Here's a little dark and evil fic that I wrote while being incredibly frustrated with my life and trying to write my current WIP. This is not the path I would usually take, but this one just seemed to come flying out.
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His Hostage
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She had never been beautiful, Snape remembered. Somewhat plain, in fact. But what she had been while his student was a Goddess most divine compared to the hollowed out ghost of a girl that lay before him. Hermione Granger's eyes, which had once shone with an eagerness to learn, were now nothing but empty circles of trodden on mud when they were open. Still they held the closest resemblance to bright young girl she had once been.
Sitting by her bed, Snape watched as she turned in her sleep, and gave a whimper. He had no doubt that in her dreams she was reliving the horrors she had been through the past three months, and most likely dreading the horrors to come.
Snape had been in confinement for five months when the young witch had been delivered to him. The Dark Lord, who had already been most pleased with Snape from bringing about the end of the Muggle-loving Headmaster of Hogwarts, had quickly become equally displeased with the way the Order of the Phoenix began to fight. The death of their leader brought out a level of viciousness amongst the "good" side only ever seen in the Death Eater ranks. After a most unpleasant enough encounter with Order members, all of whom wanted Snape's head on a stick after his traitorous ways, the Dark Lord had forced Snape into hiding to brew this potions, casting his own protection spells over Snape's run down house in Spinner's End.
He neither saw nor heard from anyone until one night when Lucius Malfoy made an appearance, clearly having escaped Azkaban, scratched and bleeding.
"I heard about your encounter and new instructions," he had said, causing Snape to glower at him dangerously. "I thought you might be getting a little bored here, so I've brought you a present." With that, he summoned the unconscious body of Hermione Granger into the room.
"I do not know why she was there, but she and the Potter brat were out at Azkaban, along with many Aurors when the Dark Lord came to free his faithful followers." He sneered at the levitating body before dropping the spell, causing her to land in a heap at Snape's feet. "I managed to capture her and escape. The Dark Lord has got all possible information out of her, I believe. Instead of killing her, I suggested we send her to you. She was your student, was she not? Vicious little cat." Lucius touched the scratches on his cheek.
After Lucius had left, Snape had roused the girl from her spell induced sleep. As always, Lucius was right, he was indeed getting bored with his confinement, with nothing to do except brew potions. Perhaps his new toy could help that.
Snape could still hear in his mind her screams from when she had woken. He did not expect them to cease when she saw him, and indeed they did not. He did not do anything with her, only throwing her into a spare room and locking it, choosing to spend the night pondering what he could do with the girl. She had been one of his most annoying students at Hogwarts, right up there with Potter, Weasley and Longbottom. Snape thought it to be quite ironic that the four biggest thorns in his side had been in the same year.
Despite the fact that he would be the first to admit that he was not a kind man, it was almost a week before he touched Miss Granger. She had not been let out of her room, Snape taking her meals to her, and she had access to a bathroom which directly connected to her dingy room. He took the liberty to transfigure some old bed sheets into some form of clothing.
But after a week, Snape found that being confined with the witch was worse than solitary confinement, even if she was forced to stay in her own room. The idea of having a witch with him, one that had to do anything he wanted to do to proved too much.
So he took her week after her arrival. He tried hard, once upon a time, to be disgusted with himself for what he did, but he could not bring himself to do it. Going into her room and taking her as hard and fast as he wanted, pinning her to the bed while she screamed pointless for help had proved more thrilling than he had imagined. He was no Filch, he did not normally enjoy torturing students, but his solitude was beginning to really affect him. It drove him to seek burying himself in her unwilling body time and time again.
He still fed her, still allowed her the usage of the bathroom, but he soon noticed that she had stopped showering, or changing her clothes. Her normally bushy hair was hanging in limp, greasy strands around her face, making her face look more drawn then ever. Snape suspected she was trying to repulse him, make him not want to be anywhere near her anymore. But one day, he had stormed her room, and instead of forcing himself between her legs as he usually did, he grabbed her wrist and flung her into the bathroom.
"Shower!" he had commanded, shoving her towards the shower stall.
Instead, she stood trembling. Snape noticed the bruised, sunken look that her face had gained, the way her brown eyes were shadowed by a mixture of fear and anger.
Watching her shake in fear of him and what he was doing to her, he snapped. "Shower, you filthy Mudblood!"
"Washing my skin won't cleanse me of my filthy blood," she had thrown at him, the first words she had spoken to him in the four weeks she had been there, aside from the screams at night as she shrieked for him to leave her alone. "Or the filth that you have filled me with."
He had managed to keep himself from hitting her, one thing he had so far refrained from doing. He took her against her will constantly, but he did not hit her. Instead of hitting her now, he turned and strode from the room. However, he saw that she went back to showering.
Three days later, he had been called back into real service for the Dark Lord. He did not question anything his master asked him to do, and had only smiled when he had questioned whether Snape's new pet was pleasing him.
He had returned after the first night of performing raids, murders and causing terror, he could almost not remember why he was a Death Eater. Oh, the power he held, the way he could do anything… but the consequences. He had taken his pain of his evening's work out on Hermione's body before vomiting his guts up in her bathroom. She did not comfort him, did not move from where she lay after he had used her so brutally, but when he left the room, the flicker through her eyes told him that she knew what he had done and would never forgive him.
He tried to pretend he didn't care. She was nothing.
Sometime after the first night of him coming back a shaken wreck, he realised that she had stopped fighting him of a night, stopped screaming, simply allowing him to have his way with her. This shocked him, and he wasn't sure what to think about the fact that she had given into him. She was a Gryffindor, and hardly ever gave up. But, due to the grisly activities the Dark Lord had him completing, he did not think on it for long, only used her body in rougher ways, taking out his anger and frustrations out on her already fragile body.
As the attacks that the Dark Lord was asking him and his fellow Death Eaters to complete became more and more difficult to complete without vomiting all over his victims, Snape was glad for her broken spirits. He did not need another to scream, did not need to be reminded of just what he was doing to her. Some days, he wondered if the young witch had come to understand that.
After one particularly gruesome attack involving administering one of the potions the Dark Lord had asked him to brew, Snape stood in the Dark Lord's circle impatiently. He had been horrified to realise that he could not wait to his dreary room, to vent his frustrations on the young body. The sensation had become somewhat of a drug for him, and he found that he needed Hermione after these attacks, needed to ground himself. Even if he was forcing himself upon her night after night, it still made him feel human.
A month after he made that discovery about himself, Snape woke up to just how different he had become. Since he no longer had to fight the witch, who was motionless as a rag doll, her dead eyes clenched tightly closed, he could take more time. Two or three times, he actually allowed her a book in her room, something he had so far deprived her of, leaving her with nothing to do during the day but wait for him to come and shove himself into her. Once, he even let her leave her room, allowing her to choose a book. Still, she did not speak, had not since the day he had come so close to hitting her. Snape was thankful for this, he did not need someone talking to him and asking questions as she was known to do.
One night, before an attack, Lucius approached Snape. "I hear you've still got your Mudblood whore," he commented as they waited.
"She's a good fuck," Snape had snorted, hoping that Lucius wouldn't press any more.
Lucius, who to Snape looked like sunlight with his pale hair, only darkened by a deep secret, had grinned at him. "I might have to give her a test run sometime."
It was all Snape could do to tell the older man there was no way in Hell that he would get that chance. But upon realising just what would happen if he did blurt such a thing, he managed to keep his mouth shut. Inside, he hoped that Lucius would forget about it.
Four days later, Snape discovered that he had not. Coming home after an attack upon a Muggle family, he heard a sound that he had not heard for some time. Hermione was screaming.
Snape did not bother questioning what was happening in the upstairs room, or how Lucius had managed to get into the warded house. Knowing too that he could not stop what was happening, as much as he wanted to, he had taken to pacing the tiny sitting room, his hands shaking so bad that he could not hold a glass. He could not bring himself to cast a calming spell to ease his nerves, or even a Silencing Spell to cut out the screams. Instead he paced, becoming deeply disturbed when suddenly the hair-raising screams cut out.
When after another fifteen minutes had passed and Lucius had not come down from the bedroom, Snape found himself worrying about the witch. He told himself that it was simply because she was his pet and he did not want her harmed so that she would not be able to be used by him. Lucius was not known to be gentle.
Eventually, the blonde wizard came into the sitting room, a satisfied smirk upon his face. "You're right, she is a good fuck." Not leaving Snape time to say anything, Lucius had vanished out onto the grimy street, where in his fine robes, he looked quite out of place.
Snape waited ten minutes to make sure the wizard had really gone before making his way up to the bedroom. As he reached the upstairs landing, he heard the sounds of someone sobbing. Snape though back; had Hermione cried after the first time he had so brutally raped her? He couldn't remember, but he became all the more afraid of what he would find in her room. And he did not frighten easily.
Entering his hostage's room, he bit back the urge to cry out at the sight that met his eyes. Tucked into a ball in the far corner of the bed, lay a broken and bleeding girl. Her hair was thrown about, covering her face, but her body was uncovered, allowing him to see the wounds Lucius had inflicted upon her in what he called was "the best way to have sex." There was slashes all up her legs and arms, blood spilling from them and seeping into the bed sheets that lay tangled beneath her. Her thin frame was heaving as she cried in pain, her hands clenching at her hair.
Sickened by the mess of a girl, he pulled out his wand and whispered, "Accio potions." Hermione must have heard him, for she suddenly looked up. Her face was almost unrecognisable behind the mass of hair, along with the bruises and cuts Lucius had managed to induce.
She let out a whimper and drew herself up tighter, a movement which clearly caused her great pain, her eyes wide in fear. Instead of advancing on the girl, Snape waited until the two jars he had summoned reaching his hands. He held them out for her to see.
"A healing potion," he said as he held one out. "A Blood Replenishing Potion."
Her brown eyes, which had already lost their spark, filled with something he could not identify. "No," she whispered through her bleeding mouth. "Please, just let me die. I thought I couldn't feel anymore, but now I can and I don't want to," she pleaded, bringing her torn hands to cover her face.
Looking back a week later, Snape regretted what he had done next. He had forced Hermione to take the potions, had forced her to heal, just as he had forced her to do everything else. He told himself that her wishes did not matter; she was there for his pleasure and his pleasure only. She didn't have a choice in anything, even her own death.
Yet, for the week since Lucius had shredded her body, the image of her broken and bleeding was burned into his mind. Part of him knew that she looked like that on the inside. If Snape had used Legilimency, he would have seen a mind that was just as shredded and destroyed as her body had been. He also knew that it had not been Lucius that had caused that damage. Sitting by her bed, he knew that it had been him that had broken her once strong mind by locking her in a room and raping her again and again.
Even thought she was fully healed, Snape saw nothing but the bleeding gashes as he looked at her. Never had he sat by her bed like this, usually just storming into her room. He watched her for a moment longer, seeing the differences between the school girl he had once known and the shattered remains that lay before him, before leaning over and shaking her awake.
She woke immediately, spotting him and instantly shrinking away from him. He leaned forward, watching her eyes fill with the same fear that had been there for the past three months. "No," he whispered. Keeping his eyes locked on hers, he leaned a little closer.
With a single thought, he was inside her mind.
Shifting past the fear, he found what he wanted, aware of the way she was screaming from the invasion. Breaking away after seeing what she planned to do, he dry retched. Her perfect imagination had it all planned out, the breaking of the mirror, the slicing of her flesh. He had seen it all.
"No," he whispered once again, reaching into his robes for his wand. "There are other ways to die…"
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