Here is a little something I came up with the other day. It just popped into my mind. One shot for now. I will only think of adding more if I get considerable amounts favorable reviews! =D Enjoy!
I do not own HP.
'One last time,' Snape thought as he turned down the dungeon corridor, heading toward Hermione's cell. He had to see her again. For days, his body screamed for more, pressuring him to test his luck. Nothing sated his appetite the way she did, even with her presence alone. Something about her was remarkably addicting. He slowly turned one last corner and stood just before her prison, thinking.
It was too hospitable to truly be called a cell, for she was denied nothing. She had luxurious accommodations for a prisoner. The room was adorned with tapestries, paintings, and fine furniture. She had a soft bed, exquisite food, an endless array of books, whatever she desired. The Dark Lord cared little for her, but he refused to see her treated poorly within his household. He did not want her to die. She was a conquest, the best friend of Harry Potter. After all, he wanted her lively and healthy should he ever choose to pay her a visit.
It had been 2 months since she'd been captured and he had not seen her once. She had been beaten, abused, and tortured by Bellatrix upon her arrival at the mansion, only to be left here in the dungeon after being broken. She needed to be reminded of her place now that the war was over. She lost. Losers typically did not fare so well at the mercy of Voldemort, but Hermione was different. Something about her, despite her Muggle parentage, intrigued him and made him decide to keep her alive. She was a conquest. The best friend of Harry Potter at his disposal, to do with as he liked. Voldemort wanted to study her, as well as perhaps allow her to entertain him every now and then. He intended to use her and then discard her, unless she proved herself worthy of his affection and attention. Most likely he would grow tired of her and would order her killed.
Yet this day had not yet come. She recovered from her rough welcome, and remained imprisoned for the Dark Lord's amusement. Her wounds healed, but her spirit did not, and no one was permitted to harm her or touch her without permission.
Snape dared to test the Dark Lord's patience and reserve, sneaking down to the dungeons to see her on several occasions. He knew the chances that the Dark Lord would notice were slim. He might not even mind, since she obviously meant nothing to him. Still, he knew he could be punished severely for what he was doing, because technically, she belonged to the Dark Lord, but Snape didn't care. She was worth it. Finally, he had her.
For years, he'd watched her blossom at Hogwarts, amazed as she manifested into a brighter, more capable version of Lily. He couldn't decide who was more beautiful. But unlike Lily, she never paid him any attention. She had those annoying brats Potter and Weasely constantly at her side. Her studies consumed her every atom, never letting anything come between her marks and her morals. He had even skimmed her thoughts a time or two, searching for any trace of some sort of crush girls sometimes get on their professors. Nothing.
Now, she was within his reach. He could finally express how he felt without fear of any repercussions based on their relationship as pupil and instructor. No longer was he her teacher of potions. Instead, he was her teacher of life. A new life. One in which the darkness prevailed and light became smothered like a dying flame. She needed to learn how to survive. Without his guidance, she would surely fail.
His utmost desire was to have Hermione to himself. He had to possess her. He hoped to gain favor with the Dark Lord, and the request that she be released to him. Seeing as how he did not like her, perhaps he'd even forgotten about her, the idea seemed reasonable.
Snape dismissed the guards attending to their posts, just outside her quarters. They raised an eyebrow, but left without objection. For all they knew, Snape had in fact been granted permission to see her. They were not of his rank. He crept slowly into the room, eyeing her lying on the carpeted floor, surrounded by cushions. She did not seem to notice his presence, even as he knelt beside her lounging frame.
Hermione looked down, aimlessly staring into nothingness. Snape knew she was ignoring him and could tell she was nervous. She seemed to be shaking, afraid of what he might do to her. He might have been awkward or forward, but he would never harm her.
Snape became annoyed with her coldness and grabbed her face, turning it so that he could stare into her eyes. They were so blank and lifeless, emulating the losses of those closest to her. Harry was dead. Ron was dead. Her parents, gone. Snape was the only familiar face she knew. Several times before now, he had come to her side. The first few times, he came and simply sat at her side, not saying a word. Then, he progressed to light strokes on the shoulders and cheeks, then to passionate kisses. She never objected. Now he wanted all Hermione had left to offer. Suddenly, Hermione pressed herself forward, narrowing the distance between their chests as she rested her head on his shoulder.
"Why do you keep coming?" she asked delicately into his neck, just above a whisper. Snape shivered with pleasure as her lips barely tickled his neck. He didn't answer. He wasn't good with words. Instead, he reached for the hem of her dress. The silky fabric clung to her, beckoning him.
His hand skimmed her smooth thigh as he lifted the material higher. So many thoughts ran through his mind. He wondered what she made of all of this. Nothing in her demeanor told him to stop, this time or before. He didn't know if she lacked the strength and will to fight, or if she simply wanted comfort. He felt somewhat bad for taking advantage of her weakness, but she left him no choice. It was her own fault for being so irresistible. Or maybe she did not mind. Did she really want this? Deep down, he knew the answer to that. She wasn't stupid. He knew what she knew. As long as he had her, he did not care.
As he loosened the drawstring at her waist, she leaned back against the pillows of her bedding, propping up on her elbows. She maintained eye contact as she did so, making him go even crazier with desire. He cautiously crawled on top of her, planting a kiss on her tearstained cheek as he fumbled with his own clothes.
"One last time," he said.