take his place.

At least she got another secret meeting with Snape out of the whole disaster.

“And it is your enchantment?”

She blanched. Marietta Edgecombe had been covered in hideous pustules and zits, just as intended. But it was a rather dark piece of magic. Even Professor Snape would probably not let that go so easily.

“It is,” she whispered.

He put the parchment away and pulled her deeper into the shadow of the alcove. “You are not in trouble, Miss Granger. I just want to advise you not to use this type of magic. Dark curses have a way of backfiring, sometimes long after the spell was cast. The power they give you, it might feel good, but it is a slippery slope.”

She held his blank stare for a long time. This was the cold, cruel side of Professor Snape talking to her, not the surprisingly open Snape that she had gotten to see this year. It surprised her that he warned her while keeping up his detachment.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she explained, “I just felt like we needed some sort of protection for our group. So that we at least know if someone snitched. I’m not usually using magic like this.”

He nodded, but still didn’t let her go. His hand pressed her against the cool stone wall while he stared down to the floor. She licked her lips and dropped her eyes as well. She couldn’t help herself. Having Professor Snape this close, hidden away from other people, him pressing her against the wall, it brought all sorts of inappropriate thoughts into her mind.

She knew it was silly, but she wished he would kiss her right now. She wanted her first kiss be with him. As angular as his face was, she was sure his lips would be so soft.

He finally looked back up and her breath hitched. The receding light of the setting sun made his eyes glitter in a way that should not be allowed. She could feel his gaze with every fibre of her being.

“I am not saying what you did was wrong.” He sounded softer now, just as his hand no longer seemed punishing. Rather, she felt like he held her intentionally, as though he couldn’t help himself but touch her. “You are right, of course. You needed something to keep everyone in line. Just know that not everyone will agree with you on this. Many people, especially among the Order, consider the use of darker magic to be bad in itself.”

“Then they are stupid,” she interjected before she caught herself. Blushing, she looked away. “Sorry, sir.”

His other hand gently moved down her cheek and turned her head back again. His eyes shone with pride. “No need to apologise, Miss Granger. I agree with you. Wars are not won with good intentions and courage alone. Someone needs to be ready to get their hands dirty. Unfortunately, that always comes with a lot of judgement from everyone else.”

She was mesmerised by the gravelly tone of his voice. Like he told her something he would never share with anyone else. Like he let her see into a part of himself that he usually kept hidden away. Like he trusted her.

Breathless, she knotted her fingers into each other. “Yes. I know that. I hate breaking the rules, but sometimes …”

“Sometimes rules are designed to keep us quiet and obedient,” he finished her sentence.

She nodded, unable to speak. Snape simply returned her look, holding her captive with the slightest hint of a smile. There was an understanding between them now, something beyond just being teacher and student. He recognised her worth and saw that she was more mature than her friends, maybe even than most of the Order. He didn’t have to say it out loud, but she knew he thought like that.

He let go of her shoulder and carefully put his hands left and right of her head. The air turned suddenly thick around them as the shadows grew. Was he closer now? Did he tilt his head? She felt the urge to close her eyes and lean into him, but she forced herself to stay alert.

“Miss Granger.” His voice was almost silent. “You should keep these thoughts to yourself. Don’t share them with anyone else. Be wary of your friends and the Order. It would be a shame if this would drive a wedge between you and them. And if you ever feel the need to do something like enchant a parchment with a dark curse again.” He leaned down until his lips were almost touching her ear. “Come to me. I’ll help you.”

She bit her lip and nodded eagerly. “Yes, sir. Thank you.”

She could feel the heat through his dark robes, he was so close. She just needed to turn her head a little bit and she would be able to press her lips to his cheek. He still hovered over her, his nose almost buried in her neck, his hands caging her in. She heard what he said loud and clear, but all her thoughts were focused on her one desperate wish.

She wanted to kiss him.

Then, he exhaled, his breath feathering over her neck, and stepped back, dropping his hands. Her heart throbbed with disappointment, even though she knew that he would never allow for anything to happen between them. He was too honourable and probably didn’t even think of her like that.

“If you want to speak to me about similar matters, please seek me out after dinner. During the day, during class, we cannot be seen together.”

She rolled her eyes. “I know, professor. You already told me. I’ll be good and pretend like nothing ever happened.”

He smiled brightly and for a second, she thought that he would call her a good girl again. But then he just nodded and turned away, leaving her alone in the now completely dark alcove of the corridor.

“Keep it together,” she admonished herself.

Her silly little crush was just a one-sided fantasy. She knew that. He was her professor and he would never see any student that way. He would probably be horrified if he knew what she dreamed about deep at night.

But that wouldn’t stop her from dreaming.

***

The very next morning, all of Hermione’s excitement went out the window. She had stolen a quick, furtive glance at Professor Snape during breakfast, but instantly regretted it. His face looked thunderous. She had to look away quickly again, as his glare turned towards the Gryffindor table repeatedly. Only, he wasn’t looking at her, but at Harry.

“They really made that hag headmaster,” Ginny grumbled next to her as she read through the announcement letter every seat held this morning.

“We need the DA now more than ever, but I don’t know where we can meet now that she knows about the Room of Requirements,” Ron mumbled around a huge piece of toast in his mouth.

To Hermione’s surprise, Harry didn’t say anything to that. She narrowed her eyes. He looked pale and very obviously avoided looking at the teacher’s table. Something had happened between him and Professor Snape, she was sure of it.

On their way to herbology, she pulled him aside. “Spill it, Harry.”

He almost stumbled over his own feet. “Wh–what?”

“You said yesterday that Professor Snape felt like you no longer needed Occlumency lessons, so he let you go early. But the way he glared at you just now and your very obvious nervousness tells me that was a lie. So. What’s really going on?”

He shot her a dark look. “You always go on and on about Snape. Ever since he started awarding you house points, you always take his side.”

A knot formed in her stomach. Professor Snape had been very clear that nobody could know about their private conversations, so she was stepping on very thin ice here. “Professor Snape is the best asset the Order has at the moment. If you ruined your Occlumency lessons with your usual stupidity, everyone will suffer. You know you cannot allow Voldemort into your head.”

“Well, then, maybe he should grow up!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Harry’s mouth was pressed into a hard line and for a moment, Hermione thought that the angry side of Harry that had dominated the first half of the school year was back again. But then he let out a deep, exhausted sigh and stopped walking.

“Okay, so, I messed up,” he admitted. “Snape always stores his memories away in a Pensieve before the lessons and I got lucky today that he left me alone in his office with the Pensieve not locked away. So I … took a look.”

Her heart nearly stopped. Harry of all people saw Professor Snape’s memories? What if he saw them together? With her thoughts racing, she urged him on. “Was it bad?”

His shoulders sagged down. “He … he was bullied at school. By my father. And Sirius and Remus.”

Her relief that Harry didn’t mention her was short lived. “Bullied?”

Harry rubbed his neck. “Yeah. It looked really bad. And I think … I think he might have been in love with my mother.”

“In love?” Hermione could barely speak.

She knew she had no right to him, but she couldn’t help it. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been emptied over her head. He had been in love with Lily Potter, the woman that everyone in the Order talked so highly of. Perfect, beautiful Lily.

“I don’t know.” Harry shrugged helplessly. “I think they were friends at the very least. But there was this one memory … they were bullying him really badly and she saw it and told them to stop. She was really angry with them. They actually stopped, but Snape didn’t like that. He … he called her a mudblood.”

Another hit. A mudblood. She of course knew that Professor Snape used to be a Death Eater before he turned spy for the Order. That’s why he was even able to spy in the first place. But that had been theoretical. Just an abstract concept. Hearing that he actually thought of witches like her as mudbloods hurt. It hurt so much.

“Anyway. Snape caught me and told me to never come back. And that I am not allowed to tell anyone.”

She struggled for a long moment to find her footing again. She couldn’t let Harry see how much that revelation affected her. She motioned him to continue their way to herbology.

“He has every right to be angry with you, Harry,” she told him in her best know-it-all voice. “You know that was wrong.”

“I’m not saying it wasn’t!” Harry barked out. “But those are all old memories. Shouldn’t he be the mature one here and let it go? Dumbledore trusted him to teach me and now he won’t because of something that happened years ago!”

“No, it is because of something that happened yesterday. You broke his trust.” She sighed and shook her head. As much as she could understand why Professor Snape was angry with Harry, she couldn’t deny that stopping the lessons altogether was not the right move.

“I’ll talk to him.” She gave Harry a tight smile.

“You? Why do you think he’d listen to you?”

“I think he would listen to you as well, if you could stop being an arse for one second. He is a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He knows how important it is that you master Occlumency. Especially now that Professor Dumbledore is gone and we’re even more vulnerable than before. It is too risky to leave you unprotected, even though what you did was inexcusable.”

She could see that Harry wanted to say something back, but then he too shook his head. “You’re right. Of course, you’re right. I guess I was a bit happy to be done with it, you know? Occlumency sucks.”

Hermione saw Professor Sprout walk over to their assigned greenhouse and picked up the pace. Despite everything, she didn’t want to be late.

“I hate the thought that my dad did something like that.”

“I understand that part,” she mused. “I can’t really believe it either. Remus just doesn’t seem like the type. Though I have to admit, Sirius does have a streak in him that reminds me of the twins. To them, it probably was just harmless pranks.”

“But it wasn’t,” Harry insisted. “I know what bullying is like. Pranks are fun for everyone. Bullying isn’t fun.”

She shot him a sympathetic glance. “Why don’t you write Sirius and ask about it? He was there after all, and I think he would be honest with you.”

Harry nodded along, but she could see that he wasn’t convinced. Professor Sprout started the class before he had the chance to reply, and Hermione was grateful for it. As much as this whole revelation was about Harry, she struggled to let go of her own feelings.

She was unfair and stupid and probably read way too much into something that happened before she was even born. She had promised Professor Snape that she wasn’t immature after Christmas. He praised her for it. Just yesterday, he implied that he saw her as more of an adult than most members of the Order.

She balled her fists. What she felt right now, this hurt and confusion, was just the emotional reactions of a teenager. Her crush was one-sided anyway. As a mature woman, she would not let Harry’s mother or Professor Snape’s past comments affect her actions. No. She would keep this new knowledge to herself and not burden the professor with her hormonal overreactions.

She focused her eyes on Professor Sprout again. She was in class and it was important to pay attention right now. Everything else didn’t matter.

Chapter Text

He couldn’t stop looking at her. How did this problem get worse and worse when he spent so much effort keeping her at arm’s length? Just last week, he had very explicitly told her how little he approved of her use of dark magic to enchant the sign-up parchment for their supposed study group.

The conversation was a little fuzzy in his mind, as many things were since the summer, but he left her with the distinct impression that she understood his meaning. So why did he now suddenly struggle to keep his eyes away from her?

It almost felt like there was a connection to her. If he was the sentimental type, he would describe it as a bond.

But there wasn’t. Because she was his student, someone he was trusted with, and she was Potter’s best friend on top of that. Whatever he felt, he needed to make sure it died before it grew arms and legs and dragged him down to hell.

He ignored her during class, despite her best efforts to wave her hand through the air whenever he asked a question. Of course, that had never discouraged her before and it didn’t today. It only made it obvious to everyone what he was doing.

With a snarl, he closed his book and dismissed the class early.

He probably should have seen it coming that Hermione Granger would stay back. He was tempted to just leave her and flee to his private quarters, but that would have been utterly ridiculous. She probably just wanted to ask some inane question about the homework assignment anyway.

“I’m sorry, Professor Snape,” she started and he instantly saw that this would not be about homework. “I know you told me not to approach you during the day, but I told Harry I’d talk to you and it would seem strange if I did that after dinner.”

He frowned. He couldn’t recall ever forbidding her from talking to him, but he had obviously done so. He should congratulate his earlier self. He had noticed that she never asked questions after class anymore, but thought nothing of it.

“Save the excuse and spit it out,” he grunted.

She paled a little, but continued on. “I heard from Harry that you ended the Occlumency lessons. I think I–”

“That is not up for discussion,” Snape snarled. Of course, the boy had talked. How could he have ever expected Potter to keep a secret if he thought it right to dig through another person’s Pensieve?

“I understand, truly, I do, sir. I just think that Harry still needs it. We all need it.”

She seemed to shrink under his glare, but didn’t run away. He curled his lips into a cruel smile. “Of course, Hermione Granger thinks she has all the answers and thus, the whole world should bend to her will. How ignorant of me to have a different opinion. Tell me, Miss Granger, did you enjoy the tales Potter told you about the exploits of his father? I bet you found them just riveting.”

She gasped, but then her eyes settled into a cold determination that he had never seen on her before. “He told me nothing of the sort. I only know that he looked into your Pensieve and believe me, I scolded him for it. That was stupid and wrong and very childish. I would expect you to give him detention every day for the rest of the year.” She stepped closer to him and poked one finger into his chest. “What I didn’t expect was that you would forsake him so easily. Professor Dumbledore has made it very clear to Harry how important it is that he learns to close his mind. If he thinks it’s important, it should be all our priorities. What you are doing is just as childish. Harry needs you, professor.”

He could feel his blood run cold. She talked to him in such a familiar fashion and professed her opinion so confidently, he wanted to deny every single word that she said. She had no idea how deep the wound left by James Potter truly was, and she talked about it as though she held all the wisdom in the world.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered, her eyes suddenly downcast and her posture no longer full of confidence. “You have every right to stop the Occlumency lessons. I just fear for our future. Harry hasn’t talked about this to Professor Dumbledore or even Sirius, but he still dreams of Voldemort regularly. I just have this … sense of impending doom. As though it is only a matter of time until Voldemort finds a way to exploit this strange connection. Harry really, desperately needs you, sir. Please.”

Something within him came alive at her quiet plea. Severus swallowed. Hermione Granger stood before him, vulnerable, honest, contrite, and asked him for help. And instead of relenting and admitting that yes, Harry Potter really did need Occlumency lessons, he wanted to grab her and push her down and make her beg for something else entirely.

He involuntarily took a step back. He could feel it growing within him, this urge to hurt her.

He closed his eyes and erected his own Occlumency shields. Only when he was sure that he no longer felt anything did he dare to open his eyes again.

She was still there, waiting patiently for his answer. Ignorant to the danger she had just narrowly escape.

“Tell Potter to come to my classroom after dinner. If he manages a sufficient apology, I might be convinced to continue.”

Granger beamed at him. Her whole face lit up with a grateful smile that he did not deserve. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I will make sure he knows how to apologise properly, I promise! I’ll make him grovel in front of you! He deserves a little humiliation after all.”

Humiliation. Even through his shields, his treacherous mind conjured up images of her humiliation. His hand moved on its own, reaching out towards her, ready to grab her and throw her to the ground.

He gasped and turned away. “You may leave now, Miss Granger.”

She thanked him again, but then her soft footsteps told him that she finally exited the classroom. Only when he was sure that she was well out of reach did he let go of his Occlumency shields. A faint echo of the urge made him tremble, but he no longer felt out of control.

“Fuck,” he hissed as he balled his hands into fists.

He had avoided it so far but he knew, he could not let this go on for much longer. Whatever was wrong with him, it now threatened the well-being of a student. As much as he feared her judgement, he needed to ask Poppy for help.

If someone could figure out what was wrong with his mind, it was her.

~*~

For all his cleverness, Severus Snape was truly desperate to be blind. Voldemort couldn’t help the smug grin as he entered his head again. Of course, the school nurse couldn’t find anything wrong with his head. As easy as it was for Voldemort to slip in, as quickly he could leave again. Once Severus formed the decision to seek help, he left him alone.

Two weeks and three examinations later, and Severus was convinced that he was the problem. He turned a blind eye to what should have been glaringly obvious. That the urge to take Hermione Granger was not his own.

Though, it had only taken the smallest of nudges to make him lose all sense. Maybe Severus did feel something for the mudblood.

No matter. Things had progressed smoothly in the ministry while he played with his new toy. The minister for magic was as useless as ever, and Dolores Umbridge, that uptight little toad, was primed to throw her lot with the Death Eaters. Once the public was ready to acknowledge the return of the Dark Lord, his victory would be swift.

Before he could show himself though, he first had to secure that unfortunate prophecy. He never gave much stock to divination, but he knew that true prophecies were not to be trifled with. He needed to know what it said, but he had no way to access the ministry without risking exposure.

Good thing that Potter was still as hopeless as ever at Occlumency. If anything, the lessons with Severus made it worse. He now thought he could keep others out of his head, even though their connection was still strong. It would be easy to plant a false vision.

But first, he needed to play with Hermione Granger a bit more. The school year would be ending soon, and once she was outside of Hogwarts, she would be outside his reach until she returned to school. He needed her utterly in love with Severus so she wouldn’t revert back to her old, innocent self over the summer weeks.

He approached the witch while she was sitting near the Great Lake, all alone, nose buried in a textbook. The setting sun bathed her in a reddish golden light that made her look almost ethereal. Voldemort smiled to himself. She was pretty enough; it would be delicious when he finally got to take away the last bit of her innocence.

“You shouldn’t be out on the grounds alone, Miss Granger.”

She almost dropped her book as her head whipped around. “Professor Snape!”

He inclined his head in greeting and sat down on the sun-dried grass next to her. The blush that instantly spread over her cheeks was a most welcome sight.

“Why are you alone?” He didn’t look at her as he asked that, and gave his voice a bored tone. This witch needed to feel like she was the one pushing the relationship, he knew that.

“With the O.W.L.s looming for us and N.E.W.T.s for others, the library is a bit too loud this time of year. And I like the sun.”

He hummed. “That explains why you’re outside, but not why you’re alone.”

“Well, okay, point taken.” She clearly scrambled for some excuse, but then she huffed and put the book away, turning her body fully to him. “If you must know, it’s because Harry and Ron are both insufferable. Ron can’t stop talking about the match against Ravenclaw and how he won us the Quidditch Cup with his great plays. And Harry has been off since …” She stopped in the middle of the sentenced and flushed even deeper red.

Voldemort chuckled silently. It was very obvious that Potter had shared the contents of the Pensieve with the witch, even though Severus chose to believe her when she denied it. He inched closer and arranged his face into a warm smile.

“It’s okay, Miss Granger. I know he told you, even though you lied about it.”

“Of course, you knew,” she muttered to herself before she dared to look at him again. “Well, if it’s out in the open anyway … Harry actually really took that to heart. And I don’t think Sirius and Remus helped when he talked to them about it. They pretend like they were little kids, even though they were as old as we are now.”

He deliberately splayed one hand on the grass right next to her thigh as he pretended to shift his weight. He could see her eyes flick downwards for just a breath, before she stared back into his eyes very intently.

“Potter still believes that good people only do good,” he explained very slowly. “If someone does something bad, to him, that is a bad person. That is why he has such a hard time with a memory that has nothing to do with him.”

She grinned half-heartedly. “You know him surprisingly well even though you hate him.”

If only she knew how well he understood the boy. “I spent the past months invading his brain, Miss Granger. I would be a very poor Legilimens if I didn’t know him well after that.”

This time, she actually laughed. “That is a surprisingly obvious answer.”

“I’m sorry your friends are giving you a hard time,” he whispered quietly after some minutes had passed. “They are all dunderheads in my eyes. Any student under seventeen is a headache.”

She cocked her head. “Even I?”

He held her gaze, putting all the warmth he could muster into his eyes. Then, ever so slowly, he closed a little bit more of the distance between them. He could hear her breath hitch. See her pupils dilate. Feel her body heat up. She didn’t move at all, but the yearning was all over her.

“You will always be different, Miss Granger,” he purred. “Your sharp mind, your willingness to dive into the Dark Arts, your emotional maturity. It makes you special, even if no one else can see it.”

She made a choking sound and he was very sure that she just swallowed a moan. She was ready for him, a blushing apple, begging to be plucked. He licked his lips and relished the way her eyes tracked the movement.

Then, he got up and settled Snape’s face into a carefully crafted mask of discomfort. He stayed like that for a moment while he listened to Hermione’s heavy breathing. When he felt that enough time had passed, he looked back down at her.

“Good luck with your O.W.L.s, Miss Granger. I cannot wait to see what you accomplish next year.”

He almost growled at the sharp little gasp that came from her. She would turn seventeen at the start of the next year, he knew it, she knew it, and he knew that she knew that he knew it. He wanted to devour her right then and there, eager little witch, but it was not the time.

Nor the body.

He inclined his head once more before he turned around and slowly walked back to the castle.

The whole way along the lake, he could feel her eyes burn into his back.

Chapter Text

“Voldemort’s got Sirius.”

Hermione gasped. She had feared the worst when Harry pulled Ron and her into an empty class room, but this was worse than she expected.

“How do you know that?” Ron asked, sounding just as shocked as she felt.

“Saw it. Just now. When I fell asleep in the exam.”

All the blood drained from her face. If that was true, they were in deep trouble. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “But where? And how did you see it?”

“I dunno how. But I know exactly where. There’s a room in the Department of Mysteries full of shelves covered in these little glass balls and they’re at the end of row ninety-seven. He’s trying to use Sirius to get whatever it is he wants from in there.” Harry’s voice grew panicked. “He’s torturing him. Says he’ll end by killing him!”

Before Hermione could interject, he grabbed both their hands. “How’re we going to get there?”

She gently pulled her hand away from him. “Harry, please take a moment to breathe. Think this through. Does it really make sense that Voldemort has Sirius? How would that have even happened?”

“Sirius might have cracked and just wanted some fresh air,” Ron suggested weakly. “You know how he hates that he can’t leave the house.”

“Exactly!” Harry eagerly agreed. “If Voldemort had someone stationed outside, just waiting to grab whoever left, he could have easily snatched him.”

Hermione nervously ran her hands through her hair. If both Ron and Harry agreed, there was little she could do, she knew that. But she had to try. “And if this is all a ploy to get you to the Department of Mysteries?”

“Then I don’t care!” Harry roared. “He’s got Sirius and I need to help him!”

“That’s not what I meant. What if he doesn’t have Sirius? What if this vision is not real?”

“She got a point, mate.”

“You don’t get it!” Harry was shaking in anger. “These are not just dreams! What do you think all the Occlumency was for? You even convinced Snape to continue! Why do you think Dumbledore wanted to prevent me from seeing these things? Because they are real, Hermione. Sirius is trapped, I’ve seen it. Voldemort’s got him and no one else knows, and that means no one else can save him. If you don’t want to help, fine, but I’m going!”

The door to the classroom opened and revealed Ginny, who looked very anxious, and Luna, who looked as serene as ever. Hermione cursed under her breath. The more people Harry pulled into this, the more likely he was going to do something stupid.

Ron and Harry explained to the other two girls what had happened, while Hermione feverishly thought through the whole issue. The more she mulled it over in her head, the more convinced she was that this was in fact a trap by Voldemort, and that Sirius was completely fine.

“Okay, look, Harry,” she hesitantly said, “If Sirius is in danger, we need to act. But please, let us first check whether he’s at Grimmauld Place. If he is there, we know that this is a trap.”

“We’re wasting time!” Harry shot back.

The other three agreed with her and to Hermione’s relief, Harry finally relented. They quickly decided to use Umbridge’s fireplace to connect with Grimmauld Place. Harry would sneak in using his cloak, while the rest staged distractions and guarded the office.

“What are you doing?” Ron shouted to her as she split up from the group.

“I’ll check on something else. We don’t all need to go. I’ll meet you at Umbridge’s office in fifteen minutes, I promise!”

Before anyone else could protest, she sprinted in the opposite direction, down the stairs, to the dungeon. Professor McGonagall had been transferred to St Mungo’s this morning after taking four Stunning Spells to the chest trying to protect Hagrid from Umbridge and her goons. With the headmaster gone, that left only one person in the castle who could help.

Though she would have went to him anyway.

Breathing heavily, she knocked on his door. It took only a couple of seconds until a thunderous looking Snape opened. “What?”

She slipped into his office despite his best efforts to keep her out. “We need your help, sir. Harry believes that Voldemort has taken Sirius to the Department of Mysteries and is about to kill him. A vision he had.”

His eyes narrowed. “A vision?”

“Yes, yes. I don’t believe it’s real. It just screams trap to me and we both know that he’s still rubbish at Occlumency. But he won’t listen. Do you have any way of contacting Sirius? I just need some proof that he’s alright!”

He stared down at her for a long moment, his eyes giving nothing away. Then he gave a short nod. “Okay. Please step outside for a moment, Miss Granger.”

“Why?”

He glared at her. “Because I ask you to.”

She hastily followed his command, even though she didn’t understand it. Outside the door, she held her breath and strained her ears to listen to whatever he was doing inside. She was sure he heard him murmur “Expecto Patronum” but whatever he said afterwards was too quiet. With a heavily beating heart, she wondered why Snape didn’t want her to see his Patronus.

The door opened again, and this time, he motioned her to enter. Then, he closed the door behind them and pressed her against the wood. His eyes were dark pools of concern.

“I know that nothing you or I can say would dissuade Potter from going to Black. He’s too stubborn and blind for that. My Patronus will probably not return in time before he gets impatient.” His hands left her shoulders and balled into fists next to her head. “But I implore you, do not go with him. If this is a trap, you will be in more danger than anyone else.”

“Because I’m a mudblood,” she whispered, unable to breathe.

“Yes.” He didn’t correct her on the word. “You have a good heart and want to protect him. But whatever this is, it will not end well for you.”

She should be worried about Harry. She should run back to him right now and make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. Instead, her mind was caught on that one word, and how Professor Snape didn’t even flinch or mind her using it. The pain in her chest had nothing to do with her sprint down the stairs.

But he cared for her. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t warn her like that. She could read it in his eyes. This was her open, honest Snape who allowed her to actually see behind his cold mask.

“I need to go,” she pressed out through gritted teeth.

He didn’t move away instantly. Instead, his hands uncurled again and slid down the length of her arms. She shivered involuntarily, caught in how intimate it felt. His hands were warm and firm, gliding over her blouse with an insistent touch. Like he wanted to pull her close. Like he wanted to rip the fabric away.

Then, he sighed and stepped away. “Just think about what I said. Good luck, Miss Granger.”

When she turned around, she missed the triumphant smirk on his lips.

***

Going back up the stairs, all the way to Umbridge’s office, took Hermione longer than she would have wished. But when she rounded the corner to the corridor, she realised that it was a good thing she lost so much time on the way.

The door stood wide open, and all her friends, including, for some reason, Neville, were held at wand point by the inquisitorial squad while Umbridge slapped Harry across the face.

They had obviously been caught.

Cursing, she ducked back around the corner and cowered down. She had to free them, but what could she even do against so many of them? She risked another glance towards the office. Umbridge stood in the middle of the room, speaking down to Harry. Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Zabini held Ginny, Luna, Ron, and Neville in their arms, wands pressed against their throats.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. It was not impossible. She had the surprise on her side, and she knew that none of the Slytherins were very quick with their magic. The bigger issue was that she didn’t want anyone to know what she was about to do. She had to be subtle, otherwise Harry and Ron would be very mad at her.

With her heartbeat rushing loudly in her ears, she slowly stood up and peered around the corner. The scene was still the same.

She could do this. She had to do this.

Hermione lifted her wand and pointed it at Umbridge. “Imperio.”

She let all her willpower flow into the spell, forcing it to hit. It only took one blink, then she felt the connection to Umbridge’s mind. The witch noticed it instantly and struggled to shake her off, but Hermione didn’t let go. Bit by bit, she subdued the other woman’s mind.

When she was done, only a second had passed, though it felt to her like she had struggled for ages.

“Let’s try something else, then, shall we?” Umbridge’s high pitched voice rang out. “Squad, release them. You all, line up in front of the door. Malfoy, if anyone tries running, you’re allowed to use any force necessary to stop them.”

She listened as several pairs of feet shuffled through the office. When everything went quiet again, she dared another glance. Everything looked exactly as she hoped. Malfoy and his friends stood on one side of the huge desk, directly in front of the windows, while her friends stood on the far opposite side at the door. They almost blocked the view through the door, allowing her to come out of hiding.

Trembling, she let go of her Imperius and instead channelled all her power into the next curse.

“Confringo!”

She watched with bated breath as the fiery curse barrelled towards the door, slipping just between Neville’s and Luna’s head, and then exploded in a hot ball right inside the office. Harry, who stood furthest inside the room, was thrown back and took everyone else with him. They fell onto each other, cursing and screaming, but it was nothing compared to the impact it had on the Slytherins.

Hermione didn’t wait a second. She sprinted towards them and helped them onto their feet. Ron stared at her wide-eyed, but said nothing as they all scrambled away. Behind them, Malfoy cried out in pain as flames licked on his legs. Umbridge, who had stood in the middle of the room, where the curse hit, lay on the floor and didn’t move.

She swallowed and pushed that thought out of her mind. None of them deserved any better. They would delight in torture any day, and Umbridge had not hesitated to hurt even first year students. If that curse killed her, it was only fair.

Coughing and limping, they tumbled down the stairs until they felt safe to stop and rest in an empty classroom. Hermione instantly was on Harry, who seemed the most hurt. She could see him bleeding from a wound on his forehead, and she was sure that a few of his hairs were burnt. But other than that, nothing serious seemed to have happened to any of them.

“That was bloody brilliant,” Ron exclaimed after he was able to breathe again. “Scary, really, but brilliant.”

“Thank you, Hermione. I don’t know how we could’ve gotten out of there.” Harry sagged down on a chair and let her heal his wound.

“It was a helpful coincidence that Professor Umbridge ordered us out of the way right before your curse hit,” Luna said serenely.

Hermione blanched and looked around, but nobody seemed to think it suspicious. She shook her head. Of course, her friends would never expect her to use an Unforgivable. They were all too good to even consider it.

“Did you have any luck with Grimmauld Place?”

Harry balled his fists. “No. Only Kreacher was there and he said Sirius wasn’t home. He didn’t say it explicitly, but I think he knows Sirius is at the ministry.”

“Shit,” she hissed. She still couldn’t believe this was real, but she knew, with this information, there was no stopping Harry from going after Sirius.

“Then what are we waiting for? Let’s go get him!” It was Neville of all people who said that.

Everyone nodded eagerly, despite Harry’s protest that they shouldn’t risk their lives for him. Hermione sat there and listened to the argument, caught up in what Professor Snape had said to her and what she knew was right.

None of the five would ever understand what it meant to be a muggleborn in this society. They only saw the danger that they might get hurt, but Hermione just knew, if a Death Eater saw her, he would try to kill her. Professor Snape was very much right with warning her.

But she knew she couldn’t let them go alone. They needed someone that was ready to do anything to help them escape if things went south. And she couldn’t bear the thought that Harry or Ron would think of her as a coward.

So, against her better judgement, she found herself riding invisible Thestrals next to them, dreading the trap they were all just about to walk into.

Chapter Text

She should have listened to Snape.

That thought dominated her brain as she raced through the many shelves, Harry and Neville closely behind her. Where Ron, Ginny, and Luna were, she did not know. She just prayed they were still unharmed.

It was a trap. Of course it was, but Harry had been too stubborn to admit it, even when Sirius was nowhere to be found. Instead, he had to follow his curiosity and grab that stupid glass ball—the prophecy about him and Voldemort.

They didn’t stand a chance when the Death Eaters fell upon them.

As much as Harry trained them all, Hermione realised that she never actually fought for her life before. The adrenaline coursing through her veins, the constant running, the darkness of the department, it all made her mind go fuzzy. How was she to think of a plan when all she felt was utter terror.

Several Death Eaters in their black robes were behind them, throwing curses at them that so far missed. She didn’t know most of them, but one face among them stood out clearly.

Antonin Dolohov.

Professor Snape’s warnings were still clear in her head. If she ever faced him, she should not even try a Protego. She should not try to fight him. She could only run.

Worst of all, the mad Bellatrix Lestrange had instantly recognised her as a mudblood.

“Harry, the door!” Hermione yelled. Just a few metres ahead, a door led out of this maze of shelves.

He reached it first, turning the handle and almost stumbling as it swung open without resistance. She raced through and once Neville was in as well, they shut the door quickly.

“Colloportus,” Harry shouted. The door locked with a strange squelching sound and a second later, they could hear three bodies crash into it on the other side.

“That won’t hold them for long,” she wheezed as she held her stinging side.

“There’s another door here!” Neville called out.

Harry tried it and to their relief, it also opened. Before she followed the two boys, Hermione risked a look back over her shoulders. Just in that moment, the other door exploded into a thousand tiny splinters.

Dolohov stared at her from the other end of the room. She saw his wand slash through the air and just knew that she was doomed.

“Silencio,” she screamed, desperately hoping that it would stop whatever curse he sent against her.

The next moment, purple flames burst forth from her chest. She couldn’t even cry out before she hit the floor. The magic of the curse ate into her flesh, ripped her open, gnawing and slashing and growing. She saw Dolohov close the distance, just as she saw Harry grab Neville and run.

Everything hurt but the only sound that left her lips was a muted groan.

The Death Eater’s eyes were murderous as he kneeled down and hovered over her. The Silencing Charm still affected him, but she didn’t need to hear his words to know what he wanted to say. His hand grabbed her blouse and shredded it, leaving her exposed to his hungry eyes.

“Incarcerous!”

Out of nowhere, another voice rang out, deep and domineering. She would know it anywhere.

A mass of black robes pulled her up and into strong arms. “Miss Granger!”

He came. Even though he hated Harry, even though he thought of her as a mudblood, he was here. Rescuing her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered before everything went black.

~*~

Severus Snape stood next to the hospital bed stoically. Poppy was working on the superficial wounds Dolohov’s curse had left, but he knew, the medi-witch was out of her depth. This curse was too dark, too obscure for her to know how to fix it.

Still, he watched and waited. Once she left, he would be able to get to work. Nobody could know that he was healing Miss Granger. It would only raise questions among the uninitiated staff, and would certainly get back to the Dark Lord. He couldn’t risk that.

Finally, Poppy stowed away her wand. “That’s all I can do for her. I don’t know what dark magic this is, Severus. I can only hope what I did was enough.”

She patted his arm and then left him alone with her. He waited until her footsteps died away before he drew his wand.

The purple tendrils had already penetrated deep into the flesh of her chest. He closed his eyes and reached out with his own magic. Dolohov’s spellwork felt alien to him, unnatural. As he went about to contain the purple, he realised with a shudder that he did not actually know how to heal this. He could only stop the spread.

The skin between her breasts was ripped open and still oozing something that was not quite pus. The flesh looked almost burned. He didn’t dare to imagine the pain she felt when the curse hit her. He did what he could, but finally had to relent that he was unable to cure her. With a silent curse, he sank down onto a chair.

A part of him felt guilty. As though it was his responsibility to keep Miss Granger safe. That was nonsense, of course, but he couldn’t shake the terrible nausea that assaulted him whenever he remembered how he found her.

Dolohov crawling over her, his eyes lecherous, her clothes torn. Nobody should ever experience that.

Least of all an innocent witch like her.

Something deep within him throbbed and he could feel his mind start to grow fuzzy. He knew this feeling all too well by now. This urge to do something he wouldn’t normally do.

He tried to fight it, but he was powerless. He blinked and suddenly stood right next to her again. His hand moved, reaching out to her, until it was splayed just under her heart, barely not grazing her naked breasts. He could feel the heated, torn flesh under his fingertips.

With his next breath, magic surged through him and into her body. From somewhere that was not him, healing energy washed over Miss Granger’s unconscious body. It pulsed and throbbed, weaving around the purple, dispelling it. For every millimetre the magic conquered from the purple, the curse clawed back at him. He could feel it flow into him, as though seeking a new target.

He gritted his teeth and allowed the hated fuzziness to take over completely. For the first time, he did not fight it.

Half an hour later, he collapsed. His chest collided with the mattress, his hand still between her breasts, and the world grew dark around him.

~*~

Healing Hermione had temporarily taken his mind off the colossal fuck up that was the mission in the Department of Mysteries. Voldemort still couldn’t understand how Lucius managed to let the prophecy slip through his fingers. How several of his trusted Death Eaters were bested by children and then fell to the Order.

He never intended to go out himself. But when Bella reported that Dumbledore appeared on the scene, he knew he had no other choice.

With a curse, he smashed the cup he was holding to the ground. Narcissa right next to him shook, but wisely kept quiet. What her husband did the night before was inexcusable.

Several of his Death Eaters imprisoned in Azkaban and a Minister for Magic that announced the return of the Dark Lord before it was time. That was all this cursed night amounted to. Everything he had planned, all the little cogs he had silently set in motion in the ministry, it was all for nothing now.

Harry Potter still lived and the full contents of the prophecy were still unknown.

“When your son returns from school, we will have a word,” he hissed to the Malfoy woman. “If his father can’t execute the tasks I give him, the son will have to step up. Make sure he knows failure is not an option.”

Narcissa bowed her head, trembling hands clasped together. “Of course, my lord.”

He stormed out of the hall and back to the master bedroom he had claimed for himself. What he needed now was time. Time to adjust his plans, time to examine the damage.

As he stood alone in his room, eyes closed, naked feet buried in the soft carpet, a vision flashed through his mind. Hermione Granger, telling Severus all the secrets nobody else could coax out of Potter. Hermione Granger, studying the Dark Arts under her Potions professor, more and more enthralled by the power they gave her.

Hermione Granger, realising that Dumbledore was just a scheming old fool who did not care for anyone but himself. How she could drip poison into Potter’s ears. How she could alienate him from the Order, make him feel alone and weak.

Hermione Granger, seeing him, Lord Voldemort, for the first time and not recoiling in disgust, but rather welcoming his touch. Opening herself to him. Offering her innocence until he split her open and filled her up.

He rolled his wand between his fingers. Hermione Granger was a variable that he had not fully explored yet. It was more a fun game he played, something to amuse himself with and to torture Severus. But now, with everything in shambles, perhaps it was time to actually use her.

He should thank Antonin once he was out of Azkaban. First, he would of course punish him for even entertaining the thought of taking what was rightfully the Dark Lord’s. But thanks to his creative curse, Hermione Granger would need to spend the summer at Hogwarts. In close proximity of Severus.

She would be all alone, anxious and in pain. Severus would take such good care of her.

~*~

Unbearable heat throbbed in her lungs. Hermione wanted to scream, but her throat felt raw and swollen, muffling any sound. She swallowed thickly, trying to banish the strange dryness in her mouth. Even her tongue felt like carpet.

It took her almost more strength than she had to open her eyes. Bright daylight greeted her and made her wince in pain, but she forced herself to keep the eyes open. Slowly, she recognised the pale linen of the curtains that enclosed every bed in the hospital wing.

The events from before she lost consciousness rushed back to her. Panicked, she tried to sit up, but the muscles in her upper body refused to cooperate. The groaned softly. Somehow, she felt like a heavy weight pressed her down onto the mattress.

Her eyes travelled further down—and with a jerk, she noticed the huge hand splayed between her breasts, right where it hurt the most. Her breath hitched.

Severus Snape sat in a chair next to her bed, his hand resting on her body. He was fast asleep, but the hand provided a warmth and safety that transcended even his consciousness.

Hermione was sure that he did not know where his hand was, or what the tips of his fingers almost touched. Despite her pain, despite her worry for her friends, she couldn’t help the blush that spread from her cheeks down her neck all the way to her décolleté. She had dreamed of his touch for so long.

She must have made a noise, because suddenly, he was awake and staring at her with those dark, unyielding eyes. For several heartbeats, they both just gazed at each other. Then, just as suddenly, he seemed to become aware of where his hand was resting.

He jerked it away and got up from the chair. “I apologise, Miss Granger. I must have lost consciousness while healing you.”

She almost told him that she didn’t mind, but swallowed that inappropriate comment before it left her lips. She opened her mouth to thank him, but instead of words, she only managed a pitiful croak.

“Of course, your throat must hurt. The curse has attacked everything in your chest and travelled upwards before you were brought here.” He looked around until he found a glass of water on the little table next to her bed. “You should try and drink, even if it is just a small sip.”

Hermione looked up at him as he stood there with the glass in his hand. She couldn’t sit up to drink, and she had no way of telling him. Embarrassment coursed through her as she helplessly tried to communicate through her eyes that she would need his support to sit up. He just glared at her with one eyebrow raised, obviously getting impatient.

“Well, sit up,” he barked.

Before she could die of mortification, the curtain was drawn and Madame Pomfrey came into view.

“Ah, Miss Granger, what a pleasant surprise to see you awake.” She looked at Professor Snape who still held the glass. “And what a surprise to see you still here, Severus. Give me the glass, Miss Granger will need a little assistance if she wants to drink.”

She resolutely pushed the wizard out of the way and grabbed Hermione with practised hands. Once she was carefully settled into a sitting position, Madame Pomfrey slowly tipped the glass to her lips and allowed Hermione two sips before putting it away again.

“We need to go slow,” she explained patiently. “The damage to your body was extensive. We don’t want you to overexert yourself. I will make sure you get all the hydration and nutrients you need for healing, you just make sure you rest, okay, deary? I am sorry to say that you will need to stay here for some weeks. We have already sent an owl to your parents to let them know about it.”

Hermione nodded. She was glad to hear that her parents weren’t kept in the dark, but if she was honest, a completely different question was foremost in her mind. The swallowed again and worked her jaw until she finally managed a quiet whisper. “Harry?”

“Oh, don’t you worry, my dear,” Madame Pomfrey quickly said, “everyone else is quite okay. I was able to treat them overnight, so they’re no longer here.”

From the corner of her eyes, Hermione saw Professor Snape look away. His mouth was set in a thin line and she just knew that something had to have happened that the medi-witch didn’t know about. At least none of the others were hurt. That was the most important thing.

“Come, Severus, let’s give Miss Granger some time to rest.” She gave him a soft push. “You know I need you to stock up some of the potions. She will need a lot of assistance for the long road to recovery.”

He shot her an unreadable look. “I’ll be back later, Miss Granger. I know you have questions, but those must wait until you have rested a bit more.”

She didn’t want him to go. He was the anchor right now, with Harry and Ron missing, he was all she had to hold on to. Where were they, anyway? If it was Harry lying in bed right now, she would rush to his side first thing in the morning. It was morning, right?

Her hand twitched as she tried to reach out to him, but he had already turned his back to her. Frustrated, she closed her eyes. Tears welled up within her, but the pain that shot through her eyes and throat in response quelled them instantly.

She listened to the two pairs of footsteps die away until she was all alone again.

Only the pain remained.

Chapter Text

Two weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye. For most of it, Hermione had slept. Whatever that curse was, it sapped her strength like nothing she ever experienced. Madame Pomfrey was worried, she could see that, even though the medi-witch always assured her that everything was fine.

Everyone had left Hogwarts for the summer holidays, including Ron and Harry. Ron had visited her briefly on the day he left, promising to write even though they both knew he wouldn’t. Harry apparently was too devastated by Sirius’ death to see anyone.

She turned the page in the book she was reading and tried to focus back on the text. She was still bound to the hospital bed as she was unable to move more than five meters on her own. But to her surprise, Professor Snape turned out to be very attentive.

Attentive and distracting.

Now that she saw him every day outside the classroom setting, she noticed more and more that there were two distinct sides within him. There was Professor Snape, the curt, unfriendly dungeon bat who did not seem to want to spend any more time with her than necessary.

And then there was Severus Snape, the wizard who actually enjoyed teaching, who indulged all her questions and never tired of sharing his knowledge. She only got to see him when they were alone in the hospital wing, but with each passing day, Madam Pomfrey looked after her less and less, so that side of him came out more and more.

The book she was reading right now was one he lent her. The cover was enchanted to show something innocuous, as the content was darker than any textbook students were allowed to read. She wanted to know more about Dolohov’s curse, and while that was a family invention, this book was most enlightening. It touched on the creation of blood curses and opened up an area of magic she never really thought about before.

The blood of witches and wizards was powerful and could be used to influence, to harm, even to destroy others. With every page she read, she could feel her hunger grow. She wanted to know even more.

But Snape banned her from talking about it. Only when he brought it up was she allowed to ask questions.

The curtains moved and Hermione quickly closed her books. Even if the cover was enchanted, the contents could still be read by prying eyes. She couldn’t supress the smile when she saw that it was Snape who entered.

He smiled back, a warm ray of sunshine on this rather rainy summer day. He didn’t have to say anything, she knew that this was her Snape.

“We will need to do another round of healing today, Miss Granger,” he explained with an apologetic look in his eyes.

She groaned, but obediently put away the book and laid back down on the bed. After the first time where all she could think about was his hand touching her naked skin, she had come to dread the weekly healing sessions. Where the curse felt like liquid fire in her veins, Snape’s magic was sharp and cold, like wild icicles that stabbed into her flesh. Her overly romantic brain had hoped that his magic would always feel soothing and wonderful.

She lifted her nightgown just a little so he could slip his hand underneath it. Since the worst of the wound was now superficially healed, there was no harm in fabric touching it anymore—and thus no reason to expose her chest to him. He never commented on it, but she still struggled to accept that her previously nice breasts now sported an ugly scar between them. She was more than happy to stay covered in his presence.

“Brace yourself,” he murmured soothingly.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. In the next second, the now familiar sting of his magic was there. The first couple of days, he had to do this daily, and she was glad that she was only semi-conscious for most of it. Now that she was wide awake, her mind clear again, she couldn’t shake the strange sensation his magic brought with it.

It tasted blue.

She scrunched her nose. How could magic taste like anything? How could anything taste like a colour? And why blue? Snape rarely used magic during class, but if anything, she always associated green with his magic.

Pain ripped through her chest out of nowhere and tore a scream from her still hurting throat. Instantly, a second hand came down and held her still, pressing her softly against the mattress. Her eyes flew open and she stared up right into Snape’s dark eyes.

“Sssh, I got you,” he whispered, “keep your eyes on me. I know it hurts. I got you. You’re doing so well. That’s it, breathe. It’s alright. Be a good girl and endure it. Can you do that for me?”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and nodded. His words washed over her like a warm embrace, yet his magic still seemed to rip her apart. She wanted to tell him that it hurt, that it was too much. She wanted to scream.

But he wanted her to endure it and so she would.

“That’s it,” he purred, his eyes no longer holding any warmth, “good girl. You’re such a good girl right now, Hermione. I know you can take it.”

It barely registered that he called her by her first name. All she could hear was his praise. It sang to her, mixing with the pain, giving it meaning. She suddenly knew that if she could endure this without making another sound, he would be so proud of her. His gaze, hungry and eager, kept hers trapped while she focused on nothing but the pain.

“Yesss,” he hissed, “that’s it. It will feel so good, I promise. You’ll be so proud of yourself once it’s done. I’ll be so proud.”

She arched against his hands, suddenly desperate for him to really touch her. But he didn’t relent, one hand on her stomach, the other on her shoulder, he kept her steady. Only his eyes mirrored how she felt. She could see it in them, the urge to move his fingers just a little, graze her breasts, maybe grab them fully. She was sure he felt the same and was barely holding on. His voice sounded like it, gravelly and thick, without the usual cool control.

The pain built and removed any other thought from her brain. She was too aware how hard she was breathing, too aware how fast her heart was beating, too aware of those dark, bottomless eyes.

Then, as suddenly as it began, the pain vanished. Snape pulled his hand out from underneath her nightgown, his other now cupped her face.

“You were so strong. So good for me. I’m so proud of you, Hermione. My good girl. I knew you could take it.” The words spilled out of him as though he couldn’t control himself. His tone spoke of barely contained hunger and the way he said that she was his good girl made her stomach flutter.

“Thank you,” she whispered back.

He smiled at her, but then pulled back, his hands leaving her, his eyes closing up again. She felt the loss of their connection more than ever before. He was still her Snape, she could see that in his eyes, but whatever tension that had built between them, it was now gone.

For a mad second, she wished the pain back just to see his feral need again.

~*~

The Malfoy whelp curled his arm against his chest and dry heaved, very obviously trying to hide that he was crying. Voldemort always enjoyed branding new Death Eaters. He could feel his own mark come alive whenever he did it, the pain shooting through his arm, the comforting feeling of a slithering snake all around his body. He relished every second of it.

Most wizards and witches he branded did not enjoy it. Usually, they just screamed in pain and fear, though none so fare had cried. Draco Malfoy was the youngest yet to receive the Dark Mark, but it was an utter failure of his parents that he was such a weakling.

Another disgraceful disappointment from Lucius.

He leaned back in his armchair and kept his eyes on the boy while he waited for him to calm down. He could sense that his silence was frightening Narcissa, the only other person present for the branding ceremony. She had protested against Draco becoming a Death Eater, as though it was not the greatest honour any of them could receive.

When asked whether she wanted to join instead, she had quickly shut up. Truly a woman who loved her son. She lacked her sister’s conviction and on top of that did not raise her own son properly. No wonder he turned out a snivelling coward.

“Now, Draco,” he said quietly, “I think that’s quite enough. I expect a lot from you.”

“Yes, my lord.” His voice trembled and he didn’t dare look up.

“You will be honoured to hear that I have a mission especially for you.” He shot a glance at Narcissa who blanched as she silently watched on. “I know that you can succeed where your father disappointed me. By the end of the upcoming school year, Dumbledore will die by your hand.”

“What?” Draco gasped before he caught himself.

Voldemort had no interest in hiding the cruel smile that formed on his lips as while he watched the boy squirm. He didn’t truly believe that Draco would be able to kill Dumbledore, but that didn’t matter. It served as a fitting punishment for the whole Malfoy family and would distract the old fool of a headmaster. He would never see the actual plan coming.

He could hear Draco take two deep breaths. Then, the boy finally raised his head and looked at him with hollow acceptance in his eyes. “As you command. It will be an honour to serve.”

“Good. Make sure that nobody else knows about this. Nobody, you understand?”

He nodded hastily, rendered mute again. Voldemort waved his hand and dismissed them both. With Lucius in Azkaban, the two other Malfoys seemed lost and wavering in their loyalties. He chuckled to himself. Perhaps he should ask Bella to take care of her sister. She was the only one to escape imprisonment, and he knew she would not hesitate to tighten the screws even on her own sister if necessary.

But first, he needed her to retrieve the cup from her vault. Gringotts was neutral ground as the goblins would never bow to wizard authority. She had sworn that she would be able to get in and out without being caught. If she valued her life, she better came back soon.

He curled his finger and beckoned Nagini to his lap. The huge snake slithered over, hissing her approval of the branding of Draco.

He could always use her to regain more of his former body. If Bella failed, he would be out of options. With the locket and ring missing and the diadem being safely stored within the Hogwarts walls, he had no access to any other horcrux. It was a cruel streak of fate that Potter managed to destroy his diary when he was just a child.

It was just as cruel that out of all his loyal followers, it was Wormtail who found him. He should have know that Wormtail’s flesh would produce a subpar body, but at the time, he had not considered that the ritual could hinge on such an unpredictable variable.

Luckily, he wouldn’t need to rely on another for the new ritual he had developed. All he needed was his horcrux and the blood of his enemy. With Hermione already interested in curses born from blood, it would be easy to get her to collect some blood from Potter. Then, he finally, finally would have all his bodily functions back and would not need to worry about organs eroding for some time.

He smiled as his mind wandered to Hermione. He had thought her just a brilliant, but innocent little witch. What he witnessed yesterday was something else entirely. She feared the pain, he saw that, but when he coaxed her to endure it, he could see a switch flip within her. She would not shrink away from it, he knew that now. When it was finally time for him to claim her, she would welcome the pain in all its glory.

This little mudblood, this aberration was made for him. He never desired a woman before, even though he had bedded many. But the thought of her sweet innocence, of being her first in everything, it would make him hard right now if only his body would work as it should.

When Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix realised what was happening, it would already be too late.

Chapter Text

There she had it, black on white.

She achieved an Outstanding in everything but Defence Against the Dark Arts. Even Harry got an O in that class, and she knew he didn’t study one bit. The boys were celebrating and she could see Mrs Weasley beam at Ron from across the kitchen, but all she felt was disappointment.

She had studied so hard and really tried to work on her practical application of DADA, and still, it was not enough. The war was coming, whether she liked it or not, and she spent all of last year afraid to really dip into the power she knew she could access.

She put the parchment away and smiled at Harry and Ron, pretending to be happy about her results. Neither of them would understand why one single Exceeds Expectations ruined her whole day.

Her parents had been very unwilling to let her go to the Burrow. She had spent most of the summer at Hogwarts, and after only one week, she was already abandoning them again, as they put it. Professor Snape had impressed on her the importance of not sharing the wizarding world’s trouble with muggles, even her own parents, and so she could only weakly say she missed her friends.

“So, who’s ready for a visit to Diagon Alley later today?” Mr Weasley’s cheerful voice interrupted her gloomy thoughts.

Hermione mustered a bright smile, even though she felt less than enthused about it. Harry’s upcoming private lessons with Professor Dumbledore, her own continued study of advance magic, choosing her N.E.W.T. subjects—there were so many more important things to consider instead of going shopping. Even the thought of perusing Flourish and Blott’s couldn’t tempt her.

***

“Potions?”

Hermione felt the same shock she read on Harry’s and Ron’s faces. How could Professor Slughorn teach Potions when they already had Professor Snape on that position? Loud murmurs throughout the Great Hall told her that they were not the only ones surprised by this.

Dumbledore raised his voice as he continued, “Professor Snape, meanwhile, will be taking over the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

A loud buzzing noise drowned out the gasps and shouts all around her. Professor Snape would teach DADA this year. She should feel happy for him, and there was the merest hint of a smile on his lips, but instead, it was as if the walls were closing in on her.

No DADA teacher had lasted longer than a year ever since she started at Hogwarts. If she could trust the twins, even they couldn’t remember a teacher sticking around longer. She was not ready to see Professor Snape go.

“Well, there is one good thing,” she heard Harry say through the overwhelming buzzing in her ears. “The job’s jinxed. No one’s lasted longer than a year. And Quirrell actually died doing it. Personally, I’m going to keep my fingers crossed for another death.”

That snapped her out of her stupor. “Harry!”

“He might just go back to teaching Potions at the end of the year,” Ron quickly interjected, sounding reasonable for once. “Maybe Slughorn won’t stick around.”

Hermione tried to calm her beating heart. Ron was right. From what Harry told them in the Burrow, Professor Dumbledore wanted Slughorn at Hogwarts for a specific reason. Perhaps that would be solved within the year and everything would turn back to normal again. It wasn’t guaranteed that Professor Snape would leave.

It was just stupid superstition anyway.

She chanced a peek at him, but he wasn’t looking her way at all. She sighed. In less than three weeks, she would turn seventeen. She wouldn’t usually care about this, but knowing that she would be considered an adult in the wizarding world by mid-September held a completely different meaning now.

Professor Snape never said or did anything that let her to believe that he was at all interested in her that way. But once she was seventeen, the hurdle was at least marginally lower than before. Perhaps, if she showed him her interest, subtly, he might see her in a different light.

He had promised to help her with her studies in curses and other darker forms of magic. She would have ample opportunity to prove to him that she was no longer a child.

***

The DADA classroom looked different from before. As was the case every year, a new teacher meant new decorations. Hermione smiled as her eyes travelled along the dark curtains and rows of candles. He really tried his best to keep the legend of the dungeon bat alive.

One long wall was lined with paintings of people enduring all kinds of dark magic. They looked grotesque, limbs contorting, faces displaying unimaginable pain. To her, it was immediately clear that Professor Snape wanted them to take the dangers of the dark arts seriously. To Harry, who sat next to her, everything seemed offensive, as he furiously whispered to her and Ron.

She kept quiet and pulled out her copy of Confronting the Faceless, eager to start learning.

The door closed behind them with a bang and Professor Snape stalked down the middle. As he passed her, his eyes lingered on her table for a moment before his lips twisted into a sneer. “I have not asked you to take out your books.”

Heat rushed into her cheeks, but she quickly slipped the book back into her bag. She couldn’t bear to look up for several excruciating breaths. It was obvious now that she had deluded herself over the long summer weeks that Snape would continue to treat her with warmth even after the new term started. But just like the year before, in public, he turned back into Professor Snape.

“You have had five years of Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons, and as many teachers,” he started his class, demanding attention from every single student. His voice was quiet and monotone, but still reached into the farthest corners of the classroom.

“Every teacher naturally will have had their own methods and priorities. It is surprising that so many of you managed to successfully take your O.W.Ls given this confusion. We will turn to more advanced spells this year, so I shall be even more surprised if all of you manage to keep up with the N.E.W.T level.” His eyes roved over the students, ensuring that everyone was listening.

With measured steps, he circled the classroom, his voice even quieter now. “The Dark Arts are ever-changing. Just like the many-headed hydra, if you cut off one head, two more take its place, even fiercer and cleverer than before. Do not think of yourselves as ever mastering the defence against such forces. They are forever in flow, mutating, indestructible.”

Hermione’s heart beat a little faster as she listened to him. There was this seductive tone to his velvet baritone, ensnaring every listener. The way he talked about the Dark Arts was distinctly different from everyone before. Harry to her right seemed to hate every word of his speech, if his clenched fists and red face were any indication. She couldn’t even begin to fathom what his issue was.

Professor Snape returned to the front of the classroom and motioned them all to stand up. Then, he moved the tables and chairs to the sides of the rooms with a simple wave of his wands. Excitement coursed through Hermione. She did not expect to get a practical lesson right of the bat.

“I will assume that you all possess at least basic knowledge in duelling,” Professor Snape told them, now speaking louder again. “The next step is now for you to use these spells non-verbally. Shouting your jinxes and counter-curses loudly could be your end in a real-life battle. You will train in pairs. One will jinx without speaking, the other will attempt to repel the jinx equally silent. Begin.”

Hermione watched as Harry and Ron paired up and quickly found herself left out. Within the uneven number of students, nobody paid any attention to her. She bit her lip to prevent the little tremor to show. It was not like she wasn’t used to being the odd one out.

“As I see that everyone else fears you, you will try your luck with me, Miss Granger.” Professor Snape’s smooth voice suddenly rang out from behind her.

She whipped around and stared at him with what was probably a dumbfounded expression. When he raised an eyebrow, she blushed and nodded quickly. “Thank you, professor.”

He took a duelling stance and she mimicked him. Of course, Snape knew about their study group last year, but what he couldn’t know was that a lot of the DA had already some experience with non-verbal spells. Few of them mastered it yet, but most were not complete beginners. Perhaps, she would be able to get her first house points of the year from him.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and concentrated on the one jinx that had come easiest to her during training the year before. Keeping the motion of her wand to the barest minimum, she sent a Jelly-Legs Jinx towards Snape.

He repelled it without so much as raising his wand hand. “It seems there is nothing left for me to teach the outstanding Miss Granger,” he said as he pocketed his wand again.

Before she could do so much as blink, he resumed his walk about the room, sneering at all the students who failed miserably, correcting their stances and belittling their failures. With a huff, Hermione plopped onto one of the chairs lined up along the wall. He could have at least given her one house point for her feat. She was sure that if she were a Slytherin, he would have given her five.

It was hard to watch this Snape and not feel hurt. It only showed her how one-sided the imagined romance between them truly was. To him, she would always only be a student, even if he was open to sharing knowledge with her.

The minutes ticked away slowly. Many of the Gryffindors started to actually produce jinxes without so much as a whisper, and some of the Ravenclaws that attended the DA study group last year were similarly successful. Hermione couldn’t help but smile. The difference in skill was already showing, only emphasising how badly Umbridge’s one year reign of terror had been for the student body. It had been the right decision to form the DA.

As the end of the class approached, Hermione debated whether she should approach Professor Snape afterwards. She needed to know that the promised private lessons would still happen, despite his cold demeanour just now. But if he declined it, she would be crushed and would probably not be able to stop her tears from falling in front of him.

She swallowed. No. She wasn’t that weak. Her heart might flutter whenever he so much as glanced at her, but this was about her study, about her future. She would be mature about it and simply ask.

~*~

Severus could feel her eyes burn into his back from across the room. Miss Granger was not subtle about her stares. It was clear to him that she intended to stay after class again. Just as it was clear to him that he could not allow that.

The ease with which she had cast the non-verbal spell had impressed him. And in the same second, he felt that disgusting urge again. He should have tested her ability to cast a defensive shield silently, but the image of her succumbing to any of the jinxes in his mind had been so tempting, he just had to dismiss her.

What was it about this one insufferable know-it-all that suddenly, all he wanted to do was hurt her? His eyes sought her on their own, seizing her up, as his mind contemplated all the different ways he could bind her, humiliate her, dominate her. It made him want to vomit.

When he dismissed the class, she stayed back, gesturing to Potter and Weasley that they shouldn’t wait for her. He prepared for the worst.

“Professor,” she started quietly, “I wanted to ask about what we talked about over the summer.”

The summer. Those many weeks that were little more than a haze to him. Whenever he thought back to it, all he could see was her in bed, under him, staring at him with an expression no innocent witch should ever show a bastard like him. He needed to get rid of her, and fast.

“You should leave, Miss Granger,” he drawled without looking at her.

“Is that–” She licked her lips and he could hear the quiver in her voice. “Is that a no then?”

“You’re not listening to me,” he snapped at her. “You should not be staying after class like this.”

She gasped, but finally got the message. With tears swimming in her eyes, she turned around and hurried through the long rows of parted tables and chairs. As he watched the skirt of her school uniform sway with each step, he could feel his mind grow fuzzy again.

Cursing, he tried to turn around, but it was already too late.

Chapter Text

She buried her teeth in her bottom lip, desperately hoping she could keep the tears at bay. This had gone so much worse than she could have ever expected. Just as Snape had changed over the summer last year, he had changed again now. Reverting back to that professor who obviously hated her.

Her hand was on the doorknob when out of nowhere, he appeared behind her and rammed his hands into the wood with a resounding thud. Her heart skipped a beat, but she did not dare to turn around.

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger.” She could feel his breath on her neck as he spoke. “I should not have dismissed you quite so rudely.”

Her fingers tightened around the strap of her school bag. “No, I’m sorry. It was presumptuous of me to just–”

“No,” he interrupted her. “No. We made a promise just a couple of weeks ago and I am a man of my word. It’s just…”

He trailed off as though he was at a loss for words. Hermione suddenly was too aware of his tall body directly behind her, of his arms trapping her, of his long robes imperceptibly swaying against her legs. Goosebumps erupted all over her body and engulfed her in heat.

He shifted behind her, just enough so her back was flush against his front. Her breath hitched. This felt intimate. There was no way that this was not intimate. She could even hear his breathing grow more laboured, just as she could see his hands strain against the door. She stood perfectly still, afraid that any movement, anything she said would dispel the moment.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, but he did not continue that sentence.

Instead, she watched as he ever so slowly lowered his right hand until it came to rest on her hip. A shockwave went through her body and almost made her topple over. She could no longer suppress the moan that was caught in her throat.

It was answered by the softest groan behind her. Snape’s fingers curled around her hip. Slowly, deliberately, they plucked at her blouse where it was tucked into the waistband of her skirt. Her heart almost stopped, and then galloped away in a nervous rhythm. The pure white linen slipped out and his hand stilled.

Her world shrank to just her and him. The heat of his body enveloping her completely, his firm chest steadying her as her knees trembled. His heavy breathing matching her own heaving chest. The throb of need deep within her as his unique smell inhabited all her senses. His fingers were completely still, as though he was waiting for her to push him away.

But she didn’t.

Then, his fingers slipped under the soft fabric and touched her bare skin. Hermione let out a shuddering breath, raising both hands to steady herself against the door. It was just his fingertips brushing against her waist, almost too little to call it touch, but she felt as though the heat within her could consume her at any moment.

His hand moved slightly higher, exposing more of her skin to the cool air of the classroom. Still, he kept the touch light, and still, it overwhelmed her. Another moan escaped her, louder this time.

And it was answered by a needy groan behind her.

~*~

Severus felt rooted to the spot, unable to move even a single finger. It was as though his worst nightmare had come to life.

Just a second ago, he had dismissed Granger with a few harsh words. How did he end up with her caged between him and the door, his body pressing into hers, his hands slipping under her blouse, touching her bare waist?

She wasn’t even moving and despite the flush he saw on her neck, he knew that she was terrified. He had seen the looks in her eyes, especially over the summer, how a crush formed within her. But he knew that this innocent girl did not actually want him. She was too young to even know what want meant.

Yet here he stood, seducing her, caressing her, touching her so inappropriately. And by Merlin, he couldn’t seem to remove his hand from her body. If she allowed his touch, it would be so easy to make her submit. To make her believe she wanted this. He never looked at any of his students like this, but Miss Granger was dangerous. Her innocence made her too delicious.

With a furious hiss, he pushed himself away from the door and turned around.

“You need to leave, now,” he growled.

He heard her gasp. “Did I … did I do something wrong?”

Against his better judgement, he whirled around again to glare at her. There she stood, lips trembling, face still flushed, so obviously caught between fear and arousal. So tempting.

“For once in your life, Granger, keep your questions and leave,” he barked, all too aware that his own hands were shaking as he just barely prevented them from grabbing her again.

She stared at him with those wide brown eyes, but then she finally shut her mouth and fled from the classroom. He made sure the door closed fully behind her.

He needed to talk to Albus. Even though Poppy had not been able to find anything wrong with his brain, the headmaster needed to take him seriously. If this continued, it was only a question of time until he did something terrible.

Hermione Granger was such a bright, eager student, the best asset Potter had among his friends. Even the Dark Lord had recognised her potential and instructed him to keep an eye on her. She needed to be protected, even from himself.

The disgusted look in Dumbledore’s eyes as he spilled all the secrets about the prophecy to him so many years ago was still burnt into Severus’ brain. Once he told him about his near uncontrollable urges, that disgust would return tenfold. It made his shame feel all the more unbearable, but he knew, it was nothing less than what he deserved.

~*~

Voldemort opened his eyes and grinned to himself. Poor Severus, finding himself in situations he didn’t understand.

It still amused him to no end that the stoic, lifeless man felt some sort of attraction to the Granger girl. From the first time he deliberately seduced her, Voldemort found a spark within the other man that only needed to be nudged a little to explode into burning lust for the underage student.

How much poor Severus suffered because he held onto such narrow moral views. He would probably abhor the thought of touching her even after she turned seventeen in just two weeks. As though she wasn’t an adult witch with the perfectly soft, inviting body of a woman.

Still grinning, he moved over to the desk in his room and sat down to write a message to Hermione. It was time to slowly trickle in hints that there was someone else in this game.

~*~

Hermione ran her fingers over the small piece of paper for the thousandth time. It had been delivered to her by owl during lunch, with the rest of the post, as was the norm in Hogwarts. When she first opened it, she had beamed and needed to fight to contain her lopsided smile. An invitation by Snape for their first private lesson of the term.

Now though, sitting on her bed, curtains drawn to keep the other three girls from seeing her, she felt very differently.

After their strange interaction at the end of the first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, Hermione had vacillated wildly between excited euphoria and trembling shame. Snape had touched her, actually touched her. And he groaned.

She dreamed about that groan.

It reverberated through her body, making something deep within her belly coil with an unknown heat whenever she remembered it. Before, she always thought her crush was completely one-sided. But that sound. He at least found her attractive, that much was clear.

But whenever she remembered that groan, his reaction immediately afterwards always followed. His face pulled taught in anger, the hissing command to get out. The switch between her Snape and Professor Snape happened so quickly, it caused her whiplash.

Did he hate that he was attracted to her so much? That thought alone was enough that she wanted to bury her head in shame and just drop Defence Against the Dark Arts outright. He didn’t look at her or speak to her at all over the weekend.

Until today. Until the owl delivered the little note with a date and time for their first lesson.

She rolled onto her stomach and propped herself up on her elbows. The longer she stared at the note, the more suspicious she grew.

That was not Professor Snape’s handwriting.

She had obsessed over every single line on every single Potions essay all of last year, and thus knew his handwriting very well by now. It was a sharp scrawl, almost negligent in the way that it was barely readable.

This note here carried a similar sharpness, but each letter was clear and there was an elegance to it that spoke of someone who took their time writing.

Still, this was a note telling her when to come for her private lesson with Snape. Nobody else knew about it, not even Harry and Ron. She very much doubted that he would have told anyone. So who else but him could have sent this note?

She initially planned on burning the note, just to make sure nobody else had any chance of finding it. But now, she felt like it would be better to keep it. At least until she got her next essay back from Professor Snape and could compare his latest handwriting with this. Maybe it had simply changed over the summer holidays. Maybe this was what it looked like when he did not hate every second of his job. She was pretty sure that there were spells out there that could compare handwriting and find out whether it was the same person even if the scripts deviated quite a bit.

She slipped the parchment under her mattress and enchanted it to be invisible to anyone but her. First thing tomorrow, she would visit the library and look for a charm that could help her solve this puzzle.

***

“You’re so selfish sometimes, Mione,” Ron whined.

She took a deep sip from her breakfast tea and tried to remain calm. “You know how little Quidditch matters to me. And this is just try-outs. I don’t know about you guys, but I have so much homework already. I need to catch up.”

“It’s Saturday,” Harry protested. “They can’t expect us to study every single day of the week. Not even you, Hermione.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m taking seven N.E.W.T. courses. I don’t even know where to begin. If I don’t catch up on the weekends, I will be lost.” Hermione avoided looking at them as she lied through her teeth.

Of course, the workload had increased exponentially this year, that part was not a lie. But it was not homework that would keep her from watching the Quidditch try-outs in the afternoon. It was her first lesson with Snape.

“I don’t know what you’re worried about anyway,” she tried to appease Ron. “You’ve been a stellar Keeper all of last year. You managed to bring back the Quidditch Cup even when Harry was banned from playing. You’ll easily get in again this year.”

Ron’s face lit up. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be fine.” She smiled at him and patted his arm.

With everything going on this year, she had never felt more isolated from her two best friends, but there was no helping it. She wanted to study with Snape precisely because she knew that sooner or later, Harry would need all the support he could get. She needed to be prepared. She was doing this for them.

Her eyes drifted towards the teacher’s table and she suddenly gasped.

“Boys,” she whispered to them urgently. “We haven’t even visited Hagrid once since the term started. I bet he’s disappointed that all of us dropped Care of Magical Creatures. We should go to him and explain ourselves.

“Blimey, you’re right!”

Harry groaned. “I don’t know when we’ll have time for that. Dumbledore wants to meet more often now, and with all the homework, it just seems impossible.”

“And I am selfish for not watching Quidditch because I want to do homework?” Hermione teased him.

Harry shot her a dark look, but he still nodded. “Okay, okay. Let’s just all compare time tables when we’re back in the common room this evening, okay?”

She briefly wondered whether she would be back in time, but she still agreed to it. A part of her hoped that she would get to spend many hours in Snape’s company, but realistically, she would probably return for dinner.

She shook her head and took another sip from her tea. This afternoon was about studying. Preparing for the war. She really needed to stop her stupid teenage hormones, regardless of whether her professor returned any kind of feelings or not.

Chapter Text

“So, what you’re telling me is that this whole blood purity thing actually has merit?”

Hermione stared at the open book in front of her in disbelief. She had read it over the summer, slowly, only when nobody was looking, and had been looking forward to discussing it with Snape ever since. But now, she just felt defeated.

One of his long fingers tipped on an image on the open page. “You need to look closer what this is telling you, Miss Granger.”

“I am! I thought I understood but what you just said sounded very much like blood is what decides magic,” she shot back. She was glad that this version of Snape didn’t just shut her up whenever he found her questions annoying.

He sighed and closed the book. “Okay, I see that this is confusing for someone like you.”

Cold anger welled up inside her. “Someone like me? You mean a mudblood?”

He simply smiled. “You sure love to call yourself that. You have to face the truth that you have not grown up in magical society, and have not yet had the time to delve deep enough to understand all the things that come naturally to those with magical parents. Isn’t that why we are here in the first place? Because you realised you lacked knowledge that you will never get at Hogwarts?”

“I just–” Hermione bit her tongue and tried to fight her rage down. “You just said that our magic is bound to our blood. And that having a magical parent makes it much more likely that one is born a witch or wizard as well.”

“Yes,” he agreed, his tone indulgent. “But contrary to popular belief, whether you have magical ancestors or not does not guarantee or exclude you from being a witch. It also has nothing to do with the strength of a witch or wizard.”

“But what that graph implies, according to you,” she retorted, “is that it does make sense to only marry other purebloods because that guarantees magical children.”

“You are not listening, Miss Granger. Calm your emotions, or this lesson ends right here.” For the first time since she got to know this side of Professor Snape, he sounded impatient and almost cruel.

She swallowed. As much as she hated just about everything he was telling her, she did not want to give up this opportunity. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, sir. It’s just hard for me.”

“I understand,” he said a little more friendly. “Now. Again, contrary to popular belief, no amount of magical ancestry can guarantee all children will be magical as well. Having at least one witch or wizard somewhere among your ancestors increases the likelihood that you are born a witch or wizard, but that increase does not increase further just because you add more magical ancestors. Similarly, just because you don’t have any magical parents, grandparents or other relatives does not prevent you from being a witch.”

The look in his eyes told her that he was sincere when he said that, but that little nagging voice deep within her that was always suspicious ever since Malfoy called her mudblood for the first time, that voice was still there. She closed her eyes for a moment before she could bring herself to meet his gaze again.

“But can you know that for certain? I mean, it is possible that I have magical ancestors somewhere, is it not?”

A cold sneer flittered across his lips but quickly disappeared again. “I’ll let you in on a little secret, Miss Granger. Whenever the precious purebloods come across a particularly gifted muggleborn, they spend a lot of time and money into digging up their ancestry. Believe me. The first time Draco complained about you to his father, they would have looked into your family. And if there was even a single drop of magic in your blood somewhere, we would know it, because they’d whisper about it to every other pureblood, just to assure each other that their world view is still correct. So, no. It is not possible that you inherited your magic. You are a true muggleborn witch. And you are far from being inferior just because of that.”

She blushed furiously at his compliment. The thought of the Malfoys digging into her family history, on the other hand, was a less appealing picture. She could easily believe Snape’s words, it sounded very much like something Draco would have his father do, regardless of how creepy it was.

“Okay,” she breathed. “So, what does blood have to do with magic then?”

“Our magic lives within our blood. Blood of witches and wizards can be used as potions ingredients because it has magical properties itself. The stronger a wizard, the more potent his blood.”

“It really sounds as though magic is something genetic,” she mumbled to herself, but she let it drop. She would drive herself mad if she tried to apply muggle scientific logic to actual magic. “From the book it sounded like you can use your own blood or that of others to create powerful curses. Is it just a question of how powerful the used blood is, then?”

“There are some potions that call for generic magical blood, and in those cases, it usually is better to use blood of more powerful wizards.” He folded his hands into each other and levelled a challenging look at her. “But that’s not really what blood magic is about. It’s not how blood is typically used.”

She licked her lips as she held his gaze. “Right. Because the blood remains part of the body even after it’s spilled. That’s why curses targeting blood are so vicious. They always attack the whole body, even if they start out in only one spot.”

He nodded. “Precisely. It was a good thing I found you immediately after Dolohov’s curse hit you. It was already starting to spread through your veins. We needed to first stop the spread and then reverse its effects.”

His eyes moved down to where the curse had hit her. Hermione knew that she would bear the scar of the attack for the rest of her life. Vainly, she wished that it would have hit any other part of her body. Something that was not her breasts.

She lowered her eyes and blushed. How could Snape stare so unabashedly at her breasts even if they were discussing the curse? Were they of so little interest to him that he saw no issue with that?

He cleared his throat and when she looked up again, she caught a sly grin on his lips. “Do not worry, Miss Granger. No man of any worth will think lesser of you just because you carry battle scars.”

She really wanted to ask him whether he thought lesser of her, but she buried her teeth in her bottom lip and swallowed the question. Instead, she got back on topic. “So, what’s next?”

He didn’t answer immediately, but instead seemed suddenly transfixed by her lips. She could feel her blush deepen, too aware that she tended to bite her lips a lot when she felt insecure.

Snape cleared his throat again and pushed the book back to her. “This book has a lot of theory, but no actual spells or rituals. As homework, I want you to come up with one aggressive and one defensive use of your own blood. Not as an essay, Miss Granger,” he teased her just as she opened her mouth to ask how many inches of parchment he expected, “you will not write any of this down. Do it as a thought experiment and explain it to me next week.”

She nodded emphatically. “Of course, you’re right. It wouldn’t be good if someone found that.”

Hermione waited for him to say something more, but he simply looked at her. For a second, she felt dread rise in her again—had she done something wrong? Was she supposed to say something? —until it hit her that with the homework assignment, the lesson was now over. She scrambled to her feet and quickly stuffed the book into her bag.

“Thank you, sir.”

He rose as well and stepped around the desk to stand directly in front of her. She could see that he was contemplating something as his eyes moved between her shoulders, her lips, and her eyes. She waited with baited breath, hoping against all sense that he would kiss her.

“I can see that scar is still bothering you,” he suddenly whispered. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

She had to slap both her hands over her mouth to stop a childish squeal from escaping. Did this man not know what his voice did to her? How could he say these words with such a sincere tone and with his deep, velvety voice?

Again, she fought down the urge to ask him what he thought about her altered breasts. No good could come from that. But still, she felt his sincerity merited at least a little bit of the truth. “I think … I just need to hear from someone I like, once I show him, that he doesn’t care. That he still finds me beautiful.”

From one second to the next, he had her pinned against the desk, one hand on her hip, the other on her face. The determined look in his eyes made her shiver in expectation. His long fingers held her securely as his thumb grazed over her lower lip. She could feel his body press into hers, see the fire in his eyes as their breaths mingled. Her own hands were uselessly curled into his dark robes while her bottom was pressed against his desk.

“You have no idea how breathtaking you are, Miss Granger,” he whispered. “I wish I could hold you like you deserve to be held.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest and mixed with the rising heat between her thighs. Since that moment after the DADA class, she had feared that it was only lust he felt for her. As miraculous as it was that he returned her crush at all, what she really wanted was his love.

“You can, sir,” she told him breathlessly. “If you want to, you can.”

“Yeah?” His voice sounded thick and hungry. “Do you want to have a lesson on Thursday? After dinner?”

Thursday. Her birthday. When she turned seventeen. Her whole body grew tense under the implication. Once she was an adult, this whole thing would be so much easier. She licked her lips, suddenly anxious at the thought.

His other hand slipped from her hip to her thigh where it slowly lifted her skirt until he could touch her skin. Her stomach was coiled into a knot, hot with desire but also burning with apprehension.

“It’s okay,” he said soothingly. “I just want to see you on your birthday, that is all.”

She leaned into his hand cradling her face. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I want to, sir.”

A wide smile lit up his face at the same time as his eyes turned darker. “You’re such a good girl, Miss Granger. So brave. I will take good care of you, I promise. I will always take good care of you.”

She sighed as pride and relief flooded her system. For a moment, she had feared that she disappointed him, but of course, Snape was ever patient with her. There was no reason to be anxious. She had dreamed about this for a year now.

His hand on her thigh moved up just a bit, but it was enough to send a shiver down her spine. His thumb was almost touching the outside of her panty line and she felt so unbelievably sensitive. Her whole body went rigid as she tried not to jerk away. She wanted this. She wanted to feel his hands on her, caressing her, loving her.

He chuckled softly. “I’m sorry. You’re making it very hard on me to control myself.”

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, sir. I don’t even know what I’m doing, I swear,” Hermione choked out as she pushed away her jitters. She hated that she knew so little.

His smile turned into a grin that left her feeling like a mouse in front of a snake. His hand closed harder around her neck. “Are you truly sorry, Miss Granger?”

She nodded furiously. “I am, yes!”

Snape cocked his head. “Yes what?”

She almost yelped. “Yes, sir!”

“Good girl,” he purred, his tone low and husky. “Now, do you want a chance to make it right?”

She nodded again. “Yes, sir!”

“That’s my girl,” he praised her. “Now, don’t be alarmed. I just want to show you what it is you’re doing to me.”

With that, he parted her thighs wider and slotted his hips against her. Something hot and hard pressed against her. Her eyes grew big. “Oh.”

He dipped his head until his forehead came to rest on her shoulder. “Fuck. Shouldn’t have done that. Merlin, you feel divine.”

She fisted her hands into his long hair and pulled him closer. Now that she could feel him between her legs, every thought of uncertainty or shame went out the window. She wanted this. She had never wanted anything so badly as this. Instinctively, she rolled her hips against him.

He growled in response and gripped her thighs harder as he guided her to repeat the motion. She held onto him, letting him take control as he rutted against her. She gasped for air, embarrassed how that came out as needy whines, but unable to stop it. With each roll of her hip, Snape grunted.

“Professor,” she sighed, completely entranced by the rhythm of his motions.

He instantly stilled. Breathing heavily, he let his hands trail over her hip, up her sides, until they found her shoulders and pulled her slightly away.

“Let’s not get carried away, Miss Granger. Do you see now how hard you make it for me?” He sounded strained, as though he suddenly was displeased with her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she repeated. She wanted to explain to him how she never expected that he’d like her back, how she just assumed that because he was so much older, it wouldn’t affect him like that. That he’d always be in control of himself because he was an adult. But all of that sounded so childish to her own ears that she remained quiet.

Before she had a chance to sink deeper into her spiralling thoughts, he took her hands into his and looked at her seriously. “You did good today. You have grasped a complex subject rather quickly for someone who didn’t even know blood curses existed a couple of weeks ago. We will continue this lesson on Thursday. And if you impress me again then, I will make it a birthday you will never forget.”

“Okay,” was all she could say to that.

After so many years of his insults and sneers, so much praise made her head spin. She would do anything to have him continue showering her in praise.

She believed him when he told her it would be a birthday she’d never forget.

Chapter Text

When Hermione returned to the common room, only Harry was waiting there for her. She looked around the busy crowd for a moment, but Ron’s red hair was nowhere to be seen. Frowning, she plopped down on the armrest of the sofa Harry was sitting on.

“Where’s Ron?”

Harry grimaced. “In bed.”

She let out a deep sigh. “Try-outs didn’t go well?”

“I don’t know what happened. It’s like Ron never played Keeper before. Or been on a broom, for that matter.” He threaded both hands through his unruly black hair. “Didn’t help that McLaggen was unbelievably good.”

“Uuugh, seriously?” Hermione groaned. She quickly looked around them and lowered her voice. “Did you seriously let Cormac join the team?”

Harry shrugged apologetically. “He was by far the best. I know he’s a knob, but he’s an even better Keeper than Oliver. At least in try-outs.”

“Just make sure to keep him in line,” she whispered. “I have a feeling that he’s not someone who knows how to take a no. In any regard.”

“Ginny’s told me the same. She’s proud of me that I didn’t let my friendship with Ron cloud my judgement, but … I don’t know.” Harry hung his head.

“He’s angry?”

“It’s like back during the Triwizard Tournament. All that stupid stuff how I am the Chosen One and of course can’t have a best friend who’s a Quidditch star.” He glanced at Ginny who sat closer to the fireplace, deep in conversation with a friend. “As though we don’t have any other problems.”

Hermione put an arm around Harry’s shoulders and lowered her voice further. “You know how Ron is. He’ll come around. I’m sorry, too. I should’ve been there.”

He leaned his head against her arm and closed his eyes, mumbling almost to himself, “What could you have done?”

“I don’t know. I just feel like if I’d been there, I could’ve prevented this.”

A grin flittered across Harry’s lips. “Short of hexing McLaggen, I don’t think you could’ve prevented this.” He straightened up again and looked at her. “Anyway. What’s done is done. Do you want to compare time tables? Ron’s the same as mine anyway.”

She returned the smile, but couldn’t help the lingering feeling of dread. If she knew anything about Ron, he would be intolerable for the next few weeks. Knowing all his siblings who liked Quidditch made house team no problem while he lost his spot after just one year had to hurt. Even being prefect didn’t make up for it, especially since he hated all the duties involved and always complained that it came with too little privileges.

All the euphoria she felt after her lesson with Snape had vanished. The boys and their stupid obsession with Quidditch.

~*~

Voldemort found himself holding the cup again. Ever since Bella returned it to him, he felt the need to touch it. Just like he hated it when Nagini wasn’t close, he now realised how powerful his Horcruxes made him feel when he held them.

He carefully stored it back inside the cabinet in the master bedroom and sealed it tight. Bella had no idea what it was that she brought back to him, but he had seen in her eyes that she too could feel the energy radiating from the cup. She was almost hesitant to let go of it.

He was tempted to do the ritual right away. Break the cup to remove the part of his soul from it and reunite it with himself. He hated the body he currently inhabited. Whatever Wormtail concocted, it was not stable. Worst of all, he looked nothing like he used to. While he enjoyed the fear that his presence alone now instilled in everyone, he missed the power his good looks used to give him. People were vain. They were primed to listen to anything as long as it came from someone with a pretty face.

But he knew, without the blood of his enemy, he might produce an even worse version of his body. So he had to wait until sweet little Hermione delivered what he needed.

“Come, Nagini,” he hissed to his snake. “Time for dinner.”

His ever-steady companion slithered down from the bed and to his feet. She rarely spoke these days, but he knew she understood him better than any of his Death Eaters. Having a part of himself inside a living being brought perks with it. For one, Nagini was smarter than any snake could ever be. She also shared his thought patterns and could anticipate his moves before anyone else.

Together, they descended to the dungeon of Malfoy Manor. He made a point of crossing through the dining room, even though it wasn’t necessary. The whole family, including all Lestranges, were just about to finish their meal.

“My lord!” Lucius instantly was on his feet and bowed.

Rabastan and Rodolphus followed suit, while Bella and Narcissa stayed seated. He slowly strode over to Bellatrix and put his hand on her shoulder. “Are you up for some fun?”

She grinned from ear to ear. “Always, my lord!”

He moved her chair back and helped her get up. “Please, don’t let this disturb your dinner. We’re just going to watch Nagini feed. I hear we have a new prisoner to welcome today, curtesy of the Snatchers.”

Instantly, four faces turned pale, though Lucius admirably tried to keep his composure. His voice sounded only a little strained as he replied, “Yes, Mr Patil was brought in today.”

Voldemort cocked his head. “Remind me, what was his crime again?”

“He wants to go back to India with his whole family because he feels the climate in Britain is no longer welcoming,” Bella purred into his ear.

“Well, let this be a lesson to everyone that actions usually are better than words. If he wanted to run, he should’ve done that before announcing his displeasure quite so openly.”

He let out a short cruel laugh, relishing the fact that outside of Bella, nobody else joined in. Even the usually unflappable Rabastan looked rather green around his nose. Inwardly, Voldemort smiled. Fear was still the best method to rule.

He gestured to both Nagini and Bella to follow him. Down in the dungeons, a delicious meal waited for his favourite snake. A worm like Patil surely didn’t have need of two functioning legs. Fresh, live meat was still the best way to feed a python.

~*~

Severus sat in front of his fireplace, a cup of cold coffee in his hands, and stared into the flames. It was long after midnight and his body demanded sleep, but he refused to give in. Whenever he closed his eyes and dozed off, he saw Granger’s face, contorted by lust, and felt her fingers, curling into his hair.

It was so wrong. Sickening. That any part of him thought of his underage student in this way was worse than anything he ever did for the Death Eaters.

Worst of all, he was unsure whether those were just dreams, fantasies conjured up by his subconscious, or whether it was a memory. Too many gaps, too many strange images swirling around in his mind made it hard to grasp what had really happened and what was just his imagination.

Whatever the case, he needed to make sure that the girl stayed away from him. He could see that for whatever reason, she fancied him. In typical Gryffindor fashion, she was distinctly not subtle in the way she watched him. Especially when she tried to pretend she didn’t.

He had contemplated telling Albus about this, but quickly decided against it. He would only receive judgement. The headmaster was too busy giving Potter private lessons anyway.

He took one deep gulp from the cold coffee. He would be damned if he fell asleep tonight.

~*~

After Ron did not come out of his bed all Sunday, Hermione was prepared for the worst at breakfast on Monday. He still somehow managed to outdo all her worries.

“I hope your study time was worth it,” he snapped as soon as he took his spot opposite her.

“Excuse me?”

Ginny gently nudged her from the side. “Ignore him, Hermione.”

“Yeah, Hermione. Better ignore me, like you always do,” Ron growled.

With a huff, Hermione sat down her cup of tea and glared at him. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there, okay? But that wouldn’t have changed anything. Stop being childish.”

“Right, childish stupid Ron. Can’t be anything but a laughing stock anyway, am I right?” The sneer on his face was highlighted by the dark lines under his eyes.

Hermione felt like a completely different person sat before her. Of course, Ron had a hot temper, but this was far out even for him. She calmly breathed out through her nose and tried to keep her own rising annoyance out of her voice. “It sucks that you didn’t make the team. And again, I’m sorry I wasn’t there. But nobody is laughing about you, okay? And it’s not the end of the world. It’s just Quidditch.”

He scoffed derisively. “Just because you are rubbish at flying doesn’t mean nobody else cares about it.”

He wanted to hurt her because he was angry and embarrassed. She knew that. She understood that. But it was unfair that he directed it all at her. “Why are you even angry with me? Shouldn’t you be mad at Harry, if anyone?”

“Hey, woah, Hermione,” Ginny immediately cried, “That’s not fair to Harry. He was just doing his job!”

“And I was just studying!” Hermione shot back.

“Studying, always studying. Always in the library. You know books can’t get you off, right?” Ron’s words were dripping with venom as he stared her down from the other side of the table.

Hermione gaped at him, unable to process what he just said. Any restraints came lose. With flushed cheeks, she barked, “What, and you can?”

“Hermione!” Suddenly, Harry felt it appropriate to raise his voice. “That was too far. Calm down!”

It was as though he slapped her. Blinking, she stared at Harry and tried to comprehend what he was talking about. “I need to calm down?”

“Everyone needs to calm down,” Ginny tried to interject, but nobody was listening to her.

“I have every right to be angry! You’re supposed to be my friend, Hermione. Friends should be there for each other.” Ron’s voice slowly got loud enough that the rest of the breakfast table could hear him.

Harry poked him with his elbow and nodded down the table to remind him that everybody could hear him. “Okay, listen, I’m sorry. I should’ve taken you as Keeper. I know you’re usually better than what we saw on Saturday. I should’ve taken that into account.”

“I’m not even mad at you anymore, mate,” Ron quickly retorted. “You’re the captain, you have to take the best player. I get that.”

“So, what? I’m the only bad guy here?” Hermione asked him, incredulous that any of this made sense inside Ron’s head.

Three pairs of eyes turned towards her. Ron glared at her and she could see in Ginny’s and Harry’s eyes that they expected her to apologise for what she said. Cold nausea flooded her stomach.

They didn’t even know why she had to study on Saturday. That it was all for Harry and the upcoming war. That she was willing to go above and beyond to prepare for what was coming. She studied and involved herself in the Dark Arts, risking the disapproval of all the teachers and her friends, because she truly wanted to help Harry.

She spent all her Sunday thinking of ways to use blood to protect Harry. She did not study one second because she was so wrapped up in wanting to be prepare for his sake.

And here they sat, judging her, just because she clapped back at Ron’s outrageous insult. Tears pricked her eyes. All these two boys did this year was make her feel worse and worse about herself.

She blinked away the tears and glared at them. “Alright. I’ll apologise. But only if Ron does, too.”

“Typical,” Ron hissed. “You can only admit you’re wrong if everybody else does too. You’re never wrong on your own.”

She nodded slowly. That was the answer she expected. As much as it hurt, right now, Ron was too angry to see sense. The only thing left to do for her was leave. If she stayed in this situation for even one more second, she would actually start to cry.

Without another word, she grabbed her bag and hurried out of the Great Hall.

Chapter Text

Voldemort had to remind himself to be patient. As much as he needed Harry’s blood, he couldn’t ask too directly for it. Even naïve little Hermione would get suspicious if he did. He would bide his time and steer the conversation into the right direction. With how quick her mind was, she would surely pick up on his meaning even if he didn’t spell it out.

The door to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom opened with a soft creak. A slightly flushed Hermione Granger slipped in and closed it behind herself again. She had a nervous energy about her, a mix of excitement and a hint of fear. It was clear that her mind was already making up all kinds of scenarios of what could happen today. If he were in his own body, he would have devoured her on the spot.

But he was not, and Severus did not deserve to feel this perfect little girl in all her innocence.

He fixed Hermione with a stern gaze as she hurried through the rows of desks. With one raised eyebrow, he pointed to his magical watch. “You’re late, Miss Granger.”

She dropped her schoolbag to the ground and nodded quickly. “I know, and I’m sorry, sir. Ron needed my help with an essay and it took longer than I thought.”

He gestured her to sit down, though his eyebrow remained raised. “You helped Mr Weasley? I was under the impression you weren’t on speaking terms.”

Her blush deepened as her jaw worked for a moment. It was clear to him that she was swallowing whatever emotions she truly felt. Her voice sounded uneven when she replied, “We’re friends. We never stay mad at each other for long.”

He leaned back and ran one finger over his lips, studying her. His plan scheduling the first lesson on a Saturday when the Gryffindor team held try-outs had very obviously worked. The fight between her and her friends had been a spectacle on Monday that remained the focus of all gossip, even among the teachers. Now, only four days later, that was all forgotten?

“Seeing as you are late, I feel like you owe me more than a simple sorry, Miss Granger,” he told her, his gaze containing a hint of displeasure.

She shrank down in her chair. “I truly am sorry, sir. You know I’m not usually late.”

“If you are so very sorry, then you will explain this to me,” he growled.

She looked at him like a mouse in front of a snake. “Sir?”

“Your quarrel with Mr Weasley, and how you patched that up so easily again. Explain it to me, and maybe I’ll overlook your tardiness.”

She lowered her eyes, clearly unwilling to tell him anything. Just when he was about to push her further, she sighed deeply. “Fine. There’s not much to tell anyway. Ron was mad I wasn’t there for try-outs, so we had a little tiff on Monday. He said I have to apologise, I demanded he do the same, he refused, and that was that.”

He could see her ball her hands into fists before she pressed the next part out through clenched teeth. “I apologised yesterday. Because I remembered that we’re at war and this stupid fight was meaningless in the grand scheme of things. Harry needs both Ron and me and I’ll be damned before I am the one fucking this up.” She gasped and threw her hands before her mouth. “Sorry, sir, I didn’t mean to swear.”

Voldemort propped his elbows up on the desk and rested his chin on his folded hands. She really was a Gryffindor, loyal to the core, even when others wronged her. It would be harder than he initially thought to turn her. But he could feel her anger simmer deep within her, as much as she tried to suppress it. It would boil over sooner or later. He just needed to make sure he was there when it happened, and then guide it.

He relaxed his face and offered her one upturned corner of his mouth as a gesture of appreciation. “I want you to feel at ease in my presence. If you need to swear, do it. I’m used to much worse.”

She nodded mutely. He was tempted to slip into her mind and delve deeper into whatever emotions she felt at this moment, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. Not yet, anyway. She would surely feel the difference between Severus and Voldemort, and he needed her to be in the dark for a little while longer.

“I accept your apology.” Her small frame instantly opened up as a wide smile bloomed on her face. Her thirst for his approval would never fail to amuse him. With a simple tilt of his head, he magically sealed the door to the classroom. “Now. Let’s discuss your homework.”

He heard her little sigh of relief, but refrained from commenting on it. He had teased her enough for the moment.

Hermione leaned forward in her chair and put both hands on the table. “I thought about what would be most useful to Harry in the future. I came up with different scenarios of what might happen, how the war might unfold once it got hot. And that got me thinking, what if he needed to run. Like, hide from Voldemort and his Death Eaters somewhere even the Order might not know.”

He nodded along, following her words as she went into more and more detail about what she envisioned the future would look like. It was clear that she spent more than just a couple of days thinking about this. Hermione Granger wanted to be prepared for every single scenario. And he had to admit, she was thinking more clearly and more in depth than he had expected.

“Anyway,” she cut her long explanation short, blushing as though she realised for how long she had been talking. “My point is that I think it might be useful for him if he could have something that would give him protection on the spot. My thinking was that he could carry a vial of his own blood with him that, if poured onto the ground, would erect a safety barrier around him. Like a ten-metre circle containing all sorts of protection spells. Just in cases of emergency when he doesn’t have the time to do the casting himself.”

Voldemort couldn’t help the smile that spread across his lips. She really was clever. It was one of the more basic uses of blood, but it was powerful if done right. And if she worked with him on creating the spells, he’d easily be able to sneak in a backdoor that would allow himself to get through any barrier thusly created. Especially if he had access to the blood himself. He saw no downside in helping her with it.

He kept his voice steady as he replied, “That is a very complex, very advanced thing you are talking about, Miss Granger.”

She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought it might be a good idea.”

“You misunderstand me,” he said gently, “I’m not saying it can’t be done. On the contrary, I feel like this is precisely what you should be looking into. I just want to caution you that this might take some time to create. And that we might need more of Potter’s blood than initially thought.”

Hermione instantly sat up straighter again and looked at him with sparkling eyes. “Really? You think it can be done?”

He nodded indulgently. “Yes. If you manage to get Potter to donate some blood, that is.”

She chewed on her lip as she contemplated that. He needed her to understand the full extent of this ask. Carefully, he ran two fingers over her right hand that was still splayed on the table. It twitched as though she meant to remove it, but then she just looked at him with trepidation in her eyes.

“You’ll need to be careful when you talk to him about this,” he explained, resting his hand lightly on hers without actually holding it. “This is blood magic and as such, it is very much frowned upon by everyone. He should not talk to anyone else about it, not even Weasley. Or the headmaster, for that matter. You’ll need to make that clear to him.”

She let out a deep, long sigh and rested her forehead on the table. Without looking up, she muttered, “Harry will love that. He’s so happy that Professor Dumbledore finally treats him like an adult that he wants to share just about everything with him.”

He let her stew on that problem for a moment longer. The way Hermione let her guard down fully just now, showing her exhaustion and annoyance at her best friend so openly, was a triumph that Voldemort revelled in. There was no world where this stubborn little witch would have slumped down in her chair, face against the desk, in the presence of an esteemed professor if not for his work all last year.

She was comfortable around Severus, and Voldemort fully intended to make use of that.

Without giving her time to even raise her head, he slipped his hand under hers and brought it to his lips. Her whole body jerked as she sat up straight once she felt his lips on her fingertips. A furious blush bloomed on her cheeks and quickly spread down her neck. Her eyes were wide, her mouth open, and he could feel her hand tremble as he held it.

He continued to stare directly into her eyes as her slowly pulled her hand even closer and feathered another kiss against her knuckles.

This time, she squealed and ripped her hand away. Voldemort almost chuckled, but he quickly fought it down and displayed a look of humbled shame instead. He dropped his hand to his lap and ran his tongue over his lips as though he was nervous.

“I apologise, Miss Granger. That was highly inappropriate.” He paused, looked away briefly, and then returned his gaze to her. “I have overstepped with you several times already. I shouldn’t have done that. Say the word, and I’ll constrain myself better in the future.”

Hermione clasped her hands together, her right pressing her left against her chest, while her eyes were still wide in shock. It clearly took a moment for his words to register. Once she understood his meaning, she paled and instantly leaned forward, grabbing his hand again.

“No,” she cried out, “no, please don’t misunderstand me like that. I’m not … you didn’t overstep. I don’t want you to constrain yourself in the future. On the contrary.”

Voldemort raised his eyebrows in what he thought would be a hopeful look. “On the contrary?”

Her blush deepened and he watched in fascination as she swallowed thickly in search of courage. The lion might be the symbol of Gryffindor, but right now, all Voldemort could see was a little mouse. Big round eyes, a trembling lip, the body frozen in panic. The perfect prey for a snake.

Hermione gripped his hand harder. “This all is highly inappropriate, but I don’t care. I enjoy your attention. More than I have ever enjoyed attention from … anyone, really.”

He allowed that statement to sit between them for several heartbeats. He simply held her gaze, bathing in the barely contained adoration in her eyes. Voldemort witnessed the change in her as it happened. The longer he stayed silent, just allowing her words to sit with them, allowing her to look at him, the heavier her breathing grew. She struggled to endure the silence, struggled to keep up her determination. She understood his silence as acceptance, but she needed more. This innocent witch was so easy to read, even without slipping into her mind.

“Come here,” he whispered as he rose from his chair.

As though she had only waited for his command, she shot up and rounded the desk. In a careful show of hesitation, he put his hands on her upper arms and stepped close enough to trap her against the desk. Her breath fanned over his face, rapid, shallow gasps that betrayed her state of anxiety.

Even in Severus’ body, Voldemort could feel the warmth and softness of her. She was a delectable little treat that wanted to be devoured.

It was time to celebrate her seventeenth birthday.

Chapter Text

“I still owe you a birthday present,” he murmured as he pulled her closer.

Hermione fidgeted in his arms, unable to look him in the eye, but with an alluring blush spreading over her cheeks. “I don’t expect you to give me anything.”

Carefully, he lifted her until she sat on the edge of the teacher’s desk. Her hands splayed on the surface, looking for purchase, while she was still unable to look up. She showed all the nervousness of an inexperienced teenager. Innocence wrapped in the packaging of a soft, womanly body.

Voldemort licked his lips. He hated that he couldn’t actually feel her. Even when he fully overtook Severus, any touch, any caress was just an echo of the real thing. He would need to make sure she quenched his thirst for her through the two senses that were unimpeded: sound and sight.

Slowly, he ran his hands up her arms until they came to rest on her shoulders, his thumbs just reaching her throat. He stepped between her legs and leaned down to whisper into her ears, “You will trust me, won’t you, Hermione?”

He felt her shiver under his fingers as she nodded.

“Use your words, girl. I need your express consent.”

Finally, she looked up at him. There it was, that fear, that hesitancy. This witch didn’t know what she wanted, and any freedom he allowed only made her more anxious. Yes. What she needed were clear instructions. Orders. Something she had to follow with no time to think about it.

“I will trust you, sir,” she breathed.

He squeezed her shoulders just enough to make her tremble. “Good girl.”

Her gaze dropped immediately, but he had seen how her pupils dilated. Oh, she wanted to be a good girl for him. She wanted it so much. Today, he would show her the pleasures that being a good girl could give her.

With deliberate leisure, he slid his fingers to the row of buttons on her blouse. Her breath hitched as he opened the first button, but she remained quiet and unmoving. Every button he opened, her breath got more unsteady and her blush spread. Every time his fingers grazed her exposed skin, she trembled, though she always quickly suppressed it. Her head was turned away, eyes fixed on some spot on the floor, her hands balled into fists.

Merlin, he could almost taste her anxiety. He wanted to run his tongue over her hastened pulse, but Voldemort knew, it would not satisfy him. That faded reflection of what she really tasted like would only leave him wanting more.

He stopped just above her navel. Almost as slowly as he opened the buttons, he ran his hands back up. Gently, he slid his fingers under the white fabric and eased it off her shoulders. Hermione let out the prettiest little gasp and stopped breathing altogether.

It was not as if he—or Severus for that matter—hadn’t seen her like this before. The purple scar between her breasts spoke of the many weeks she had spent half undressed in his presence. But for her, this was completely new.

And she was so very, very scared.

Chuckling silently, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss just at the outer stretches of her scars. Hermione let out a shuddering breath, half moan, half sob. Suddenly, her hands were on his shoulders, pushing him away.

He straightened back up and forced her to turn his head towards him. “You said you would trust me, Hermione.”

She flinched and instantly let her hands drop to her sides again. For several heartbeats, she opened her mouth, intent on saying something, then closed it again, only to clear her throat and try again. Finally, she met his gaze with a hint of courage. “I did. I do. I don’t want to disappoint you, sir.”

He gripped her jaw harder. “Then relax and trust me.”

“I just … I don’t know what to do. I should be doing something, right? Can’t you tell me what I should be doing?” She sounded breathless, eager, but the way her gaze flitted towards the door every now and again betrayed how uncomfortable she still was.

He swallowed a groan and forced himself to stick to the script. “This is meant to be a present, Hermione. You’re supposed to relax and not do anything. Today is all about you, okay? I promised you I would take care of you.”

“Okay,” she whispered, clearly not understanding what that meant.

“Put your hands a little further behind you and lean back,” he told her. If she looked for guidance, her would give it to her.

She followed his words instantly, innocently presenting her perfect décolleté just as he liked it. Before he could stop himself, he slipped his right hand under her bra and pushed it up. A strangled sound, something between a gasp and a groan, escaped her throat, but she instantly buried her teeth in her bottom lip and suppressed any other sound from escaping.

Truly an innocent soul.

He used both hands to cup her breasts, marvelling at how soft and perfect they felt even in a foreign body. Hermione Granger was a sight to behold. Presenting herself to him so openly, yet feeling so much shame that her face was burning hot. Unconsciously pressing her upper body into his touch, yet unable to look at him or herself.

He continued to knead her breasts with his left hand, while his right travelled further down. Her breath came in quick, shallow puffs, stifled by the way she bit her lip, and she still didn’t dare to look at what was happening. When his fingers slid under the hem of her skirt, barely touching her thigh, she jolted and whipped her head around to stare at him.

Voldemort rolled one of her nipples between his fingers and smiled. “Trust, Miss Granger. Trust.”

An almost animalistic gasp tore from her throat and finally, she allowed her eyes to take in what was happening. He watched her as she stared at her exposed breasts, as she drank in the way his hand cupped her, kneading her, groping her. He watched as her eyes travelled lower to where his hand was slowly raising up her skirt and exposing the creamy whiteness of her thigh.

He watched her as panic, need, anxiety, and utter, uninhibited lust flicked through her eyes.

~*~

Hermione had long lost any sense of what was reality. Was this actually happening? Was she really sitting on Professor Snape’s desk, one of his hands under her skirt, the other on her boobs, as he made her shiver and tremble and yearn like she never did before?

She had dreamed of his hands, of his touch, for so long, and now that it was happening, she wanted more. She wanted him to rip every last piece of fabric from her body and put his hands on every millimetre of her skin. She wanted him to bury one finger, no two—three—inside her. She wanted him to kiss her like there was no tomorrow.

She wanted to run away and hide from the world forever.

How did people do this? The sounds she made were obscene. He would think she was insane if she let out any of those desperate moans that she swallowed. How could anyone let someone else touch them in this way without dissolving in an embarrassing pool of groans and cries and sobs?

“You’re thinking too much.” His voice was nothing but a deep, vicious growl.

Hermione barely had time to register the blazing look in his eyes before she was pushed onto her back. Wide-eyed, she stared up at him as he closed one hand around her throat.

“This is your birthday present, Hermione,” he hissed, low and demanding, “so you better pay attention and enjoy it.”

Instinctively, her hands clawed into his arm. She knew, intellectually, that he wouldn’t really hurt her, but the way his fingers pressed into her skin was just enough to trigger some primal, feral fear within her. Senselessly, she tried to remove his hand, but he held her where she was.

At first, she didn’t even notice that his other hand slid between her legs. Only when one finger swirled around that one sensitive spot did she realise what was happening. With her mouth open, she stopped struggling against his grip. Her hands were still wrapped around his arm, but she no longer paid it any attention.

He repeated the motion, more insistent this time. Despite her efforts, a pathetic little moan escaped her lips. He chuckled and did it again. And again. Each swirl made her gasp and moan, made her body twitch, made her yearn for more. He was touching her exactly right, but it was not enough.

A strange feeling of emptiness crept into her lower abdomen. Heat bloomed there, pulsing with each stroke of his fingers, but it felt lacking. It was a simmering, taunting heat. Enough to drive her mad, not enough to quench her thirst.

As if he had read her mind, two of his fingers suddenly moved further down, stroking her through the thin fabric of her panties. Hermione almost cried out, equally embarrassed by the wetness he surely had to feel and impatient for him to give her even more.

His fingers started a slow pattern, up and down, while the palm of his hand pressed against her little nub. Within seconds, she could feel her panties get drenched in wetness, yet he never stopped. The heat down low spread, making its way down her thighs and up her back, engulfing her, carrying her away.

His eyes, formerly fixed between her legs, flickered upwards, catching her gaze. She almost recoiled from him, from the expression in his eyes. There was a hunger in them that Hermione knew she would never be able to satisfy. His deep black eyes appeared to stare right to the bottom of her soul, as though he wanted to devour her. Or destroy her.

She shivered.

This wasn’t a birthday present. He wanted to take and take only.

And yet.

The longer she held his gaze, the more she lost herself in it. With his fingers between her thighs and his hand around her throat, would it really be that bad if she just let him take her? Nobody had ever looked at her like that. Snape saw her like nobody else did, and he wanted all of her. In this moment, she knew that to be the absolute truth. He wanted every last piece of her.

He wouldn’t let her go until he had devoured everything.

Her hips rolled upwards, pressing harder against his hand. She wanted this. She wanted him. If his hunger for her destroyed her, so be it. All she needed was for him to keep looking at her like that. Only at her.

Suddenly, he jerked her closer to his body, one of his thighs slotted between hers. Pressing against her exactly right. His hand was on her hips, moving her, guiding her. She followed him, pressing her hips against him. A wave of pleasure rolled over her. This was what she needed. His fingers sparked the flames, but this, this stoked the fire to a blazing inferno.

She repeated the motion, arching her back to get a better angle. Yes. This was it. This was perfect. She no longer cared about the sounds she made. Should he hear her desperate cries and whimpers. He showed her his hunger, so she could show him her need.

His hand let go of her hips, as though he knew that she would keep up the rhythm even without his guidance. She had trusted him, and now he trusted her. And during all of this, she couldn’t look away from his eyes.

A harsh streak appeared around his mouth. With a rough yank, he removed her hands from his arm and pushed them up over her head, trapping both her wrists with one hand. Then, his fingers were back on her throat, closing around it, squeezing even harder than before. She gasped for air, suddenly afraid that she might actually die.

“Trust, Miss Granger,” he snarled as her hips faltered. “Don’t stop moving until I say so. This is all for you. So take it.”

Yes. Trust. She said she trusted him. She picked up the rhythm again, using his thigh for her own pleasure. He wanted to see her break. She could see it in his eyes, his eagerness, his demand. She would do as he said. She was a good girl, after all.

His good girl.

Her hips started to move on their own. Weaving up and down, pressing harder and harder against him, her back arching away from the table, her legs twitching. Her ears were filled with her own cries. She longed to run her fingers through his silky hair, but he kept her trapped against the table. His whole body was pressing down on her, his nose only a hair’s breadth from hers.

“I trust you.” She didn’t know why she said that suddenly. It was an urge, springing from deep within her. She couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “I trust you, sir. I’ll always trust you. And I’ll be good, so good. So good for you. I promise. I’ll do anything. Anything.”

“Yesss,” he hissed, his eyes narrowing imperceptibly. “I know you will. You’re such a good girl. So perfect. So willing. Just for me. Mine. Mine.”

He groaned then, a strangled, guttural sound that shot through Hermione’s body and hit her right in her core. He was just as needy as she was. Just as incapable of suppressing those shameful sounds as she was. She moaned in response, picking up the pace, carried by the high of knowing that he was coming undone.

He groaned again, louder this time, unrestrained. She felt him move against her, only once, a stuttering of his hips that was immediately halted. She ignored it. Her whole body felt tight. It was so good, yet too much. Somewhere deep within her, something else beckoned. A promise of relief. She just had to chase it.

His fingers dug deeper into her skin, just as she rolled her hips into the most perfect position and cried out. This was it. The release was so close. Just a little more, just another push.

A wave of tremors rolled over her whole body, shaking her again and again, wrenching sob after sob from her lips. She gasped for air, unable to get enough through his tight squeeze, but her body still rode the wave of her climax.

Her world shrank as her vision started to go blurry around the edges. All she could see were his eyes. Those deep pools that showed a cruel satisfaction as he drank in her despair. His hand closed harder around her throat, his groans turned more feral as her cries died in strangled whimpers.

And still, her body convulsed, pressed against him, greedy to prolong the high. Blurriness turned to black spots until her vision gave out. Under the exploding pleasure, fear crept back up. Raw, feral panic.

She needed to breathe.

Then, everything went blank.

~*~

With a hiss, Voldemort let go of her body. Even through Severus, this little witch was mesmerising. He almost lost himself in her. Ready to squeeze the life out of her. She really did trust him until the very end.

That panic in her eyes had been the most tantalising thing he’d seen since he first took over this body.

She feared for her life and still she clung to him.

Oh, it would be so easy to seduce her. Once she knew that it was not her boring old professor who gave her pleasure beyond her wildest imagination, she would throw all caution to the wind. He knew that now. She would chase this high regardless of where it led her.

Carefully, he rearranged her clothes and smoothed out her sweaty curls. Then, he woke her up, slowly, lovingly. Pressed a kiss against her forehead. Praised her. Held her close. Told her she was a good girl and so brave and so perfect.

With every word from his lips, she melted into his arms. Her embarrassment made way for a proud glow. He helped her back onto her feet, held her as she struggled for balance.

Then he urged her to return to her common room before the curfew. Assured her again how perfect she was. How thankful he was that she had trusted him.

He was rewarded with the prettiest little blush.

Just before she slipped out of the classroom, he reminded her of her homework.

Reminded her that for next week’s lesson, she needed to bring Harry’s blood.

Chapter Text

There was something in the way she looked at him that had changed. Severus couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was there. He was keenly aware that she had turned seventeen just last week, making her the first adult witch in her year. Over the summer, he had seen that Hermione Granger developed a crush on him.

Now, those innocent looks and blushing cheeks turned into something else entirely. Now, she seemed to undress him whenever he noticed her eyes on him. It was no longer a harmless crush like he had seen in so many Slytherin girls before.

Worst of all, his dreams since last Thursday were filled with images of a panting, moaning Hermione Granger, writhing underneath him, promising herself to him. She said all the right things. Everything he ever wanted to hear. She was the perfect vision, innocent truthfulness wrapped in a soft and curvy body.

He watched as she whispered with Potter and Weasley, aiding them in their wand movements while easily casting the new counter curse they were studying. She smiled and laughed and was so very much at ease. So comfortable in her own skin. No longer an awkward teenager, but a grown witch who knew what she wanted.

And even though she wasn’t looking at him more than would be inappropriate, he knew that she drew her confidence from him.

It wouldn’t do. For as much as he had started to enjoy her company over the summer, she was still a student in his care. He needed to make it clear to her that she was living a fantasy that would never come true.

When he dismissed the class, he called her to stay behind. To his dismay, she instantly blushed, even though she tried to hide it from the rest of the students. There was an eagerness in her eyes, an anticipation that spoke of the exact opposite intentions from what he wanted.

Once the last student finally cleared out, he closed the door with a snap of his fingers. Miss Granger stood in front of his desk, schoolbag discarded on the ground, her fingers curled into the folds of her skirt.

“This needs to stop,” he declared without any preamble. “I understand that the healing sessions in summer might have given you fanciful ideas, but I expected better of you, Miss Granger. You of all people should know living in a fantasy can only lead to disappointment and hurt.”

All blood drained from her face. He had expected her to flush an even brighter shade of red in embarrassment, maybe stutter a few words of apology. But what he read in her face now was not that. She looked hurt, confused, and worst of all, deeply ashamed.

“I don’t understand,” she whispered, seeking his gaze. “Did I do something wrong?”

Her quivering voice almost made him want to apologise, but he held strong. “I might just be the cold dungeon bat to you Gryffindors, but that doesn’t mean I am blind to the feelings of my students. I am telling you to stop this now, before you do something you regret.”

“Before I do something I regret?” Hermione shrieked, her voice no longer trembling. Her face was ashen and her hands shook, but her voice sounded dangerously calm. “A little late for that, isn’t it? If this is your way of pulling out, you are far crueller than even Harry suspects.”

Severus raised an eyebrow as he folded his arms in front of his chest. “I am not a kind man, Miss Granger. Please do not interpret any of my actions as acts of kindness. I simply did my job.”

She scoffed as she threw her hands in the air and turned around. For a moment, he believed that she would storm out of the classroom now, but of course, Hermione Granger was too stubborn for that. She stood there, her back turned to him, her shoulders trembling, but very obviously unwilling to let this go.

He sighed. Every year, there would be one or two girls in Slytherin who fancied themselves in love with him. Simply because he was a rather young teacher. He was ugly and cold, even to his own house, yet still they insisted that they liked him. Most of them backed down rather quickly when he implied he knew and disapproved of their feelings. Only very few needed a conversation like this. All of those turned towards the dramatic. It was not entirely new to him, but he would have never expected the golden girl to act out like this.

“I was right,” Granger hissed as she spun back around. “You only take. You want to still your hunger but god forbid you try and give something back. And for a second there, I thought I liked that. That look in your eyes. As though you could never get enough of me. As though you would continue to take and take and never stop. It seemed so honest. As though you allowed me to see a part of yourself nobody else is privy to. And now, you tell me I have to stop?”

Severus frowned. None of that made any sense. Whatever she was talking about had never happened. He unfolded his arms and stepped closer to her, willing her to cower under a withering glare. “You are reading far too much into the way I look at you.”

She took a step back and clutched her arms to her chest, but she didn’t avoid his eyes. He could see the tears forming in her eyes, her trembling lip betraying how close she was to breaking, yet she forced herself to hold her head up high. There was something in her resilience that he couldn’t understand. As though she felt like she was right so deeply that she would never let go.

“I just … I don’t understand. You were the one who pushed this. Yes, I was more than happy to welcome it, but everything we did, it came from you. Why did you do that?” The more she said, the less he understood. To his rising horror, she was now also openly weeping. “You can’t just take like that, sir. Even if I did consent to what happened. You can’t. Please. Please don’t do this.”

She wiped the tears from her cheeks but more streamed down her face. Any bravado that she had displayed before was now gone. In front of him stood a sobbing, utterly distraught young witch who no longer resembled the insufferable know-it-all he had come to know.

Worse yet, her words made no sense to him. Yes, he had to touch her more than was appropriate to heal her, but that was clearly not what she was referring to. An icy, tingling sensation spread over his back.

Did he actually cross a line and do something to her?

Was that why he had so very vivid dreams of her over the past couple of days?

He wanted to grab her and shake her and demand that she tell him everything. But the state she was in made it clear that she would only freak out more. There really was only one option if he wanted to find out what happened.

Severus slid his wand into his hand at the same time as he closed his hand around her neck. She gasped at the touch, but he didn’t care. He peered into her wide eyes and dove into her mind without a second thought.

He didn’t even have to search for it. The scene was first in her mind, replaying over and over. Granger on his desk, grinding against him, his hands on her throat and wrists, holding her captive. His own face, seen through her eyes, full of hunger, ready to devour her. He heard his own groans over her high-pitched cries. Saw his own hips thrust against her core.

With a gasp, he pushed her away and stumbled backwards. He had no memory of this, but he knew, deep in his bones, that this had happened.

Now he understood what she meant that he only took. He didn’t think it was possible, but the expression on his own face in that moment had scared him. That wild, hungry, almost crazed look. As though he wanted to break her into dust. And she had reacted with desire to it.

He grasped the edge of his desk, desperate for something to steady him. His fuzzy memory and strange behaviour had led him down a path way worse than anything he could have imagined. Whatever this was, it was clear now that he was no longer in control of his own body. Severus swallowed against the rising nausea. Even now, in this second, he couldn’t be sure that he wouldn’t black out and do something to Granger.

“You need to leave,” he growled, as coldly and cruelly as he managed.

But of course, she didn’t listen to him. “What was that?”

He glared at her. “Are you daft, girl? Go!”

Her eyes dropped to his hand that was still clutching his wand, then snapped back to his face. “You used Legilimency on me. I felt your magic. But it wasn’t…” She trailed off.

He was ready to grab her and throw her out, but she again surprised him. With a final sob, she wiped away her tears and snatched her bag from the ground. Her honey-brown eyes were soft, yet full of determination as she looked up to him. “I’ll see you on Thursday, sir.”

Then, she turned and hurried to the door, closing it behind her with a steadiness that was too sharp a contrast to her previous devastation. A tremor shook his body as Severus stared at the now closed door.

He needed to tell Albus about it. But how could he do that without admitting that he basically fucked a student? Precious Gryffindor at that.

No. Albus was dying and needed to focus on teaching Potter whatever the boy needed to know. Severus would get to the bottom of this on his own. In the meantime, he would erect his Occlumency shields whenever there was even the slightest possibility that he might interact with Miss Granger.

He would keep her safe, even if she so desperately wanted to throw herself at him.

~*~

No matter how she looked at it, there really was only one possible explanation for everything that had happened.

Severus Snape was possessed.

Hermione groaned as she buried her face in her hands. The library unsurprisingly had little to offer on this topic. That left her with one option to solidify her suspicions, but she really didn’t want to go that route.

Did she really need to confirm her assumption? If she looked back on Professor Snape’s action over the whole past year, it was clear as day that there were not simply two sides to him, but rather two completely different people. Every time she got hurt, every time she felt like she lost her connection to him, made sense when looked at through that lens.

She never actually bonded with Professor Snape. It was someone else entirely who took possession of his body, supposedly without Snape’s knowledge, if his reaction two days ago was any indicator. That his magic felt completely different when he invaded her mind was the strongest confirmation she could have. The one who healed her over the summer holidays was not actually Severus Snape.

Hermione leaned back in her armchair and looked across the common room to where Ginny sat with her friends. If anyone knew what possession felt like, and what signs she should be looking for, it was Ginny.

With a huff, she got up and sidled up to the group of fifth year students. Smiling awkwardly, she tapped Ginny on the shoulder. “Hey. Can we talk?”

The other girl looked at her in surprise, and then suspicion, but to Hermione’s relief, she nodded without any further resistance. They went up to her dorm room, where Hermione quickly drew the curtains and cast a Muffliato around them.

“I see you’re using a spell from the hated Half-Blood Prince book,” Ginny mocked her as she settled on the bed.

Hermione just shrugged. “I still distrust the book, but the spell is useful. Doesn’t matter anyway. I need your help.”

“I’m listening.”

She bit her lips, suddenly hesitant to broach the subject. Even though she had apologised to all three, Ginny still was tense after the small fight between the four oh them the week before. She needed Ginny to keep quiet about this, but also tell her as much as possible.

“I suspect that someone we know is currently being possessed,” she explained slowly. “I don’t want to say who yet, because I’m not sure, and I hope you can keep this between us. But you’re the only one who can give me any actual advice here.”

Ginny stared at here with wide eyes. Then, she squared her shoulders and dropped her guarded glare. “Okay, wow. Sorry I was so angry. It’s kinda easy to get hung up on stupid stuff here at Hogwarts. And forget what’s actually going on outside. Tell me everything. I’ll see whether I can help.”

Relief flooded Hermione. She fell victim to the exact same thing all too easily. But at the end of the day, they all fought on the same side and they all wanted to support Harry as best as they could.

If her suspicion was right and Snape was possessed, that would have devastating implications for all of them. It would be better if Ginny proved her wrong.

But that small, selfish part of her that wanted to suppress any thoughts of war and focus just on herself, that part hoped to learn that this was a case of possession. Because that would mean that somewhere out there, someone truly saw her like she thought Snape saw her. Someone actually longed for her so desperately that they couldn’t keep their hands off her.

She wanted that. More than anything before, she wanted to feel that high again that she had experienced on her birthday. The primal fear mixing with the glorious realisation that this person would never, ever let her go again.

Her heart yearned for that connection.

***

“That’s a lot of blood, Hermione,” Harry protested weakly.

She shot him a dark glare as she put a stopper in the fifth vial. “I already told you I’m experimenting. Most of this will probably be destroyed by the end of it, and I don’t want to have to beg you for more each time I fail.”

He allowed her to heal the little wound on his arm before he rolled down his sleeve again. “I still don’t understand why I can’t tell Ron. This is helping me. He should know. Hell, you should make some for him too!”

Hermione rolled her eyes while she carefully stored the vials with Harry’s blood in a wooden box. “Contrary to you and me, he grew up in a magical family. He’ll have some preconceived notions about blood magic. I really don’t want to hear his endless stream of I-told-you-so’s if I am unable to make anything with this. If it works, we’ll tell him, and he’ll have to acknowledge it’s worthwhile to do. If it doesn’t, he would just parade around and let me know that blood magic is dark and banned for a reason.”

He looked at her warily, shivering in the cool air of the dungeon classroom. “You know he’ll hate that we left him in the dark about this.”

“It’s not my fault that there’s no winning with him,” Hermione snapped.

She was sick and tired of always having to tip-toe around Ron because he felt so miserably inferior to his older brothers—and to Harry. It was time that he grew up. They all had so much bigger worries now with the war looming.

And with Snape obviously being possessed.

She hadn’t shared that with anyone yet, and in the quiet moments of the night, she knew that she wouldn’t ever do it. Not if she could solve this herself. That other person in Professor Snape was someone only she knew. Someone who saw her like nobody else did. He was hers and she didn’t want to give that up.

“Anyway, thanks for the blood, Harry,” she told him and indicated with a nod of her head that they should be leaving.

He stood up sheepishly, as always unsure what to say to her criticism of Ron. She knew he shared her views, regardless of how much he loved his best friend, but he never had the heart to say it out loud.

Shaking her head, Hermione turned to go deeper into the dungeon. She had no time for Harry’s need for harmony. She was already late for her next session with Snape. If she understood the possession correctly, she would be meeting with that mysterious other person, not the professor right now.

And that meant that she would need to act better than she did ever before.

Chapter Text

Voldemort found himself impatiently tapping one of Severus’ fingers onto the surface of the desk. Hermione was already ten minutes late and he began to suspect that her latest conversation with her professor had scared her away.

It was a pity that he had not been able to step in and prevent Severus from so openly showing that he didn’t remember their delicious last meeting. If the girl was even half as smart as she appeared, she would know something was up.

Alas, there was no sense in regretting it now. While he still hoped to exploit her and her connection to the Chosen One to the fullest, his Death Eaters and the intrigue in the ministry were more important. He just had to get her to give him Potter’s blood. If he managed that, he could live with losing the opening she presented. Perhaps there was a way to swindle his way out of it, that would be the best-case scenario.

But the most important thing was the blood.

The door to the classroom opened and a very flushed looking Hermione Granger entered, rushing towards him. As she almost melted into the chair in front of him, she wheezed, “Sorry, professor. Getting the blood took longer than expected. But I have it!”

He blinked. Was that all she had to say to him? Did she not understand what the last conversation she had with Severus meant? He cocked his head as he drank in her sweating face. There was a glossy shimmer in her eyes that matched the red in her cheeks. She had come running, that much was clear.

Did she really not suspect anything?

Even though that suited him better, Voldemort had to admit that he was disappointed. Perhaps he had overestimated how smart she was. She was just a teenager with a crush after all. Unable to see reality for what it was, clinging to her fantasy of dating a professor in secret.

With a sigh, he pushed his rising annoyance away and instead smiled at her. “I’m glad to hear you managed to get it, Miss Granger.”

She beamed at him, the picture of a proud girl basking in the praise of her professor. Without needing to be told, she retrieved a wooden box from her schoolbag and put it in front of him. Voldemort swallowed.

There it was.

The blood of the enemy.

The last ingredient in the ritual.

He would have his body back. He would actually get to live a full life again. Be human again. He fought the urge to laugh. The whole world would see the miracle. Lord Voldemort, returned from the dead not as a monster, but as a human being.

Superior to them all.

Anyone who still had doubts whether his return from the grave was worth it considering his new, monstrous looks would soon have to acknowledge that he indeed was the master of death. A human being elevated to levels they didn’t even dare to understand.

He folded his hands into each other to prevent himself from grabbing the box right away. Hermione didn’t seem to suspect anything, but if he was too eager to get his hands on the blood, it might finally show her that she was not actually talking to her professor.

“Now,” he continued, keeping the smile on his lips. “Where do you want to start?”

~*~

For the last two hours, Hermione had managed to forget that this was not Professor Snape she was working alongside with. She had purposefully exhausted herself before entering the classroom, hoping that sweat and a red face from running would mask her nervous jitters. It had obviously worked as they had not once mentioned the awkward conversation from earlier this week.

Once they started working with Harry’s blood, it was easy for her to ignore that there was someone else in Snape’s body. Everything he taught her was too fascinating, too different from everything she knew. She was captivated and whether he intended to or not, that unknown person lost themselves in their studies as well.

But now, she watched as Professor Snape carefully locked the blood away in a hidden cupboard. It made her uneasy, she had to admit to herself, that she didn’t know who he was. Only now did she realise how much damage someone could cause with Harry’s blood if they had nefarious intent.

She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. No. Whoever this was, it was someone she could trust. He had opened himself up to her in a way that would forever bind them together. He lied to her about who he was, but he didn’t lie about his feelings. She was sure about that.

Slowly, Snape turned back around to her. When she looked up, he immediately caught her gaze. There it was, that bottomlessness in his eyes as he drank her in. Goosebumps erupted on her neck and spread over her whole body.

Whoever was in control, she was sure it was a man. A man who saw her and wanted her.

More courageous now that she knew that she didn’t need to fight against Snape’s sense of propriety as a teacher, she stepped closer to him and gently put her hand on his chest. He didn’t flinch away.

Instead, he closed his large hand around hers and lifted it up. Without breaking eye contact, he pressed his lips against her palm.

“Oh god,” Hermione moaned despite herself.

“You deserve a reward for your good work today, Hermione,” he murmured against her hand.

She bit her lip to stifle another moan. It was pathetic how easily she melted when he simply looked at her. “I’d like that,” she managed to press out.

One corner of his lips turned upwards, twisting his mouth into a roguish grin that made her knees weak. He stepped closer to her, forcing her to stumble backwards until she collided with his desk. There, he dropped her hand and instead slid his fingers under her skirt.

“Do you touch yourself?” His voice was a low hum against her ear.

She nodded mutely, unable to speak with him towering over her, crowding her space. He groaned in response and let the fingers of his right hand travel higher, leaving behind a trail of heated skin that felt like molten lava was slithering over her thigh.

When he reached the seam of her panties, he stilled. His left hand closed around her hip and pressed her against the edge of the desk, trapping her between his body and the hard wood. Hermione let out a shuddering breath just as his lips feathered over her racing pulse.

“How many fingers?”

Dazed, she tried to blink her confusion away. “What?”

“How many fingers do you shove into your pretty little cunt when you touch yourself?” His lips moved against her neck as he growled that.

A fierce blush spread over her whole face. She could feel against her thigh how hard he was, hear in his voice how strained it sounded. It was clear that he liked the thought of her pleasuring herself. And still, she felt too shy to talk about it.

She cleared her throat. He was honest in his desires. He deserved that she was honest too. Despite clearing her throat again, her voice was rough and uneven when she replied, “I don’t … I don’t do that. I’ve never … I leave my knickers on. Only my fingers on … on my … on the outside. Or a … a pillow.”

Merlin, she sounded pathetic and childish to her own ears. Wasn’t she supposed to be a confident, adult witch by now? Why was it so hard to just state clearly what she usually did?

The fingers on her thigh dug deeper into her skin. He remained silent for a moment and Hermione realised that he was struggling to control his breathing. For some reason, her answer had thrown him off guard.

“So you’ve never felt what it’s like to be filled? To have fingers thrust deeply inside you, stretching you, massaging just the right spot?” He growled that, his voice thick with an unspoken need.

Hermione simply nodded. She had dreamed about his fingers, but whenever she tried to slip her own under her panties, she felt too embarrassed to actually do anything. If it weren’t his fingers, it just didn’t feel right.

“I will teach you,” he declared.

He leaned away from her just enough so he could look into her eyes. His expression was ravenous, a hunger barely contained by the last shreds of a rational mind. Hermione shivered. All of a sudden, she wondered whether he would just take her right here, right now, if he was in his own body. He seemed ready to tear her apart.

He hooked his fingers into her knickers and pulled them down just enough to allow access. The cool air of the dungeon feathered over her already wet folds. She bit her lips in shame as she watched amusement flicker through his eyes.

“I barely touched you, Miss Granger,” he mocked her, “and your cunt is already dripping. Are you so desperate for my fingers?”

She sucked in her breath. A fresh wave of shame rolled over her, just as new heat bloomed between her thighs. Mortified, she realised that he could definitely feel the renewed arousal trickling over his fingers.

His sneer turned into a warm smile. “Take a deep breath, Hermione.”

She instantly followed his instructions, all too happy to have something to cling to. Then, she felt one single finger part her folds, spreading the wetness even more. Desperate, she stared into his eyes, using it as a lifeline for her sanity. Her body felt frozen despite the heat that engulfed her.

She had dreamed of his fingers for so long, but now, she suddenly was afraid.

At first, it was only a gentle pressure at her entrance. His fingers probed her, rubbing along the outside, coating every last bit in her juices as he circled around and around. Hermione’s frantic breathing slowed down, growing deeper and more laboured as she slowly adjusted to the foreign feeling.

Then, he pushed in. Slowly at first, giving her time to relax. It burned and she instinctively flexed her muscles, clamping down on his finger. Her mouth fell open as he continued to stretch her. Millimetre by millimetre, he sank into her. Slowly, but inexorably. Deeper and deeper.

It felt nothing like she expected. It hurt and it was too much and it was not enough. She panted, a pathetic, pained sound that was greeted by a very low groan from him.

Her hand shot down and clutched his lower arm. “Stop,” she pleaded, desperate for a short reprieve.

His left hand moved from her hips to her cheek, cradling her face. His smile was still warm, but his voice betrayed his real emotions. “Be a good girl, Hermione, and take it. I know you can. It will feel good. Trust, remember?”

He continued pushing into her as he said that, his eyes drinking in every twitch of her mouth and every pleading look. She trusted him. She really did. She wanted to be a good girl more than anything.

If only it didn’t hurt so much.

Then, finally, his hand stopped. He was as deep as his finger allowed, his hand pressed tightly against her. Hermione licked her lips and tried to blink away the tears pricking her eyes. She had dreamed about this. It was okay that it hurt. She just had to get used to it. This was all she ever wanted.

Just as slowly, he slid his finger back out. She half-expected him to remove his hand fully, but just before he slipped out, he thrust back in with one forceful movement.

Hermione cried out. Her hands flew to his frock, fingers curling into the thick fabric, her eyes desperately staring into his. He repeated the motion, a slow withdrawal, followed by a hard thrust. All the while, he held her gaze, his eyes burning with barely repressed hunger.

“It hurts, doesn’t it?”

She nodded frantically, hoping that he would stop. But he simply smiled and thrust his fingers back into her.

“I know it does, Hermione. But you’re taking it so well. I can feel your cunt gripping my finger. You’re dripping all over me. So tight and hot and eager.” He groaned with the next push of his finger. “Your body sings for me, Hermione. Once you accept this, all of it, you’ll learn to love it. Your body already does. I can feel it. You’re perfect, witch. So perfect.”

The last word fell from his lips with a growl, low and gravelly. It washed over her, carrying away all her worries. This man saw right through her. He knew her deepest desire, even now while she was stuck on how much it hurt. He knew what she wanted. And he gave it to her, even when her mind protested.

Because he saw right to the bottom of her soul.

With every thrust of his single finger, Hermione lost herself more in the sensation. The stretch. The pain. The blazing heat. Her head fell forward until it rested against his chest. His left arm encircled her shoulders, holding her tight, as he continued to pump into her.

The pain transformed her. It didn’t go away, but it opened her eyes. A desperate need arose behind it, making her hips twitch and her breaths turn into moans. Yes. This was what she dreamed about. His perfect fingers filling the empty void within her. She spread her thighs wider, allowing him to go even deeper.

“Good girl,” he hissed, “that’s it. Take it. Take it all. Spread yourself wide for me.”

She almost sobbed at his words. “Yes, please. Don’t stop. Don’t stop. Please. Please!”

He picked up the pace, thrusting harder into her, matching her high-pitched whines with his own groans. The sounds he made were lost on her. As though the whole world stopped existing, the only thing she knew was the pleasure his finger brought her. The building pressure, urging her to meet his pace. She knew now that at the end, glory awaited her. Coming by his hands was so much more than anything did to herself.

Obscene sounds left her mouth, but she didn’t care. Her eyes were closed, drawn tight as she chased the nearing high. The pain only spurred her on, making the waiting release appear so much more delicious.

“Take me,” she ground out, a desperate desire to please him suddenly gripping her. “Take me, take all of me. I’m yours. All yours. Only yours.”

She heard him laugh, a dark, threatening sound that rippled through his body. “That’s right, witch. You are mine. Just you wait. I’ll take you and claim you and leave nothing behind. You have no idea … Circe, you have no idea.”

His hand fisted into her wild hair and pulled it back, forcing her head into her neck. Pain shot through her body, searing and fast, just as he added another finger with his next thrust.

A shudder ripped through her as the orgasm swallowed her whole world. She stared sightless at the ceiling, her whole frame shivering and twitching under the force of her climax. The hand in her hair pulled harder, trapping her against him, while two fingers remained buried inside her.

“Good girl,” he cooed as she slowly came down, “beautiful, perfect girl.” He wiped away tears that spilled from her eyes. “It’s okay. You can cry. You took my fingers to well. I’m so proud of you, Hermione. Good girl.”

As he slowly let go of her, she melted into his body. She bathed in his praise, relieved that he still held her, still comforted her. She longed to ask him who he was, but she knew, she couldn’t reveal her realisation just yet.

“Someday soon, I will take you,” he purred into her ear. “We can’t do that here, but I’ll find a way. You still trust me, don’t you, Hermione?”

She eagerly nodded. “Yes. Yes, I do. Sir.”

She wanted nothing more than to see this man come undone. Already his strained groans and hungry looks made her stomach flutter. The thought alone of what he would look like when he could finally let go stoked the slowly subsiding heat deep within her. As much as she feared the pain that would undoubtably come with it, she longed to see his face twisted by bliss. Bliss that she caused.

He held her a while longer, stroking her back, pouring more praise over her, grounding her. Hermione knew that she was lucky to have an experienced, gentle man guide her through this. Whatever he demanded of her, she was ready to give it.

She just needed to let him know, carefully, without a hint of accusation, that she knew he wasn’t really Professor Snape.

Chapter Text

Every day, without fail, Hermione Granger knocked on his door after dinner.

For a whole week, Snape found her seeking him out, asking him inane questions that clearly were a cover for what she really wanted: his company.

Every day, without fail, he disposed of her as quickly as he could.

A week after her birthday, his dreams had started to change. He suddenly had vivid recollections of how she felt around his finger. Even without looking inside her head again, he knew that more had happened between them.

Just as he knew that this was escalating at a pace so fast, he could hardly keep up. Sooner rather than later, he would do the unthinkable. Even though he went a whole week without any memory loss or dissociation, Severus could feel the impending doom.

Thus, when Granger knocked on his door on Wednesday evening, he did not, as he did before, send her away immediately. She needed to know the danger she was in. He would have to talk about what happened, as disgusting as that was to him.

Without saying a word, he opened his door wider and let her into his carefully cleaned up office. The blush on her cheeks told him that she expected something to happen. She would be very disappointed at the end.

He pointed at the chair in front of his huge, sturdy desk. “Sit, Miss Granger.”

Her eyes snapped to his, sharp and inquisitive. Then, she let out a long sigh and sat down. “Good evening, professor.”

He sank into his own comfortable chair on the other side, a professional distance between them, the desk a welcome barrier. He studied her for a moment, giving her every chance to come up with another stupid question she pretended to not know the answer to. But to his surprise, she remained quiet.

With a soft hiss, he leaned forwarded and splayed his hands on the wooden surface. “You have to stop seeking me out after hours, Miss Granger. I understand that my actions have led you to believe that you can do that. I take full responsibility for that. As the adult in this situation, and as your teacher, I need you to understand that this cannot continue.”

There. He said his piece. As clearly as he could, acknowledging his own wrong-doings, without letting her know that he had little control over his inappropriate actions. There was nothing to misunderstand in his words.

She remained quiet for a long time, chewing on her bottom lip as her eyes looked down onto her lap. He half expected her to yell at him again, or worse, cry, but she showed astounding restraint.

Finally, with a frustrated groan, she met his gaze. “You’re blind, professor. I wouldn’t have expected that from you of all people. How can you deny reality like this?”

He drew in a sharp breath. “It is you who is blind, Granger. What happened between us was more than inappropriate. You are too young and too inexperienced to understand any of it. Don’t you see that? My actions–”

“Were not your own,” she interrupted him impatiently.

No amount of training, no count of years as a spy could have prepared him for the impact her words had on him. She could have as well slapped him. Severus slumped back in his chair, his eyes wide, his whole body suddenly weak.

“What?”

Granger stared at him, studied him again as though she expected to find something in his face. But when he continued to just look at her with muted shock, she cursed under her breath and ran her fingers through her wild hair.

He thought he heard her whisper, “Where are you?” but in the next moment, she squared her shoulders and sat up straighter. Her words were firm as she explained, “I think you are being possessed, professor.”

Another hit. Severus realised that he had a dumbfounded look on his face, but he had no strength left to compose himself. What Hermione Granger just told him with so much conviction, so matter-of-factly, it would spell disaster.

“And what, pray tell, is the basis of this rather outlandish assumption?” Severus demanded to know.

He forced his hands to stop trembling. Forced his face back into his practiced blank mask. Forced himself to sit up properly again. There was simply no way this could be true.

She had the audacity to scoff. “You are the teacher here. Why don’t you tell me what the common symptoms of possession are, and how they don’t align with your strange behaviour over the past year? I’d be thrilled to hear your analysis. Professor.”

Coldness seeped into his bones. If she was right, she was way too relaxed about this. Granger couldn’t possibly understand the implications of her assertion. More than ever, he needed to stay away from her.

“You should go,” he pressed out through gritted teeth.

Granger rolled her eyes in reply, but actually stood up and turned to leave. She seemed to hesitate for a second as though a sudden thought had entered her mind. Then, with surprising confidence, she put one hand on his desk and leaned far over it, bringing their eyes to level.

“I assume this means our weekly sessions are cancelled for now. Sir. I’ll await further instructions.”

His hand shot out to grab her, but she already backed away again. Equally enraged and terrified, he rose from his chair. “Stop right there, Granger!”

Laughing, she looked over her shoulder towards him. “What, professor? I thought I needed to leave.”

“You have no idea who you’re messing with,” he yelled. “You cannot seriously consider engaging him.”

Her eyes widened briefly, but she instantly schooled her features back into a carefree grin. “I see you came around rather quickly. So you do admit it’s a possession. Good to know.”

With a spring in her step that was completely out of place, she left his office.

Defeated, Severus sank back down onto his chair. This was a nightmare. Even though he didn’t understand the how of it, there was only one answer to the who.

The Dark Lord.

Cursing, he buried his face in his hands. No wonder Albus kept him in the dark about whatever he was teaching Potter. He was so unreliable he failed to notice Voldemort in his own head for over a year.

No. Fuck Albus. If he had taken him seriously any of the many times he confided in him, opened up about his worries, about his black outs, the memory loss, the strange actions, the headmaster would have surely caught onto the issue. It wouldn’t have taken a child to recognise the signs.

His stomach revolted. Severus swallowed against the nausea, desperately struggling to retain control. He needed to warn Miss Granger. She clearly had no idea who she was dealing with. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be so open, so in love.

Would she?

Before he could follow that thought further, his Dark Mark burned.

He shuddered. The timing was too perfect. The Dark Lord called and he had to answer. If he didn’t, Voldemort would surely possess his body and force him to do something even worse. There was no way he could talk his way out of this.

Voldemort had seen everything inside his head and known about his betrayal for over a year. It was so obvious now. He was only alive because he was a useful vessel.

A vessel to seduce Hermione Granger while collection intelligence that Severus as a double agent would never reveal.

But now that Granger had discovered the possession, he was no longer useful.

Snape steeled himself. There was nothing to be done. Granger had sealed his fate, doomed him to a probably painful death at the hand of the Dark Lord. He had no choice, no alternate route, no possible chance of escape.

He stood up and grabbed the floo powder next to his fireplace that was connected to the Hog’s Head. He would apparate from outside the village and face his own demise head on.

In the end, he was proven right. The best thing he could do for the world was to die. He should’ve done that a lot earlier.

So much could’ve been avoided.

~*~

Voldemort stared down at Severus. He was kneeling in front of him, his eyes empty. There was no reaction to any of what he saw. This once most trusted Death Eater had obviously resigned himself to death.

Voldemort ran his fingers through his full, dark hair, relishing again how it felt. With the ritual complete, he had his actual body back, just as it was on the day he foolishly tried to kill the Potters. Bellatrix had cried when she first saw him, praising his power and renewing her pledge to him over and over again.

Lucius and Narcissa on the other hand seemed simply terrified. Their pale faces grew even paler, though Lucius of course quickly congratulated him for his achievement. Every single Death Eater that beheld his renewed appearance showed some variation of fear or awe. As they should.

Not Severus though, no. Eyes fixed on the parquet floor, the man seemed like an empty shell. It was disappointing, but not entirely unsurprising. With a wave of his hand, Voldemort sent everyone else out of the room.

Then, he leaned forward in his chair and hissed, “Rise, Severus.”

The other wizard followed the command immediately. Rising to his feet, he even met his eyes head-on. No flicker of surprise, no recognition that the Dark Lord suddenly looked human again.

With a click of his tongue, Voldemort sank back in his chair. “So, I assume you are here to receive your punishment?”

Severus simply blinked. “I am at your command, my lord.”

He was still acting as though they didn’t both know where his loyalties lay. “I am giving you a chance, Severus. A choice, really. Come to your senses and pledge yourself to me once and for all. Or suffer the consequences.”

“Even if I did that, you would never trust me again.”

“So you’ve come to die?” Voldemort shot back.

Something like life flickered in Snape’s eyes, but it died away quickly. “Yes.”

Voldemort tipped one of his long fingers against his lips and contemplated that answer. Truthfully, it was not surprising. Even back then, when Severus joined the Death Eaters, he came to the group as a broken, hopeless young man without much will to live. From what Voldemort now understood, it was the death of Lily Potter that sparked something akin to a survival instinct. He betrayed his fellow Death Eaters for the vague prospect of protecting a baby.

Only to find out that Harry Potter was much more like his father and nothing like his beloved mudblood.

Stupid, stupid boy.

Falling for the manipulations of Dumbledore and then continuing to do his bidding even though there was really no reason to protect someone like Harry. There really should be no reason to cling to the Order of the Phoenix.

“Is it still your intention to kill Dumbledore?”

Severus nodded silently.

Of course that was the case. The old fool of a headmaster wanted it to happen. Saw it as the final grand act to show the world that Severus Snape truly was a Death Eater, so he could be shunned by the Order and be the unquestioningly loyal servant to the Dark Lord.

“And if I let you go, you’ll tell him all about this? About everything?”

Snape’s eyes widened. For the first time, he actually looked at him and saw him. Saw the now human again Dark Lord. His shoulders visibly tensed, though his voice remained flat as he replied, “I would.”

“Hmmm.” Voldemort cocked his head.

Severus would be isolated from the Order after the current school year. He wouldn’t be able to do anything then. Whether he killed Dumbledore because that old man wanted to die, or because he was a loyal Death Eater, didn’t matter in the end. The act itself did. Dumbledore’s death was necessary.

The only real issue right now was that Severus could warn Hermione. That would be troubling.

An unconscious grin appeared on his lips. That clever little witch had even him fooled. Pretending to not understand while actually figuring it out. She played her cards close to her chest and only revealed them when she thought she could gain something from it.

Voldemort had to admit, he had underestimated her. He should have known that she was too smart to not realise what was going on after that telling conversation with Severus.

But it was more than that. There was another aspect of her that he underestimated. It was not totally surprising that he overlooked it; she was a Gryffindor, after all, and the best friend of saintly Harry Potter on top of that. Even knowing her past acts of viciousness, it was easy to forget how cold-blooded she really was.

Her selfish, uncaring attitude was probably the most attractive thing about her.

It was obvious now that she figured out the possession shortly after the awkward conversation with Severus. And that could only mean one thing: She let her professor touch her knowing full well it was not him in control of the body.

She had no issue using someone for her own pleasure.

Voldemort returned his focus to Severus. It would be best to kill him now. Easy, smart, clean. But it would also be doing him a favour. The man clearly longed for death, had done so ever since his precious Lily married James Potter.

“If I let you go after you swear an Unbreakable Vow, what would you do?”

Severus blinked slowly, but his answer was prompt. “Break it, obviously.”

Voldemort grinned. “Even though you would take all your knowledge with you as you die? Even though it would be the ultimate betrayal of what Dumbledore wants and Harry needs?”

Another flicker of life. A pause. Voldemort could almost see the inner conflict on that usually so blank face. For some reason, Severus clearly felt a sense of duty that was at war with his yearning for death. Dumbledore had to have gotten his claws deep into the poor man. Manipulated at every turn, probably made to feel bad by constant reminders of his long dead love.

He could almost appreciate Dumbledore’s cruelty if he didn’t go around portraying himself as a saint at every step of the way.

“What good would living be, if all my knowledge is locked behind the Unbreakable Vow anyway?”

There it was. A question. An indication of curiosity, of a man trying to weasel himself out of an impossible situation. Voldemort licked his lips. That was all he needed.

“I’m not concerned about most things you could spill, my boy,” he told him with a mocking smile. “It would only encompass anything related to our lovely Hermione Granger.”

Severus remained quiet for a long time. His eyes were back to looking empty as his gaze dropped to the floor, but Voldemort could see, he was more alive than ever. He was desperately trying to find a way he could outsmart his former master. Some way to play the Dark Lord instead of getting played. Perhaps he would even find a solution.

It didn’t matter. Once he took the Vow, he would be unable to talk about his more intimate dealing with Hermione Granger to anyone else. That was the only important thing. Now that the door on having a veteran spy in the Order had closed, having an unwitting, but highly intelligent spy at Harry’s side was his best card to play.

“Now then,” Voldemort finally purred, “shall we make a deal?”

Chapter Text

Hermione’s heart was beating out of her chest as she climbed the stairs of the Three Broomsticks. Wrapped in a heavy cloak that her new friend had sent with instructions where and when to meet, she had easily moved through the packed inn without anyone so much as looking at her. A quick magical analysis had shown her that the cloak came with a Notice-Me-Not charm. A thoughtful gift, though she wasn’t sure whether she shouldn’t be insulted by the gesture.

She could have easily managed to put that charm on herself.

She shook her head and took the last stair. Those were just distracting thoughts. Ever since that letter arrived five days ago, she’d been high-strung and anxious beyond belief. She finally got to meet the man responsible for all her nighttime fantasies.

A part of her still dreamed about Snape. When she closed her eyes and imagined the man that brought her so much pleasure, she saw his hands and face, even when she tried not to. Hermione hated to admit that over the past year, she’d come to regard him as devastatingly handsome. His elegance, his voice, and his statuesque face were a combination that should be forbidden. Luckily, his dour personality put a damper on any crush she would have developed.

But it made her hope that whoever the man behind the personality she fell in love with was, he would at least be comparably handsome. Hermione didn’t consider herself as shallow, but attraction didn’t seem to care for her noble aspirations. She wanted a hot guy.

For the hundredth time, she checked the little parchment slip with the instructions. Room 103. Five o’clock. She was ten minutes early.

Of course she was. After an almost sleepless night, she had spent the better part of the morning in the shower, making sure she was as presentable naked as possible. Then, after lunch, she had tried to wrangle her mane into submission, but as always, the more she tried to subdue her hair, the more stubborn it seemed to get. She just wanted to look sleek and sexy for one day, but her curls had very different plans.

She had also stared into her mirror for way too long. She was an adult now, and had breasts and hips to show for it. But try as she might, she could find nothing attractive about her body. The man had never seen her naked before. Would he even want her once he discovered how plain and boring her figure was?

She wanted a hot guy, so it would be unreasonable to expect him to be content with a not hot girl.

At least the instructions had told her to come in her normal school uniform. Hermione just knew, if she would have had to worry about her wardrobe as well, she would have had a breakdown.

Not that she hadn’t had one anyway.

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head again. There wasn’t even any indication that she would have sex today. It was just her assumption, no, her hope that it would happen. Ever since she had his fingers deep inside her three weeks ago, she couldn’t stop thinking about the real thing. How much better it would feel. How much fuller she would be.

How much more it would hurt.

She swallowed. Hermione knew from the other girls in her dormitory that it was normal that sex hurt. She was prepared for that. A part of her even felt like it made the pleasure that much better.

But she also was afraid of it. What if it was too much? She wanted to please him and show him she was a grown woman. If she complained and whined the whole time, he would surely discard her right away. That thought made her stomach grow cold and her palms sweaty. She was prepared to endure the pain and pretend to enjoy it. He would see that she was the perfect woman who could take anything he wanted to give her.

There were still three minutes left, but Hermione couldn’t wait any longer. With shaking hands, she knocked on the door.

After several seconds that lasted centuries in her count, she heard the soft click of the door unlocking, though it didn’t open. Biting her lip, she put her fingers on the handle and gently pushed. The door swung inwards. Eager not to be seen, she slipped inside and closed it behind her. As she let go of the handle, she heard another soft click, indicating that it was locked again. Her pulse sped up. Trembling, she looked up.

There in the dim light of the small room sat the man of her dreams. A shadow was cast over his face, obscuring his features. He sat leaned back in an armchair, left ankle crossed on his right knee, a glass with something that shimmered like firewhisky in his right hand, elbow propped up on the armrest.

“Hello, Hermione,” he greeted her with a purr, unmoving.

She took a hesitant step forward. “Hello … sir.”

There was a glint in his eyes as the receding light caught in them. He lifted the glass to his lips and drank from it without taking his eyes off her. Studying her. Appraising her. Then, he sat the glass on the nearby table with a thud. “You can hang the cloak on the hook at the door.”

Hermione blushed furiously. She had completely forgotten that she was still wearing the cloak. Instead, she stood there like an idiot, already making a bad impression. With shaking hands, she removed the heavy cloth from her shoulders and hung it up. Trying to force her hammering heart to settle down, she turned back around to the man, dressed in her normal school uniform.

“Perfect.”

It was just one simple word, but it sent goosebumps down her back. He said it with such conviction and reverence. He truly meant it. He took one look at her and declared her perfect. Hermione could melt into a puddle of happiness right then and there.

Finally, he rose up from the armchair. Her mouth fell open as she realised just how tall he was. And when the grey light from outside touched his face, she almost gasped.

Black hair, snow-white skin, dark eyes. Sharp jaw bones, impossibly symmetric in every way, and perfect red lips. Even in her wildest dreams, she would have never imagined her man to be this otherworldly beautiful. She didn’t even care that he was clearly a lot older than she, probably closer to fifty than forty. For a moment, she felt like she had seen him before, perhaps in a black-and-white photograph, but she knew that was impossible. He probably just reminded her of all those old Hollywood legends from the movies she used to watch with her parents. He was just as perfect as those gorgeous male leads from the early twentieth century.

Heat coiled in her lower abdomen and robbed her of any further thought. She could only watch, stupefied and probably looking very dumb, as he approached her with inhuman elegance. He only stopped when the tips of their shoes almost touched. She had to crane her neck even more to look him in the eyes.

Then, he very slowly raised one hand and caressed her cheek with it.

Hermione moaned as she leaned into the touch. She would have been embarrassed by her own neediness if she wasn’t so entranced by the dark eyes that drank in every millimetre of her body.

“I’m glad to finally truly meet you, Hermione,” he whispered.

“So am I,” she replied hoarsely.

“Can I kiss you?”

She nodded eagerly. “Please.”

He brought up his other hand to cup her face. For a second longer, he just stared into her eyes. Then, he dipped his head and feathered his lips against hers. Hermione’s hands flew up and grabbed the edges of his jacket—black like the rest of his clothes—as she melted into the kiss.

It was slow and sensual, a careful exploration of lips she had never tasted before. Somewhere inside her, the thought that she didn’t even know his name wove through her mind, but it was gone before she could fully grasp it. One of his hands slipped to her neck, his fingers scraping her exposed skin.

And she moaned.

He answered it with a rumbling groan. Suddenly, his kiss turned more urgent, his tongue pressing against her lips, coaxing her to open up for him. She allowed it most willingly, desperate to taste even more of him. He slipped into her mouth, exploring her just as she had hoped. She almost didn’t notice that he was pulling her with him as he slowly stepped backwards.

Then, he dropped down and pulled her down to him, never interrupting the kiss, until she was straddling his lap. His hands travelled down her back, to her hips, to her ass, grabbing her with intention. With a gasp, she realised that he was already hard, grinding against her core.

She shrieked when he suddenly flipped her over, pushing her down onto the bed and climbing over her. There was a devastating grin on his lips. “I wanted to talk first, but it seems you have other things in mind.”

Hermione wanted to protest, to tell him that he was the one who started kissing her, but any rebuttal died on her lips when his hand slid under her skirt. She groaned, ashamed that her knickers were already soaked.

“Greedy little witch,” he growled as pushed the dripping fabric down her thighs. “Tell me, Hermione. And be honest. Have you dreamed about today?”

Her cheeks were burning hot and her mouth dry. She had to lick her lips and swallowed several times before she could produce an answer. “Y-yes.”

To her horror, he slowly crawled down her body as his hands flipped her skirt up, his eyes fixated between her legs. “And what have you dreamed about?”

She instinctively pressed her thighs together, but that earned her a disapproving grunt and a light pinch. With a yelp, she opened her legs again while she struggled for words. “About … about you. And me. Having … having s-sex.”

Wide-eyed, she watched as he inhaled deeply, his nose buried between her thighs. The groan he let out spoke of barely restrained need. “And do you want that? To have sex?”

Her hips bucked, rubbing her clit ever so slightly against his nose. Fresh heat throbbed in her belly. Now that she was here, she wanted nothing more.

She wanted to run away and never face him again.

He was so calm, teasing her, making her say things she never wanted to admit. How could he be so calm when she was close to losing her mind from him merely breathing against her cunt? Was she the only one so captive to her needs? It made her feel alone and vulnerable in a way that was almost painful.

“Hermione.” The sing-song tone sounded threatening.

“I do! Y-yes, I want to … to have sex,” she ground out.

With a single wave of his hand, he disappeared all her clothes and lit a single candle on the table nearby. “Then let’s see that we fulfil your wish, shall we?”

Before her brain could catch up with what just happened, he pushed her thighs higher and pressed his tongue between her folds. An obscene sob tore from Hermione’s throat at the foreign feeling. She felt him chuckle against her core, but she had no room left to feel ashamed.

His fingers deftly pulled her folds apart, exposing how slick and heated she already was. He licked her whole length once until his tongue reached her clit. As he swirled it, Hermione arched her back and pressed her hips against him. Another loud moan fell from her lips.

With a growl, he gripped her bottom and lifted her slightly to have better access. Then, his tongue got to work. Drowning her in an assault of sensations that she had never experienced before, he sucked and licked, groaning and sighing as he did. Hermione’s hand fisted into the sheets, helpless against the onslaught. She could only feel, only surrender to the pleasure he brought her.

She wanted to press her lips together to muffle her cries, but with every flick of his tongue, her mouth fell open again, screams and sobs echoing off the walls of the small room. She never knew she could feel so much. And still, there was something building within her, something more. A dark current, rising slowly, making her fingers tingle and her heart thump loudly against her ribcage.

Her whole body was moving against his, her hips grinding into his face, her thighs squeezing his head. She threw her head from one side to the other, unthinking, instinctively, desperate to find release. The coiling heat in her belly, the trembling travelling up from her fingers to her arms to her back. It was all too much.

“Please,” she sobbed, “it’s too much. I can’t … please! I n-need–”

“I know,” he grunted as he stopped his ministrations for a moment, “I know, darling. You need to come. I can feel it.”

Before she could reply, he was back at her. Lips closing around her clit. Thumb prodding at her entrance. Her hips bucked wildly, uncaring whether she’d hurt him. She could feel it. Right there. She was so close. So close.

Then, he replaced his lips with his palm and with the next roll of her hips, the orgasm crashed into Hermione. Screaming helplessly, her whole body convulsed and shook. Gone was any control, any thought. There was just pleasure and relief.

Slowly, the shaking morphed into tremors as her muscles relaxed and she slumped back onto the mattress. Tears pricked at her eyes and regardless of how much she blinked, she couldn’t force them away.

When the first rolled down her cheek, he came up from between her thighs. He wiped his mouth as he leaned over her, his thumb catching the tear. It was a gentle touch that stood in stark contrast to the wild hunger in his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, his lips a harsh line as he tried to smile.

“Now that you’re nice and prepared, let’s move to the next step.” It wasn’t a question. Hermione could hear in his voice that he would allow no protest.

She swallowed. Her whole body felt overly sensitive and at the same time, she was tired and exhausted. That climax had been too much, too big for her.

She gave herself a mental shake. No. She had dreamed about sex for weeks now. She was here exactly for that. She was a grown woman and this man obviously expected her to comply. She wouldn’t risk his disappointment just because she felt a little uncomfortable.

His hand moved between them. She heard him open his belt and the rustle of fabric. Then, she felt his hard cock against her swollen lips, hot and heavy, twitching ever so slightly.

“This might hurt a little,” he told her with a hard look.

She licked her lips. “I know. It’s okay.”

Something like an arrogant grin flickered over his lips. “You can take it, can’t you, Hermione? You will take it.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes. I can!”

His eyes grew even hungrier. “You want this. I need to hear you say it. You want this.”

A shiver ran down her spine. “I want this.”

“Good girl.”

She would have melted right then and there if not for the blinding pain that ripped through her as he thrust all the way into her.

Chapter Text

She screamed beautifully for him. Everything about Hermione Granger was perfection, even the way she wailed as he tore through her innocence.

Sheathed to the hilt, Voldemort took a second to breathe. He could come right this second from the pain in her voice alone, but he wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible. He only had this one first time with her and he would make sure it didn’t end too soon.

He eased a little way out again before slowly pushing back in. Hermione flinched beneath him, though she didn’t protest. She really was blinded by love. Taking him like this, enduring the pain. He could do anything to her and she would let him.

The thought made him groan and thrust into her a bit harsher than intended. Burying his head in her curls, he set a slow, languid rhythm. He felt her walls contract every time he pulled back, and he had to force them open again every time he thrust back in. It was heaven. She was hot and slick and so very, very tight. Her cunt was gripping him with so much force, he knew that he hurt her.

He hooked one arm under her knee, forcing her leg against her chest so he could enter her even deeper. She groaned in pain, tears streaming down her face, but still, she gritted her teeth and endured it.

He prolonged his thrust, slipping almost all the way out before sliding back in, slowly, leisurely. Propped up on one arm, he watched his cock disappear inside her over and over again. His new body—his old body—felt so much more alive. Every sensation was strong, impressing onto his mind how carnal pleasures were more than worthwhile to pursue.

Slowly, Hermione relaxed. He could feel how her channel didn’t close around him with as much strength anymore, how her pained groans subsided.

With a derisive sneer, he pulled out completely and flipped her around. She landed on her stomach with a muffled cry. He lifted her hips and aligned his cock again. Then, he thrust back into her harshly. Hermione screamed in pain and shock, and instantly, her walls contracted again, holding his cock in an iron grip.

“Yessss,” he hissed in utter bliss, “that’s it. Merlin, your cunt is squeezing my cock like it’s born to do so. Perfect little witch.”

She broke as she heard that. Sobbing, she exclaimed, “It hurts. Please, sir, it hurts so much.”

“I know,” he groaned while he continued pumping into her. “I know it hurts, darling. But I also know you can take. You’ve been so good up until now. I know you can endure it. I would be so pleased, Hermione.”

He could see her shoulders shaking as she moaned in response, her voice thick with tears and pain. But she didn’t struggle and didn’t continue to complain. She truly was eager to please. The perfect mudblood slut. She would learn to crave his cock, to crave the pain he brought. Everything else in her world would become secondary once he trained her right. She would do anything to be fucked by him.

Voldemort twisted one hand into her unruly hair and pulled her up to his chest. She cried out, hands desperately clawing at his arm as he held her to his chest. His other arm snaked around her waist, holding her close as he pummelled into her. He grunted with each thrust, eager to show her how much pleasure she brought him.

“What do you think?” Voldemort growled into her ear. “Do you have another orgasm in you? Can you come on my cock like the good girl you are?”

“Oh god!” Hermione cried out, shaking her head in desperation. “I can’t! It hurts too much!”

He laughed darkly. “Take the pain. Use it. Let it transform you. I can feel you fight it. It only makes it worse. Take the pain and find the pleasure that is in there. Can you do that for me? Show me that you really are as perfect as I think you are?”

A shuddering sob wrecked her body, yet still she nodded. Suppressing another laugh, Voldemort pushed her back down into the mattress before he pulled out again. In one deft manoeuvre, he rolled onto his back and guided Hermione into a sitting position above him. He gripped her hips and lifted her until she was directly above his hard length.

“Take it,” he ordered her, “take all of it and then ride me.”

She took several deeps breaths, her chest heaving, her hands shaking as she splayed them on his stomach for purchase. He could see her eyes flick towards the door, a hint of fear mixing with her pain. But then she set her lips in a harsh line and slowly sank down onto him.

She gasped once she had taken all of him. Swaying slightly, she buried her teeth in her bottom lip and pressed her eyes close. Then, she started to move. Slowly, awkwardly, without sense or direction. Up and down, tiny little groans of pain falling from her lips every time.

Grinning, he dug his fingers into her hips and guided her motions. Showed her how to please him while also grinding against him in a way that stimulated her. Her eyes flew open, big and round, as the first shiver of pleasure went through her body.

“That’s it. Good girl. Fuck yourself on my cock. Fuck through the pain. I know you want to. Right, darling?” Voldemort’s voice turned icy. “Isn’t that right, Hermione?”

She stuttered in the rhythm she built. “Y-yes. That’s right. I … I want this. I want to c-come again.”

“That’s my girl,” he purred as he stroked her hips with his thumbs.

She picked the rhythm back up, closing her eyes, a little frown between them. The pain was still there, he could feel it in the way she was gripping his cock, but the heat in her cheeks and the needy moans on her lips also spoke of pleasure now.

Voldemort smiled to himself. It would be even easier than he thought to train this little witch on pain. He watched in fascination as her movements grew faster, more desperate. She was close again, chasing her orgasm despite all the pain she felt just moments before.

With a cry, she shuddered above him, her cunt clenching rhythmically around him. He instantly gripped her hips harder and started thrusting up, deeper into her. Her eyes shot open as fresh pain ripped the climax away from her. Sobbing, she collapsed onto his chest. Voldemort continued pumping into her, relishing her little shudders and cries.

He wanted to continue. To prolong this. Take a break before devouring her once more. But he needed to come. He needed to fill her up, to spill his seed deeply into her. He sped up at the thought of getting her pregnant. He would force her to carry the child. Everyone at Hogwarts would know the golden girl had fallen so far. He would continue to fuck her until she was too round to take him anymore.

And once she had the child, he would kill it in front of her.

He groaned at the thought of her agonised face when she realised what he had done. And then she would spread her legs again, still salivating for his cock.

With a grunt, he thrust up one last time, emptying himself into her. She gasped above him, obviously surprised by the foreign sensation of his seed spilling into her.

“You’re so fucking breedable,” he growled harshly into her ear, his arms clutching her small body tighter against his chest.

Breathing heavily, he stayed in that position, enjoying the way his softening cock felt in her hot, slick cunt. Enjoying the thought that he was keeping his cum inside her. Knowing that to her, this was an intimate, soft gesture that would make up for all the suffering she endured before.

After a few minutes, he carefully shifted her to his side and slipped out. She grimaced at the squelching sound and blushed fiercely when he forced her thighs open to watch their combined juices seep out of her. Voldemort couldn’t believe that nobody in the Order saw Hermione Granger for what she truly was: A young woman so desperate for acknowledgement that she would do anything, even submit to a painful, humiliating fuck, for the merest hint of affection.

He pulled up his trousers and fastened his belt again, watching her as she sat naked and shivering next to him, eyes down cast. It would be so easy to break her heart now. Hiss a few vicious words that made her feel worthless and used, and then send her on her way. Voldemort had to reign the urge in, remind himself that she was more useful if she came back to him again and again. He wasn’t quite sure yet how best to use her against Potter, but he was certain it would come to him if he kept her around.

He summoned her clothes back and helped her put them on, making sure to let his fingers linger wherever he touched her naked skin. She shuddered under him, but the faint blush and tiny smile on her lips told him that she appreciated the gesture.

Such an easy girl.

“I don’t have much time left, Hermione,” he explained once she was properly dressed. “I intended our first meeting to be for all the burning questions I’m sure you must have. I didn’t expect you to jump me like that, though I’m not complaining. I enjoyed myself.”

The red in her cheeks deepened and she couldn’t meet his eyes as she replied, “I enjoyed myself too.”

He suppressed a chuckle. It was so clearly a lie, but she obviously thought he expected her to like it. With a deliberately patient sigh, he gently lifted her chin to look her in the eye. “It’s okay if you didn’t. First times always hurt, and sometimes even the second and third. It’s new for your body, but you’ll get used to it. I promise. The more we do this, the better you’ll get at it.”

Her eyes were round with hesitation. “So you want to continue this?”

He allowed a flicker of annoyance show in his eyes. “Of course. You’re the most perfect, gorgeous girl I could hope for. Do you not want to do this again?”

“No! I mean, yes, yes, I want to!”

“I’m glad.” Then, deciding to feed her ego just a little, he admitted, “I haven’t had a woman in almost as long as you’ve been alive. I’m very … particular about my taste.”

She didn’t need to know that for the most part of that time, he barely existed in this world, and that the body he had just a few weeks ago didn’t allow for any physical excitement. The proud, giddy glint in her eyes and the lopsided smile told him that she fully bought his words.

“Now,” he continued, “As I said, I need to get going soon. If you have questions, ask them.”

She sat up straighter on the bed, folding her legs under her bum and putting her hands on her knees. “What’s your name?”

He gave her a practiced look of contrition. “I don’t want to give you a false name, Hermione. But I also can’t tell you my true name. There are forces at work, powerful ones, that could destroy you if you knew my name. For your sake, it is better if I didn’t tell you for now. These are dangerous times, as you know so well.”

She stared at him with suspicion in her eyes, but then she nodded. “I understand. But what should I call you then?”

He grinned. “I quite enjoy when you call me sir.”

Her eyes widened for a moment before she nodded once more. “Understood. Sir. Another question, if you still have time. Why did you use Professor Snape like that?”

He moved from the bed to the armchair, leaning back and closing his eyes as though he had to contemplate her answer. “I am working with Severus. I am sure you are aware of his unique status as a spy. Because of that, he can get into places I can’t. He … allowed me to make use of his body to see things with my own eyes.”

Hermione frowned. “I got the impression he didn’t know that he was possessed.”

“It’s not a possession,” Voldemort corrected her firmly. “He agreed to it. I have to admit though, between you and me, I once rode along inside his head without him knowing when he was teaching Potions last year, and I caught a glimpse of you. I was so intrigued, but when I asked him about you, he didn’t seem to know how special you were.”

As predicted, she blushed as he said that. Continuing his tale, he explained, “I watched more and more through his eyes, and I couldn’t resist taking over at points. I just needed to talk to you. And the more I talked to you, the more I realised how much I enjoyed your company. I felt too ashamed of this to tell Severus, so he didn’t know I was with him whenever he was at Hogwarts. I think that’s why he was so surprised when you told him your theory.”

Hermione chewed on her bottom lip while she thought about his words. Blushing, she asked, “Did I make your life harder because I told him?”

Voldemort laughed. “No, don’t worry. Severus was understandably very cross with me for a couple of days, but he agreed that it was smart to teach you more about the Dark Arts, so he came around pretty quickly.”

He leaned forward and grabbed one of her hands. “He’d prefer it though if you didn’t talk to him about it any further. He knows about the attraction I feel towards you, and it makes him uncomfortable.”

Hermione nodded eagerly. “Understood, sir. I’ll not say anything to him, I promise.”

“Good girl,” Voldemort purred. It was almost too easy to steer her in the right direction.

Letting go of her hand, he stood up. “I need to get going now, Hermione. Is it still a rule at Hogwarts that students who turn seventeen are allowed in the village every weekend?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Professor McGonagall told me so on my birthday. I didn’t know it was a rule, but it explains why I rarely see year seven students in the library on Saturdays and Sundays.”

He cradled her face in his two hands and smiled as softly as he could. “I know I’m going to miss you once I leave. Can you meet me here tomorrow, same time?”

Hermione’s mouth fell open and her blush spread down her neck. “Of course. Yes, no problem. I’d love to see you again, sir!”

“It makes me so happy to hear that.” Voldemort leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “See you tomorrow then.”

He slid his wand into his hand and with one last smile to her, he disapparated.

Chapter Text

Hermione grimaced as she got out of bed on Sunday morning. She didn’t know that she could hurt in such places, but everything between her thighs screamed in agony. Her legs almost gave out under her on the way to the shower.

Gritting her teeth, she let the hot stream of water spray down her back. A part of her still couldn’t believe that she had finally had sex. She knew she was late compared to all the other girls in her year. Even Ginny had slept with multiple boys by now. But to her, it was still so foreign.

She longed to talk about it with someone. Yesterday, everything had just been so much. His tongue gave her an orgasm like nothing she ever experienced before and she felt like she could get addicted to that feeling. In her opinion, he could have continued to lick her for hours on end.

But the sex itself? She bit her lips and closed her eyes. From what the other girls said, she had been prepared for pain. But they all said that once they relaxed, it got better. That it felt great and compared to nothing else, not fingers or tongue, once they got really into it. They all had sighed and giggled and discussed their favourite positions.

Even now that she finally had her first time, Hermione felt like a failure. She hadn’t enjoyed it. Not really. The pain was just so much. Even seeing him love it hadn’t helped. Selfishly, she had been too focused on her own pleasure to really note how much he enjoyed himself. Even when he gave her all control and let her ride him, she barely got to climax again.

She opened her mouth, caught the cascading water, and spit it out again. She was pretty sure she knew what the problem was. As always, her overthinking mind stood in her way. If only her brain could stop focusing on the pain, if only she could just turn it off completely during sex, she would probably relax like all the girls said would happen.

Take the pain and transform it, the man had said. Hermione didn’t really understand how to do that. Pain was just pain. Sure, there had been moments when he was using Snape that she enjoyed his rough treatment. Especially whenever he put his hands on her throat and choked her. There was something about that pain and the fear she felt that turned into molten lava inside her.

Careful not to scrub too forcefully, Hermione lathered shampoo into her curls as she thought about it more. In those moments, she was turned on because she was completely at his mercy. If he wanted to kill her, he could by simply continuing to choke her. She knew he’d never do that, and there was something erotic in that. Even just thinking about it made her insides throb with need now. The way she knew she could submit to him and he would still never take advantage of her.

Maybe that was the problem. A part of her trusted Professor Snape not to hurt her, so the pain he inflicted was never too much. This man on the other hand was a stranger, at least her brain seemed to regard him as much. Even though she’d known him for over a year now. She just needed to remind herself that this was actually who had choked her and put her through pain before, not Snape.

Today, she would force herself to accept the pain for what it was: a symbol of trust between them. A catalyst to let go of everything and experience an orgasm that was out of this world. She would show the man that she was, indeed, a good girl.

***

This time, the door was opened for her as soon as she knocked. Hermione yelped in surprise as he gripped her by the arm and pulled her in. The door wasn’t even fully closed again and his lips were already on her.

The need he had to feel her ignited a fire in her belly. With a groan, she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue.

“I’ve missed you,” he grunted into her lips between kisses, “Merlin, you have no idea how much I’ve missed you. Now that I can feel you for myself, I just can’t get enough of you.”

She mewled in response, every thought leaving her brain. All the questions she wanted to ask, all the theories she had, it all meant nothing in this moment. His hard cock grinding against her stomach, his hands in her hair, messing up her carefully constructed curls, it made her forget everything else.

“Fuck, Hermione. Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” He grabbed her hand and pushed it between their bodies, stroking his throbbing length. “I don’t have much time today, but I need to feel you.”

She ran her fingers along his clothed cock, only now realising how big it appeared. She couldn’t believe that she was able to take all of that. Maybe that was why it hurt so much. Maybe other guys were smaller and so the girls at Hogwarts only experienced a little pain.

She smiled proudly. She would work hard to take him with pleasure. The thought that she could take what others couldn’t made her want to try even harder.

The man untied her cloak and pushed it from her shoulders. “Turn around for me, darling. Put your hands against the wall.”

She complied, unsure what he intended to do. His hands were on her immediately, flipping up her skirt, squeezing the soft flesh of her arse. She moaned as his long fingers dug into her skin. Even without looking back, she could feel the fascination in his touch. Heat bloomed in her stomach. His fingers felt rough, possessive. As though he wanted to tell the world that all of this was his.

And it was.

He leaned forward until his chest was almost flush with hers. “I need you to get on your toes for me, darling.”

Hermione instinctively leaned more on her arms, her elbows and hands now propping her up against the walls, stabilising her, as she stretched to balance on her toes. He groaned in response, clearly liking how willing she was today.

She heard the clinking of his belt and the rustle of fabric behind her. Dread wanted to settle in, but she shook her head and banished it. This would be good. She knew to expect the pain now. She was prepared.

His fingers slipped under her panties, teasing her folds. Cursing, he buried his head in her neck. “I didn’t expect you to be so wet already. Such a perfect girl for me, my darling.”

She let out a long, shaky breath. He sounded so desperate, so forcefully restrained as he said that. He was holding back for her, she knew that. He didn’t want to hurt her more than necessary. She licked her lips. She should show her appreciation for that.

“I’m ready today, sir. You don’t have to hold back.”

Silent laughter in his chest vibrated against her back while his hands gripped her harder. “How can you be so perfect?”

He didn’t give her time to reply. He yanked her knickers down to her knees and used his thumbs to peel her open. Before she could take another breath, he thrust into her until he was buried to the hilt.

Despite her efforts, she couldn’t stop the scream that left her. It hurt even worse than yesterday. She didn’t think it was possible. Perhaps it was because she was still sore. Perhaps the new angle made him go even deeper.

No.

Hermione shook her head, determined to stop thinking. She would show him how good she could be today. That she could take him and love it.

His fingers held her hips forcefully, keeping her steady as he started a hard and fast rhythm. Hermione’s head sank down between her arms, her curls blurring her vision, her arms shaking from the pain. She closed her eyes and tried to force her thoughts away.

There was only him.

His cock. His hands.

His grunts, unrestrained, dripping in lust.

His hips snapping against her bum with every thrust.

The stretch inside her where his cock forced her open.

It slid in so easily, her slick juices coating him completely. Only her muscles stood in the way, clenching around him as though he was an unwelcome intruder.

Each thrust forced the air out of her lungs, wrenching gasps and sobs from her lips. She squeezed her eyes shut. The pain was good. He would never hurt her more than she could take. He trusted her. He trusted her to take it. He said he didn’t have a woman in over fifteen years. Probably because nobody else could take him.

The wet slapping of skin on skin invaded her senses. It sounded obscene, forbidden. Mixed with his grunts and her gasps, cutting through the silence of the small room, it made her shiver. The pain lay over everything, enveloping it in a velvety surface that transformed every other sense.

It started with her hands closing into fists. Then her teeth buried into her bottom lip. Her breath came quicker. The heat spread. The throbbing between her legs grew more insistent. Reminded her what pleasure felt like.

“Ah, sweet girl,” he groaned into her ear, “I can feel it. I can feel the change. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Y-yes,” Hermione whimpered.

“It’s the pain, right? You love the pain.”

She nodded, unable to speak, unable to put into words that she loved it despite the pain, not because of it.

“Hermione Granger,” he rasped as he sped up, pumping into her with punishing force, “everyone thinks you’re so prim and proper. A stickler for rules. A prude. If only they could see you now. If only they knew how much you enjoy my cock. How you crave to be filled, over and over again. You have no idea how you sound. Your wanton little moans.”

One hand let go of her hips. He roughly pushed three fingers into her mouth, pressing down on her tongue, gripping her jaw as he forced her mouth wide open. Her quiet sobs turned into groans that vibrated through the room, no longer restrained from her attempts to be silent.

“Next time, I’ll teach you how to take my cock down your throat. Would you like that? Would you like to choke on my cock and swallow my cum?”

Hermione tried to answer, tried to speak, or nod, but his fingers on her tongue and his grip around her face prevent her from any movement. She could only whine.

“I know you do,” he growled, “eager little slut that you are. And I know you’ll do it perfectly as well, just like you do everything perfectly. I bet you can take me down your throat in your first try. Because you’re my good girl.”

Hermione whimpered, her head swimming. She had only the vaguest idea what he was talking about but it didn’t matter. His praise, his challenge, she accepted it without question. If he thought she could do it, she would.

His fingers slipped out of her mouth again, pulling a string of saliva with them that dripped down her chin. His hand closed around her waist, lifting her up even more until her feet left the floor. Hermione desperately clawed at the walls, trying to keep balance while he thrust into her with quick, violent snaps of his hip.

“Yeah, I can imagine it already. How glorious you’ll look down on your knees, stuffed with my cock.” His tone was dark, as much promise as threat. “But first, I’ll fill you up right now.”

He buried his teeth in the nape of her neck and bit down hard. Just as she screamed out in pain, he growled and came deep inside her. She could feel his hot cum coat her walls as he continued to pump into her until the last drop was milked. Hermione trembled, exhaustion and pain mixing within her while he slowly let her back down onto her feet.

He slipped out and she could feel his seed drip from her cunt, sliding down her thighs. His strong hands held her as she slowly turned around and looked up at him while he carefully slipped her knickers back up. With a soft smile, he swiped his thumbs over her cheeks and chin. Only now did Hermione realise that she had been crying and drooling.

“Perfect witch,” he purred. “I can’t believe I’m the only one who sees you for who you are.” He cracked a lopsided grin at that. “But I’m not complaining. At least I get to keep you all for myself.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest as his words sank in. “I wouldn’t want anyone else anyway.”

He leaned down and kissed her. “Every time I think you couldn’t be more perfect, you go and say something like that. Merlin, little witch, this old man can only take so much.”

She giggled and hid her face in his chest. It felt good to have someone who wasn’t afraid to compliment her, but she still didn’t know how to answer that. It made her feel shy and giddy in a distinctly teenage way.

“I’d love to stay with you longer, but duty calls.”

With a disappointed sigh, she stepped back from him. She wanted to spend more time with him, to talk to him. As much as she tried to enjoy the sex, it was his company that she truly was here for. And she could see it in his eyes too. The hunger that told her that he was far from satiated.

But she pushed it all away and put on her grown-up smile. “I understand. I’m looking forward to next time.”

“So do I. Next Saturday, same time, same room. I’ll write you if anything changes.” He stroked her cheekbone with one long finger. “In the meantime, I might slip into good old Severus to bridge the time before I can have you again. Don’t be surprised if he suddenly grabs you.”

Her heart beat faster at the image. “I thought you wouldn’t use him like that anymore?”

He grinned ruefully. “That was my intention. But how can I stay away from you for five full days? I’d probably die.”

“Oh gosh,” was all she could say to that, blushing all over.

“Now, Hermione. I really need to get going. Off with you, darling.”

She smiled at him, then turned around, grabbed her coat, and slipped out of the room. As she bounced down the stairs, she couldn’t stop the giggles. If she hadn’t been in love before, she definitely was now. Her man was the description of perfect. Loving, caring, not shy to praise her, and so confident when they had sex. It probably was because he was so much older than her. He no longer cared about other people’s opinion or any absurd rules of dating.

She was glad that her first man was an experienced lover. Over time, she would learn to enjoy sex as much as he did. He was a great teacher and so patient with her. Always praising her, always encouraging her to strive for more.

It would be a long week until she could see him again, but at least, she could look forward to him in Snape’s body.

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t have to wait long for him to make good on his promise. She was on her way down to the dungeon to arrive a little early for Potions, when Snape grabbed her out of nowhere and pulled her into an abandoned classroom.

After he locked the door, he unceremoniously pulled down her knickers and thrust two fingers into her. He didn’t say a single word as he brought her to completion. Just stared into her eyes, one hand clamped down on her mouth to muffle her cries, saying everything he wanted to say with the all-consuming fire in his gaze.

Once she came, he made her lick his fingers clean, patted her cheek, and whirled out of the classroom before she could even utter a thank you.

She arrived late to Potions class to the surprised and suspicious glances of Harry and Ron, but she was too giddy to care about it.

***

The next time he sought her out was on the same day, late in the evening. She was just about to finish up her studies in the library, as always the last student there, when Snape appeared out of nowhere. With one look to Madam Pince’s empty desk—she usually started at the far end of the library to clean up after the students left—he transfigured one of her quills into thick wood and bent her over the desk.

She had to bite down on her fist to muffle her screams. The wood was a far cry from the size of his cock, but it was still more than just fingers. He worked her quickly, fingers swirling around her clit while he thrust the wood into her over and over again. The panic that they might be caught by Madam Pince, the pain of the sudden intrusion, the absolute quiet of him in Snape’s body, it made her head swim.

But she came just in time for Snape to disappear again and for her to collect her things and flee the scene before the librarian could have stern words with her.

When she snuggled into bed that evening, Hermione felt more exhausted than she knew was possible. She craved sleep, but her body was restless. It seemed unable to calm down, to really let sleep take over.

So she put a handkerchief into her mouth to quieten her moans and slipped her hands between her legs for one last orgasm.

***

This continued on for the whole weeks. Twice a day, he would grab her and make her come within a few minutes, always silent, always efficient. By Friday, she had to fight her own body to not get wet by the mere sight of Professor Snape.

That evening, she was doing her prefect rounds—Ron as always was nowhere to be found to assist her—when she heard giggles and moans coming from one of the alcoves with heavy curtains. Steeling herself to bust another pair of horny teenagers, she was about to draw it open when she recognised the voices.

“Merlin, your tits are amazing, Lav-Lav,” Ron grunted, earning him another giggle from the girl.

Typical. Of course, Ron would leave her alone to do the duties of prefects just to sneak around with Lavender. That they were doing exactly what the prefects should keep an eye out for was just ironic.

She rolled her eyes, preparing herself for the stupid insults from both of them. They would accuse her of spoiling the fun, of being jealous, of going after Ron specifically because he didn’t want her. While none of it was true, she still didn’t look forward to hearing it.

Just as she was reaching for the curtain, a big hand grabbed her and pulled her behind the drapes of an alcove further down the corridor. Shrieking, she whipped around. A grinning Snape stared down at her, placing a finger to his lips to indicate that she should be quiet.

“Touch me, Won-Won,” a high-pitched cry drifted over to them.

Wide-eyed, Hermione watched as Snape went down on his knees in front of her, his eyes glittering with mischief. She shook her head furiously, trying to push at his shoulders, but he ignored her. Laughing silently, he peeled her knickers down until they pooled around her feet and bunched her skirt up around her hips.

“Your tongue!” Lavender whined. “Use your tongue more!”

With trembling shoulders from obvious suppressed laughter, Snape leaned forward and swirled his tongue around her clit. She couldn’t swallow the moan in time. Instead, she clasped her hands over her mouth in an attempt to keep her voice from being heard.

Every time Lavender cried out, he changed his tactics, following what she wanted. Hermione sank back against the cold stone wall, broadening her stance as she gave up resistance. This was really happening. He used Snape’s body to get her off to the sounds of another couple making out.

“You are,” Ron’s grunts rang out, “the best decision,” a panting moan, “of my life.” A high sob, matched by a low groan.

“Glad I saved you from Hermione?” Lavender cooed.

Hermione went very rigid. Despite having no interest in Ron anymore, she hated how she apparently was a joke between the two. Between her legs, Snape also froze. Shame washed over Hermione. She hated that he was here to listen to that nonsense. To hear how her supposed best friend shit-talked her during sex.

He came up from beneath her, sliding her panties back on as he did. She didn’t want to see the expression in his eyes, but he grabbed her jaw and forced her head up to meet his gaze. It hurt, how his fingers dug into her cheeks. She whimpered under his touch. It only made his eyes turn even darker. He looked angry, and with her for some reason.

She blinked and suddenly, it was Professor Snape standing in front of her. Gasping, she tried to wrench her face away from him, but he held her just as tightly. His full body was still pressing her into the cold stones and so she could feel that his cock was still hard. Her shame only got worse. Even though she was using his body for her pleasure, she didn’t want Professor Snape to actually see her like that.

Ron’s breathless voice cut through the tension between them. “I don’t think I’d ever choose her. Can you imagine? Hermione letting me do this to her in a dark corridor?”

“She would probably recite every school rule that forbids it,” Lavender laughed.

Finally, Professor Snape let go of her and took a step back. His eyes studied her for a moment, then he whipped around and stalked down the corridor. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew back the curtain on Ron and Lavender. Hermione pressed herself deeper into the shadows, hoping that they wouldn’t notice her presence.

“Mr Weasley. Miss Brown.” His voice was silky and quiet. The most dangerous for any student to hear. “I see you two care little for the rules around here. Five points from Gryffindor for each of you. And you, Miss Brown, will write me no less than thirty inches, listing every single rule that bans such nighttime activities, and with proper explanation as to why. You, Mr Weasley, will serve detention every Wednesday evening for the next four weeks.”

“What?” Ron yelled enraged. “She gets to write an essay and I get detention? How is that fair?”

“Ronald!” Lavender instantly protested.

“What? Just the truth!”

“It appears you are as dull as you lack in chivalry. Throwing your sweetheart under the bus like that?” Professor Snape’s voice took on a darker tone. “You are a prefect, Mr Weasley, if you would care to remember. As such, I know you know the rules. Your transgression is worse because you should know better.”

“But that’s unfair! I want to watch Quidditch practice on Wednesdays,” Ron continued to protest.

“I fail to see how that is my problem. Off to bed with you, unless you want further points deducted,” Snape snarled.

Hermione could hear their hurried footsteps sound away in the dark. Silence settled over the corridor as she continued to hide in the alcove. The last thing she wanted was to face the professor right now.

“You should return to your dormitories as well, Miss Granger,” Professor Snape called over to her.

With a groan, she stepped out behind the curtain. “I assume you’ll deduct house points from me as well?”

He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms before his chest. “You appear to have been in the middle of your patrols, as you should be. Why would I deduct points for that?”

Hermione stared at him, mouth agape. He had to know what was happening when he suddenly took over his own body again. She had assumed that he would be raging in anger and taking it out on her.

When she remained silent, a change went through Professor Snape’s body. It was as though his shoulders slumped down and his eyes grew weary, even though Hermione couldn’t actually see any difference.

“I won’t punish you for what is happening, Miss Granger,” he said quietly. “I just hope you can stay safe.”

“Safe?”

He grimaced. “If he hurts you, you should tell m–someone. You should tell someone.”

She blinked up at him, confused. “Why would you think he’d hurt me?”

Professor Snape opened his mouth, but the only thing that came out was a strangled sound. She could see his jaw working, his eyes shining with anger, but he didn’t elaborate. “Just … talk to someone.”

He turned around and stalked away, coat billowing behind him. Hermione watched in confusion until he rounded a corner. Why would Professor Snape be concerned that his friend would hurt her? If he was working with him, willingly allowing him to use his body for spy work, he would trust him, wouldn’t he?

Or did he know something that she didn’t?

And in any case, the pain was part of it all. He wouldn’t actually hurt her, she knew that. It was just a game, a way to enhance her pleasure. She understood that, even though she wasn’t quite there yet where she could fully enjoy it.

She made her way back up to the Gryffindor tower. She hated that this stupid couple had interrupted her fun time and deprived her of her nightly orgasm. She hated that she was left alone, that there was anger in his eyes, directed at her, even though she didn’t even do anything.

It was his idea in the first play to finger her to the sounds of Ron and Lavender. Why was he angry?

When the portray opened to her, Hermione entered the common room to a screaming match between her two least favourite people right now.

“Because you’re a prefect,” Lavender shouted, “you heard it yourself!”

Ron scoffed. “Yeah, right. He’s just letting you off easy because he likes you! I bet you love to flash him your tits to get better grades!”

“You did not just say that, Ronald Weasley!”

Every single Gryffindor seemed to be present in the common room, quietly and amusedly watching the fight unfold. Hermione groaned. The way she just entered, there was no chance in hell that she could get out of here unnoticed.

Just as she thought that, Ginny pulled her down onto the sofa with her, smiling from ear to ear. “Apparently, they just got busted snogging by Snape.”

They were doing a lot more than snogging, but Hermione kept that to herself. “And what’s Ron angry about?”

Harry leaned over. “Got detention for four weeks. Lavender only has to write an essay and he thinks it’s unfair.”

“Well, he is a prefect and should know better,” Hermione pointed out.

The two exchanged a glance, but Ginny nodded. “That’s what Snape said as well. But Ron seems to think Lavender put out for Snape to get him on her side.”

“That’s low, even for him,” she hissed back.

“You think so?” Ginny replied with a sneer. “I wouldn’t put it past her. I mean, look at her!”

Hermione almost did a double-take. For all her disdain for the girl, that was uncalled for. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, come off it, Mione,” Harry chimed in. “No need to defend her. We know you still hate her for stealing Ron from you. If there was ever a time to drop your holier-than-though act, it’s now.”

“Holier-than-though?” Hermione repeated tonelessly. “Is that what you think of me?”

Both of her friends just rolled their eyes. “Way to make this about you.”

She swallowed the words she wanted to spit at them so badly and instead stomped out of the common room. She no longer cared whether everyone could see her. She could not believe how petty her friends were.

How could a week full of mind-blowing orgasms end so poorly? More than ever, she was looking forward to meeting him tomorrow. Even if he was angry with her, he was a lot more mature than her friends. She would be able to talk it out with him, whatever it was that was bothering him.

She would put on her laciest underwear and shave extra well to signal him how willing she was to right all wrongs.

Chapter Text

The late October wind plucked on her Notice-Me-Not cloak as Hermione hurried towards the village. She was freezing, not least because of her choice of wardrobe. While she still wore the school uniform just as he requested, she couldn’t resist the rebellious streak in her today.

She wanted to feel sexy. Desirable.

So, she put on her only matching pair of lacy underwear, transfigured her skirt shorter until it ended above her knees, and wore no stockings at all. Usually around this time of year, she would start wearing tights to ward of the cold. But those were decidedly too practical, too unsexy for today. She needed him to look at her with that bottomless hunger. If her friends thought her too much, she could at least cling to him and his never-ending appetite for her.

This time, the door unlocked even before she could knock. Smiling to herself, she slipped in and closed it behind her. It was obvious that he was just as eager as she was.

“Hello, Hermione.” His tone of voice chilled her to the bone.

Suddenly on edge, she turned around. There he sat again in the armchair, one leg crossed on the other, hands folded in his lap. The last grey rays of light cast his face in shadows, just like the first time she met him.

“Hello, sir,” she replied timidly, hating how easily he reduced her to stuttering anxiety.

“Put away the cloak and then step into the middle of the room and kneel,” he ordered her.

Once she did as he said, he continued, “Your ass should be on your heels and your hands up behind your head. Push your chest out and remain absolutely still.”

Swallowing, she followed the instructions. This was new and she didn’t know whether she liked it. She wanted to ask him why she was doing this, but something in his tone told her that she should better not say anything out of turn right now.

He got up from the armchair and circled her once, his face a mask of sceptical disdain. “I see you felt the need to alter your uniform. Tell me, did I instruct you to do that?”

“No”, she stammered out, suddenly feeling very stupid for having done it.

“What was that?”

She licked her lips. “No, sir.”

“Mmmh,” he made, nodding slowly. “This is something immature little girls do when they want to attract equally immature boys. Do I strike you as an immature boy?”

Hermione felt cold sweat form on her back. She realised now that she really messed up. “No, sir.”

“Right. I didn’t take you for an immature little girl either, Hermione. Yet all I see now, coupled with what I had to witness yesterday, you are not the grown-up clever witch I thought you were.”

She could hear the disappointment in his voice. He didn’t even sound angry, just cold, detached, and disappointed in her. Her breathing suddenly sounded loud and harsh to her own ears. The room grew smaller, colder, as sweat rolled down her back.

“Do you at least understand why I am unhappy with you?”

Her raised arms started to tremble. She had no idea what she did wrong yesterday, but if she told him that, she would appear even stupider. She was trapped, unable to say anything because she was just too childish to understand. Hermione swallowed, desperately trying to remove the knot in her throat. What was the right answer?

He sighed. “I see that you don’t. That’s disappointing. I shall have to spell it out for you.”

From the corner of her eyes, she saw him raise his wand. Silently, he wove it through the air. In the next second, Hermione felt her blouse and bra rip open, exposing her breasts to the cool air. She gasped and right then, her tie curled around her throat and transformed into a very tight-fitting collar.

Panting, she grabbed her hands harder, desperate to keep them up behind her head, to keep her chest pushed out despite the humiliating position she now was in. He was punishing her, that much she understood, and she was sure she deserved it.

He circled her once more before coming to a stop directly in front of her. “You should look me in the eye when I’m talking to you.”

She sucked in her breath and craned her neck, realising that the collar now dug into her skin uncomfortably, almost cutting of her air supply. Panting shallowly, she stared up at him, mouth agape.

“What that Weasley boy said yesterday hurt you, didn’t it?”

“Yes, sir,” she croaked out. “But it’s not what you think! I swear! I don’t–”

“Silence,” he snapped, eyes suddenly blazing with fury. “I do not need your pathetic explanations.” His expression turned darker. “I see you truly don’t understand. You wanted to explain just now that you weren’t hurt because you like him, right? You wanted to assure me that it wasn’t jealousy that drove your reaction, isn’t that so, darling? Make sure I’m not jealous of that pathetic boy?”

The sneer in his voice made Hermione cringe. Now that she heard him say it out loud, she realised how stupid that sounded. Still, she needed to be honest. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t know me as well as I thought you did.” He sounded almost hurt. “We’ve shared so much, Hermione. Do you really think I value you so little? I know that you have eyes only for me. It was not jealousy that made me angry yesterday.”

Relief flooded her, but it was followed by a fresh wave of panic. If it wasn’t jealousy, then what was the problem? A buzzing sound grew in the back of her mind. What did she do wrong?

He kneeled down in front of her, bringing their eyes to one level. “You were hurt by Weasley’s words because you value his opinion. You see him as a friend when he clearly doesn’t. It’s the way children view the world. They make their worth dependent on the perception of others. But you’re not a child, Hermione.” His tone grew more insistent. “You are a mature woman. You see the world through the eyes of an adult. I know you do. It’s what allows you to delve into the Dark Arts even when all the adults around you tell you it’s forbidden. You don’t care for their opinions because you hold enough value for yourself to make your own decisions. That’s the Hermione I came to like. So, why do you suddenly fall back into that immature way of thinking where a stupid redhead can dictate how you feel about yourself?”

Tears pricked at her eyes. Every word he said was like a lashing, striking her right where it hurt. She desperately wanted to be the mature woman he saw, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted her friends to like her.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she choked out, unable to explain herself.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, suddenly full of warmth. “It’s okay, darling. I know it’s not easy to let got.” He cradled her face in both of his hands, his eyes sparkling with understanding and patience. “Growing up means realising that it’s not worth to bend yourself just to fit into the preconceptions of other people. If your friends fail to see who you are and want you to be someone else, they are not friends. Life is too short to hold onto people who make you feel worse about yourself.”

She sobbed, despite her best efforts to keep her tears at bay. What he said hurt so much, even though he said it with such compassion. He caught the tears rolling down her cheeks, smiling gently as he waited for her to reply.

“It’s just so much,” she cried out. “Ron has been awful to me since the start and I always ignored it, because he can be so sweet. And Harry has been such a good friend, but ever since Sirius died, he’s changed. He thinks he’s the only one who can save the world and that nobody else wants to help him.”

His arms shot out and pulled her into a tight embrace. With a frustrated wail, she slung her arms around him, pressing herself against his chest, seeking the little comfort she could get from him.

“It’s okay to feel that way,” he whispered soothingly. “We’re at war. That’s stressful for everyone. And even more so for you because you are alone in the way you see how we need to fight.”

Hermione closed her eyes and buried her face in his shoulder. “I should’ve been a Ravenclaw. The hat really wanted to put me there, but I wanted to prove myself as more than just my brains. But now, it feels so suffocating. Like all the values the Gryffindors love so much have no place in war. And Harry is just blind to all of it.”

He gently stroked her back. “I know that dilemma all too well. But tell me, Hermione.” He pushed her away a little to look into her eyes. “Do you still think of Harry Potter as your friend?”

She sniffled and shrugged helplessly. “I don’t know. He needs me.”

He let out a long sigh and looked away for a moment, before returning his gaze to her. “Does he need you? Or do you need him to need you?”

Hermione sucked in her breath. More than anything, those words hurt her. An involuntary sob broke from her lips, bringing fresh tears with it. Her breathing grew unsteady, turning into gasping cries that shook her whole body.

He instantly wrapped his arms tighter around her and pressed her to his chest. “I’m sorry, darling. I shouldn’t have asked that. I’m sorry I hurt you.”

She shook her head. “No. No, you shouldn’t be sorry. It only hurts because it’s true. It’s true. I need people to need me. I just hate to say it. I’ve always been like that. If I’m not useful, I don’t know who I am. Who am I without Harry and Ron as my friends? Who am I if I don’t bring my knowledge to the table? Why would anyone want me if I’m not useful?”

The words spilled out of her, like a dam was broken somewhere, all her fears gushing out without filter or thought. As he gently rocked her and stroked her back, she poured her heart out, unable to stop herself. She knew she sounded like a little kid right now, but she couldn’t help it. He made her feel safe and seen in a way nobody ever did before. Even if he stopped thinking of her as a woman after this, she couldn’t stop the words coming out.

“It’s okay, darling,” he murmured into her ear, “it’s okay. I’m sorry you’re feeling all this. I’m sorry they made you feel like this. I would never do that. You know that, right, Hermione? I don’t need you to be useful. I just need you to be exactly as you are. You are perfect. You are perfect exactly as you are.”

She sobbed even harder as warmth bloomed in her chest. She never fully understood why she reacted so strongly when he called her a good girl or said she was perfect. But now she did. He was the only one who saw her like that. He was the only one who truly knew her, and she was enough for him.

All her life, she had longed to hear exactly that.

With sudden urgency, she pressed her lips against him. He seemed surprised, but instantly returned the kiss. It felt good. It felt right. He kissed her softly, slowly, like she was the sweetest wine and he couldn’t get enough of her. Goosebumps travelled down her back. All her sadness melted away in the kiss.

She realised now that she didn’t need anyone else but him.

“I wanted to teach you to take my cock down your throat today,” he growled against her lips, “but I think that can wait. You need something else right now.”

He pushed her down onto her back gently, making sure she didn’t hit her head. He deepened the kiss and slid his tongue into her mouth while his right hand travelled down and between her legs. He groaned when he discovered her tiny slip.

It took him only seconds to free himself from his trousers. Propping himself up on one arm, he smiled down at her. “It won’t hurt today, I promise. We’ll go slow. Just relax and let me do all the work.”

He pushed her slip to the side and aligned his rapidly hardening cock with her entrance. Hermione closed her eyes and gripped his shoulders. She didn’t feel the desire she had all week. She was sure she wasn’t wet. But he was so gentle, and he promised it wouldn’t hurt today. She just needed to do what he said. Relax and let him do the work.

He pushed in and Hermione had to press her lips together to stifle the pained groan. Why did it hurt? Was she so broken that it hurt even when it shouldn’t? She swallowed and spread her legs wider, hoping it would make it easier.

He took his time. Gentle, shallow thrusts that entered her deeper and deeper each time. His breathing was laboured, like he struggled to hold back. He probably did, but he did it for her. So he wouldn’t hurt her.

She buried her teeth in her bottom lip and forced herself to ignore the pain. He was doing this for her. To cheer her up. To show his care for her. She couldn’t possibly let him know that it still hurt. Not with all the gentle touches.

“See,” he rasped as he was finally sheathed all the way, “it doesn’t hurt today, does it?”

Hermione let out a shuddering breath, opened her eyes, and nodded. For a split-second, his eyes seemed to flash red and he grinned broadly, but before she could process that, he leaned down and kissed her.

Then, he started a slow, languid rhythm, pumping into her with long strokes. Hermione brought her legs up around his hips, crossing her ankles, and threaded her fingers through his dark, silken hair. Closing her eyes, she let herself fall into the rhythm. The pain wasn’t as bad as the week before. Just a little burn, nothing she couldn’t take.

Somewhere deep inside her, heat bloomed. With each long, slow thrust, she could feel herself grow wetter. The pain slowly subsided, making space for something else. The coiling desire she knew so well by now. Yes. This was it. Relaxing and just trusting him actually worked.

Just as the first moan left her lips, he sped up. His thrusts grew harsher, shorter, bringing with them fresh pain. Every time Hermione thought she finally only felt pleasure anymore, he changed something. The angle, the depth, the rhythm. Every time, the pain returned. But the pleasure never fully left her. On the contrary. He harsher he treated her, the more she felt like the constant oscillation between the two extremes only edged her further towards the cliff.

He suddenly groaned. “By Merlin, you are such a perfect little slut. You know how much I have to hold back to not come the second I enter you? Such a perfect tight little cunt. Always so ready for me. Your body is so perfect, like it’s made for me. Like I own it. Isn’t that right, Hermione?” He pulled on her hair and forced her eyes open. “Your body is mine.”

Lost in the waterfall of praise, she nodded eagerly. “Yes. It’s yours, sir. My body is yours.”

He laughed at that, a chilling, mismatched sound. It nudged at Hermione’s mind, as though it should tell her something, but one hand found its way down just then, circling her clit and pressing it just right. Stars exploded behind her eyes before she could think further on it.

He fucked her through her climax, extending it, making her body shudder and tremble again and again. Only when the last tingle of her orgasm left her, did he stop. Wide-eyed, she watched as he pulled out and crawled further over her, while his hand worked his cock with the same rhythm he had before.

It took only seconds. Then, hot droplets hit her breasts and cheeks as he came with deep, rumbling groans. He continued to stroke his cock until the last bit of cum was squeezed out. His eyes were dark flaming pools of hunger and elation. He reached out with one hand, massaging the slimy drops into her skin.

“You’re not allowed to shower today,” he growled. “Your body is mine, Hermione, and I want you to carry my seed with you until you come back to me tomorrow. Is that clear?”

She blushed furiously at the thought of carrying his cum with her for a full day, but she nodded quickly. “I will not shower, sir.”

“Good girl,” he purred and patted her cheek.

She smiled shyly at him while she buttoned her blouse back up. This was what the girls in the dormitory called possessiveness, was it not? Hermione couldn’t help the stupid grin on her lips as she peered at him. He was so soft and gentle when she needed it, but this darker side of him was just so delicious. It made her feel special in a way she had never experienced before. Especially now that she had to face the truth that her friends were no longer real friends, his unabashed show of ownership made her heart sing.

Once she was on her feet again, collar changed back into her tie, he put his hands on her shoulders and smiled. “I’m proud of you, Hermione. Even though I was harsh with you, you listened to my words and apologised. That was very mature of you. I know now that whenever I am unhappy with you, I can tell you and you will accept it. That is what makes a healthy relationship work. Thank you for being so open.”

She bit her lip to suppress a giggle. “Thank you for being so patient, sir.”

“Tomorrow, we will work on training your cute little mouth in other things,” he told her with a teasing smile. “It will be hard in the beginning, but I promise you, you’ll learn to love it.”

“I will do my very best to not disappoint you.”

He ushered her over to the door. “I know you will, Hermione. Oh yes, I know you will.”

Chapter Text

Hermione was on her way back up to the Gryffindor tower after lunch on Sunday, dreaming about her perfect man, when she collided with the unmoving chest of a tall figure. Long fingers grabbed her shoulders and prevented her from stumbling to the ground.

“Watch yourself, Granger,” Professor Snape hissed roughly.

Swaying slightly, she put her hands unconsciously onto his chest to steady her stance. “Sorry, professor. I wasn’t looking.”

“Clearly,” he replied with a sneer.

He was about to let go of her when his eyes suddenly widened. Before Hermione knew what was happening, he looked the corridor up and down and pressed her into the wall. He bowed down, nose almost touching her décolleté. Hermione blushed and shoved at his shoulders, but he held her firmly against the stone.

His eyes were blazing when he straightened back up and looked at her. “You should shower, Miss Granger.”

Flaming heat engulfed her whole body. Oh god, he could smell the cum on her. Suddenly, she regretted ever involving Professor Snape in any of this. Her voice was barely more than a squeak as she asked, “Can everybody smell that?”

He rolled his eyes. “Probably not, but I still suggest you wash it off before any hormonal boy gets the wrong idea.”

“He wouldn’t like that,” she whispered.

“He–” Snape made a strangled sound at the back of his throat. His pale face grew even whiter. “You sure like doing what he asks you to.”

Hermione wished that she could just disappear in the ground. Why did she have to say that? If he didn’t think her strange before, now he would definitely see her as some kind of deviant.

But why should she be ashamed of it? As he told her, an adult didn’t measure their worth in whether or not others approved of them. She squared her shoulders and met Professor Snape’s gaze. “I do. Funny that you should disapprove of that. Didn’t you find me obstinate and insufferable? I would have thought you’d celebrate the day I actually did as I was told.”

He gave her a long-suffering look. “You’re wilfully misunderstanding me. He–” Again, there was a strange break in Professor Snape’s words.

He shook his head and took a deep breath. Then, his eyes twitched and Hermione thought she heard an almost imperceptible gasp. Suddenly, his hands were left and right from her head, his eyes boring into her as though he wanted to see to the bottom of her soul.

“Are you wet, Miss Granger?” Professor Snape growled silkily.

Her blush returned, fiercer than ever. “Oh god. I’m so sorry. It’s just my stupid body. You wouldn’t understand–”

“Oh, I do,” he grunted, his eyes suddenly closing and his hands clutching into fists. “He no longer has the mercy to keep memories from me.”

Hermione sucked in her breath. Why would he do that? She had been under the impression this whole week that Professor Snape wouldn’t know about any of this. The only reason she could even face him at all in class was because she assumed he was ignorant of it all.

Professor Snape leaned in further, pressing his whole body against her, and Hermione realised she wasn’t alone. He was hard, rubbing himself ever so slightly against her stomach. Before she could come to her senses, she moaned.

“Fuck, Granger,” he groaned in response, “you shouldn’t … this isn’t … Fuck!”

She tilted her hips and met his shallow thrusts. Her body reacted to him, images of all the things he did to her over the week mixing into one heady cocktail that was just irresistible. She knew she shouldn’t do this. She knew that this was her professor, not the man actually responsible for her pleasure, but it was hard to differentiate between the two right now.

His hands wandered to her hips, lifting her just enough so he hit her exactly right. Throwing all caution to the wind, Hermione grabbed his shoulders and pressed further into his thrusts.

He growled in desperate frustration. “No. Granger. You … you need to tell me to stop. Tell me to stop!”

She whimpered and shook her head. How could she tell him no? She was addicted to this feeling, the heat between her legs, the throbbing, the coiling need in her stomach. She wanted all of it, even if it came from him.

Cursing, Professor Snape lifted her even higher and slung her legs around his hips. He held her securely as he rutted against her, grunting with each thrust and shuddering whenever she moaned in response. He felt so out of control, like he was completely at her mercy. It was so different from her man, who stayed in control even when she could hear his grunts dripping with desire.

It felt good, the way Professor Snape totally lost himself in her. There was a frantic edge to this, to their selfish desires to come, to see this through to the end. She buried her teeth in her bottom lip and let go of all her doubts. This was it. A mutual loss of control that just felt right.

He came with a strangled groan, a frown between his eyes that spoke of something akin to pain. But he didn’t stop. Even after he spilled his cum into his trousers, he brought his hand between their hips and stroked her furiously, frantically until she came with a muffled scream against his shoulders.

Hermione slowly slid back down to the ground, chest heaving, cheeks aflame. Now that her orgasm was subsiding, reality settled back in. Just yesterday, she had promised her man that her body was his. She was still carrying his cum around on her breasts and face, for crying out loud. If he was angry with her yesterday, he would be furious today.

Professor Snape was silently shaking next to her, one hand pressed against the wall, the other rubbing his face. Whatever regret she felt, she was sure that it was worse for him. He was her teacher, after all, and during all of last year, when they grew closer, he would always push her away when he was in control of his body.

“This was a fucking mistake,” he finally said.

Hermione nodded. What else was there to say?

He peered at her, eyes full of pain. “Will you be okay?”

“I … I don’t know,” she admitted quietly.

“Maybe I should just die.” The words were so low, so quiet, Hermione didn’t know whether she actually heard them.

“What?”

He quickly shook his head. “Nothing. Just … we should stay away from one another. This is … what he’s doing … this clearly affects us both more than we think. This can’t happen again.”

He turned around and hurried away, his quick steps a far cry from his usual elegance. Hermione watched him until he rounded a corner and disappeared. How could everything change so dramatically in just a few weeks? She felt like her life was different, so unrecognisably different from last year.

A part of her, a selfish, ungrateful, immature part, wanted to just bathe in the afterglow of what just happened. The way Professor Snape couldn’t stay away from her. How his fingers dug into her, how he rubbed himself against her as though helpless against his own desires. How they both fell down this spiral of lust, spurred on by the other’s moans.

This was how she’d always pictured sex would go.

She balled her hands into fists and shook her head. No. This was senseless rutting. Just two people who were slaves to their lust. What her man gave her was so much more. His control allowed her to let go. He expanded her horizon, challenged her. Dared her to be so much more than she thought she could be.

What just happened was a purely physical reaction because his body had brought her pleasure all week. He was interchangeable, he could’ve been anyone.

But only her mysterious lover was able to bring her to unknown peaks and make her feel safe. Yes. The safety he promised, his complete trust in her, his care. Even his sternness and cool correction of her faults. She wanted it all. And it was all she needed.

***

The moment Hermione entered the small room in the Three Broomsticks, she removed her cloak, stepped into the middle of the room, and got down on her knees, blouse opened, no bra beneath, hands behind her head, chest pushed out. Just like he taught her the day before.

She was desperate to show him that she knew she deserved punishment.

Just like the day before, he sat in his armchair, but today, he had a glass of firewhisky in his hand, swirling the dark liquid lazily while he studied her. He didn’t comment on her getting down on her knees. He didn’t greet her. He simply sat there and looked at her, eyes hidden in the darkness.

Hermione kept her eyes on the wooden floor. She messed up. She messed up so much that it would take a miracle for him to forgive her. She would endure any punishment. Anything.

The silence stretched on. She was desperate to say something, explain herself. More than anything, she wanted him to tell her it was okay. That he wasn’t angry with her. That he forgave her.

She forced herself to remain silent. She didn’t lick her lip and didn’t swallow overly much. This afternoon, she had decided her best course of action would be to show herself as submissive and obedient as she possibly could. Thus, she steeled her back and kept her eyes down. She ignored her pebbling nipples and forced away the shivers that the coldness of the room brought on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he moved. With one huge gulp, he emptied his glass and put it on the table beside him. Then, he folded his hands in his laps and cocked his head.

“You know what you did today was wrong.”

“Yes, sir.” She almost sobbed in relief.

“Yet you still did it.” His voice was eerily calm, almost flat. Emotionless.

“I did, sir. I have no excuse.”

“I didn’t expect to be disappointed in you again so quickly.” There was a slight edge to his tone, yet it still sounded calm. Too calm.

Hermione had to take several breaths before she was able to answer. “I’m sorry, sir. I will submit to any punishment you see fit.”

“Of course, you will.” His voice lashed out like a whip.

Trembling, she closed her eyes. This cool anger was so much worse than she expected. But she deserved this. She had betrayed him in the worst possible way, after he was so gentle and understanding of her shortcomings just the day before.

“Do you understand why I am disappointed?”

Her eyes flew open again. “Because I let another man touch me, sir.”

He chuckled darkly. “Wrong. Try again.”

Her mouth went dry. If that was not it, then what was the problem? Didn’t he tell her to refrain from showering because he wanted her to keep his essence on her skin? Wasn’t that a claim to her body? She even told him that her body was his, because he wanted to hear it.

“Because I let Professor Snape touch me?” It didn’t feel right, but it was all she could come up with.

He scoffed. “Same thing, still wrong. I see that you don’t understand me. How disappointing.”

In a flash, he stood before her, hands tangled into her curls, forcing her head back so he could stare into her eyes. “I don’t care if another man touches you or makes you come. Because I know that the pleasure I bring you cannot be matched by any of those nobodies. But your body is mine.”

He used his other hand to force her mouth open, his thumb slipping deep inside, pressing down on her tongue, while his fingers curled around her jaw. “What I do care about is other men using your body for their pleasure. Especially Severus. That is something I cannot allow. Did you never notice that whenever I come to you in his body, only you get to come? Were you so oblivious to my very clear actions? Nobody, absolutely nobody, is allowed to take their pleasure from you.”

Hermione groaned as her eyes were watering from the pull in her hair and she had to swallow against the gag reflex his thumb was triggering. It all made sense now. Of course, he wouldn’t care if someone else brought her to a mediocre climax. None of that compared to the pleasure he gave her. But Professor Snape came as well today, using her body until he spilled in his pants.

“I don’t want another man to come inside you, or on you, or in any way around you, ever again, is that clear?” His voice was a low, vicious hiss. “If you want fumbling fingers bringing you to a disappointing end, be my guest. I don’t care. We can arrange having other men here to train you if you want to be continuously sad und unfulfilled. But never, ever allow another man to experience the glory that is your perfect, beautiful body.”

She tried to nod, or hum her acceptance, but the grip he had on her head made it impossible. All she could do was drool around his thumb and say through her eyes that she agreed to every word he said.

“Now, we were supposed to begin your training today. You wanted to learn to take my cock down your throat. But I can’t let your transgressions go unpunished. So, because I don’t want to put off your training any longer, we will combine the two.”

He pulled his thumb out of her mouth and summoned his wand into his hand. “I’ll temporarily prevent your body from vomiting, but you’ll still feel the gag reflex. The most important part of this training is to learn how to control that reflex, so you’ll have to deal with it.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” she sobbed as soon as she could speak again. “I’m so, so sorry. It’ll never happen again, I promise.”

He discarded his wand and yanked down his trousers. “I don’t care for your empty words right now, Hermione. You promised me your body was mine yesterday, and broke that promise immediately. Show me you’re sorry by being a good little cocksucker instead, darling. Come one. Open wide.”

Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest and cold sweat was running down her back. Having his cock directly in front of her was intimidating. She knew he said that she should take it down her throat, but now that she saw it, she was sure that it was only a manner of speech. He couldn’t possibly expect her to swallow that thing.

Breathing erratically, she opened her mouth as wide as she could. His hand in her hair arranged her head to the angle he wanted, while the other pushed her jaw open even wider. She groaned in pain.

Then, his cock hit her tongue, heavy and salty and already rock hard. It just so fit into her mouth, and she had to fight to not scrape him with her teeth. His slid over her tongue ever so slowly, her lips stretching around the velvety shaft. She swallowed, but saliva was still dripping from the corner of her mouth. He kept going, pushing deeper, until he hit the back of her throat. Hermione gagged, her whole body shook and her stomach revolted, but nothing came up.

For a second, she was relieved that the worst was over. But then she realised that he still kept going. With her head held in an iron grip and her mouth stuffed full, she couldn’t even scream or shake her head. Peering up at him, tears streaming down her face, she shivered in the cold.

Those eyes told her that he would have no mercy today.

Chapter Text

She looked pathetically miserable. Voldemort had to hold back the amusement he felt to keep up his stern expression. He fully intended to take his pleasure from her throat today, whether she was prepared to or not. It just so happened that she provided him with the perfect excuse to punish her.

As though he cared whether she shagged another man. It was comical how much she believed that he actually cared about her.

She was useful as Potter’s best friend, even though he was working to change the friend part. As long as she stayed close enough to get information out of the boy, but far enough that once the time came, she was ready to betray him, Voldemort was content.

That she was willing to let him fuck her any way he pleased was just a bonus on top. The Order of the Phoenix really messed up by diminishing her intelligence. It was so easy to rile her up and make her feel even smaller.

Pathetic, worthless mudblood.

He slowly pushed in further. She gagged again, the whole body spasming, her throat clutching around his cock. He couldn’t hide the smile this time. The stupid girl still held her arms up as though her posture mattered in any way.

He watched intently as he slid in further. Her eyes grew bigger. Her tongue was flat against his cock, awkwardly trying to accommodate his grith. There. Fear flickered in her eyes. His smile widened to a grin. She just realised she could no longer breathe. He thrust the final stretch in, eliciting a pained groan from her that vibrated around his cock.

Panic—deep rooted, primal fear—stood in her eyes as she peered up at him. Voldemort let go of her jaw and slipped his hand further down to feel where his cock was lodged in her throat. Glorious.

“Ah, my perfect girl,” he praised her, “what a marvel you are. Taking my cock all the way down on the first try.”

She twitched, fear still cloaking any pride she might be feeling. He smiled and stroked her throat softly. “I know. I know it hurts and you can’t breathe. But it feels so good for me. Don’t you want me to feel good?”

He pulled out again, slowly, deliberately, watching in grim fascination how a string of spit connected the tip of his cock with her lips. “Well, Hermione?”

She coughed and retched, wiping her mouth and massaging her neck. “I do, sir. I want you to feel good.”

“I want to fuck your perfect little throat. You’ve taken your punishment so well, swallowing me without any complaint.” He swiped his thumb over her cheekbone. “You deserve a reward for that.”

Anxiety flickered in her eyes. “A reward?”

“Yes. Would you like that? I’ll fuck your throat and then I’ll come in your mouth and you get to swallow all of it.” He turned his face into a warm smile. “There’s nothing more intimate than swallowing a man’s cum. It’s the highest form of praise if a man comes inside your mouth and allows you to swallow. The only greater honour is if he comes inside your cunt.”

Slowly, colour returned to her cheeks as Hermione blushed. She ate it up, every last word that came out of his mouth. She nodded hesitantly.

“Good girl,” he purred. “I don’t deserve you. Now, I will go nice and slow so you can adjust to it, okay? I’ll pull out enough to allow you to breathe. Just time it with my thrusts and everything will be alright. You can do this. I know you can do this, my perfect little witch.”

She preened under his praise, now nodding more eagerly. She actually opened her mouth again without prompting. Voldemort schooled his features into a smile and prepared to dive back in. “Good girl.”

This time, he entered her without hesitation, sliding over her tongue, ignoring her gagging around his cock, until he was fully sheathed again. Then, he pulled back, slowly, just enough to allow her to catch her breath. He watched as her nostrils flared before he thrust back in. It took a moment, but finally, she adjusted to the rhythm.

Voldemort enjoyed the feel of her throat around his cock. She still couldn’t prevent gagging every time he entered her, and it was the most wonderful, tight squeeze he could imagine. Every time she gagged, her eyes were big and full of panic. The hunger in him grew. He wanted to thrust into her without giving her time to breathe. He wanted to claim her throat until she passed out, and continue to use her while she was unconscious.

Without realising it, he sped up, pumping into her faster and faster. He only noticed when her little breaths turned to wet pants as snot ran from her nose. Tears, drool, and snot mixed on her face, painting a positively depraved picture. There was no longer any pride in her eyes, only desperation and fear. She was close to breaking, Voldemort could feel it. Oh, how he wanted to see her break.

Instead, he pulled out completely. She instantly keeled over, gasping and coughing and sobbing uncontrollably. He let her carry on for a moment, enjoying her misery while she was completely unaware. Then, he grabbed her hair again and pulled her head back up.

“You’re doing so well, Hermione. Just a bit more. I’m so close. I still want to come in your mouth, but it’s your choice. Do you think you can take it?”

She stared at him as though she couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying. Patiently, he wiped away her tears and repeated, “I told you, I want to reward you. I want to come down your throat, but if you can’t take it, I won’t do it. I’ll only ever do what you are ready to do, Hermione. You know that. I told you about trust. I need you to trust me, just as I trust you. So. Can you do that? Can you trust me and take my cock again? I really want to give you this reward, but I need your explicit consent, darling.”

A gasping sob broke from her lips. “I don’t know. I don’t know whether I can do that again. I feel like I’m suffocating the whole time.”

He gripped her curls harder. “Sweet darling, I know. I understand. It’s hard to do this, but you’re doing so well. I trust you. I know you can do this. I trust you because there’s nothing Hermione Granger can’t do. So, what do you say? Do you want to try again? Do I have your consent?”

She cried violently now, but she relented. “Yes, sir. I want this.”

“Good girl.”

He dove back in before she could change her mind. Her despair rippled through his body, sending pleasant tingles down his spine. He really was close. Holding her head just as he liked it, he fucked her throat, fast and hard. She went slack under his hands as tears streamed down her face uncontrollably. Voldemort groaned at the sight. A perfectly destroyed little mudblood.

“Prepare yourself, witch,” he growled between two grunts. “I want you to swallow every last drop. Don’t let my reward go to waste.”

He exploded, coming harder than any time before with this witch. Despite her tears, she swallowed it obediently, gagging and coughing with each fresh string he pumped into her. At last, he grew limp and pulled out. He almost pushed her to the ground, but quickly remembered the part he way playing.

With a warm smile back on his lips, he cradled her in his arms and sat down on the armchair, keeping her on his lap. She cried even harder now, trembling in his arms as sobs wrecked her small little body. He hummed soothingly, stroking her back, massaging her neck, licking the tears from her face. Everything a nice lover would do to his bride.

Slowly, she calmed down. Her sobs subsided, her body stopped shaking. She even returned the hug, snuggling closer to his chest.

He gave her a little peck on top of her head. “You did well today, Hermione. You took the punishment and the reward like the mature woman that you are.”

“Thank you, sir,” she replied with a small voice.

“I hope you know that I’ll only ever do what you are ready to do.” He put extra emphasis on his words. “If I don’t have your consent, I won’t do anything. No means no. In a healthy relationship, communication is key. If you ever don’t want to do something, you just have to tell me. We can talk about everything. I’m sharing my desires with you because I trust you. I expect the same from you. Please, always tell me no if it’s too much.”

She nodded into his chest. “I know. You are very clear, sir. I understand what you’re saying. I always want to try new things. I think it’s because I know I can trust you and because I know that you’ll stop if I say so that I’m so open to trying everything. Thank you, sir.”

He hummed in appreciation, but didn’t reply. Voldemort wasn’t sure his voice wouldn’t betray his hysterical amusement at her innocent, stupid words. She trusted him so implicitly, it was comical.

They continued to sit in silence as Voldemort contemplated the next steps. Hermione was definitely already at the point where she would trust him over everyone else. But he was very aware that she was still a Gryffindor, brave and stubborn to a fault. She wouldn’t let go of her loyalty to Harry Potter and to Dumbledore’s stupid cause that easily. She needed to see more fault with the Order, more fault in Dumbledore.

Deep in thought, he allowed the witch to fall asleep in his lap.

***

“Well, Severus, did you enjoy sweet little Hermione Granger?”

Voldemort relished the way this stubborn wizard had to bow his head and grovel in front of him. After he took the Unbreakable Vow, he returned to his former glory. Driven by some foolish sense of duty, hell-bent on protecting a boy he hated. Continuing to bow his head before a Dark Lord he despised.

“As you know what happened, there is nothing left to say for me,” Severus replied cooly, hands flat on the dark parquet, eyes downcast.

“Now, don’t be like that. The girl took the punishment for you two, so don’t worry.”

Severus grew tense. “I won’t touch her again. Your position on that is clear.”

“Is it? Is my position clear?” Voldemort laughed. “You’re as misguided as she is. I don’t give a damn whether she fucks all of Hogwarts. If you want to have fun, go have fun.”

Finally, Severus looked up, his expression stormy. “I didn’t take you for the sharing type.”

“Sharing? Sharing?! You can only share things that have value. What do I care for some mudblood?” He shook his head in dry amusement. “Really, Severus. You want me to believe you’re not tempted by her? She has such a nice, tight little body. Believe me, she’s a great fuck.”

“If you don’t care, why did you punish her?”

Voldemort shrugged. “The girl needed to feel like I was possessive, so I made a show of it. Don’t worry. I explicitly allowed her to fool around with other guys. Just told her she can’t let them come, but really, if you want to fill her up, be my guest.”

Severus glared at him. “I still won’t touch her.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s my student. She’s seventeen. And as sick as I find this whole affair, it’s clear that she only wants … you. She wouldn’t touch me if you didn’t … use my body.” He spat the last words as though they were disgusting.

“Ah, so that’s it? You’re unhappy about the memories I so graciously allowed you access to? Are they not to your liking? Do you not pull on them when you fuck your hand like the pathetic man that you are? Don’t try this ethical nonsense with me, Severus. Just get over yourself and fuck the girl.”

“Why are you even pushing this so hard?”

Voldemort grinned broadly. “Because it makes her just as miserable as you are and I find that delightful.”

Chapter Text

The following weeks flew by like a whirlwind. On school days, Hermione enjoyed the sensual treatment that brought her to completion within minutes. On weekends, she learned how to enjoy his more advanced attention, taking him in various ways, slowly finding the pleasure in the pain.

He complimented her endlessly and always made sure she was up to the task. Whenever she expressed concern, he’d talk to her, calm her down, ensure her that she could take it. Sometimes, her whole body hurt on Mondays because he had been so rough with her the two days before. On those days, she had to fight the doubt and the fear within her. But he always made up for it, always showered her in praise and worship.

His kind words were doubly important to her as she watched Ron grow further and further apart. He spent most of his time with Lavender now, or playing Quidditch as a substitute on the team, and only seemed to remember she existed when he needed help with homework. Which she denied him now. Thanks to her mysterious man, she had found the strength in herself to stand up to her friends. She caught Ron badmouthing her to Harry and Ginny more than once, but she didn’t care. In his eyes, she would always be jealous of Lavender, even though she couldn’t care less about him and his romantic adventures.

All that mattered was supporting Harry.

She resumed her studies of the Dark Arts. Every weekend when she met her man, he would teach her something new. Their meetings always started with him using the Cruciatus curse or the Imperius curse on her, helping her to slowly be able to withstand the torture and shake of the mind control. She hated the Cruciatus the most, because no matter how often he used it, she didn’t seem to grow used to it. It always felt like her whole world was ending. At least with the Imperius, she noticed that she was able to shake it off faster and faster.

It was a day on a particularly stormy November weekend when Hermione was first able to break the Imperius as soon as he cast it. She felt the familiar sensation of all her worries drifting away, but before he even sent an order, she broke through.

Panting, she looked up at him from where she was kneeling on the floor. “Was that … was that good?”

He smiled proudly at her. “That was spectacular, darling. Come, you deserve a reward for that.”

He gave her three orgasms in a row for that, until she felt so exhausted and tired that she snuggled under the blanket of the little bed and sighed in contentment. “I feel like I could sleep for a whole week.”

He laid down behind her, gently wrapping his arms around her naked form. “Then sleep for a moment, darling. I’ll wake you when it’s time to go back.”

~*~

The girl actually fell asleep in his arms. Voldemort chuckled quietly to himself. So trusting. It was clearer than ever that she just craved affection. With Severus not even so much as looking at her anymore, and her friends pulling away, her loneliness grew by the day. He could feel it rolling off her whenever she first set foot in their little room in the Three Broomsticks.

Dark lines under her eyes, a dullness in her gaze. She only came alive in his arms. He could feel that she just needed a final, little push. And he had that prepared. Soon, very soon.

Grinning, he grabbed his wand and carefully sent her deeper into her sleep. She wouldn’t wake up any time soon. Then, he pulled her thigh back over his hips and slotted his cock between her legs. Her folds were still wet, a mixture of his cum and her juices slowly seeping out. She was also swollen and sore, her pretty little cunt not used to so many orgasms. If he asked her whether he could take her once more, she would probably shake her head and offer her mouth up instead.

His other hand slid under her body and around until he could grab one of her tits. It was small and soft, but her nipples hardened quickly under the combined might of his fingers and his cock nudging her folds apart. Hermione sighed in her sleep.

Slowly, leisurely, he slipped into her. Oh yes, she was even tighter than usual. She groaned quietly and a little frown appeared between her eyes, but she didn’t wake up. Voldemort pulled her thigh up even further, enjoying the way it opened her up.

He was still undecided whether he should kill her or not. There really was no reason to keep her alive once she betrayed Potter completely. But right this moment, while he pumped slowly in and out of her, he could imagine a future where he kept her around, available to fuck at all times.

Maybe he could use her as reward for his Death Eaters. There were quiet a few who didn’t have the pleasure of a witch keeping their bed warm. They would surely enjoy a little treat every now and then, especially if it was a mudblood they could use however they liked.

His cock throbbed at the thought and he picked up the pace. Perhaps he should test that out with one of his more loyal followers. Fenrir had been rather efficient in bringing the werewolves over to his cause. If anyone deserved a snack for his efforts, it was him. He was huge and had a cock that could rip a witch apart. It would be a sight to behold having him take Hermione. Maybe she would scream even harder than she ever did for himself.

With a growl, Voldemort rolled her onto her stomach and started thrusting into her harshly. No, Fenrir was probably a poor choice. She would know who he was and grow suspicious. As much as he would like to see the werewolf unleash his teeth and claws on her, she shouldn’t doubt him just yet.

He grunted with effort, hips snapping, wet sounds filling the room. He would have to postpone the experiment for now. And in any case, Hermione should be awake for the finale. As glorious as it was to fuck her unconscious body, he couldn’t wait to see the realisation in her eyes when she woke up with his cock splitting her open.

He pulled her slightly to the side by her hair, just enough so he could watch her eyes as she woke up. Then, he touched his wand to release her from the sleep spell. He never stopped pounding into her as he did so.

It took only a second for her body to react. Then, she gasped, eyes wide, disoriented, fearful. “What … huh? Sir?”

“Sorry, darling,” he grunted, “you wiggled your cute little butt so seductively while you slept, I couldn’t help myself.”

He rolled her back onto her stomach and pushed one hand between her shoulder blades to keep her down while he picked up the pace. She groaned with every thrust as he pressed the air out of her lungs. With one last growl, he emptied himself into her, pumping her full of his cum one more time.

“Merlin have mercy on me,” he rasped into her ear. “You are so fucking delicious. Even in your sleep you are more seductive than any other witch I know.”

He watched her profile as she remained under him, trembling under his weight. Just as he expected, the confusion in her eyes made way for proud happiness. She was such a slut for compliments.

With a kiss to her neck, he rolled off her, panting slightly from the exertion. He wanted to keep her here and fuck her again, especially since he wouldn’t be able to see her for at least a week now. Business in Russia needed his fullest attention. He already missed her cunt.

“I won’t be here next week,” he told her with true regret in his voice. “That means there won’t be any quick sessions during the week and no meeting at the weekend.”

Hermione quickly sat up straight, her eyes round. “Oh. Okay. I understand. I hope you will be safe?”

Voldemort chuckled at her innocent question. “Of course I will. I’m more worried about you.”

“Me?”

He propped himself up on his arms and shot her a teasing look. “You won’t have a cock inside your greedy little cunt for a full week. Will you survive that?”

She clutched the blanket to her body and shook her head, curls flying. “That’s no problem. Truly. I can manage.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Really? If that is the case, then maybe you’re not quite where I want you to be.”

“Sir?”

Voldemort sat up fully and put two fingers under her chin, looking her straight in the eyes. “There is nothing more sexy than a witch who wants to be fucked. The confidence it takes for a woman to say that out loud. To admit to her cravings. I thought that you would be able to be honest about that by now.”

She blushed deep red. “I’m not ashamed to say I like sex! You know that, sir. I just think I can manage one week without it.”

He closed his hand around her jaw and scowled. “Can you really? Be honest with me, Hermione. Can you honestly tell me that you don’t crave to be filled up every single day?”

He could see her mind working, brows furrowing, teeth burying into her bottom lip, as she tried to puzzle out his meaning. He smiled coldly. “There’s no shame in admitting you’re addicted to sex.”

Her lips formed a perfect round O as she finally understood. Cheeks burning pink, she averted her eyes. “I don’t think I can manage a week without you, sir.”

He hummed in appreciation. “And why is that, darling?”

“Because I’m … I’m addicted to it.”

“Look me in the eyes and say it clearly, Hermione,” he growled impatiently.

Instantly, her gaze flicked back to him. “I am addicted to sex, sir.”

He pressed a quick peck onto her lips before he let go of her jaw. “There. Was that so hard? You know you can always tell me the truth. We’re both sharing our interests openly here.”

He kissed her then, slowly, languidly, exploring her mouth without hurry, without intention. She melted against his chest, her cheeks flushed, her breathing heavy, so obviously interpreting the kiss as a romantic gesture. It was these moments, when he went slow, without the intent to turn it into sex, that he knew Hermione fell deeper and deeper in love with him.

Voldemort ended the kiss several minutes later, smiling warmly at her. “I told you before that I am okay with you getting pleasure from other men. That still stands. Just remember the rules.”

She returned the smile shily. “I remember. I don’t think I’ll need it, but … it means a lot to me that you’re so … open. With me. I know other guys get angry if their girl so much as looks at another man.”

He nodded empathetically. “I know. It’s mostly younger guys who are like that. It’s hard to be confident enough that you can keep your girl when you’re a teenager. It comes with age. And of course, it comes when the girl in question is trustworthy. It’s easy to trust you, Hermione, because you are willing to be open with me. It’s always a two-way street.”

She positively beamed at him, drinking his words in without question. He plastered an open-mouthed kiss on her cheek that he knew would make her giggle. Then, he got up and got dressed. It was a shame to leave her now. He felt like he could go another round. Or five. But he could have her again as soon as he returned and she would probably be willing to let him do whatever he wanted, just because she was happy to see him again.

~*~

For just a second, Severus thought that it would be a good thing that the Dark Lord needed to leave the country for a while. Thought that he would be free of the continuous torment, the ever-fresh memories of depravity that never failed to fill him with need. But of course, Voldemort had other plans.

“If there ever was a time for you to fuck the girl, it is now.”

Severus gritted his teeth, keeping his back upright as he looked just past the Dark Lord. “You know my answer to that.”

“I do indeed,” Voldemort hissed. “But will you be able to see her suffer? I know you care for the witch. She’ll be desperate by Friday, I’d say. Of course, she’ll never admit it. But her addiction is real. Her sweet innocent body didn’t know how to handle pleasure, and now it doesn’t know how to live without it. I tell you. You’ll do her a mercy if you give into your desires, even if she tells you she doesn’t need it.”

Severus sucked in his breath. When he first joined the Death Eaters almost twenty years ago, he heard rumours about Druella Rosier. She had been trained under the particular attention of the Dark Lord to always be ready and available. A witch that craved sex like other people craved food and water. She was given as a reward to Cygnus Black after he carried out a deed so dark, nobody knew what it was. All they knew was that the perfect doll was given to him because the Dark Lord was happy.

She was almost always pregnant, though only three babies survived. And even when healers told her that she needed to stop having sex or her body would give out, she couldn’t help herself. She died before she reached fifty years, pregnant with yet another baby. As a consolation, the Dark Lord gifted Cygnus several muggle women to keep his bed warm, though none were as well trained as Druella was according to the legends.

It was easy enough to believe that Voldemort did something very similar to Hermione. The way she always was wet even before he touched her spoke volumes.

Severus breathed in slowly. Even though he couldn’t warn her or otherwise talk to her about Voldemort, he still had sworn to himself to protect her. Perhaps, this one week could be enough to break her out of the cycle. To make her see clearly how depraved her partner was, even though he couldn’t say it directly.

Perhaps, for this week, while the Dark Lord was away, he should stay close to her. Show her true kindness, as much as he could manage anyway. Something to make her snap out of it.

She deserved so much better than this.

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t think of herself as addicted to sex. If anything, she enjoyed it when need and desire built inside her to ever greater highs, but the sex act itself was still so painful and foreign to her that she wasn’t too sad to skip a week. She missed his fingers and his tongue though. Her own fingers didn’t bring her nearly as much pleasure.

But she wasn’t stupid. There was an implicit expectation that she would sleep with Professor Snape this week. If she didn’t, she would probably be found out how little she actually enjoyed sex.

As she sat in Defence Against the Dark Arts, chewing absentmindedly on her quill, she wondered whether she should just ask Professor Snape to do it and get it over with. She sighed deeply. It was only Wednesday, she still had the whole week ahead of her. Maybe she could put it off a little more.

Of course, she had no such luck. When Professor Snape announced the end of class, he called out to her, telling her to stay behind. Hermione rolled her shoulders back and took a deep breath. She should just ask and be done with it.

As she approached his desk, she heard the faint click of the door locking behind her. Despite herself, goosebumps erupted on her back and a low pulse of heat throbbed expectantly between her legs. She closed her eyes, blushing deep red. Her body really had a mind of its own.

“Stop dawdling and come here, Granger,” Snape’s voice called out to her.

Her eyes snapped open again. He leaned against his desk, arms and legs crossed, his face an unreadable mask of something dark. She licked her lips and stepped as close as she dared. For a long moment, he studied her, his eyes travelling up and down her body, taking in every part of her exposed skin. She shivered under his scrutiny and felt her blush deepen.

“I don’t know what to do with you.” His quiet admittance sounded as broken as she felt in this moment.

Hermione inched closer and dared another look into his eyes. “You don’t have to do anything, professor.”

“Don’t–,” he snarled but instantly snapped his mouth shut again. Softer, he added, “Don’t call me that. It only makes this worse.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, now all too aware how strange the whole situation was.

His nostrils flared and his look turned suffering. “You’re wet again, Granger. How are you always wet around me?”

White-hot shame burned inside her. Everything about this was so wrong. “I can’t help it. When I see your hands or your lips or even just … you … my mind goes to all the things you can do to me.”

“Jesus Christ,” Snape cursed as he closed his hands into fists.

Hermione couldn’t help the giggle. “A muggle expletive from you?”

“Curtesy of growing up around muggles. But really, that’s what you’re hung up on right now?”

Something warm bloomed in her chest. She didn’t know Snape grew up with muggles. She didn’t know his voice could sound so soft, so playfully teasing. With her heart hammering against her chest, she closed the last distance between them and hesitantly peeled his fists open to intertwine their fingers.

He didn’t admonish her, he didn’t stop her. He simply let her do it, and once her small hand slipped into his bigger one, he curled his fingers around her and squeezed softly. With a sigh, she leaned her head against his chest.

“I’m sorry you’re involved in all of this,” she whispered.

For some reason, it never truly clicked for her how strange it was that Professor Snape’s body was used to bring her pleasure. She could only imagine how bad it was for him, especially because he retained all memories of it. As her teacher, he probably hated every second of it. And she only ever thought about the pleasure his fingers brought her.

“No,” he retorted intently, “I am sorry. This whole thing is … suffice it to say that the true fault in all of this lies with me.”

She remained like this, leaning against his tall frame, eyes closed, one hand in his. She didn’t care that she would miss lunch. Nobody would notice anyway. This right here felt right. His gentle words and soft fingers were a balm for her soul she didn’t know she needed.

With another sigh, she snuggled even closer to him—and instantly regretted it. Swallowing thickly, she peered up at him. “And you admonish me for being wet?”

His dark eyes bored into her. “We suffer from the same affliction, Granger. I can’t help it any more than you can.”

She frowned. “So, that is all this is? A physical reaction of your body?”

His gaze turned cold. “Would you prefer it if your old teacher actually lusted after his very much too young student?”

“That’s not what I–” Hermione bit her tongue and shook her head. His words made her angry and she wanted to take it out on him, but that was not what she really longed for right now. Taking a deep breath, she explained, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just … this,” she raised their intertwined hands, “this feels nice. But I’d hate to think it’s not the same for you.”

His eyes grew softer and he slipped his other hand onto the small of her back. “You truly are a greedy young woman, Miss Granger.”

Her mouth fell open and she was ready to protest, but in just that second, Snape turned them around and trapped her against the desk. Without taking his eyes off her, he raised their combined hands to his lips and feathered the softest kiss against her palm. “Do you want to find out?”

Her brain short-circuited somewhere during this. “What?”

He chuckled lowly. “Do you want to find out whether this is only physical?”

Hermione couldn’t think. She couldn’t even breathe. Her whole world seemed to be dominated by the gravelly purr in his voice and the way his eyes drank her in. A warmth that had nothing to do with lust spread from her chest into her whole body. She couldn’t help the smile that formed on her lips.

She nodded.

~*~

She actually nodded.

Severus knew that every step brought him closer to his own personal hell, but he couldn’t stay away. The contempt in Voldemort’s voice whenever he talked about Hermione made his heart hurt. It was obvious to him that she was in love with the man she didn’t even truly know, and all she got in return was disdain and glee that he subdued a mudblood so easily.

She deserved to feel cherished. To feel warmth instead of heat. To feel an embrace instead of bruising grips.

To have someone make love to her instead of fuck her.

It shouldn’t be him, it should never be him, but Voldemort had isolated her so effectively from her friends that Hermione Granger had no other person looking out for her except her professor.

Severus wasn’t the best at gentle and kind either. But he would try. He would give his absolute best to be as soft as he could.

Carefully, he took her face into both hands and stared right into her eyes. He waited for her to push him away, to tell him no, but she only licked her lips and looked at him expectantly.

As soon as his lips met hers, she moaned and threw her arms around his neck. She opened her legs to grind against him as she parted her lips to invite his tongue. Severus swallowed and fought down the urge to meet her hips.

Instead, he kept his lips closed and continued to kiss her slowly, softly, just lips caressing lips. It was clear that she didn’t understand, the frustrated little sounds she made an obvious indicator that she expected him to just devour her.

Images of his finger and his tongue and every object anyone could think of ravaging her cunt swirled in his mind. They made it hard to concentrate, hard to hold back. Severus knew, she could take anything he wanted to do to her.

He groaned into the kiss. Hermione took advantage of that and slipped her own tongue between his lips. He greeted her happily, dancing around her, swallowing her pretty little sighs eagerly. Before he knew it, he was grinding into her with equal impatience, desperate to move on.

His hands moved down, deft fingers slipping open the buttons of her blouse. She mewled as his hands closed around her breasts, a sound that shot right to his core. Panting, he broke away from the kiss.

She never looked prettier. Eyes glassy, lips a little swollen, the innocent white of her blouse revealing her perfect body, a small waist, round hips, and just the most beautiful pair of breasts Severus had ever seen. He gritted his teeth to stop himself from just taking her right then and there.

Instead, he slipped one hand to her back, right between her shoulder blades, and guided her gently down until she lay on his desk. Her eyes were big, pupils blow wide, a picture of desire, but he could see something more underneath it. The slightest hint of fear and hesitation.

Severus carefully pushed her bra up. Her nipples were already hard, beckoning him to touch them. Rolling her right one between his thumb and index fingers, he closed his lips around her left nipple and sucked.

“Ah–” Her cry was interrupted by an almost feral groan when he swirled his tongue around her once.

He repeated the motion, listening intently to her breathing change with every little action he did. He could feel her body heat up underneath him. Her moans quickly turned to high-pitched whines and she arched her back of the desk to meet him. He groaned in response, barely able to hold back. She was delicious and reactive and so, so ready for him.

Severus carefully slid his right hand down between their bodies. He caressed her waist as he went, squeezing the soft flesh of her hips, enjoying the way she spread her legs even further. When he reached between her thighs, he froze.

She was so wet, her knickers drenched, her juices slowly dripping down her thighs and onto the wooden surface of his desk. He closed his eyes and took several deep, long breaths. Everything in him screamed to just push her panties aside and bury himself in her. She clearly wanted it. She practically begged for it.

Slowly, intently, he ran two fingers over the drenched fabric that covered her core.

“Yes,” Hermione moaned, “yes, please! Just take me already!”

He stroked back down and up again, building a slow, torturous rhythm for her. She writhed beneath him, desperate to urge him on, but Severus stayed patient. He only added his thumb, pressing down on her sensitive little nub just enough to rob her of all words. His fingers remained outside her knickers, stroking her languidly.

He saw her open her mouth again to demand more. Smiling devilishly, he covered her lips with his own, invading her mouth as he went. She growled in protest, but her tongue welcomed him in nonetheless. Her fingers curled into his long, black hair and finally, finally, she submitted to his slow ministrations. She allowed him to kiss her and pleasure her without urging him on.

Moans dropped from her lips like waterfalls. He could feel her hold back, could feel her muscles flex as she tried not to grind against him. Her breathing came irregularly, her mouth no longer able to respond to his kiss. She was careening towards the edge and Severus couldn’t get enough of what he saw.

With a growl, he buried his teeth in her neck to stop himself from grinding against her. She whimpered at the pain, rolling her hips up against his hand. Severus rested his forehead against the cool wood of his desk and gave up the fight. Keeping his hand steady, he allowed her to grind against it, undulating and arching her back and pressing herself against him with urgent need.

His cock was rock hard, pressing painfully against his tight trousers. It demanded to be freed, to feel her as she came on his hand. Severus kept his lips sealed, breathing heavily through his nose as he allowed Hermione to ride out her orgasm without him. This was about her. As much as he wanted to take her right now, this whole thing was for her.

“Fuck,” he growled as she slowly stopped shuddering, “god, you’re a sight to behold, Granger.”

She keened in response, pressing her hips once more against his hand. A fresh wave of tremors gripped her body as she prolonged her climax. Her sighs and whines and moans almost overwhelmed him. His whole body went rigid from his fight to remain as he was.

But when she finally came back to herself and opened her eyes, the dreamy look was too much. He lost himself in it.

Chapter Text

“Tell me I can have you.” Urgent, barely restrained need dripped from Snape’s words. “Jesus fucking Christ, Granger. Please. Please allow me–”

“Of course,” she panted, “you don’t have to ask. Take me. Use me. My body is yours.”

Hermione threw both her arms over her eyes and tried to calm her breathing. That orgasm just now had been so different. It had built slowly, almost imperceptibly. A rising tide that caught her off guard when it crashed into her. It wasn’t all-consuming and blinding as she was used to. No. It was hot and sensual, wrapping around her whole body, carrying her, comforting her. Giving her nothing but blissful relief.

She braced herself for the pain that would now follow. She knew that the pain would bring even more pleasure, that she would get that almost violent orgasm that she knew so well. But a part of her never got over the pain and so, she had to prepare herself to allow it.

She heard Snape release a string of curses above her. Hesitantly, she peered through her arms. What she saw took her breath away.

Snape had peeled off her knickers and flipped up her skirt. With his cock in hand, he loomed over her, eyes fixed between her thighs, his free hand gripping the edge of the desk so hard his knuckles turned white. There was hunger in his eyes that she knew very well. That hunger promised a quick, hard fuck that would make her body hurt for days but also gave her the most intense orgasm of her life. It was the same hunger she saw in her man’s eyes all the time.

But Snape hesitated. He stood almost frozen, as though he couldn’t bring himself to make a move. She licked her lips.

“It’s okay,” she whispered. “I know that look. You can use my body however you like. I can take it. You don’t have to worry about hurting me. It’s okay. Just use me. I want to see you lose control. You can hurt me as much as you like. My body is made for that. I can take it.”

She spoke softly, urgently, trying to make him understand that this was exactly what she needed. She had learned so much since she started having sex. She knew that there was no better feeling in the world than when a man just threw all boundaries over board and just claimed her. Showing her who he truly was. Trusting her not to condemn him for his urges. That was what sex was all about. The frantic, violent baring of one’s true desires, without holding anything back. As much as she struggled to accept the pain, she understood this core principle and was able to subdue her fear and focus on the pleasure instead.

“No,” Snape rasped, a strangled, almost pitiful sound. “No, that’s not … I don’t want that, Granger. Sex isn’t just about pleasure. And it sure as fuck isn’t about only one party enjoying it. Fuck, how can you even say that? You shouldn’t say that.”

She blinked in confusion. “Why? There is no greater pleasure for me than when a man takes everything he needs from me. It’s intimate. It shows his vulnerability. You can be open with me, professor.”

“Fuck, don’t call me that,” he growled, eyes suddenly on her, blazing with anger. “Stop calling me that when we’re in the middle of … Just call me Severus.”

She didn’t fully understand his anger, but that was not important. She couldn’t stop the stupid, giddy grin on her lips. “Okay. Severus.”

He swallowed a moan. “Fuck. Hermione.”

“Yes?”

Everything inside her felt warm. Like the sun was shining down upon them. She bathed in his gaze now, his eyes so full of adoration and care. It wasn’t what she was used to, especially since the hunger seemed to still be there. It was just different now. She shivered. The hunger in his eyes didn’t threaten to devour her.

Instead, he looked at her like he wanted to give her the world.

Snape guided his cock to her entrance, his eyes still on hers. “I’ll be careful. I promise. Tell me when it hurts.”

She smiled. “It’s okay if it hurts. I don’t mind.”

“No,” he snapped. “I want you to tell me if it hurts. I don’t care how you usually do it. You’re with me now. I want to know if I’m hurting you.”

She frowned, unsure why he was so persistent, but then she relented and nodded her assent. Sucking her lips between her teeth, she propped herself up on her elbows and watched as he rubbed his cock between her folds several times, gathering her slick.

Then, he pushed in.

For a split-second, it hurt as her muscles made way for his flared tip, but then a shudder went through her body and she welcomed him. He hissed as he slipped in further, his jaw working as he gritted his teeth. Both his hands were on her hips now, holding her gently, steadying her.

Before he was even half-way in, he pulled out again. “Is this okay?”

The nodded breathlessly. “More than okay.”

He pushed back in, further this time, but just as slowly. Fresh slick pooled around him as her walls easily made space for him. With every shallow thrust, he entered her deeper, but it never hurt.

Hermione didn’t realise that she had stopped breathing until he was fully sheathed and a shuddering sob broke from her lips.

Instantly, Snape’s right hand cupped her cheek. “Shit. Did that hurt?”

She shook her head. “No. No, this is … this is good. So good.”

He groaned and dipped his head until it rested on her shoulder. “Can I … can I move?”

She laughed in disbelief. “Yes! Oh god, yes, please, please move!”

He gripped her hips tighter with both hands while his head remained on her shoulder. She could hear his laboured, restrained breathing as he slowly pulled out and thrust back in. He set an almost languid rhythm, long, slow strokes that allowed her to adjust to him without any pain.

Her eyes seemed glued to where his cock disappeared inside her. Never before had she realised what a mesmerising sight it was. He really was inside her. Professor Snape was really fucking her. His cock was glistening with her juices every time he pulled out.

“Is this okay?” Snape asked again.

She stifled a moan. “Yes!”

“Does it hurt?”

She huffed out a chuckle. “No, no, not at all. No pain at all.”

“Good,” he rasped, “that’s good.”

He picked up the pace then, thrusting into her with the same long strokes, but harsher than before. Still, it did not hurt. All Hermione could feel was the delicious stretch and the heat of his body.

She pushed herself away from the desk and slung her arms around his necks. Instantly, Snape circled his arms around her back as well, holding her close to his body. His thrust became frantic, his hips snapping with very push.

Hermione whined and moaned, unable to do anything but feel. He held her so securely, arms wrapping around her without hurting her, she could melt into the embrace. It made her feel cherished.

Tears pricked at her eyes. Right in this moment, her whole world was perfect. His cock filling her over and over again, his hands holding her, his strained breathing, interwoven with desperate groans, it all was too much. She never wanted to leave this moment.

“Severus,” she whispered. “Severus. Severus.” She couldn’t stop saying his name. Like a chant. Like a prayer.

“I’m here,” he replied, voice nothing but a rough growl. “I’m here. I got you. I got you, Hermione.”

She rolled her hips, grinding her clit against him every time he thrust into her. Fresh heat rushed through her veins. She stopped speaking, unable to support words anymore, only moaning and sobbing through the pleasure. Their movements became frantic, skin slapping against skin. Snape didn’t hold back anymore either, sharp grunts accompanying every snap of his hips.

He still held her close.

With a cry, Hermione let go. Stopped holding back the tears, stopped keeping the desire at bay. She let go and let the climax wash over her, carrying her away. She clung to him, mouth agape, no sound leaving her anymore as her body shuddered and twitched against his.

He stilled his hips, allowing her to press her body against him exactly as she needed. She didn’t hear him curse and suck in his breath, didn’t feel his fingers dig into her skin as he tried to keep his own orgasm at bay. All she felt was the safety and perfection his strong arms offered her.

When her trembling stopped, he whispered, “Can I come inside you?”

Drunk on the floating feeling in all her limbs, Hermione nodded. “Yes, yes, please. I want you to fill me up, Severus. Please!”

He groaned in response. Then, he carefully laid her back onto the table, making sure she didn’t hit her head. Smiling warmly at her, he curled his hands around her thighs and pushed them up, before his hands slid back to her hips. She answered his smile through hooded eyes, enjoying the warmth and tired exhaustion that seeped into her bones.

He started with an experimental roll of his hips. Hermione shuddered, surprised again that it did not hurt. He pumped into her slowly, increasing the speed ever so slightly with each thrust. Hermione reached up and cradled his face into her hands. Ran her thumbs over his pronounced cheekbones. Enjoyed the crease that formed between his eyebrows as he picked up the pace.

Before long, he was thrusting into her with harsh, fast snaps, yet still, it did not hurt. She had only eyes for the wonder in his expression. The warmth. Even when he started cursing again and his rhythm turned frantic, when he leaned down and angled her thighs even higher, she still felt no pain. Only contentment and warmth.

He came with a thundering groan, pumping into her again and again until he was depleted. He never looked more beautiful than when his face broke, his jaw went slack, and his eyes burned into her with overspilling intensity.

He was careful not to collapse onto her. As he slipped out, he pulled her up with him, slinging her legs around his waist and embracing her once more. Holding her just to hold her.

Slowly, his cum trickled out of her.

Something pricked at the back of Hermione’s mind. Something dangerous.

With a sharp intake of breath, she pushed Snape away.

~*~

“No!” Her scream was heart-wrenching.

His eyes went wide. “Did I hurt you?”

Desperately, she shook her head. “No, no, you didn’t! But … you came inside me. Oh fuck. You … you had an orgasm.”

Instantly, Severus understood. Of course. Voldemort had told her that no man was allowed to come inside her, or at all in her vicinity. Cursing, he turned around and pulled his trousers back up. The Dark Lord had told him to fill her up if he wanted to.

And he had gone and done exactly that. Completely lost in the moment.

He couldn’t even tell her that it didn’t matter. That Voldemort didn’t care. Because he would still punish her, simply because she expected him to do that. He would punish her worse than ever before.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as he turned back around. “I should have had more self-control.”

“No,” she shot back instantly. “No, this is not at all your fault. Fuck. It’s me. I’m the problem. Fuck. He was right. I am addicted to sex. My brain just shuts off and I do whatever I please. Selfish, stupid girl. He’ll be so disappointed.”

Severus watched her as she talked herself into a frenzy. All that they had just shared, all that he built, gone in a second because the Dark Lord somehow got into her mind and her heart. She was truly lost and there was nothing he could do.

“I could obliviate you,” he offered weakly. “Obliviate you and then myself. He would never know this happened.”

For a heartbeat, she looked up at him hopefully, almost ready to accept the offer. But then a dark shadow came over her eyes. “No. I can’t do that. Our relationship is built on trust. And honesty. I can’t lie to him about this. He’s always so open and real with me. I can’t betray that trust. I need to confess my mistake.”

Severus wanted to scream. Her words were so deluded, so blind. She was just a girl, after all. A girl who fancied herself in love and didn’t know her man was the Dark Lord.

She never stood a chance.

“I’m sorry, Hermione,” he repeated. “Please know that if you ever need me … if it gets too much and you feel you need someone to talk to, I’m here. Please. Come talk to me if you feel desperate.”

She shook her head. “No. Never. I can’t, professor. This is the one good thing in my life. I can’t do anything to jeopardise that. It’s better if … if we stay away from each other from now. I’ll tell him not to use you anymore. He’ll understand.”

He closed his eyes. One step forward, and he instantly went and destroyed it again. He should have remembered that Voldemort told him Hermione couldn’t allow other men to come. If only he held back, maybe there would have been a chance to repeat this. To show her what actual connection could look like. To break her out of the spell.

“Okay,” he relented. “Just … one last thing. I assume he never taught you, and regrettably it’s not something on the Hogwarts curriculum. Please allow me to show you how to cast a spell to protect yourself against pregnancies.”

Her eyes grew big. “Oh god, I never even thought of that. Not for a second. I could be pregnant!”

Severus pulled out his wand. “I’ll show you the most commonly used spell.”

He watched as she awkwardly mimicked his wand movement. She never looked younger to him than in this moment. Just a girl overwhelmed by a situation that even grown women couldn’t handle.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his own hair. More than ever, he wished he’d just thrown himself off that Astronomy tower when he had the chance. Now, his death wouldn’t change anything anymore. On the contrary, it would probably make things worse for Granger. Even if she didn’t want him anywhere near her, he was the only one who knew what was going on.

Contrary to how he felt about his duty to protect Potter, he actually cared about the witch.

Chapter Text

Hermione didn’t think it was possible to miss someone so much and at the same time dread seeing them again. Yet here she was, fretting all weekend over what the next week would bring. She didn’t know whether he would be back, using Professor Snape to pleasure her, or whether she would have another five days to wait and spiral further in her anxiety.

It didn’t help that she still needed a date for Professor Slughorn’s stupid Christmas party. The holidays seemed so far off still, even though the first snow started to fall when November turned to December. Hermione was not in a festive mood.

With Harry and Ron being distant, she felt like she lost her last friend when she pushed Professor Snape away. Not that he was ever a friend, but he was someone who knew more about her life than anybody else. And now she had nobody.

Sitting in the library Sunday evening, she poured herself into the essay she was writing for Potions. She hated how much she had to struggle this year, especially since Harry always took the shortcut and just used the stupid textbook he found.

Almost silent steps alerted her to someone else approaching. Looking up, she saw Professor Snape strolling over. She steeled herself. As much as she wished to, she couldn’t let him get too close again.

“Good evening, Miss Granger.” He used his teacher voice.

A little relieved, she nodded to him. “Good evening, professor.”

He studied her for a moment, then turned around to peruse the shelves next to the table she sat at. His fingers travelled over the backs of the ancient books, almost seeming to caress them. She swallowed. His fingers should be banned for all she cared.

“I don’t suppose you can enlighten me as to how I am hearing about Potter getting top grades in Potions this year?” Professor Snape asked nonchalantly.

She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. Their friendship was already brittle and if he found out that she’d snitched on him, he would never talk to her again. But it had been eating away at her for so long now, and she really worried about some of the stuff in the textbook, she just couldn’t stay quiet.

With a determined huff, she put down her quill and turned around in her chair to face Professor Snape. “As a matter of fact, I can, sir.”

It was apparent that that was not the answer he had expected. Cocking his head, he turned around as well and leaned one shoulder against the bookshelf. “Pray tell.”

“At the start of the year, he found a textbook. He didn’t buy one himself because he didn’t get an O in his Potions O.W.L.s as you demand them from anyone joining the N.E.W.T. classes. He didn’t expect to take the class. So, when Professor Slughorn took over and lowered the needed grade to E, he was without book. And just so happened to grab a very old, shabby looking one from the school supplies.” She sighed indignantly. “Whoever had this book before left a ton of notes. I mean, they vandalised the book like nothing I’ve ever seen before. They even put down spells in there that have nothing to do with Potions.”

Professor Snape’s expression grew dark. “And does this previous owner who so vandalised the textbook have a name?”

She blushed a little, suddenly thinking how silly it would sound. “Well, not directly, sir. It just says that the book is property of the Half-Blood Prince. Whatever that means.”

Professor Snape let out a long sigh. Then, he stepped over to her table, pulled out a chair, and sat down on it in one graceful motion. He turned to her, one arm on the table, the other on the backrest of the chair. His eyes were stormy as he explained, “It appears Potter once again got luckier than he has any right to be. You see, that used to be my Potions book.”

Hermione gasped. “Your textbook? Wait, what? You are the Half-Blood Prince?”

A flicker of regret appeared in his eyes. “Well, that was a name I gave myself when I was your age. I am a half-blood, and my mother’s maiden name was Prince. I thought it was terribly clever.”

“You know, I should’ve realised it was you,” Hermione said after she thought about it for a moment. “I even thought I knew the handwriting. Of course, you would go and correct a freaking textbook.”

He smiled sardonically. “So now it’s okay I vandalised a book?”

“I mean,” she started, but stopped herself.

She suddenly realised that she was talking casually with Professor Snape, his tone almost sounding like flirting, only days after she swore to keep him at arm’s length. She bit her lip and lowered her gaze. This wasn’t good.

“Ah,” he made, now sounding contrite. “I apologise for overstepping. Though, I’d like to advise you to keep the book away from Potter. Some things in there, some spells, I invented them when I was about to join the Death Eaters. They’re powerful and dangerous.”

“I knew it,” she hissed. “I knew there was something off about it. Harry is so protective of it, he doesn’t want anyone to read it. I bet he’s already found those spells and just doesn’t want to admit it’s sketchy.”

Professor Snape rose from the chair, but before he turned to leave, he hesitated and studied her again. She shivered under his gaze, hating how much it reminded her of the way he held her while he fucked her. He wanted to say something else, that much was apparent.

But then, he simply indicated a nod. “Good night, Miss Granger. Try not to break curfew.”

Scowling, she watched as he walked away, robes billowing behind him.

Dramatic arse.

With a tired groan, she rested her forehead on the closed book in front of her. She was not even half-way through the year and already it felt like it was all too much. How was she ever to get the book away from Harry?

***

She didn’t even make it to breakfast on Monday morning before Snape grabbed her, pushed her into a classroom, and pulled down her knickers. Without so much as a greeting, he thrust two fingers into her and growled.

“Wait,” she groaned, “please, sir, wait. We … we can’t do this.”

He shot her a challenging look as he started to pump his fingers into her. Despite her protest, she felt the wetness seep out.

“Stop, please,” she begged desperately. “I … I did something bad. I need to tell you that before … before we do this.”

He added another finger and chuckled. “How about you tell me while we do this?”

She sobbed as pain mixed into the pleasure. She had missed him, missed this, so very much, but her mind was spinning with guilt and shame. He would hate her for what happened, she just knew that.

“You were right,” she panted. “I couldn’t make it the whole week without sex. Professor Snape helped. But…”

She cried out as he pressed his thumb against her clit. It was too much. She had spent too many days without the feel of his fingers, and now she was too sensitive to them. Her climax was just a hair’s breadth away, she could feel it. But if she came before she confessed everything, she would hate herself.

Breathlessly, she croaked out, “He came. He came during the sex. Inside me.”

Instantly, his fingers stilled. “What?”

Tears pricked at her eyes. “I know. I’m so sorry, sir. So, so sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly.”

He kept his hand where it was, while the other curled around her jaw and forced her head back. “But you told him not do that?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, tears spilling over now. “No. I didn’t. I … he asked whether he could come inside me and I was just so lost in the moment. I told him he could. I begged him to do it.”

He instantly let go of her and took a step back, eyes alight with rage. She peered at him, sobs wrecking her body, but she instantly regretted opening her eyes. Even in the body of Professor Snape she could feel the anger roll off him.

She slumped to the ground, face buried in her hands. All the anxiety, all the fear she’d been carrying the past couple of days, it all exploded out of her now, engulfing her in a vortex of shame.

“I don’t know what to say, Hermione.” The voice was icy. “I was fine with you sleeping with other wizards because I knew I could trust you. I knew you wouldn’t break the very clear boundaries I set. Not again. I just don’t understand why you would do that.”

She tried to swallow the sobs, but they tore from her throat uncontrollably. “I didn’t mean to. I swear. It’s why I told you first thing. I hate that I did that.”

He kneeled down in front of her, twisting one hand into her curls. “I appreciate that. It’s the only good thing to come out of this. I see you are committed to honesty, even though you whore your body out like a worthless little slut.”

He could have as well slapped her, his words hurt so much. She wanted to shake her head, but his hand prevented her from moving. “I’m sorry! Please, believe me. I’m so sorry.”

He sighed, long, deep, frustrated. “I just don’t know what to do now.” He stared into her eyes, anger replaced by disappointment. “I love you, Hermione. Don’t you understand? I love you. And you do that to me?”

She gasped. It hurt even worse, hearing him say that now. She wanted to be happy about it, to allow her heart to feel all the warmth that came with this proclamation. Instead, it only made her feel more worthless.

“I love you too,” she whispered weakly. “I’d do anything to make up for this.”

He let go of her and sat down fully, rubbing both his hands over his face. “I don’t know where we can go from here. I don’t know whether love is enough to fix this.”

A fresh wave of tears poured down her cheeks. He sounded so defeated, so lost. And she did that to him. Lips trembling, she said, “I think we should stop meeting like this. With you in Professor Snape’s body, I mean. It makes things confusing for me.”

His eyes snapped to her. “So this is my fault now?”

“What? No! This is completely my fault, sir. You did nothing wrong, how could you? That was all my doing. I just meant … I get wet as soon as I see Snape, and you know I’m addicted to sex. My brain just … stops working properly when I’m having sex.”

Silence fell over them after that. Hermione’s heart was beating fast and hard, making her head swim and her hands feel clammy, but she remained quiet and unmoving. She had explained herself as best she could. Now, she just needed to pray that he found it in himself to forgive her.

If she was in his shoes, she wouldn’t.

She had cheated on him, it was as simple as that. As much as he used Snape’s body to please her, she crossed a very simple, hard boundary. He was right. This was not something that was overcome by love.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You said you’d do anything to make up for it. Do you mean that?”

She shivered under the stone-cold tone in his voice, but she forced herself to nod. “Yes. Absolutely. I broke your trust and I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn it back.”

He hummed, tipping one finger against his lips. “Okay. I understand. I will think about this. You need punishment, you realise that, don’t you, darling? You only stop doing bad things if you feel the consequences.”

She thought back to the first time he punished her and blanched. But again, she nodded. “Yes. I deserve to be punished. Do whatever you need to do.”

“I will. Perhaps I can find a way to forgive you. With the right punishment.” He slowly got up. “I’ll send you an owl by the end of the week. If you don’t hear from me again, it means I couldn’t think of an appropriate punishment. We’re done in that case.”

She couldn’t stop the pathetic wail as she heard those words. With everything going on, she didn’t want to even imagine a world without him. “Please. I’ll do anything. Absolutely anything. Whatever you think of, whatever you need, I will take it. Don’t leave me, please.”

He leaned down to her and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead. “Whatever happens, darling, I hope you know that I love you. Nothing will ever change that. The love I feel for you right in this moment will always be special to me.”

Before she could say anything in response, she saw the shift in him. Professor Snape stood in front of her, looking confused for a moment before taking in her crying from.

He immediately kneeled down in front of her, but she pushed him away. “No. Please don’t say anything, professor. I told him what happened. That last thing I want right now is talk to you. Please, just … go away.”

His lips hardened into a harsh line, but he did as she told him to. Without saying anything, without touching her, he stood up and left her alone in the empty classroom.

Crying even harder than before, Hermione pressed her schoolbag against her chest. His last words had sounded so much like a goodbye. Like he already knew that no punishment could right the wrong she did. She hated herself more than ever. What did it matter that the sex with Professor Snape had felt good? How could she throw everything away over one moment of pleasure?

And it wasn’t even that good. Compared to the peaks she reached with her man, Snape was nothing. He was too careful, too caring. How could she have lost herself in the moment so much that she begged him for his cum?

A worthless little slut indeed.

Hermione wiped away her tears and stood up. If he found a way to forgive her, it would be a miracle. Whatever punishment he wanted to subject her for that, she would take it without complaining. Keeping him, keeping his love was the only thing that mattered now.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s heart was beating too fast for comfort. Ever since she got the little note on Friday, her head was swimming with a dizzying mix of relief and anxiety. He wanted to see her again. He found a way to punish her that would allow him to forgive her. It was all she could think about.

But the note had also been short. “Same place, same time” was all it said.

As she now climbed the familiar stairs up to their little room in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder whether those cold words were also a warning. Reminding her that she needed to be on her best behaviour, take whatever he threw at her, if she wanted any chance at redemption.

Swaying slightly from the rush of blood, she put her hand on the doorknob. Whatever awaited her inside, she would do as she had prepared herself to do.

She knocked.

Instantly, the soft click told her that it unlocked, but she still had to open it herself. As she slipped inside, the grey twilight of the room bathed her in familiarity and comfort. She truly had missed this the one weekend where he was away.

She put away her coat and opened her blouse. As always, she wore no bra today. Heart still beating furiously, she turned around to face him.

Hermione almost toppled over when she saw a tall, broad figure stand in the shadow behind his armchair. Someone else was here. Why was someone else here?

Shaking her head, she forced her legs forward. It didn’t matter. She was here for him and she would show her remorse through her actions today. With as much grace as her racing pulse allowed, she stepped into the middle of the room and got down on her knees. Steadying her breath, she raised her arms behind her head and pushed out her chest before lowering her eyes demurely to the floor.

A deep rumbling hum told her that the other person in the room at least appreciated her show. Her man, on the other hand, remained quiet as he contemplated her.

“Hello, Hermione,” he finally said.

“Good evening, sir,” Hermione replied with a sigh as she looked up.

He motioned the other man to step out of the shadow. Now that Hermione could see him more clearly, her breath almost stopped. He was almost as tall as her man, but what really differed were those broad shoulders and muscular arms. His long, blond hair was braided in parts. His face was handsome, but rough when compared to the elegant features of her man. Hermione could see other girls in her year fall for this mountain of a man, but he was not really to her taste.

“Hermione, please meet my good friend Thorfinn,” he said with a distinctively polite manner of tone. “Thorfinn, this is Hermione Granger.”

A wolfish grin appeared on the man’s lips and his voice was as deep and gravelly as she expected when he said, “My pleasure, Hermione Granger.”

She licked her lips. “And mine.”

Her man leaned forward, eyes gleaming in the shine of the single candle. “You are probably wondering why Thorfinn is here, aren’t you, darling?”

Hermione nodded. She hated that another man saw her like this and Thorfinn didn’t even try to hide that he was ogling her exposed breasts. Her cheeks were burning and it cost her all self-control to keep the submissive position up.

“You see, when I thought about a way to punish you, I was wondering how I should go about it,” he casually explained. “Of course, you need to suffer for what you have done. But this is also about making you realise how deeply you’ve hurt me.”

The other man grunted at that and Hermione almost thought he was stifling a chuckle. One glare from her man though, and he paled and bowed his head in apology.

“I found that I’d like you to experience the pain I felt first hand. For that reason, I have invited Thorfinn today.” An almost eager fire seemed to burn in his eyes as he said that. “He will fuck you today and come inside you.”

“What?”

It was like a bucket of ice water had been emptied over her head. Panic and disbelief swirled through Hermione as she tried to process what she just heard.

“Let me be very clear, Hermione. If you do not do this, we are through.” There was no warmth in his words.

She gasped for air, suddenly feeling as though she was suffocating. It made no sense. None of this made sense. “But … I thought you were angry because Snape came inside me. Why … why do you want to repeat the same thing?”

“Because,” he snarled as he slipped out of the armchair and kneeled in front of her, “it is now very clear to me that you have no understanding of what I feel. You need to see the situation play out with me present to truly appreciate the depth of my pain.”

She glanced at Thorfinn for a split-second, shuddering in fear. “I don’t want anyone but you, sir. Please don’t make me do this.”

He gripped her chin and placed a quick kiss onto her lips. “That’s why this is a punishment. Suffering and understanding, remember?”

Tears pricked at her eyes as she shook her head. “No. Please, sir. Please don’t do this. I don’t want to. I can’t. Please.”

His fingers dug into her jaw and cheek. “Why? Didn’t you enjoy yourself when Severus fucked you? What’s different about Thorfinn? Or are you telling me that you slept with Severus because it was him?” His voice got very quiet. “Is that what this is? Do you like Severus and that’s why you slept with him?”

A sob broke lose. Now that he said it out loud, it hit Hermione how much worse that actually was, even though it was the truth. Of course, it would hurt him more if she admitted that she only let Professor Snape touch her because it was him. But if she admitted that now, she would lose everything.

“No,” she panted between ravaging sobs, “of course not. I just … I don’t want to do that anymore. With anyone else but you.”

“You should have thought about that before betraying my trust,” he spat. When she shuddered under more tears, his fingers grew gentler and his voice kinder. “I’m sorry, Hermione. This is the only punishment that I found would help me forgive you.”

She heaved, fruitlessly trying to stop the tears. “Please. I’m begging you. Do whatever you want to me. I can take anything from you. But not … not another man.”

“Shhh, it’s okay, darling,” he cooed as he pulled her into his arms. “It’s okay. If you really don’t want to do this, I won’t force you. You know that. We only ever do what you consent to. I would never do anything to you that you don’t agree with. It’s the most important rule between us. I won’t force you.”

Hermione cried even harder as she heard this. It only emphasised how much of their relationship going forward was her decision. He was right, of course. He never forced her into anything. He always kept his word, always made sure he had her consent. It was what made it so easy to trust him, even when her stomach was churning with anxiety.

If she didn’t want to sleep with another man, she didn’t have to. She could say no.

She could just walk away from this relationship.

Walk away from the man who loved her.

“Okay,” she whispered after several minutes of silence. “Okay. Let’s … let’s do it.”

He swiped his thumb over her cheekbone. “You know the rules, darling. You need to say it. Explicitly.”

She trembled. He was right, of course. It was part of their rules. Explicit consent. She always struggled with that, but it never was harder than today. Her tongue felt like lead as she gritted out, “I need to be punished. I-I want Thorfinn to fuck me and c-come inside me.”

The man in question groaned at her words. Hermione didn’t dare to look at him. She knew that to him, her consent sounded sexy and desirable. He would be all too happy to take her. If only he knew how little she truly wanted this.

Her man pressed a kiss against her temple and helped her stand up before turning to Thorfinn. “How would you like her?”

The other man chuckled lowly while his eyes swept up and down her trembling form. “Naked. On all fours, I’d say.”

“Sounds perfect,” her man agreed as he vanished her clothes. “What do you say, Hermione?”

Shivering in the cold, she nodded. “Yes. I’d like that.”

He pushed her forward, making her stumble onto the bed. As she awkwardly got into position, propping herself up on her hands and elbows, he slipped back into his armchair and crossed his legs.

Thorfinn came out of the shadow. Seeing him hover above her, he appeared even bigger. His eyes were dark with hunger as he slowly, lazily opened his trousers. When he took out his already hard cock, Hermione almost sobbed.

He was bigger than her man in that regard too. She already had trouble taking him. Thorfinn would hurt her, regardless of how much she tried to accommodate him.

The bed creaked when he climbed onto it. Hermione felt the mattress shift, felt his hands grope her naked ass. Tears still fell from her eyes despite how much she tried to calm herself. She felt childish, kneeling here, crying after she consented to this.

Thorfinn’s hand kneaded her breasts as he rutted against her core without sliding in. His breath was hot on her neck, his fingers too rough, his thighs too hairy. He slipped one hand between her legs. Without warning, he thrust three fingers into her.

~*~

Thorfinn groaned as Hermione cried out. “Fuck, the little witch is wet. What a pleasant surprise.”

“I told you I trained her well. She’s always wet in my presence,” Voldemort replied with a sneer.

He couldn’t believe that she actually let him do this. He expected her to reject it outright, not budging on her conviction. She was right, after all. It didn’t make sense to punish her with exactly the thing she did wrong in the first place.

Voldemort had been prepared to walk away and leave her at Thorfinn’s mercy. The man deserved a reward after his latest killings, and whether he raped Hermione with or without her consent really didn’t matter. He would have returned afterwards, of course, making a huge display of care and love. Comforting her after the violence, apologising for leaving her behind, swearing his undying love to her.

But this? This was even better. She was willing to go so far for him already. Voldemort decided in this moment that he would keep her alive. Once he got what he wanted, he would take her with him and use her as a treat for all his Death Eaters. She would do whatever he told her to. She would let anyone fuck her as long as he asked her to.

Merlin, the Order had no idea of how badly they fucked up. Not only did they lose her brains, but apparently, none of those pathetic wizards appreciated the tasty treat that was Hermione Granger. At least that sad excuse of a werewolf should have climbed between her legs by now.

“Spread those legs wider for me, witch.” Thorfinn’s growl returned Voldemort’s thoughts back to the present.

Hermione was crying even harder now, but she complied like the good little slut she was. Shifting her weight, she got into position, presenting her leaking hole to Thorfinn’s dick. Voldemort grinned. The man hadn’t lied when he told him he would hurt her.

Thorfinn aligned himself with her, nudging her folds open with just the tip. Voldemort listened as Hermione’s breathing turned frantic, her hands now white-knuckled fists. It was sweet music to his ears.

Thorfinn thrust into her with one hard push, ripping a scream of such pathetic lament from her lips, Voldemort had to swallow a groan. “Keep it just for a moment, Thorfinn.”

The other wizard grunted in frustration, but complied. Voldemort left his armchair and kneeled down next to the back, gripping Hermione’s hair and pulling her face towards him. “Do you understand now? Do you see what you did to me? You turned me into a pathetic cuck, forcing me to envision another man enjoying your body as only I should. Keep your eyes on me while he fucks you. I want you to feel the full misery of this affair.”

She nodded, but any words died between the sobs. Satisfied, Voldemort returned to his armchair. He was desperately hard from this display, but he would enjoy it nonetheless. He waved his hand, gesturing to Thorfinn to start. The way the other wizard was groaning, he wouldn’t last long anyway.

~*~

Hermione was glad that her man told her to keep her eyes on him. It was the only thing keeping her sane right now. Thorfinn pumped into her with such reckless abandon, she was sure that he would break something inside her. His grunts were laced with desire, unfiltered, raw, completely out of control. He had his hands around her waist, almost circling her full, as he used her body exactly how it pleased him.

She tried to push any thought of him away, instead focusing only on the man she loved. He returned her gaze every now and then, his eyes flickering to her abused cunt whenever she couldn’t stifle a moan. But whenever he looked at her, his eyes were black pools of determination and lust.

He still wanted her. It was the only thing that mattered. This man still wanted her, despite the mistake she made. Nobody ever forgave her when she messed up, not like this. Not with such openness and honesty. She just needed to endure the pain, and then he would forgive her.

She would never again do anything to displease him. He didn’t deserve it. He treated her like an adult when no one else did, and loved her despite her inexperience. He found it in himself to forgive her.

As Hermione felt Thorfinn come deep inside her, she realised that she was willing to die for this man. Buried under the heavy weight of this other wizard as he collapsed onto her, Hermione understood that sometime in the past few weeks, her man had become the most important person in her life.

She would do anything for him.

Chapter Text

“It’s just a spider.” His voice was soothing in her ear, understanding, but also demanding.

Hermione’s hand still trembled, regardless of how much she tried to control it. A part of her still clung to the arbitrary rules that guided the wizarding world. It was hard to go past that, even though she knew that fighting fair would never get her where she needed to be.

His arms circled her waist, holding her close to his chest. It was warm, comforting, without any intention of harming her. She could melt into this embrace, but she had to focus.

She focused back onto the garden spider that was trapped within a glass bowl. She wasn’t even fond of spiders. But even as a little kid, she had rather caught them and carried them outside than seen her parents kill and discard them.

Hermione took a deep breath. She could do this. This was not just about a single spell. It was about breaking down a barrier within herself that kept her from reaching her full potential. He had explained it to her in great detail. Made her understand why she always felt lacking when she compared herself to great spell casters like Professor Dumbledore or even Lord Voldemort. The shackles she kept on her own abilities would always stand in her way.

“That’s it,” he murmured as though he could feel the change in her. “Focus on your goal, Hermione. You are a powerful witch. There is nothing you can’t accomplish.”

She nodded. Then, she gripped her wand tighter and pointed it at the spider. This time, she would do it. She could feel it. It would work.

“Avada Kedavra.”

Green light flashed through their little room. In the bowl, the spider stopped moving.

And inside her mind, Hermione felt a screeching, howling sound. Like fingernails on a chalkboard, but echoing through a great canyon. She gasped and fell forwards, only caught by his arms still holding her.

“Marvellous, darling,” he purred. “I knew you had it in you.”

“That felt awful,” Hermione rasped, still reeling from the sound in her head.

He slowly turned her around, hands resting on her hips. His dark eyes were full of pride and understanding as he smiled at her. “I know. That is the nature of this curse. It kills you instantly. Any other spell, hell, even any muggle method of killing always leaves a little bit of life behind. Even if it’s just a split-second. But this curse, it turns your body into a corpse in an instant. No turning back. No cure. If you’re hit, you’re dead. Nothing else in this world does that.”

“I guess it’s a good thing this curse is not as easy to do as repairing glasses.” Even now, when he patiently explained it to her, Hermione couldn’t help the wretched feeling the curse left her with. Like a disgusting taste that she could feel with her whole body.

“Come, let’s sit down for a moment.” He pulled her with him to the armchair, sitting down and arranging her on his lap. “You did well today, Hermione. We’ve been trying to get you to cast the curse for two weeks now, and you finally managed to do it. And it’s not just about the curse. You broke through your own barriers today. You’ll notice it soon enough, the change that it brings. As you hesitate less, your spell casting will improve drastically.”

She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest, lapping up the praise he was giving her. He was a strict teacher, always pushing her, challenging her, telling her to do better. But when she succeeded, he took his time to show her how proud he was.

“I’m so glad you chose to stay with me,” he murmured into her neck as his fingers slipped under her blouse.

She hummed in response, relaxing into his gentle touch. Ever since she took the punishment, he had started to show even more of his caring side. As though he didn’t want to risk losing her, he told her over and over again that he loved her. Whenever they met, however short the time, he always made sure to reward her for just existing. When he came down her throat or buried to the hilt inside her cunt, she could feel the adoration pour out of him.

He stopped using Snape during the week, just like he promised. Instead, he had gifted her many little things to keep her occupied and remind her of him. A collar that was invisible to anyone but him. Several different kinds of plugs, beads, and other things that she could keep inside of her during the day without anyone noticing. They would vibrate at random times, especially during lunch and dinner times, and she had strict instructions to stay where she was whenever she felt the vibrations.

How many times she had come in the presence of other people, she couldn’t even count anymore. It was humiliating and thrilling and shameful all at once. Luckily, none of her former friends even talked to her anymore.

After she explained to Harry how she thought his textbook once belonged to Professor Snape—an elaborate ruse about finding out his mother’s name was Prince and how the handwriting was similar—Harry was so fed up with her that he ignored her whenever he could. He still kept the book, despite his hatred of Snape. Ginny even accused her of making up lies, even though she was originally the most worried about the book’s origins.

It didn’t matter. None of it could phase her anymore. She focused on her studies, getting better grades than ever, and enjoyed every second she got with her man to the fullest.

Even when Harry told her that she wasn’t invited to Grimmauld Place where the Order and the Weasleys would celebrate Christmas this year, she only shrugged. She was doing more for the war than any of them could imagine, and she would show it when the time was right. If Harry didn’t want her help anymore by then, she’d stick to her man and support him with whatever covert mission he had.

His hands closed around her breasts and squeezed, catapulting her out of her grim contemplations. Moaning, Hermione threw her head back and arched into his grip. She could feel him grow hard between her legs and rolled her hips appreciatively. She was already wet, just waiting to be filled.

With a casual wave of his hand, he vanished her clothes. That was her cue to free his cock, as she knew very well by now. One day, she hoped, he would undress completely just like she always did, but she took whatever he wanted to give.

His hands travelled down, gripping her thighs and spreading her further apart, before he lifted her up and brought her down on his cock. She groaned in delight at the burn and the stretch. She had come to like this part the most, the initial thrust that always hurt so very much, always felt like she was split open beyond what she could bear. She relished the pain, welcomed it as a badge of honour, proving that she could take him. That she shaped herself to be exactly what he needed.

She also knew by now that he liked the pain. The hunger in his eyes whenever she couldn’t hold back the tears made her shiver every time. He wanted all of her, not just her pleasure and delight, but also her pain and misery. Whatever she had to give, he wanted to take it.

He wanted her more fully than Hermione knew was possible.

Like it wouldn’t be enough even if he devoured her.

He started to thrust into her, one hand curled into her hair, holding her up with an iron grip, the other on her waist to keep her steady. She had her own hands behind her back, fingers locking around the elbows, as he had trained her to do. The first time he took her like this, she put her hands on his legs to keep balance, but he had instantly slapped them away and growled that all the support she needed would come from his hands.

Her scalp burnt and itched under the pull, but Hermione didn’t complain. She was in heaven. He would fill her up again today, spilling his seed deeply into her. Showering her in his love and adoration like only he could.

What was a little pain for such a reward?

Not for the first time, Severus contemplated giving up his life as he sat in the Great Hall, studying the few students that didn’t leave for Christmas. Granger was among them, sitting alone with a book in her hand. He needed to tell her the truth, even if it meant a gruesome death thanks to the Unbreakable Vow.

She never talked to him anymore, but he could see her change. He could sense it. Especially during duelling training in Defence Against the Dark Arts, there now was an edge to her wand work that could only be explained by her dipping her toes into darker magic. Nobody else seemed to notice, they just took her outstanding duelling as another proof of her being a bookworm. Even Potter, usually the best in this class, as Severus begrudgingly had to admit, didn’t seem to care that his supposedly best friend suddenly triumphed over him.

So, on the last day of school before the Christmas holidays, Severus had stooped to desperate measures. He grabbed the girl just before she left his classroom and dove into her mind.

What he saw there in just a few short images made him physically recoil. Granger, of course, had snapped at him to not touch her, apparently not even noticing the intrusion, and stomped off.

That she was even the least bit sane anymore was a testament to her resilience. She was wholeheartedly in love with the Dark Lord. Even after he allowed Rowle to rape her. Even after pushing well past any form of consent. Even when torturing her with the Cruciatus for weeks.

Voldemort even got her to cast the Unforgivable Curses herself. That she managed to successfully use the Killing Curse was astounding and frightening all at once. Severus never knew just how formidable this witch was. It was no wonder Voldemort liked to play with her. He always enjoyed teaching younger people the power that the dark arts could bring.

Granger needed to know that this man she thought she loved was Voldemort. Before she did something stupid.

But Albus demanded he did the job he had assigned to him. Even after explaining how useless it was, as the Dark Lord already knew all about it. Albus insisted. By his logic, if any other Death Eater killed him, that wizard would have legendary status among Voldemort’s followers, and that would be bad for all. For whatever reason.

He was the only one who seemed to still care about the girl, and he couldn’t tell her anything thanks to the Vow and thanks to Albus, insisting he needed to kill him. Nobody in the Order spared a single thought for her. He couldn’t believe that the whole Order was okay with excluding Hermione from the festivities only because Weasley wanted to invite his girlfriend. Those two boys didn’t deserve her friendship. They were clearly blind if they couldn’t see what was going on with her. And nobody in the Order seemed to care, because she was not Potter.

Severus scowled at his coffee. No wonder the Dark Lord had such an easy time getting under her skin. Her brilliant mind would of course pick up on all these little snubs, the little digs that he himself knew all too well from his own time at Hogwarts. She knew that she was an outcast among the Weasleys and the rest of the Order.

Sometimes, he couldn’t help but wonder whether she would still love Voldemort if he revealed who he was, just because he at least pretended to see her. If she wasn’t a muggleborn witch, Severus wasn’t so sure that she could resist the temptation.

Or maybe that was just his own twisted view on reality. He himself had fallen prey to the Death Eater’s recruiting tactics after all. Not everyone who was lonely would be so gullible, he was sure.

His eyes wandered to her again and he found her staring back at him. She blushed at being caught, but didn’t look away. Instead, she raised her cup of tea and indicated a silent toast.

Severus forced his lips into a smile and inclined his head.

Her smile in return made his chest hurt so much more.

Chapter Text

For the first time since she started at Hogwarts, Hermione found herself sad to see the Christmas holidays end. As much as she looked forward to the classes, she would miss the uninhibited freedom those two weeks had offered her.

As her parents had gone on vacation without her for some reason, and Grimmauld Place was closed to her, Hermione spent every single day at Hogsmeade in the Three Broomsticks. From sun up to sun down, she was with her man. He fucked her all day long, and when his stamina was low, he’d use enchanted objects to do the job for him. She didn’t spend a single second in his presence without having something stuffed inside her.

When she fell into bed after dinner, her whole body ached and the exhaustion made her fall asleep instantly. When she woke up the next morning, she found herself already wet just thinking about going down to the village.

He trained her too. After she confessed to him how much she hated riding brooms, he shared a very secret revelation with her. He knew how to fly without brooms, something she thought only the closest confidants of Voldemort knew. Between having sex, when he needed to recuperate, he had her clench around a thick plug while he taught her how to fly.

Hermione was still rubbish at it, but she was pretty sure that was only because it was so hard to focus when she was constantly close to an orgasm.

As she sat in the Great Hall and watched the students trickle in, she couldn’t help the little prickle of annoyance creep up in her. She was just waiting for Harry and Ron to come and tell her all about how great Christmas had been.

“Ready to return to your studies, Miss Granger?”

Professor Snape’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. She whipped around and stared up at him. Not a day had gone by over the holidays when she didn’t see him, but it was never more than a passing glance in the corridor or a nod at meal time. As much as she missed having him around, she felt her life was easier when she didn’t have to worry about him.

Trying to keep the conversation short, she shrugged. “I’m always ready to study, professor.”

To her surprise, he remained where he was, looking down at her with those deep, blank eyes. She was just about to ask what his deal was when he lowered his voice and told her, “Prepare yourself for a rather contrite Potter. I walked in on him getting an ear-full from Lupin on Christmas. Looks like the werewolf has at least some sense left in him.”

She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow as if to tell her that he did not appreciate her playing dumb. “He told Potter to make up with you because you’re too valuable to lose.”

Hermione groaned internally. “Great. So I’ll have to accept a fake-apology from Harry and then act as though nothing ever happened, because the great Chosen One needs me. Just great.”

Warmth flickered in Snape’s eyes, but he quickly returned to a stoic expression. “You don’t have to do anything, Granger.”

She let out a long sigh and ran her hands over her face. “No, I suppose not. But we both know there’s more at stake here than my petty resentment because Harry wasn’t nice to me. I should help him as much as I possibly could. It’s the right thing to do.”

His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out to her, and his lips parted. But then his gaze flickered to the rest of the students in the Great Hall and any semblance of friendliness vanished from his face. “Enjoy the evening, Miss Granger.”

She watched as he stalked down the long table. He made sure to stop by the Slytherin’s seated at the other end of the Great Hall, exchanging a few words with them as well. He never looked back to her, but she got the distinct impression that he wouldn’t talk to his students if he didn’t feel the need to cover up his conversation with her.

Constant vigilance, as Moody would say.

It took Harry several days to actually talk to her. He glanced at her every now and again, but it was Thursday before he approached her with something that was probably supposed to look like contrition.

Slipping into the chair across from her usual desk in the library, he smiled at her. “I hope you had a good Christmas, Mione.”

If Professor Snape hadn’t warned her beforehand, she probably would have glared at him and stayed quiet. But because she knew how important he was for their cause, she settled for a polite smile instead. “It was good, yeah.”

“That’s good to hear.” His eyes were everywhere but on her. He didn’t add anything after that, and Hermione had no intention of helping him along.

It was only when Ron suddenly appeared next to him and sat down as well that Harry found his words again. “Okay, look. I’m sorry we ditched you for Christmas. Remus gave me an ear-full over it.”

That was a more than pitiful attempt at an apology. Without saying anything in reply, she raised an eyebrow and looked at Ron instead. To her surprise, his cheeks turned red and he scratched his neck.

“I’m sorry too, Mione,” Ron mumbled. “For more than just Christmas. This whole thing with Lavender … I think I just got too excited that she was so direct and open about how she felt.”

“He broke up with her,” Harry interjected out of nowhere, tone sounding urgent. “Was not a pretty sight.”

That was more than a surprise to her. From everything she unfortunately had to witness, she would have assumed Ron saw Lavender as his one true love. Shrugging, she replied, “Is that so? I’m sorry to hear it.”

Ron looked taken aback, but instantly raised his hands in defence. “No, really, I’m not sorry at all. She’s been super embarrassing this Christmas. I thought she was cool, but really, she’s clingy and annoying.”

There was something in his eyes, an eager glint, almost as though he expected a specific reaction from her. But Hermione had no patience to puzzle out what that was. Instead, she looked back at Harry. “Did your lessons with Professor Dumbledore produce anything new?”

Both boys looked so obviously relieved, Hermione almost rolled her eyes. This whole awkward conversation and their attempts at small talk were just beneath all of them. They had grown apart this year, and nothing any of them said could fix that. It still didn’t mean she would forsake them, even though it was obvious they expected her to do exactly that.

Harry happily recounted his latest evening with Dumbledore where he apparently learned about the existence of something called a Horcrux, and that Professor Slughorn knew more about that, but had tampered with his own memory to avoid culpability in anything Voldemort had done in the past. Interestingly, Professor Dumbledore himself wasn’t particularly forthcoming about what a Horcrux was, and instead had tasked Harry with persuading Slughorn to relinquish the actual memory.

Hermione frowned. None of this made sense. Professor Dumbledore certainly knew what a Horcrux was. If Slughorn did, so did the headmaster. And what else would this memory show but Slughorn explaining it to a young Voldemort? Why was any of this necessary? Was it just to make Harry feel more involved, more important?

“Slughorn loves you,” Ron told Harry intently. “Won’t refuse you anything, will he? Not his little Potions Prince. Just hang back after class this afternoon and ask him.”

Hermione scoffed. “He must be determined to hide what really happened if Dumbledore couldn’t get it out of him.”

A part of her was also annoyed that she herself had never even heard the term Horcrux before. It had to be a particularly dark piece of magic if Professor Slughorn was so afraid of his own words.

“I’ll do some digging. Maybe I can find books on it.”

Harry looked at her strangely. “Okay, you can try. But whatever you do, don’t talk to anyone about this, okay? Dumbledore made it pretty clear to me that nobody can know about this.”

“Who would I even tell this, Harry? Seriously!” Hermione shot back angrily.

He hesitated only for a moment. When he spoke, his voice finally showed how he truly felt about her. Full of accusation and disgust, he spat, “I saw you, you know?”

She blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, you saw me?”

He rolled his eyes at her. “On the map. You constantly hang around Snape’s classroom. You’ve been talking to him all year, haven’t you? Did you try to get Potions lesson from him because you weren’t on top anymore?”

Hermione blanched. In all these months, she never for a second thought about the stupid Marauder’s Map that Harry loved to use. She even knew that he had been obsessing over it because he tried to stalk Malfoy. How could she have been so blind to the dangers of the map?

She refused to feel guilty. Professor Snape had been nothing but decent to her, despite the strangeness of their situation. He was a valuable asset to the Order, even though Harry insisted he knew better than Dumbledore.

“So what if I have?” She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “He’s a professor and it’s his job to teach students.”

“Just don’t go asking him about this.”

“Harry. If Professor Dumbledore thought that Professor Snape could help with this or know about this, he would have asked him. Seeing as he made it so clear to you that nobody else knows about this, it’s obvious he didn’t involve Professor Snape. So why would I go and do that?” She could barely hide her anger.

“She’s right, mate. She’s the last of us who would blab about secret information,” Ron interjected.

It sent eerie shivers down her spine. Something wasn’t quite right in how he talked. The glances he cast in her direction. Almost as though he wanted to show off how much he was on her side.

She swallowed. Of course. He dumped Lavender over something or other, but he didn’t want to be without a girlfriend now that he discovered the joys of fucking. He probably expected her to fold and welcome him with open arms.

Or perhaps, she was too harsh on him. Harry hadn’t been overly friendly to him either. He seemed to snap at almost everyone this year. Perhaps Ron just wanted her friendship back because he had a hard time dealing with a pompous Chosen One all on his own.

“Thanks, Ron,” she said more warmly.

He blushed again, but didn’t push the issue any further. A flicker of hope pulsed through Hermione. Perhaps there was still a bridge to be built between them. Over five years of friendship and near-death experiences couldn’t be discarded that lightly, after all. She would at least try to keep an open mind, but the boys would need to show some serious effort for her to let them into her heart again.

As she watched them awkwardly shuffle out of the library, she sank back into her chair and thought about her own next steps. She had promised them digging, but if she was honest, she didn’t know where to start. How likely was it that a school library book would have anything on Horcruxes if it was so obscure that Dumbledore sent Harry on this wild mission? Even if she looked in the restricted section, she would probably come up empty-handed.

There was one book she had intended to borrow from the Restricted Section. Her man had mentioned it once as a good starting point if she wanted to understand the history of the dark arts better. Magick Moste Evile. Perhaps it was time to actually get the pass to check it out.

Her breath hitched. How did she not think of this sooner? If anyone would know something about Horcruxes, it was him. He was, after all, an expert in the Dark Arts.

She chewed her lower lip. Harry had made it clear that she wasn’t to tell anyone. But really, why would Dumbledore want to keep anyone on their side out of the loop? The more people who could help with figuring out what Horcruxes were, the better. And her man was obviously working some kind of mission for their side of the war, so he would be thrilled to help.

Yes, that was the plan. She would mention Horcruxes to him, and depending on how much information he could offer, she would tell him why she needed to know.

Smiling to herself, she collected her parchment and quills. Harry would have no choice but to acknowledge her value once she delivered the answer to him on a silver platter,

Chapter Text

“Go to your usual spot and wait while I think.”

Voldemort watched with a cold mask on his face as Hermione kneeled down in the centre of the room, hands behind her head, completely naked, shivering slightly in the cold. There was a look of confusion on her face, but that was to be expected.

She had to have seen his flash of rage as she mentioned Horcruxes to him.

He put his chin onto his hand and contemplated the situation. Of course, he never expected that his secret would remain undetected forever. It spelled trouble though that Dumbledore of all people knew about it.

Good thing Slughorn was too embarrassed about their conversation from back in the day to divulge any of it. Harry Potter would need to work hard to make him give it up. Not that it was particularly worthwhile anyway. All Slughorn did back then was confirm that it was possible to split the soul into seven pieces, at least theoretically.

Thanks to sweet, innocent, stupid Hermione Granger, he now would be able to protect himself. With the cup destroyed, he had five Horcruxes left. Nagini was already by his side, and the locket in the cave would be easily retrieved. The diary was still with Lucius Malfoy. The ring and the diadem would be hardest to recover.

For now, though, he should reward the girl for sharing this with him. She also deserved an answer to her question. Explaining to her what a Horcrux was wouldn’t do her any good either way. They were near impossible to destroy.

“What you asked about is a form of the darkest magic known to wizard-kind,” he started his explanation. “It’s little wonder that you wouldn’t find anything in the books at Hogwarts. A Horcrux is an object that contains a piece of a soul.”

Her eyes lit up with that special glimmer she always had when her curiosity was peaked. But she was a well-trained, good little girl and remained silent, motionless. Only the soft jiggle of her tits betrayed her speeding heart and faster breathing.

“The soul is a very strange concept, one that neither wizards nor muggles have yet fully understood. But it is possible to split it.” He looked her in the eyes and smiled cooly. “In fact, any time anyone murders another human being, their soul is fracture for just a moment. It splits apart under the enormity of the act. Usually, it heals right back up afterwards. But it is possible to capture one part of the soul right at that moment, and, through a complex and powerful spell, bind it to another object or living being.”

She shivered and her gaze told him that she burned to ask questions. With a nod, he allowed her to speak.

“What kind of objects can be a Horcrux?”

He shrugged and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Anything. Literally anything.”

“And once the soul is split and a part lives in another object, what happens to the person?” She licked her lips. “I mean, I assume you’d feel if a piece of yourself is missing?”

Voldemort chuckled quietly. “No. That’s the beauty in this cruel magic. The soul is always the soul, regardless of how many times you split it.”

She gasped. “So you could theoretically create several Horcruxes? Say, five or even ten?”

Blood rushed to his cock. This naïve innocent witch followed the same thought patterns as he did. How fascinating. She truly was unafraid of tainting herself in the name of power and knowledge.

Voldemort tried to recall the words Slughorn had said to him back then. “Merlin’s beard, Hermione. Isn’t it bad enough to think of killing one person?”

Her eye grew wide. “I wasn’t suggesting that anyone should do that, sir! Never! I was just thinking, if someone truly wanted to prevent their own death, and truly had no qualms killing people, why would that person stop at one? Creating more than one would be so much safer, especially if, like you said, ripping the soul apart has no side effects.”

What a pity that this one was a worthless mudblood. If such a brilliant, inquisitive mind would live in the body of a pureblood witch, he might have been tempted to actually keep her for himself and acknowledge her as his partner. Her words alone were enough to make him hard.

“Oh, Hermione,” he sighed with unrestrained desire coating his voice, “your sharp mind and absolute honesty never fail to impress me. You are, of course, correct in your analysis.”

She opened her mouth for another question, but he shook his head. “No, sorry, darling, I need to be inside you now. You have no idea what your … trust does to me. Come on, get on the bed.”

Hermione blushed prettily and complied. She got on all fours, pressing her elbows and knees into the mattress as she arched her back and spread her legs, exactly as he liked it. She was so eager to please him every single time.

Smiling, he vanished his own clothes and stepped next to the bed. “No need for that today, Hermione.”

She looked up and almost toppled over. With her mouth open, she turned to sit on her knees and raised one hand towards him. “May I touch you, sir?”

He tilted the corner of his lip upwards. “You may.”

Her fingers trembled ever so slightly as she reached out towards him. Her teeth were buried in her bottom lip, her eyes glues to his stomach. Very tentatively, she rand three fingers over naked skin. Voldemort sucked in his breath as she moaned.

There was something to this gentle, slow exploration. The awe in her eyes. The shine from barely contained tears of happiness and adoration. The sheer depth of her feelings for him pouring out of her. He really was her whole world and right at this moment, he relished that feeling.

He leaned down to cup her face into both of his hands and pressed an open-mouthed, soft kiss onto her lips.

~*~

Hermione’s stomach fluttered in an anxious ball of excitement. Never before had she seen him completely naked. Never before had his lips been more tender than now. She sighed into the kiss, enjoying how his lips moved against hers. She opened her mouth to meet him, but he didn’t slip his tongue in as he usually did. He just continued to kiss her slowly, indulgently.

His hands moved from her face to her shoulders and pushed against her ever so slightly. She understood the intent immediately. Allowing him to guide her, she laid back down, spreading her legs to make space for him. Still, he didn’t stop the kiss. Still, his hands only held her.

Feeling his naked body against hers set her skin on fire. Before, she always yearned for him to undress, but now that she felt him, she realised just how much she had missed out on. It felt so good. Like this was meant to be. Like his tall, pale frame was meant to curl around her own petite body.

Nothing had ever felt so right.

He propped himself up on one arm, while the other descended from her shoulders over her collarbone down to her breasts. He cupped them harshly, but when she gasped, he instantly let go and instead gently ran his fingers around her areola. She trembled under his touch.

She didn’t know he could be this gentle. When their kiss broke apart, Hermione opened her eyes. She was met with a smile that should definitely not be allowed. Her breath hitched as his hand travelled even farther down, caressing her waist, her hips, her butt.

She couldn’t wait for him to take her. The pain would feel all the sweeter after this, she just knew it.

“Ah, darling,” he hissed as his fingers slid through her soaking folds, “you’re always so wet for me.”

Hermione moaned and rolled her hips to meet his fingers. “Please, sir. Take me. I need to feel you. Make it hurt.”

“Oh, Hermione. Sweet darling. Not today. You did so well, asking me questions without holding back, showing me how you can follow the rational logic despite the horror others would feel. Today, I want to worship you.”

Her heart almost burst from the outpouring of love she felt as his words sank in. She ran her fingers through his luscious black hair and spread her legs wider for him while she allowed herself to relax into his embrace. He had never touched her so carefully before. His fingers teased her folds open but he didn’t thrust them in. Instead, he slowly circled her entrance, easing only one fingertip in a little before slipping away again.

Hermione buried her teeth in her lip and frowned as she tried to concentrate on just enjoying his ministrations. She wanted to buck her hips, to arch her back, to grind against him with frantic senselessness. Her body felt hot all over, a heat that left no part untouched, that made her pant and groan just from existing. Just from feeling.

She could feel her inner walls flutter, but there was nothing to clench around. She was so close, she only needed a little push. Something to fill her. Something to tear her apart.

To her despair, he removed his fingers just when she thought she could come on her own. She couldn’t help the whine. “No, please, sir, please. I need to come. Please!”

Instead of answering her, he closed his hand around his cock and guided it to her core. Mewling in relief, she canted her hips upwards, impatiently urging him on. But again, he denied her. Instead of thrusting into her, burying into her with one hard movement, he entered her slowly. Only the head slid in, then he paused and looked into her eyes.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” His question sounded almost teasing.

“Yes, it does! It does, sir,” she wailed, unable to contain a needy moan to slip out as well.

He pushed in further, just a little bit, and paused again. Then, he retreated before thrusting back in, a little further this time. He repeated the same dance again and again, entering her millimetre by millimetre, never giving her the joy of breaking her apart. Sweat erupted all over her body as the heat became unbearable. Her fingers were gripping his hair tightly, though he never complained.

Finally, after too long, he was sheathed to the hilt. Breathing heavily, he stayed there, gently rubbing her thigh, nuzzling his nose against her neck. Hermione swallowed and tried to be patient, but she could feel her orgasm get away from her. She needed him to move, now. As much as she loved his gentle touches, he wasn’t giving her what she needed.

She rolled her hips, trying to make him move. He chuckled quietly, but gave in. Propping himself up on both arms, he peppered her neck with light kisses while he started to pump into her with deliberate, languid thrusts.

A sob broke from her lips. “Please, sir. I need more! Please!”

“Trust me,” he murmured against her shoulder and continued the slow roll of his hips.

Hermione swallowed thickly. Her heart sang because he was nicer to her than ever. Despite the many times they’d had sex before, she never felt closer to him than in this moment. Not just physical closeness, but emotional. She felt truly connected, her heart being bound to his, beating in the same rhythm.

But it wasn’t enough. His thrust felt nice. They made her body tingle and her skin heat up. But she missed the rush, the pain, the need dripping from his grunts. The only time she had sex this slow and tender was with Snape and that had felt completely different.

She gasped and pressed herself more against him. How could she think of another man while she was with him? After everything she made him go through with her betrayal, after barely earning his trust back after her cheating, she lay here and thought about someone else.

Gritting her teeth, Hermione forced every other thought from her mind. She was here to feel. Nothing else mattered. He wanted to worship her, and she would be grateful and reward his patience with an orgasm just as he demanded.

He continued to thrust into her, moaning lowly with each roll of his hips. How many minutes had this been going on now? She pressed her eyes closed harder. Why was she counting minutes now?

“I can feel you drifting away, darling.” His velvet voice pulled her out of her wandering thoughts.

Ashamed, she let her arms fall to her side and opened her eyes. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He stopped, taking in her calm breathing, her warm body. “No, Hermione, I’m sorry. I should have known that my special girl isn’t one to want worship. Your body craves the pain. I knew that, but I still thought that maybe, you’d enjoy a softer touch every now and then.”

Unbidden, her thoughts again returned to Professor Snape. How he cared for her, how he made sure she wasn’t in pain every step of the way. How he brought her an orgasm so completely different, and still filling.

She gave herself a mental shake. No. That was weeks ago. She was different now. Smiling shily, she explained, “I don’t think I do, sir. What you give me, what you make me take, that’s what I need. My body is yours.”

His eyes flashed with a wild crimson and his mouth contorted into a hideous grin. But before Hermione could so much as take in what she saw, a warm smile was back on his lips. “I understand. Again, I am sorry. Let’s give you what you need. Come on, down to the floor on all fours.”

With a thumping heart, Hermione slipped out from underneath him and got into position on the hard parquet. Her knees and elbows scraped uncomfortably over the wooden flooring as she adjusted her stance, but she was glad for the pain. It took her mind off that expression she just witnessed.

Before she had any chance to think deeper about it, he closed his leather belt around her throat and pulled it tight. Then, he wrapped the other end around his wrist several times. His other hand closed around her shoulder, pressing her down, as he continued to keep the makeshift leash tight. Hermione panted for air, barely able to get enough.

It was frightening and painful and exactly what she needed.

The next second, he plunged into her. She cried out in shock and relief. There it was. That stretch as though he was ripping her apart. The pain that overwhelmed every sense inside of her. He didn’t give her time to adjust, as he never did. He pounded into her mercilessly as the leather around her throat dug into her skin.

Her breathing turned into shallow gasps. The harder he pulled, the less air she got. Her head was swimming, her vision going dark. And still, he continued to thrust into her. She knew he would never truly hurt her, would never go beyond her limits. He loved choking her. This was part of their normal play.

But as his grunts turned into vicious snarls and every fibre of her being was screaming in pain, Hermione couldn’t help the fear that crept up her spine. She hated how she still got afraid even after all these months.

“Sir,” she rasped desperately, “I can’t breathe!”

“Almost there, darling,” he growled in response. “I can feel your climax. Your cunt gripping me tightly, your slick dripping all over me. Just a bit more. You can take it.”

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut to mask the black dots in her vision. It was almost over. Just a bit more, and she would finally get the release she so desperately needed.

Her mind drifted away as a final groan left her lips.

~*~

He came with a muted grunt, spilling his seed deep into the unconscious body. Again and again, he pumped into her, eager to prolong the orgasm, to fill her up completely.

He pulled out of her with his chest heaving and admired her abused cunt. He would never get tired of seeing her like this. Broken, lost to the world, devoured to his heart’s content.

Voldemort laughed to himself as he dressed. How this naïve witch could mistake boring sex with gentle worship was beyond him. But he proved his point, that was all that mattered. She would submit to his needs even more willingly than before.

He slipped his naked foot under her stomach and rolled her onto her back. She moaned slightly, but still didn’t wake up. With a sneer, he shrugged.

She would wake up eventually.

Chapter Text

A single letter telling her that he’d be absent for a while.

That was all Hermione got from him. It had been several weeks, and she still never heard from him again. He also never slipped into Professor Snape’s mind. This single piece of parchment turned out to be a life line that she desperately held onto.

After their conversation about Horcruxes, he’d gone somewhere to investigate something. Hermione couldn’t help but suspect that it actually had something to do with Horcruxes, but she had no way of confirming. Maybe, because she brought it up, he was looking into the matter himself. Somewhere out there, trying to weaken the Dark Lord.

It was hard for her. Harder than she wanted to admit. Once or twice, she even caught herself eyeing Snape. Thinking about asking him to pleasure her. Her body craved the brutal sex and her own fingers turned out highly disappointing in comparison.

And so, here she was, tucked away in a dark corridor, Ron in her arms as his hand fumbled under her skirt, trying to find the right spot. She encouraged him with quiet moans. She spread her legs and moved her hips, and still, his fingers touched everywhere but where she needed them.

She had sworn to herself never to indulge in sex with anyone else ever again, just so she wouldn’t disappoint her man. But when the weeks grew long and her hunger went unsatisfied, she threw caution in the wind. Ron was the easiest target. He was more than eager to shove his hand between her legs, and she was sure that she could wiggle her way out of having to make him come in return.

“You’re so wet,” he moaned in her ear. “It’s like a waterfall.”

Hermione cringed at his awkward words. Deciding that he’d had enough chance to do it right, she slipped her own hand over his and guided him to where she needed him. His breath hitched as she roughly pushed his fingers through her folds.

“By Merlin, this feels amazing!” He was all too eager to show her his sexual prowess. “You realise now what you’ve been missing out on?”

She didn’t respond. Finally, Ron pushed two fingers into her, while his free hand closed around her breast. He kneaded it eagerly through the thin fabric of her bra, groaning and panting as he did so. His fingers inside her didn’t move, as though being inside was enough. Instead, he started to hump her thigh, rubbing his clothed length against her without thinking.

Fear shot through Hermione’s body like a hot iron. She absolutely could not allow Ron to continue like this.

“Ron,” she whispered cautiously into his ear, “could you stop? Please?”

He groaned and continued, moving his fingers slightly in the same rhythm as his hip. “Feels too good. Just relax, Mione. You’ll like it, I promise.”

His one hand continued groping her breast as he rubbed himself into a frenzy. His pants were loud in her ears and where his fingers brought her some sort of pleasure before, they now were just painful and uncomfortable.

She pushed harder against his shoulders. “Seriously, Ron. Stop! Please!”

“Almost there,” he grunted, oblivious to her struggles.

Tears pricked at her eyes. How could she have been so stupid? A teenage boy would of course loose himself in his horny hormones. If she didn’t put an end to this right now, she’d lose everything.

“What do we have here?”

Under normal circumstances, that deep voice would have chilled Hermione to the bone. But right now, she almost sobbed in relief when Professor Snape stepped into view. Ron on the other hand shrieked and jumped away from her.

“I believe I heard a very clear request for you to stop, Mr Weasley,” Snape drawled. “I also seem to remember that you were caught breaking the rules exactly like this just a few weeks ago.”

“Was Mione’s idea,” he mumbled, face bright red and eyes downcast.

She glared at him, but Professor Snape spoke before she could. “And again, you throw your female companion under the bus. Chivalry truly is dead in Gryffindor. You’ll report to me tomorrow evening and depending on your behaviour then, I’ll decide the severity of your punishment. Now go. Back to your dorm.”

Ron didn’t look at her twice as he scrambled away. Hermione felt nothing but resentment as his broad shoulders disappeared into the shadows. She would need to make it clear tomorrow that she’d never again be interested in his hapless fumbling.

Cheeks aflame with shame, she peered up at Snape who stood motionless in front of her, arms crossed before his chest, eyes almost hidden in the darkness. Of course, he had to find them.

“Thank you,” she whispered hesitantly.

“I cannot begin to understand what you were thinking just now,” he growled.

The heat in her face intensified, though she tried her best to not look away. “I clearly wasn’t thinking at all. I thought I could easily manipulate Ron into … well, making me come without him doing the same.”

“Bold of you to assume any teenage boy knows how to make a witch come.”

“Yeah, as I said, I wasn’t thinking.”

He let out a long sigh and unfurled his arms. “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Her heart almost missed a beat. There was such warmth in his tone, in his eyes, as to make her melt. She knew that he would help her. She knew that he understood what was at stake and that he’d restrain himself. It would have been so easy to ask him.

“I couldn’t do that to you, professor.” She tried to smile but failed.

He sighed again. “It’s not a burden.”

Hermione stepped closer towards him and put one hand onto his chest, never breaking eye-contact. “I know. But it can’t happen again. In any form. He means too much to me. When I’m with you, I easily lose myself in the pleasure. I can’t risk that.” She huffed out a short laugh. “And anyway, we’d be risking your job. You are still my professor, after all.”

Snape gently placed one hand over hers. “We’re long past that and you know it. Hermione.”

She cocked her head. “Do you want to sleep with me?”

His eyes widened briefly, but he never let go of her hand. “I … don’t put words in my mouth. I want to keep you safe. I don’t want to see you suffering. And I can see that his absence is hard on you.”

Warmth bloomed inside Hermione’s chest. How could the notoriously cold Professor Snape be so caring and sweet to her? Her mind wandered back to the one time they actually had sex. It was great then, and she knew it would be even greater now, as he would hold back for her sake. It was so tempting.

She pulled back her hand and looked down. “It’s only temporary. I can endure it.”

She saw his hand drop down. Then his stance shifted and he took one step back. “So you know when he’ll return? What he is doing?”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know when he’ll be back, but I have some assumptions about what he’s doing.” She blinked and looked up to Professor Snape again. “Did he not share his plans with you?”

He grimaced. “The nature of our relationship is so that he often keeps me in the dark.”

For a moment, Hermione pondered telling Professor Snape about the Horcruxes. It was obvious that the headmaster didn’t share this with him, but from her perspective, there was no reason to exclude Snape. He was their most valuable asset. It just didn’t make sense.

Though of course, little of what Dumbledore was doing this year made sense. Why send Harry on a futile mission to retrieve memories from Slughorn if the headmaster already knew what Horcruxes were? It seemed impossible to her that he wouldn’t know. It was more likely that he wanted to keep something from Harry, maybe even a lot.

Still. This information came from her man and it was not hers to share. She would wait and ask him whether she could let Professor Snape in on it. He would know best.

“I should get going,” she mumbled. “What’s my detention?”

He cocked his head. “You want me to give you detention?”

“I don’t want to. But what I want even less is a suspicious Ron who’ll take out his frustrations on me because he thinks you’d favour me.”

Snape rolled his eyes. “Mr Weasley seems to be the poster child of immature wizards. Well, if it eases your anxiety, report for detention every Friday for the next four weeks. After dinner.”

“Thank you, professor.” Hermione smiled before she turned around and hurried back to the Gryffindor common room.

***

When word reached Hermione that Ron was brought to the hospital wing, she couldn’t help the annoyance that bubbled up inside her. It was his birthday, for crying out loud. What had he done to get himself injured?

Not that she cared. After their failed snogging session, Ron went back to ignoring her. It took only two days before she saw him sneak off with Lavender again. The more she thought about it, the clearer it became to her that he only ever showed any kind of interest in her because Harry told him so. Because they needed her to do research for them, and Harry thought the easiest way to get her to do that was if Ron made out with her.

Of course, she still hurried to the hospital wing, ever dutiful friend that she was. His whole family was already there, thanking Harry profusely for saving a third Weasley now. Nobody noticed her enter, and nobody talked to her.

She stayed long enough to hear him mumble something that sounded distinctly like Lav-Lav. Then, Madam Pomfrey bustled in and reminded them that only six people were allowed as visitors at any given time. As Harry and Hagrid decided to leave, so did she, following them through the corridors.

Hagrid told them about the rumours coming out of the board of governors. Hermione couldn’t blame them if they wanted to shut Hogwarts down, but she still hoped it wouldn’t come to that.

“I mean, it’s always bin a bit of a risk sendin’ a kid ter Hogwarts, han’t it?” Hagrid rambled on. “Yer expect accidents, don’ yeh, with hundreds of under-age wizards all locked up tergether, but attempted murder, that’s diff’rent. ‘S no wonder Dumbledore’s angry with Sn–”

Hermione’s breath hitched, but Hagrid stopped in his tracks as an all too familiar expression of guilt washed over his face.

“Dumbledore’s angry with Professor Snape?” Hermione asked tonelessly.

Hagrid’s look of panic said it all. Harry looked ready to blow. “Hagrid, why is Dumbledore angry with Snape?”

Hagrid shushed him and motioned them around a corner. After shooting suspicious glances up and down the corridor, he explained, “I dunno, I shouldn’ta heard it at all! I jus’ overheard ‘em talkin’—well, arguin’. Was a heated discussion.”

“And what was it about?” Harry urged him.

“Well—I jus’ heard Snape sayin’ Dumbledore took too much fer granted an’ maybe he—Snape—didn’ wan’ ter do it any more …”

“Do what?”

“I dunno, Harry. Dumbledore told him flat out he’d agreed ter do it an’ that was all there was to it.”

Harry continued to interrogate Hagrid, but Hermione’s thoughts were already racing. For a second, she’d feared that Dumbledore found out about the two of them, but from what the headmaster said, it didn’t sound like that was the case. It was clear that Professor Snape had some sort of mission, and that, for whatever reason, he wasn’t as keen to do it anymore as he originally was. She never expected Dumbledore to force anyone to do something they didn’t want to.

It only painted a worse picture of him. Professor Snape risked his life every day by being a spy for the Order. He mingled with Voldemort and Death Eaters, and all that he got as a thank you were unkind words and threats.

It was a good thing she’d have detention again tomorrow. It was the last of the four weeks. She would ask Snape about this directly. Even if he couldn’t tell her, she could offer him company and understanding. For as much as she wanted to keep her distance, there was an understanding between them that brought her great comfort.

She hoped it would be the same for him.

Chapter Text

“Spill it, Granger.”

The second she stepped through the door this evening, Severus could sense that Hermione Granger was burning with questions. Of course, she didn’t say anything and just got onto cleaning his lab as she did the previous weeks, but she was terrible at hiding her emotions. It was grating on him, especially since he had no idea what questions she could possibly have that made her this anxious.

She had the audacity to look at him out of her big doe eyes. “What?”

He plucked the feather duster from her hand—no magic cleaning around potion ingredients—and raised an eyebrow at her. “I’ve had the misfortune to endure you in class for almost six years now. I know when you’re just bursting to ask questions. So. Out with it.”

She blushed a rather pretty shade of pink that highlighted the honey-brown of her eyes. Severus had to fight down the heat that threatened to overtake his body. He always prided himself in his ability to control all bodily functions, a necessary trait as a spy. But around her, with everything that happened, it seemed his body refused to understand. She was just a student in his care, more vulnerable than anyone else, yet some parts of him could only see her as a woman that felt soft to the touch and would happily embrace him.

He turned around, put the duster away, and then motioned her to sit down in front of his desk. He really should have some kind of barrier between them at all times.

Miss Granger hesitantly sat down, biting her lips as she always did when she was unsure. But then she shook her head, raised her head and met his eyes. “I heard that you had a fight with Professor Dumbledore recently. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t help but worry.”

The heat in his veins instantly cooled. He really shouldn’t feel this pang of disappointment, as her question was only natural, but there it was. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “It is none of your business, as you said.”

He could see her flinch as she noted his cold tone, but she didn’t back down. “It’s just that I think it’s more important than ever that we all place trust in each other. As much as I resent Harry and Ron for their stupid behaviour, I know I have to be there for them. And I think–”

“You know nothing about this matter, Granger,” he interrupted her, barely containing his anger. “It might be a foreign concept to you, but I don’t raise concerns unless I feel it absolutely necessary.”

She frowned. “What?”

It was only the warmth that he sometimes felt for her that prevented him from throwing her out right then and there. “I appreciate your suspicion, as it serves us all to doubt each other, but in this matter, I’m afraid, you really shouldn’t interject yourself.”

Miss Granger blinked once, twice. Then, her frown turned into a scowl as she leaned over the desk and stared right into his eyes. “You think I’m suspecting you of some wrong-doing?”

“Obviously.”

“I can’t believe you! Don’t you think I know better by now? I’m here because I’m worried. About you. About Professor Dumbledore potentially asking too much of you. I know you’re doing more for the Order than any of us understand. You’re in a unique position and only you can get information from the other side. But that doesn’t mean Dumbledore can just demand anything from you. I’m worried for you,” she hissed, a mix of anger and disbelief in her voice.

That took the wind out of his sails. Hermione Granger and her naïve, innocent, big heart. Of course, she worried about him and wasn’t suspicious. Severus sighed before he could catch himself. Warmth seeped back into his body, dousing his cold rage and comforting his weary limbs.

“Thank you,” he mumbled through gritted teeth. It felt dangerous to accept this kindness, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. “But I still can’t tell you what it was about.”

She blew up her cheeks and pouted at him. He almost wanted to comment that it didn’t suit her to be this childish, but the smile that tugged at the corners of his lips would undermine that notion. Before he could say anything, her eyes turned serious.

“What if I could give you something in exchange?”

Severus stilled. His mind conjured up images of her spread across the desk before he could catch himself. Clearing his throat, he asked, “What would that be?”

Miss Granger remained serious, not a hint of embarrassment on her face. “I have information, too. Something Dumbledore didn’t deem relevant to you, which I find stupid.”

He bristled. “And how would you have that information?”

“Because despite it all, Harry still likes to employ me as his personal researcher, so he shares insights with me that Dumbledore shares with him. I know for a fact that you don’t know about this because he expressly forbade me from telling you.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “Why would Potter feel it necessary to forbid you from telling me? Surely, he isn’t aware–”

“Of course not,” she immediately interrupted him. “He just knows I spend more time than usual with you.”

A strange nausea spread in his stomach. The thought that Potter of all people would know about any of this made it hard for him to stay calm. “Why would you tell him that?”

“Who’s suspicious now?” Hermione shot back at him. “You apparently don’t know this, but Harry’s got a map of the school that shows every single person in the castle exactly where they are at any moment. He saw us.”

“He saw us?”

She blushed and quickly shook her head. “Not like that. People are just footprints on the map. He is obsessed with stalking Malfoy on it, but he happened to see us standing together a couple of times, which he found strange.”

He liked this less and less. “How does he even have a map like that?”

She shrugged. “He got it in third year. From the Weasley twins. They apparently found it in Filch’s office. It was made during your time at Hogwarts. By Harry’s father and Sirius and Remus and … Pettigrew.”

Severus scoffed. “Of course. The famous Marauders. I always wondered how they were so good at showing up exactly where they needed to be to terrorise others. Didn’t think they’d had it in them to create such an astounding feat of magic.”

“Anyway,” she interrupted him again and shot him an annoyed glance. “He has it and saw us and grew suspicious that I was sharing sensitive information with you, which is why he told me not to tell you this specific thing. But I’m willing to do it if you share what your fight was about.”

Severus closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the chair. He wondered what could be so valuable that Hermione wanted to share it with him. Should he tell her about the plan Albus had for months now? It wasn’t a good plan and it wouldn’t work the way he intended, seeing as the Dark Lord already knew about it anyway. Was there really any harm in her knowing?

Of course, there would. What he knew of her by now, she would be indignant and demand to talk to Albus herself to dissuade him. Or she would try to find a way to prevent it from happening even if Albus insisted. She’d probably throw her full weight into protecting him and make her own situation so much worse.

He was here to protect her, not the other way around.

I’m worried for you.

Her soft words reverberated through his mind. It would be nice to have someone look out for him for once. And if he insisted that she stayed out of it, maybe she would even listen.

“Fine,” he growled after long minutes of silence. “Under one condition. You are not to act on the information I share with you in any way. You might be angry or upset, but I don’t want you to go and try to do anything about it. If you can’t do that, I’ll obliviate you instantly. Understood?”

To his surprise, she didn’t put up any fight. “Understood. The same goes for you. Dumbledore told this to Harry in secret, and Harry made me promise not to share it with you. You cannot let on that you know.”

“That won’t be an issue.”

They stared at each other for several heartbeats until Severus realised that she expected him to go first. He grinned wolfishly at her. “No, Granger, that’s not how this works. You want something from me here, so you need to offer your information first.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but he could see the grin play around the corners of her lips. “You can never not be Slytherin, can you? Alright. Here we go.” She took a deep breath as her face turned serious again. “Dumbledore suspects that Voldemort has created several Horcruxes. Dark artifacts that allow him to store parts of his soul inside so he can revive after death. It’s how he returned.”

His heart seemed to stop for a moment. He had heard of Horcruxes before, but only in whispers among pureblood circles. It was magic so dark, even those purebloods that indulged in blood rituals didn’t want to talk about it. And the Dark Lord was said to have several?

Severus ran a hand over his face. Of course he did. It all made sense now. And of course, Albus wouldn’t want to share this with him.

“That’s … something,” he whispered as his thoughts continued to race.

But there was nothing he could do about it right now. He would need time to think this through. Albus obviously was on the case, and Potter too, so they realised this was valuable information that could tip the scales to their side.

“Did I earn my reward?” Hermione asked, an innocent smile on her lips.

Thankful for her return to playfulness, Severus nodded. “Yes. You’ve been a very good girl and deserve a reward.”

A sudden jerk went through Granger’s body. Before his eyes, he could see her change. Her cheeks flushed, her eyes glossy, lips parted, she stared at him with big, expectant eyes. “Yeah? I was a good girl, wasn’t I? I’ll always be good for you, sir.”

“Oh, fuck,” he cursed under his breath.

He should’ve known that Voldemort would abuse her need for praise and turn the phrase good girl into a trigger. Wide-eyed, he stared at Hermione as she slowly got up from her chair, rounded the desk, and got on her knees in front of him. To his rising horror, she opened her mouth and stuck her tongue out in a very explicit gesture.

When he remained frozen in his chair, she frowned and closed her mouth again. “Do I not get to swallow your cum today?”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he muttered to himself.

He could feel his cock strain against his trousers as he took in her submissive kneel and her big eyes. If he didn’t know that it was the Dark Lord who caused this, he would probably not have been able to hold back.

Severus rose from his chair and grabbed her by the arms to pull her up as well. “Snap out of it, Granger.”

She blinked, and slowly, her eyes focused again. Confusion flickered through, then realisation. With wide eyes, she slapped away his hands and scrambled backwards.

“Oh god,” she groaned lowly, “oh fuck. I’m so sorry, professor. This is … this should never happen outside … please, just forget that ever happened.”

There was so much he wanted to say to her. She deserved so much more than to be this well-trained sex-doll that the Dark Lord obviously turned her into. He needed a way to snap her out of it.

But for now, the only kindness he could do her was to pretend that he would forget, just as she wanted. He gestured her to sit back down and gladly slipped back into his own chair as well, only too relieved that he could hide the uncomfortable erection that would continue to haunt him for the rest of the night.

“Your information was valuable, Miss Granger,” he began, pointedly using his most neutral, professional tone. “Thus, in return, here is the reason for the fight I had with the headmaster. He wants to make sure I’ll be beyond question for the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord, which of course means I need to make a show of loyalty. His brilliant plan for this is for me to … to kill him in the presence of other Death Eaters. I never agreed to it, he just ordered me to do it, and that’s what our fight was about.”

Hermione’s face was pale by the end and once again, he could feel that nervous energy from her that she was just about to burst with all the things she wanted to say. But just as clearly, she tried to restrain herself. After a few seconds, she whispered, “He’ll let the Ordner know about this beforehand, right? It’s not something he plans on taking to his grave?”

He almost laughed. She went straight for the heart of the matter. “No. The headmaster, in his great wisdom, decided that our enemies are most easily fooled if our allies are too.”

“Disgusting piece of shit!” Her scream was out before she could stop herself, but she instantly slapped her hands over her mouth and looked down. “Sorry, professor.”

He wanted to kiss her. She saw the issue he had so clearly and she was offended for his sake. She was just his student, someone he should protect, but it felt so good that at least somebody actually cared enough about him to see how impossible this ask was. Severus remained quiet, not wanting to disapprove of her cursing, but also not wanting to give away just how much her words meant to him.

She shook her head and looked back up. “That plan is stupid. I’m sorry to say this about Dumbledore, but I don’t think he actually knows what he’s doing. Same with the Horcruxes. He wants Harry to retrieve some memory from Slughorn, because he apparently told Voldemort back in the day how to create a Horcrux. Only he altered his memory and it’s something else now. I don’t know what use that would be. We already know Voldemort created them, we know what Horcruxes are, what do we need Slughorn’s memory for? It’s just a stupid errand for Harry so he feels like he’s important, when he already is by virtue of being the Chosen One. He doesn’t need more importance, if anything, he needs less. God, I’m so … angry.”

She let out a long breath as she wrung her fingers and tried to calm herself. She was more right than she could possibly know. He had long been frustrated with Albus himself, but he also understood that the headmaster was playing a long, long game. He could only hope that all his calculations would pay off in the end.

“Can you keep this to yourself?”

Hermione scoffed. “To cite you: Obviously. There isn’t anyone who I can share this with. Can’t talk about you to Harry, and I’ll definitely not talk to Dumbledore myself. But that doesn’t mean I will just sit here and accept it. There has to be something we can do.”

He looked at her stoically. “I can’t prevent you from thinking about it, but believe me, there isn’t. What Albus wants, he gets. As much as I hate this plan, for more reasons than you can possibly understand, I will go through with it.”

She smiled weakly. “At least now I know about it. At least one person knows you’re not a murderous traitor once you kill him.”

“And that’s more important to me than anything else.” The words were out before he could catch himself. Severus couldn’t help the uncomfortable flinch as he replayed them in his head, but before he could add on anything to change their meaning, Hermione leaned over the desk and grabbed his hand.

“You will always have my trust. Severus.” Her smile was so sincere, so warm.

He couldn’t help himself. He turned his hand up and curled his fingers around hers. “Thank you. Hermione.”

Chapter Text

He needed to hurt someone. For weeks on end, he chased down his own Horcruxes, but with less success than he thought.

Voldemort really wanted to hurt someone.

The ring. The diary. Destroyed, just like that. The locket, missing. If he had known before that he had less Horcruxes left than he assumed, he would have thought twice about destroying the cup to regain his body.

For now, there were only the diadem and Nagini. Two Horcruxes. And one out of reach, as he’d never be able to get into Hogwarts while Dumbledore was around. If the old fool knew about Horcruxes and was perceptive enough to already have had destroyed two, the diadem surely was lost as well.

How could it come to this?

Eyes blazing, he grabbed parchment and quill and set up a letter to Hermione.

She would suffer for this.

***

Hermione’s heart was beating almost as fast as it did the first time she ascended the steps in the Three Broomsticks. It had been more than two months since she last saw him. She had almost given up hope. Thought him dead, killed on whatever mission he was on.

But then, finally, his letter appeared the day before. It was short, just stating to meet at the same place, same time. To her, it was enough.

He was back.

Trying to calm the giddy fluttering in her stomach, Hermione took several deep breaths as she stood in front of Room 103. Behind this door, the love of her life waited for her. She bit her lip to swallow a giggle. Then, she knocked.

The lock gave a soft click and Hermione slipped inside, closing the door behind her. She made sure to hang up the cloak before she turned around.

There he was. Clad in all black, sitting in the shadow of the large armchair. She couldn’t discern his face, but she could feel his eyes on her. Burning into her.

“Hermione. I’ve missed you,” he greeted her.

His voice shot right to her core. She blushed as she noticed how the heat in her belly instantly transformed into slick drenching her knickers. She stepped into the middle of the room and smiled. “I’ve missed you too, sir.”

He got up and beckoned her closer. As she closed the distance, she could finally see his face. It took her breath away. As beautiful as ever, but there was an edge to it that she didn’t notice before. His arms were gentle as he embraced her, but the hard lines around his mouth didn’t disappear.

She breathed in his unique smell, moaning quietly as the heat between her legs turned into an insistent throb. “Are you alright, sir?”

He shook his head. “No. No, I’m not alright. My long absence, the mission. It didn’t go as planned. Not at all.”

Her breath hitched. “I’m sorry to hear that. Can I help in any way?”

He cupped her face with both hands and stared deep into her eyes. “My perfect Hermione. You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

She blushed and allowed him to pull her towards the bed. With the slightest push from him against her shoulders, she sank down onto it, her hair splaying around her head. He remained standing, drinking in her form as she contorted her body to emphasise her curves. Finally, he smiled.

“I forgot how breathtaking you are while I was away,” he admitted quietly. Then, he knelt down beside the bed, eyes serious. “I trust you, Hermione. I trust you like I never did anyone else before. I know that with you, I can be as I are.”

She propped herself up on her elbows and nodded emphatically. “Yes. You can, sir. Always.”

Despite his words, he hesitated before he continued. It was a strange expression on his face, one Hermione had seen before, but only once or twice. It seemed alien to him, as though it was a practiced look, not an authentic emotion.

But before she could think deeper about it, he explained, “I sometimes get angry. Very, very angry. And when I get like that, it feels like nothing can make it better. Until I am able to let it out. This anger, it drives me to hurt someone. I’ve never hurt anyone, of course, so I usually hurt … myself. But now I have you. And I know you can take pain. I know you can enjoy it. So I wondered … can you help me?”

Her heart felt like it was too small for the amount of love she held for this man. Like the love was spilling over, dripping over her whole being. She smiled at him warmly. “Of course, sir. Whatever you need. I’m here for you. Thank you for sharing this with me. If I can help you, use me.”

He stared at her for a moment longer. Then, slowly, his face morphed into an expression of such utter rage and hatred that, despite her earlier words, Hermione felt a tingling of fear creep up her spine. So this was what he truly felt right now. He had tamed his emotions for her, to greet her properly, but this was his actual self right now. She shivered.

His right hand stroked her shoulders with surprising care as he continued. “We’ve talked about this before. I know you’ve always said no. I understand it’s a hard limit for you. But right now, the thought of your screams is the only thing keeping me sane. Which is why I’m asking this again, even though I promised not to.”

Hermione could feel the blood drain from her face. There was only one hard limit she had ever set. Only one time she truly denied him. “You mean…”

He nodded. “Yes. I want to fuck your tight little ass today.”

Her heart beat furiously in her chest. She didn’t want that. She knew she didn’t. He once touched her there, slipped just a single finger inside, just to the first knuckle, and she had hated it. It hurt and burnt and made her feel ashamed of her own body.

“I don’t … I don’t know,” she whispered. All her bravery, all her love for him seemed not enough to overcome this hurdle.

“I understand,” he replied softly. “Why don’t we start slow, mh? Just take tiny steps, see how far you can go. And you can always say no. You know that. Open communication, honesty, trust. We’ve well established that. Do you think you can do that for me?”

She wanted to scream no, to shake her head. Even now, just lying here, Hermione knew that she wanted no part of this. But she had just told him she would do anything for him. She took a deep breath. Maybe she could just allow him to go a little further. Maybe that would already be enough to quench his anger. She could endure it for just a little.

She let out a shaky breath and nodded. Instantly, he waved his hand to disappear her clothes, and then he was above her, spreading her legs. His hand slipped between her thigh, gathering her wetness. Despite her fear, need shot through her body and made her arch her back.

“Yes, darling, that’s it,” he purred, “just focus on how good this feels. You are so wet, so ready to be claimed.”

His middle finger dipped into her, easily slipping between her already fluttering walls. Hermione cried out, her hips bucking, hands fisting into the pillow under her head. After such a long time, she was so very sensitive to his touch.

But then, he pulled his finger back out. He brought it up, studying it, seemingly admiring how it was completely coated in her slick. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat as he brought his hand back down and suddenly, there was pressure against her tight little ring. She pressed her eyes shut and hissed in pain.

“It’ll hurt, darling,” he growled, “it’ll hurt a lot, but that is the point. Remember, Hermione. The pain is the point. It’ll help me. And I know you can take it. Look at me.” She opened her eyes. “There’s my girl. You know I trust you. You know I understand your limits. So please, trust me. Endure the pain. For me. And remember, you can always say stop.”

She nodded, unable to speak as the burn of the stretch shot through her body. He pushed his long finger into her, deeper and deeper, forcing her muscles apart. She tried to relax, to breathe through it, but it didn’t change. Her body told her that this hole was not for entry, and she couldn’t force it to loosen up.

Finally, the finger was buried as deeply as it went. Her breath came in short puffs, the pain almost blinding, but she was proud of herself. She did more than she ever wanted, for him. Surely, this would please him.

“I don’t think I can take more, sir,” she whispered.

He hovered over her, dark shadows cast over his eyes. “It hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Y-yes.”

“I’m sorry, darling. But I need more. Can you endure just a little more? I’ll add another finger, just a bit, just enough to be inside. Do you think you can do that? For me?” His voice was urgent, dark with need.

Tears pricked at Hermione’s eyes. She really didn’t want to do this, but she also didn’t find the strength within her to deny him. With a sob, she nodded.

“Good girl,” he purred.

It didn’t help. The words that usually made her melt didn’t even register as she felt the tip of a second finger press against the entrance. Her breathing was too fast, her heart beating too much, too loudly. Desperate fear gripped her as he slowly pushed in. A cry fell from her lips, followed by sharp, struggling sobs.

“You’re doing so well, Hermione, just a bit more,” he cooed above her.

But she couldn’t take it. “No more, please. It hurts too much. I hate it. I don’t … I don’t want more. Please.”

He gave her a quick peck on the lips, eyes shining with eager desire. “You already took half of the second finger. And I’m still going deeper. Can you feel how well you take it? What is a little more? It’s already inside, darling. Just a bit more. I know you can take it.”

Just as he said that, the second finger thrust the last bit inside. This time, she screamed and thrashed against him, her whole body shaking. “No, please, sir, I’m begging you. I can’t! Please!”

“Ssshh, it’s okay. It’s okay. I understand. You’re okay. My perfect little Hermione.” He kept his fingers inside her, but didn’t move them. “You took two fingers so well. You weren’t prepared, but you took them anyway. It’s a marvel what you can do for me. I’m so proud of you. You are ready for the next step. I know you are. Can you trust me once more?”

She was shivering as the sweat on her body cooled. Any hint of arousal had long left her body. All that she now felt was disgust and shame and terror. He pushed her further than she could take. But he was proud of her. He thanked her. He still needed her.

“I don’t know whether I can,” she moaned weakly.

“Let’s find out, okay?” He slowly pulled out his fingers. “I’ll go very, very slow. It will hurt even more than before, so tell me if it gets too much. Tell me no, and I’ll stop. I promise. You know I’ll stop if you can’t take it anymore.”

She had to calm down her frantic breathing. She felt like her head was swimming, like she wasn’t getting enough air or maybe too much. His promise sounded sweet in her ears, but another part of herself, something primal, screamed in terror. Like she didn’t believe him.

“Roll onto your stomach, darling,” he instructed her without waiting for her reply.

Hermione swallowed her fear, ignored the prickle at the back of her neck, and did as she was told. His hands guided her onto all fours, groping her thighs and hips as he did so. For a second, she hoped that he would just fuck her.

But then, she heard him spit into his hand and rub his cock. The next moment, she felt the blunt head press against her tight ring. Her arms tremble, threatening to give out. She couldn’t do this. It was so much bigger than his fingers. It would split her open, actually rip her apart.

“Wait,” she screamed, but it was already too late.

The pressure built until the muscles gave out. He forced the tip of his cock in and stopped, groaning with unrestrained desire as he stilled behind her.

“No more! Please, sir. This isn’t right! It’ll hurt me. I can feel it.”

He leaned far over her, his chest flush with her back, his arms caging her in. “It’s okay, darling. I’ll take care of you, I promise. You already took the worst of it. Let me go just a bit deeper, okay? Just a little.”

“Oh god,” she sobbed but further protest died on her lips when he pushed in deeper.

Bit by bit, he forced her muscles apart. It wasn’t a deliciously painful stretch like she was used to. This was all pain. Pain that told her that her body couldn’t take it. Pain that made her vision blurry. Pain that made her scream like never before. Tears streamed freely down her cheeks as he continued to enter her deeper. His groans and grunts were in her ears, speaking of an extasy beyond her reach.

Finally, she could feel his hips pressing against her ass. She sobbed in relief. It was over. Now, she could tell him that she needed him to stop. She had given him so much. Surely, he would recognise her endurance.

Hermione opened her mouth to talk, but only a broken gasp came out. She swallowed, realising that she already screamed herself hoarse. Trembling, she tried again. “This is enough. I can’t take anymore. Let’s stop here.”

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her shoulder. “You already took all of me, darling. Anything after this will hurt less than the initial stretch. Let me show you. Just once.”

That primal part of hers roared to life before she could stop it. “No! I said stop! I don’t want this. Any of this! You promised! You said my no will make you stop!” She tried to crawl away from him, blindly grasping at the bedsheets, bucking against him, but his arms simply closed around her waist and throat and kept her where she was.

“Sweet darling,” he purred into her ear, “calm down, please. You know I would never do anything to you that you can’t take. I’m already inside. You’re already adjusted to me. Everything after this is nothing in comparison.”

Pure terror gripped her as she felt him move. Shallow thrust, but it was enough to make her inside burn like a blazing fire. He held her close to his chest, pressing her into the mattress, as he slowly fucked her ass. She cried and screamed and twisted herself, desperately, blindly trying to escape, but he held her with an iron grip.

Fresh sobs broke from her throat. She couldn’t escape this. The grunts that invaded her senses spoke of so much lust, so much hatred, she just knew he was lost to anything she had to say. He continued to pump into her, thrusts getting longer, sharper, the pain only ever increasing.

She didn’t even want to cry or yell anymore, but every snap of his hips tore another scream from her as a fresh wave of pain rolled over her. He continued to fuck her, uncaring, oblivious, lost in his own desire.

And all she could do was scream.