She had first felt this gaze on her at the Yule Ball. It was different than the usual amount of loathing that he portrayed when he laid eyes on his students. There was something hidden inside the piercing stare, even more feral and primitive than blank hatred. Hermione knew this expression too well, had seen it to often in other men... Greed and Lust had stared at her from the depths of Severus Snape's cold, dead eyes. They had trailed down her body, over her shoulders, possessively over her well-formed breasts, down to her legs.

Taken aback, she had tried switching position with Viktor, so he was in front, but she could not escape the gaze of the man, over twice her age. She had almost gagged as she observed his hands with the yellow, broken fingernails pull his robes over his swelled groin. Their eyes had met, and his chapped lips had curled into a crude, mirthless smile. They had opened to reveal revoltingly yellow, crooked teeth and the greasy black curtain of his hair fell back to reveal a haughty expression. Hermione snarled back at him.

Oh how she had hated him that time, with his barely concealed erection pointed at her underneath his clothes and his broken, split lips parted with a vacant look on his eyes. She had hated him above anything else. She had looked deeper, and what she had seen had fogged her mind with sheer, utter hatred for this man. Burried deep inside of him, she saw him, his very core, genuinely for the first time. The weakness in his hateful, black eyes, obscured by a concealing veil of anger and scorn. She had seen an aged, despairing man, wanting to be touched by warm, living hands instead of the cold metal of the kettles he clung to, an empty shell, starving for affection.

The thought had been even more repulsing than his desire for her. It had made her shudder against Viktor's warm body, and the fool had no doubt thought she was shivering for him. He had whispered something in her ear soothingly, while inside of her, primitive, predatory ideas had sprung to live. Her eyes had stayed locked with Severus Snape's as Viktor's hands caressed her's gently.

He had disgusted her more than ever before. It had awoken something inside of her. She had wanted to walk over to him, throw him on top of one of the satin-covered tables and wipe that precious little smirk off his face as she mounted him. She had wanted to tear his clothes off then and there, in front of everyone so they knew that, behind his cold facade, he was nothing but a weak old man. So that they could see what was doing to him, his painfully large erection visible to everyone in the room. She had wanted to toy with him, show him heaven close-up and then the endless depths of hell. Make him squirm and suffer at her hands, force the life back into those emotionless eyes.

In the present, a cloudy sunday evening in her sixth year of Hogwarts, Hermione laughed out coldly, a sound that she had never heard herself make before.

"Are you alright?" Lavender raised an eyebrows at her. Hermione waved her off.

"Just found the solution to one of my homework." she lied easily. The truth was she had been dwelling in her own thoughts rather than finishing that essay for Flitwick..

"I'll leave you to it then." she was trying to keep her voice natural, but Hermione had not missed the hint of fear that her voice carried. It happened more often these days. Even more so than in her first year, people seemed to be avoiding her as if she was a poisonous slug. She knew the expression in their faces. Her lips curved into a thin smile, often, she had observed it in the dungeons, this look of suppressed fear and loathing. Oh yes, how they all hated her..

She was not a true Gryffindor, her often cruel thoughts made that painstakingly clear...

The Ravenclaws hated her, because she outsmarted them all...

Hufflepuff made a large bow around her whenever they saw her, scared that maybe she would use her intelligence for the worst...

She had considered it before. She did not worship Lord Voldemort, or his ways, they were too primitive, a mere struggle to stay alive on the endless search for immortality. She would delve deeper into the darkest secrets of magic, deeper than even the Dark Lord had. What was eternal life to her, if it meant that she would spend it alone. She would raise above Lord Voldemort, she would even the deepest secret of Death. To conquer Death, to force Death onto its knees in front of her, at her mercy, to shape Death as she saw fit...

Hermione belonged in Slytherin... but even the Slytherins hated her, because she was a filthy Mudblood.

She did not have any friends.

She had people she tolerated around her, Harry Potter, who tagged along because he knew she was more intelligent than the whole of Ravenclaw house together. She let him, because he was famous, and no one cared about the bushy-haired, knowledgeable girl at his side while he was around. It was the perfect cover-up, the perfect concealment. She could plan while he held everyone else's attention... the reason she had been able to set fire to potion master Snape's robes in their first year, because his mind was fixed on Harry Potter.

Then there was Ron Weasley, the fool. Only vaguely, she remembered that before the Yule Ball she had felt something for him. Something shallow, but piercing her heart each time he did not understand... he was no match for her intelligence. He tagged alongside Harry Potter, and his stupidity made it easy for her to forget that he was even there. She knew the looks he had started to throw her, the possessive jealousy gleaming in his dull eyes. She dismissed them easily.

It was possible that they had not noticed the change in her.

She had stared into the darkness too long. In endless hours of potionmaking, their eyes had locked often. Hermione had not acted on the impulses to defeat him, to make him helpless at her hands... It was torture to him that she had not, she could see it in the depths of his eyes. He was craving it, her, he wanted her to touch him, to make him feel. She had plans for him, plans that were only to be unraveled at the right time, that would render him defenseless and completely at her mercy, at her disposal to do with him whatever she pleased.

At times she thought that perhaps he knew, that perhaps he was reading her mind despite her protections. That perhaps he knew she was to raise above even the Dark Lord. At times, his look changed, became cautious, almost fearful. Oh, he was a smart man, Severus Snape, and although he could not measure up to her, she was enticed by him, as much as he was by her. Only gradually, she let him in.

The sixth year Gryffindor's last class on Monday was Defense Against the Dark Arts, a double lesson. Hermione had made it a habit to be right on time, never earlier, never later. It made sure that from her first entrance into the dungeon classroom, his eyes lingered only on her. At first, he had taken points from it, but the piercing look with which she had stared into his eyes had made him crack. She wasn't afraid of him anymore, he was nothing.

Instead, he had taken to ignoring her completely, as if her very existence had suddenly ceased to be. It suited her well. It strained his energy to pass up on snide comments about her perfectly-written essays and to block out the view of her raised hand. Ignoring her, he had made sure that she was on his mind constantly.

He swept toward her like a Dementor, his cold gaze fixed on something behind her shoulder as he handed back her essays without a comment. His scrambled handwriting had become worse, and the 'O', scribbled onto the corner of her paper was almost illegible. She gave her very best for those essays, because every 'O' on her work was a painful knife pushed into his stomach and twisted around each time he was reminded on her geniality. It had been difficult at first to restrain herself, but now, she kept to the amount of pages he asked for.

He was still beside her table, handing essays back to Harry and Ron. She glimpsed the upper half of what looked suspiciously like a 'T'. She was the perfect student to Snape, she could not give him the pleasure of a slip. She waited until he moved again, until his crotch was directly in front of her, before she raised her head. As predicted, their eyes met and before he could pretend they were not staring at each other, she curved her lips into the tiniest, most menacing smile she could manage.

The effect was instantaneous. She watched him slip. His eyes lightened up with a sudden grace of life, he froze for the smallest fraction of a second to gape at her. His lips parted ever so slightly, and she was sure his brain twisted painfully at her smirk. His features distorted by a mixture of surprise and longing, but were immediately pulled back into a heated grimace of anger. The reaction awoke something inside her, a cruel fiber that she had only recently discovered.

"Ten- points from Gryffindor." he spat in her face. She was not surprised, she had predicted that as well. Even more, she had counted on him to slip, she had counted on him to drop his pretense and let the hatred sicker through once more. It was time.

"What, why?" Ron shouted beside her. She glared sidewards and he crumbled under her look. It was impossible why he could not simply let the inevitable happen.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley. Although this is a fruitless endeavor, I shall hope you will not bother me with your insufferable idiocy again." Snape's voice had dropped to a dark velvet that rung in her ears. Ron wanted to argue, but Harry put a hand on his arm. 'Only one year' he mouthed. It was their hope that after this year, Snape would have left the school, because no one who teached Defense Against the Dark Arts had stayed longer than that.

Snape continued through the rows of tables before he returned to his desk at the front. At his sight, her mind filled with deepest hatred, but her eyes lingered on him throughout the lesson. She watched his scornful eyes, as if he was about to murder them all, she heard his menacingly slow, silken voice instruct them but she knew better than to fall for his pretense of strength. She would break him.

"Today... we will be discussing the Cruciatus curse in detail. I am... however... aware that you have been informed of its effects previously in your fourth year. I shall attempt to refresh your knowledge, or lack thereof, of the malicious curse. Be warned that, in any case of... interruption..." and his eyes lingered on Hermione's for a long, daring second, "I shall feel tempted to approach this topic... more practical, perhaps.

"Turn to page two-hundred-and-ninety of your books. The Cruciatus curse is, as I am certain you have been informed before, one of the most dangerous and evil pieces of magic around..."

Hermione felt his gaze upon her yet again, and she waited until everyone else had turned their page before raised a finger to her lips. Carefully, she swirled her tongue around the tip for a moment and lowered it onto her page to turn. Slowly, she raised her eyes to where Snape was standing frozen behind his desk. His throat contracted as he swallowed soundly.

"Another five points from Gryffindor I should think, Miss Granger?" he sneered at her. Oh, it would be the last time he dared to ridicule her in front of the class. She doubted anyone had seen why he was subtracting points, blaming it on his usual amount of asshattery. Ron rose from his seat to argue, but Hermione laid her hand on his arm in a steely grip.

"If cast correctly, it will bring insufferable pain..." and his eyes met Hermione's again, "to the recipient. It's is the most vile, and vicious form of torture."

Neville Longbottm swallowed audibly behind Hermione. She clasped her hand to her mouth as if in shock, but in reality it was to hide her smirk. Her gaze fixed on his, she was careful to slide it over her breast and give herself a slight squeeze as she dropped it again. Then, dropping her eyes to his groin, she sighed soundly. Snape's eyes narrowed on her suspiciously. Uncomfortably, he shifted on his spot and his voice faded into the background as he tried to grasp the fleeing thought about what the Cruciatus did to a human body.

He did not look at her again the whole lesson, and she knew he was trying to ignore the, no doubt enticing as much as repulsing thoughts of a Mudblood, flooding his head. Impatiently, she waited for the bell to ring. As soon as it had, there was shuffling all around her, but she stayed still in her chair. Only when the classroom began to empty she filed her books back into her bag and deposited her wand in her robe. Snape had pocketed his wand, he was about to come around his desk again to leave the room. She listened into the silence of the now empty classroom. The voices of the students still echoed through the corridor and into the room. Casually, she ambled into the middle of the room where a corridor between the desks led to the door.

As Snape wanted to pass, she pulled up her leg and rested her shoe against the desk on the other side, effectively trapping him before his desk. Irritatedly, he raised his head to look at her, and his eyes bore into her's.

"What is... the meaning of this, Miss Granger?" his eyes lingered on her red and yellow Gryffindor stockings.

"You've been very rude today, Professor." she had dropped her voice to a silky caress. Deliberately casual, she put her right hand on her hips, sliding her pinky toward the fabric of her skirt that covered the naked skin underneath.

Hawk-like and infuriated, Snape's eyes followed the movement. Hermione trapped the fabric between her thigh and her pinky, sliding it upward ever so slightly. Out of a sudden, genial impulse, she had removed her pants during the lesson, which left the air that breezed through the dungeons free to caress her private parts.

Snape seemed frozen on the spot as gravity made short process of the remaining length of her skirt, which slid down toward her hip lightly. She watched him again, his eyes dark and hazy now, his hands slid toward his groin, but he stopped himself. He was too obvious, too starved, too impatient. She was sure he had not even glimpsed her lack of underwear yet...

"Miss Granger?" his voice was hoarse.

"But Professor, I've noticed the way you look at me, you perverted old man." she let a sweet smile appear on her lips as she withdrew her leg from the table. She was giving him a loophole, a way to leave... Her gaze dropped to his groin. Something hard and pulsing strained against the fabric of his trousers, but it was barely visible beneath his long, black cloak. Easily, she slid her foot out of her shoe and leaned back on the table.

"That ought to hurt." she said. His eyes were fixed on the corridor behind her, as if he was trying to figure out whether to close the door or not. He swallowed. She could still hear the faint voices of her classmates as she drew the shoesless leg up the table she was sitting on and stretched it toward his groin until her toes touched his barely concealed erection. He drew in breath sharply as her foot made contact with the front of his cloak. Hermione suppressed a small moan as she felt how hard he was, how hard he had become just for her.

"This is highly inappropriate, Miss Granger!" his voice was higher than usual, but he did not move. The panic that had suddenly settled in his eyes worked as a fuel for her arousal. She could feel the wetness building between her legs. She spread them ever so slightly, so that her position finally allowed him to see her bare crotch.

"You've been wanting this for a long time, Severus. Haven't you?" she said, wiggling her toes and pushing her foot between the folds of his cloak. Despite herself, she was impressed by size of his desire for her.

"S-Stop." his eyes fluttered shut and he threw his ugly head backward. His mouth opened to reveal his yellow teeth and he breathed hard now, sending raves of reeking breath toward her. At once she felt dirty, tainted by the repulsing sound of his shaky groans, but she continued to drag her toes over the stiff bulge in his trousers.

"You like that Professor, don't you?" she smirked. "Tell me that you do.."

Shivering, he rose his head again to meet her gaze. She almost wanted to shout at him not to look at her, because what she saw was intense. His eyes were hazy like she had never seen them before, and sweat had built on his forehead that made his greasy hair stick to the skin. It was a revolting sight, but somehow satisfying to know that she had caused it. Hermione almost gagged remembering that her foot was buried beneath his clothes, directly on his erection, but she suppressed the impulse to withdraw it. Instead, she pressed down even harder, breathing in his scent, which slowly filled every last corner of her mind.

"Doing this with a dirty Mudblood." Hermione snarled at him, trying to ignore the urge to slide her fingers down to her crotch to get rid of the tension. "You're enjoying this with a Mudblood."

Snape muttered something incoherently, pressing himself against her toes. Then, he took a step aside and flung himself across the table onto her. He buried his head against her neck and Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. She wanted to protest, she had not planned this. He could not go further than she allowed him to. She was about to snap at him, push him off and give him the look she would normally graze the dirtiest slug with, when he raised his head again.

"Please..." he muttered and his eyebrows contracted as if in pain. "Hermione, you can't do this to me."

Something glittered in his eyes and suddenly, Hermione felt more repulsed by him than ever before. He looked pitiful, as if he was about to cry, clutching at her shoulders and waist for dear life. He was shaking in her arms, and she was, for a split second, tempted to put her arms around him in a tight embrace to protect him. But she could not allow herself to do so.

"You're weak." she hissed into his ear. Forcefully, she pushed his shoulders and watched him crumple limply at her feet. His eyes gazed at her uncomprehendingly, full of mistrust and hope like a lost child searching for shelter.

"Hermione..." his voice was shaking.

She ignored the impulse to comfort him again, and followed the movement of his body with her foot, stepping onto his groin hard so he winced in pain. Then, she grabbed her bag and without another look marched out of the classroom.

"Pathetic."

This is a first attempt on something dark and disturbing. A fair warning has to be said: It's going to become even more so as the story proceeds. How did I do with this first chapter? What do you think of it? Is it alright, or still too tame? Leave me a review, tell me if you want me to continue this!

Cheers, Mac