Author's Note: As this is a shared account, it might be good to let you all know that this fanfiction was written by Caroline (Coco).
Disclaimer: Hermone Granger or Severus Snape in now way belong to me/us. I/we simply toy with the world J.K. Rowling has created.
She sat in her chair quietly, waiting for him to appear. She faced the closed French windows, her back to the majestic and tranquil room. The windows were tall, with cream-colored paint bordering the old glass, distorting the dying sunlight. The space around her was lavish, but without the overstated extravagance that the incredibly wealthy enjoy.
It was in all dark, rich colors ranging from shadowy golds to the deepest of blacks. The carpet was fine velvet, with a deep crimson background and delicate detail-work, vines and flower blooming at your feet. All the furniture was the highest quality Tiger Oak, polished carefully, as if to bring out the full potential of the coloring. Classic suede covered most of the furnishings in the room, shades varying from piece to piece. There was a large mirror on one of the walls, enclosed by a gold frame with intricate engravings and gem inlays. Nothing too gaudy or flamboyant, just a little flourish, to make it sparkle. The walls themselves were a dark white, their brightness dimmed by age and a fine layer of dust.
But most impressive of all in the room, was the giant bed that occupied at least a quarter of the room. It was elm, dark wood, with silk covers and sheets and a large canopy hung over the top, supported by the elaborately carved posts. The sheets were a light mocha shade, still soft and supple after the years of disuse. The dark covers were the color of melted chocolate, and were heavy to keep one warm during the cold winter nights. The silk was as it had always been when she was here, crisp, clean, and undisturbed, as if it had never been used. The woman tried to remember if she had ever seen it differently, but quickly dismissed the thought as pointless.
The young woman was by all opinions, beautiful. With alabaster skin and long, dark, wavy hair flowing down past her shoulders, she had an enticingly exotic look about her. Her deep hazel eyes were glazed over, staring towards some far away point in the dusk. She had a look beyond her years, seeming tired, and weary of the world.
There was a small pop in the room behind her, yet she did not move. She sat like a statue as he came up behind her and began to run his hands up her back, over shoulders and down towards her breasts. Only then did she move. Her head snapped to the side, as if she had been struck, yet her voice was tranquil when she spoke.
"Hello Severus," she purred sickly sweet, like a cat waiting to pounce on its prey. The man's hands stopped their movement as she turned to look at him. His face showed no emotion at first glance, but upon closer examination, she could see the pain and anger in his obsidian eyes. The hate of his torturers that he so often took out on her, danced wildly behind the thin veil of calm he wore for the world to see. His words came out slowly, as if forced.
"Miss Granger?" Where her voice sounded like satin to the ears, his was a razor, sharp and cold as steel. His nails dug sharply into the soft flesh of her chest. She knew he did not like it when she spoke to him, but with the bravery that characterized her House and the determination that had gotten her in the situation in the first place, she pressed on.
"Why do you come here?" What could possibly interest him in this bleak, deserted place? The place that had become her personal version of hell. The house was his family mansion, where he was born and raised. But it held just as many bad memories as time spent at his Master's side. She had expected him to be angry, to torture her, then maybe take her anyway as he normally did. Tonight was different, the anniversary of his death. Her beloved teacher, advisor, and father. Dumbledore, the ancient wizard with his obsession with love, peace, and Muggle sweets, had died at this man's hands. Yet still she came whenever he beckoned, to let him abuse her in the worst way. He just looked at her darkly, confusion swimming behind the veil.
"Excuse me, Mudblood?" He threw the comment at her, with all his spite and disgust for witches like her bared. She had caught him off guard with her question. Tonight she just might get her answer.
"Why do you come? What do you want from me? Am I just some type of amusement for you? A toy to abuse in your spare time? Tell me Severus, why are you really here?" He glared at her, menacingly, as if that would be enough to make her back off. Any other night she would have, but she knew that tonight was when he was most vulnerable. She might never have this change again. He might have killed her by this time next year. The shadowed man sighed, a release he usually never allowed himself in her presence.
"That is a good question, Granger. One I would like the answer to as well." He seemed to ponder for a moment, his eyes unfocused and pupils dilated as they looked out into the rapidly descending night. He pulled himself out of his revere.
"A remaining affection for one of my most brilliant students, a chance to be in the presence of one not obsessed with pleasing a delirious madman. A desperate attempt to regain what I once held dear…" In a moment he was lost again, off in his own little world.
"Maybe the closest thing to love I've ever had." Saying this, his eyes seemed locked on her, judging her, evaluating her reactions. The woman could have howled her frustration to the moon. This was not an answer, merely another puzzle to add to the enigma that this man had become.
"Believe me it is not love," Hermione said in a strained and bitter voice.
"If it was love, the Dark Lord would know, and you wouldn't be standing in front of me now. It was never meant to be love…" She laughed dryly and stood; her tight ivory dress hugging her upper body and rustling at her feet. Severus Snape suddenly turned ashen and stepped away from her. He raked his eyes down her body, as if seeing her for the first time. He quickly Apparated away with a small pop, harshly admonishing himself for having answered her question in the first place.
The woman fell back into her chair, her dress stressing under her ungainly position. Hermione curled up, her body shuddering with barely suppressed sobs. Silent tears left stains on her face, as she cried for all that she had done. Severus might not have cared why he came to her at night, but she did. She knew why she appeared at his bidding, let him use her for his needs, treat her like his own personal whore. Pushed away her friends and turned her back on her family.
She had done it all for love.