Story: Dark Vices

Summary: Hermione had a vice, but it wasn't what she thought. As she searched out the dangerous men around her, with their even more dangerous vices, she slowly started to see a change. As she fell into the world of dark men and dark secrets, she finds out more about herself then she ever cared to know.

Warnings: Dark fic. Each man has a different vice, so each chapter will have a different warning (They will be located at the top, except this one, which is located after the chapter title). The story will have dark sexual themes. There will be some slash in later chapters, along with harsh language. Not for the faint of heart and absolutely no one under 18.

Possible Pairings: SS/HG LM/HG DM/HG SB/HG RL/HG SS/LM/HG SS/DM/HG RL/SB/HG SS/RL/SB/HG SS/LM/DM/HG SS/LM/DM/RL/SB/HG. I will place this under Hermione/Severus because he will be the main person she falls in love with. But she will be with other people.

Disclaimer for all chapters: I don't own anything but the plot line. The characters are J.K's.

Prologue:

Everyone deals with their pain, their anger, their heartache in different ways. Some deal with it in good ways, others deal with it in dark ways. I'm dark, there's no doubt about that. Most would be surprised, how could the know-it-all have a dark side to her? Some, like Ron, would refuse to believe it. He'd rather think that I was being blackmailed or forced into it. Some, like Harry, think it's a phase. But others, like Ginny, know what really lies behind my brown eyes. Maybe it's because they only know so much, where as I've told my best friend all of it. Maybe it's because they used to imagine being with me; or the wholesome and good image they had of me. Whatever the reason is, all were surprised when my dark secrets surfaced.

Chapter One: The Potions Master

Warning: Violence. Sex.

For the better part of our years at Hogwarts, we all believed Severus to be evil and dark. It was until he seemingly died that Harry had any idea of who the man really was. Not evil, just dark and full of untold pain. Being in love with his mother, then losing her by his own foolish attempts at power, had made the man hard and dark. Nothing could reverse the damage done on his soul, on his heart.

They found him, barely alive, in the Shrieking Shack. He was healed and returned to the world, as more damaged than he had been before. He had to endure being a hero, hearing Harry praise him. It killed Severus, hearing her son praise him for being a hero, when it was his information that made him parentless. Inner turmoil and heartache made him angry, cold, and even more of a recluse. Even surrounded by people, Professor Severus Snape was always alone.

His vice, his way to deal with pain, was violence. He liked the feel of his fist hitting flesh, the screams and cries that came when his fist connected with skin. At first, it started as bar fights. He would leave his wand at home, wonder off into the deep underground bars in London, and start fights with men. I always knew why he never did anything professional; he liked the pain he inflicted too much to be hindered by rules. So he would take his fights to the streets, where he mercilessly beat on men twice his size. He was lithe and quick, but he was strong and powerful. He could turn a man twice his size into a weeping pile of skin and bones. It was amazing to watch, the way his eyes lit up when his fist made that first contact. I never knew how he held himself back from killing, snapping the necks of his worthless opponents. But somehow, he always stopped.

But hitting men, fighting in the streets, wasn't the kind of violence he was searching for. It would only make him want more, and after a while it stopped being his vice at all. The point of a vice is to fill the hole deep inside you. Severus's hole wasn't being filled by the mindless violence of the streets. He wanted something more intimate, something that was closer to him. He needed me.

I approached him outside the alley he had just been fighting in. His knuckles were bloody, his lip was cut, but his eyes were empty. Whatever he had gotten out of the fight, had died almost the moment it was over. He looked me over, and before the question on why I was there formed on his lips, I pointed to the bar. He nodded silently, nursing his lip, and followed me in. We sat down in a dark booth, a glass of whiskey for us both. As we sipped in silence, he looked me over again. The bar was dark, but I knew that he could see me. The way my face was sunk in, the paleness of my skin, the unnatural thinness of my body, and the dead look in my eyes; they were all flashing signs that I was faring no better after the war than he was. "Miss Granger, how long have you been watching me fight?"

"Two, maybe three months," I said.

He nodded his head and proceeded to drink, wincing slightly when the liquid came to near to his cut. "And why, are you here now?"

"It's not working anymore," I told him. He stayed silent, obviously wanting me to continue. This was not a man to reveal his secrets. "Your vice, it's not working. And mine isn't either. So I'm here to offer," I picked up my drink and sipped, searching for the word. Ah yes, I have it, "A collaboration."

He raised his eyebrow at me and laced his fingers together. "What is your vice, Miss Granger?"

I smirked. "Sex," I said softly. "Maybe men, I'm not quite sure. It gets muddy after a while. The point here is not what my vice is; the point is what yours is."

"And what, Miss Granger, do you think mine is?" He had never lost that sneering look that said he was sick of my know-it-all attitude. He still saw me as a child, and perhaps that might be better.

"Violence," I said to him and enjoyed the shocked look he gave me. "You would assume that I would say fighting, because that has been what you were doing. However, I think there is a far more sinister edge to this vice, it's not the fight you are looking for; it's the violence. It is seeing your opponent scared of you, hearing the grunts and cries of pain, and then having them reduced to nothing. And I also see that it is no longer working."

"So," he said in the dark voice I had heard whispered in dark alleys to scared men, "you think you have a solution?"

I smirked and reveled in his obvious distrust. "If violence is your vice, why not try a more intimate approach to it? Would it not be better, to impart violent acts upon someone that you were, say fucking, and then being able to see them day after day; your bruises plain on their pale skin, their winces as they do normal activities, the look of terror when you look at them? Would it not be better to be able to see it, rather than leave it behind in an alley?"

His look was one of shock and intrigue, and I smirked more. "Miss Granger, have you any idea what you are suggesting?"

"I've been watching you fight for months now; I know what I'm saying. My take on sex is dark enough; I'm not a mere school girl anymore. Granted, I never liked my sex violent. But then, if I did, that wouldn't do much for you. There's no point in hurting me if I enjoy it. I only ask two things," I said. He nodded for me to continue you. "First off, I am no man. I may be tough, but I am not unbreakable. Where you could take all your anger and power out on men in bar fights, I am sorry to say that I could not handle that amount of force. Instead, you will have to be more creative with your violence. I am sure you know, more than I, that it is not all about the amount of force you cause, but more the amount of fear and pain you instill. In line with that, I ask that you take no shots to my stomach. I may, in the future, decide that I want children and I do not want that option taken from me. Also, since I have already mentioned, I want a sexual relationship here. I won't ask that all the times we see each other that you get me off, but I will need it often. For my own sanity, this is, after all, why we need our vices."

"You may be insane already," he said to me. His eyes had glazed over and I could see him thinking hard about this. It was a difficult decision for him, he wanted so much to take me up on my offer, and was terrified of others reactions. "And the bruises, the wincing, the scars, how will you explain them to others?"

I smirked again and saw his look of annoyance. "Yes Professor, I have this all planned out. I will tell them to stay out of my business, as it is none of theirs. But if they keep asking questions, about the signs or about us, I will simply say that I am training in different forms of fighting and you are training me. After all, I am an Auror."

He downed the rest of his glass and stared at me. "We start tonight," he said with a smirk. And before I knew it, we were out of the bar and apparating away.

.v.

I was in his office, which was more like a dungeon than anything. I had been stripped and was currently kneeling in the middle of the room, watching with fascination and fear as he circled me. Already I was in pain; my arms had bruises from his death grip on them, my skin had scratches and tears where he had ripped my clothes off and my face had the red mark of his hand. He stopped behind me and pulled me up by my arms, managing to find the exact same place he had gripped before. He pushed me face first into the wall and choked me with one hand. I tried to control my breathing, but the fear I was feeling made my heart race and my breathing erratic. I was nearing unconscious when he removed his hand from my throat, turned me around, and let his fist connect with my jaw. It wasn't as hard as he normally hit, but the pain of it brought tears to my eyes. There was no use in trying to be tough, he would just try harder. And while I knew he needed this, being stubborn and fighting it was only going to get me hospitalized. He was as tentative as a man beating a woman could be; it was obvious that he was trying different levels of force. This session wouldn't last long; I could see it in his eyes. He was getting what he needed, he was filling his hole. And when he lifted me up and rammed into me, a new pain emerged. I had to scream, the pain was almost unreal. I had no preparation, and was hardly wet. But as he fucked me, slapping my face and pushing me harder into the wall, I started to find what I needed. And when his hand connected with my cheek and his slap sounded out in the room, we both came. Then he pulled out, threw me to the floor and left me to clean and leave. After all, there was nothing in this collaboration about love.