DISCLAIMER: I own nothing what so ever. All credit to the wonderful talented J.K. Rowling. This chapter is beta'd by Innogen on Ashwinder.

WARNING: Story contains rape; please read at your own discretion.

CH 1

Hermione was sleeping softly. For once she was sleeping without any nightmares of that horrible night as far as Snape could tell. She wasn't tossing and turning, or moaning and groaning, calling out in her sleep. She just lay there motionless like a sleeping angel. She looked better, he noticed, than she had before. All her abrasions were now healed and her face, once battered and bruised, now showed no sign of her assault of the previous week.

He sat by her bed in the hospital wing as he had done every night since she had been brought to Hogwarts. Watching over her. Why, he couldn't fathom. Perhaps, he felt it his obligation as restitution for what he had done: to protect now, as he had failed at it so miserably when he regretfully, but willingly and brutally, stole her innocence.

He knew this was feeble, she would most likely benefit a confrontation with him instead of having him avoid her, or at least that's what the old coot had told him. Albus knew many things, of this there was no doubt, but he had never raped anyone in his 150 years. He had never forcefully made anyone have sex with his person. How could she know the kind of disgust that Snape felt when he glanced himself in a mirror or how scared he was to be near her? He had never been faced with any of his victims. They had always, after he had his share of 'fun', been killed. He had never looked in the eyes of an innocent, tarnished at his hands. But in its simplicity, this was completely different. None of his victims were his students either—a current student at that. One he still taught.

So, here he sat, hunched over in one of the infirmary's hard wooden chairs, elbows propped up on his knees, chin resting in his hands, in the dark. Just staring at her pretty face, noticing for the first time, the little tan specks splayed on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose, watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, remembering that night. He stayed that way for the better part of the night, but the early morning hours, and many sleepless nights finally took their toll on him.

It would be a bright day today; Hermione unpleasantly thought as she fought to stay asleep, she wanted nothing more than to stay in the sweet bliss of darkness in her dreamless sleep. She wanted to ignore the world.

She restlessly turned over, wrapping her arms around the starched white pillow and pressed her face into it. She opened her eyes, yawning the sleep away and abruptly stopped when she found the black clad wizard fast asleep in the chair next to her bed. Iron fear gripped at her insides.

Her first impulse was to bolt, to get as far away from him as she could; she hadn't seen him since that night. Since he had... No! She figured he kept his distance. But for whose sake she didn't know. Hermione had promised herself that if she were to run into him in a deserted hallway, she would not hesitate to rid the Wizarding world of the bastard.

Hermione didn't want to be anywhere near him. She hated him. She felt dirty from his touch. His hands had been everywhere. Her innocence tainted. He had been her first. Why did he have to rape her? Her parents had been murdered, and she had been raped. She couldn't grasp that fact, yet as she looked over at Snape, she knew she knew. He did manage to keep her alive. Even so, she hurt, and it was all his fault.

She didn't necessarily blame him for her parents' death, for it was the others who tortured and killed them; but she could still feel him on her, crushing her body with his own as he pounded into her….

She shuddered; she needed to stop that. Stop remembering, and move on. She needed to forget, wanted to forget. It was hard though. Sometimes she wished she had taken Dumbledore up on his offer to blank the experience out of her mind with a memory charm but just couldn't bring herself to do it. What doesn't break us, will only make us stronger, her mother always used to say.

She couldn't face him. Would not be able to look him in the eyes after the experience they had shared. She had never been that intimate with anyone before. How the hell would she get through Potions?

As she stared at him, she tried, but couldn't ignore his ragged appearance. He seemed so pale. Well, much paler than he usually was. He had always been a foreboding man. His cold demeanor and dark aristocratic dress assured that. With the bags under his eyes she could tell he had not slept much lately. His robes hung off him rather loosely as though he had lost weight, and his face appeared sunken in.

He looked completely different, she realized, when he was sleeping. The deep lines of bitterness in his face, almost always visible, were relaxed, and he looked so young. She had never pondered his age before. She figured he was in his late 40s. But now as she was looking at him, really looking at him, he looked at least ten years younger. But she could see an unnatural pain written across his face. She couldn't figure out if it was from sleeping in the chair or from something else.

She almost felt sorry for him, but quickly waved away that thought rationalizing that she was the victim here, not him. He didn't deserve her pity. Not after the liberties he had taken of her. A shudder ran through her body, her heart tightened and settled in her stomach. She felt sick.

He started to stir. Before she could retreat he opened his eyes. She froze.

It took him a moment to realize he was still in the infirmary, and that it was daylight. He jerked up, straightening his robes, walking quickly towards the door when he realized he was being scrutinized by the figure in the bed. He could feel her eyes on his back. This is why he had kept his distance. This was uncomfortable for him. What do you say to someone you just raped? he asked himself.

She couldn't figure out why he was just standing there. Why isn't he leaving? Why the hell is he still here? It was like time had frozen. He just stood there, standing by the door, his back to her, stiff as a rock.

He was fighting a battle in his head. Should I just walk away? Or should I talk to her and get it out of the way? Without really thinking about what he was doing, he started to slowly turn around. He knew what was going to happen. He couldn't look her in the eyes. He was staring off at some point at the floor.

She waited. He finally looked up at her, and their eyes met. Fear wrapped itself around her, gripping her insides once again. She couldn't breathe. Everything that she had endured and felt that night came back to her in a rush. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out. What the hell was that, she thought. What is he doing to me? Then her mind and body flashed a week into the past, to that night.

She didn't know what was going on downstairs. She had her radio on, a luxury she missed when at Hogwarts, listening to some punk rock group. She had two weeks left until she returned for her Seventh year. She hadn't done too much this summer. She had gotten all her homework done a few weeks into the summer holiday, of course. She had received mail from Ron and Harry every week telling her about their summer and written back accordingly. Then she heard—crash

"What the hell!" she exclaimed and turned off the radio. "Mum?" she called downstairs, but there was no answer. "Mum! Where are you?" she shouted as she walked downstairs. She was about to go to the den when she saw the front door wide open and small pieces of broken glass all over the floor leading to the kitchen. She swallowed the bile in her throat that had risen. She was frightened. She fumbled for her wand. She realized it was upstairs. "SHIT!"

She slowly and cautiously walked to the door leading into the kitchen. "Mum? Dad?" She peered in through the door and, before she knew it, she was yanked in by her long bushy hair and pulled against someone who covered her mouth with a black-gloved hand to muffle her scream. Death Eaters!

Five of them stood in her kitchen. Her father was on the floor looking like he had just been cursed. The Cruciatus Curse? Her mother lay on the floor, a Death Eater leaning over her. No, No, this isn't happening.

"Say a word, one word, you stupid Mudblood bitch and we'll kill them," whispered the Death Eater restraining her in a raspy voice she did not recognize.

"This is good. You can watch, Mudblood," another one from across the room said. The Death Eater over Hermione's mother then commenced in what he had started.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat when she realised what was happening to her mother. She was being raped. "Mum!" She started to struggle trying to get to her mother in vain, trying to save her. Her father started to get up and charge at them, but one of the black cloaked figures in the white masks yelled, "Crucio," and he started to convulse on the linoleum tile, flopping around like a fish.

It seemed to be forever that she was held in a vice like grip and watching the life in her mother start to ebb away. But the man raping her wouldn't stop till he was finished. Not till he had come. When the Death Eater finally relieved himself inside her, pulled out and stuffed his penis back into his pants, Suzan Granger was dead. I will not cry. I will not show weakness. That's what they want. I won't give them the satisfaction, she chanted inside her head.

"So, would you like a taste, my girl," said one of the men now walking towards her. 'Malfoy? That's Lucius Malfoy. I'm sure of it.' Malfoy reached up to her face and she flinched away, she didn't want him touching her but he still caught her chin with his gloved hand. He removed his mask. He looked the same as he always did. His blonde hair was glowing in the light. She looked at her father who looked as though he was dead besides the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

"Do you want to know what a man feels like?" Malfoy continued running his finger down her face to clutch her hair not to gently at the back of her neck.
"I am going to make you scream for me."

Then all of a sudden he lurched forward into her, meeting her lips with his, tongue pushing past her teeth, shoving the muscle all the way into her mouth, probing her own tongue. Then without thinking she bit down. She could taste his blood in her mouth, the thick coppery taste making her want to vomit. Malfoy quickly slapped her hard. Her cheek burned from the contact.

"Damn it, you bitch, we're going to make this night a living hell for you. You'll never forget it. We can't have one of Harry Potter's friends, and a Mudblood to boot, live, but I think a little fun and a lesson is in store for you. Crucio!"

She had never felt so much pain in her life. Her skin felt like it was on fire. It felt like her skin was being ripped from her body. She could feel her bones stretching in her skin. Harry had told her of how this particular curse felt but it never clicked until now how much it hurts until it's cast on you. She screamed.

Malfoy let up the curse after a while, leaving her twitching on the kitchen floor. He addressed the Death Eaters. She barely understood what he was saying. One drew out a long battle knife from inside his robe, walked over to her father, grabbed his hair and ran the knife across Alan Granger's throat.

She couldn't do anything but watch. Her muscles wouldn't work. Hermione just stared at her father's prone body, blood pouring out from the gash, the gurgling sound in her father's throat resounding in the silent room. She felt nauseated; she needed to puke. Then all eyes were on her.

Fear crept up her spine to rest in her chest and fall into her stomach to make snitches fly rapidly. She was terrified. Oh, no. What will they do to me?

One of the Death Eaters pulled her into a standing position holding her up. "Oh, yes, great fun." commented Malfoy. "Now, it's your turn," and with that he reached for her the hem of her shirt. "No, no, please!" she cried.

"What? You don't want me?" He looked affronted. "Would someone else appease you?" He asked with a nasty smirk forming on his lips. He stepped back from her looking around the kitchen. His eyes stopped on a lone figure she hadn't yet seen leaning against the wall, half hidden in shadow.

"Severus?" Malfoy asked, but it sounded more like a threat than anything.

"Professor!" she cried. "Help me, please!" He didn't acknowledge her plea.

Snape stealthily came out of the shadows. He, too, removed his mask.

"You've been awfully passive tonight. Don't you want to join in all the fun."

Would he help me? she wondered. She knew of his deception: that he was loyal to Voldemort, was as likely as he was to kiss Harry.

" No," he answered slowly, "I'd rather not."

"Our Lord has been suspicious of you lately. Not much for the art anymore, are you? I am almost afraid to think you've gone sof—"

Snape shook his head. "Only you, Lucius. I do my share for the Dark Lord, which is more than I can say for you."

"You think brewing cuts it?" Malfoy sneered. Hermione looked between them, wondering where the conversation would go.

"If it is enough for our Lord. It should be enough for you. "

"Perhaps, but have you mistakenly forgotten the art of the flesh...?" Hermione's cries rang out over the room as the insinuation set in.

"I have not merely forgotten, just have ignored. You know my tastes. I have no inclination towards those of the age I teach."

"Oh, but, Sev, she is ripe with purity. Can you not smell it, her virgin blood?"

"Voldemort values me because of my position at Hogwarts. I am the only one of us who can even come close to touching the hair on Potter's head. You're a fool to even suggest such a thing. "

"Then why not deliver the boy to us?"

"You know damn well, Malfoy, that I cannot!"

"Rape the girl," and Malfoy shoved her across the room and into Snape, who caught her by the arms in a pincher-like grip. She could feel the pressure forming bruises as he stood her in front of him. "She is nothing but a Mudblood, regardless if she is your student. She won't be after tonight anyway, once Voldemort's plans are finished... or is there another reason you are so unwilling?" Malfoy smirked. "Do you care for this filth, Severus?" Snape just looked at the man interrogating him. "Does she remind you of another Mudblood you so stupidly loved?"

"Enough! You want me to rape her? Fine!" he turned Hermione around in his arms.

"No!" she shouted, pushing him away from her. Punching at his chest and clawing at his hands that tried to touch her as well as his face. She could see bright red blood slipping past the broken skin on his hands and cheeks. He pushed her to the floor. "No, stop, don't do this, Professor!"

"Stop! No!" she screamed as he started to remove her shirt, with long steady hands ripping it down the middle. "Please, don't do this!"

Tears began to run down her face. He ripped her bra from her body, the material biting into her skin. She tried to get up, to break free, but he backhanded her, stunning her to be still. He groped her breasts fiercely.

All her struggling was in vain. He was always able to counteract her movements and attempts to keep away from him. At one point when she thought she could get free, he slammed her hard backwards, hitching her breathing, and hitting her head on the floor's hard surface, making her lose consciousness for a few seconds. He was so much stronger than he looked.

Her head hurt, the pain of the blow to her head making her dizzy. She just couldn't fight him anymore. She knew there was no way to stop him. Snape was going to rape her and she couldn't stop him. She tried to ignore it. But it became incredibly hard when he replaced his hands with his mouth, his hot tongue running across her nipples, tugging and biting the light brown buds with his teeth, bruising her skin. She pushed his head away to only find her arms pinned above her head.

His hands, unbidden, continued to ravish her body. He worked her jeans open and roughly pulled them off to reveal white cotton panties, and smooth white skin. His pale hands reached her the elastic band of her underwear and pulled them off. This left her completely naked under his fully clothed state.

She lay back unmoving, unbelieving that this was happening to her. No boy at school, no man, had ever seen her body before. She had never been touched as intimately as Snape was touching her now. His hands bruisingly rubbed up and down her inner thigh, scaring her even more to realize that her body was responding to his ministrations, wetting his fingers with her juices.

"No, please," she groaned. Snape brought up his hand up to her face.

"Lick them clean."

She looked into his emotionless black eyes. He looked dead serious.

"Professor..." She turned her face away. He grabbed her by the neck choking her bringing her face back up. But Hermione had her mouth and teeth closed tight and wouldn't give him that opportunity. He raised one of his infamous eyebrows at her.

"You think you're so clever, don't you?" He sucked on his index finger cleaning her womanly juices off it. Her breath caught in her throat. "Mmm, you taste good," licking another. She couldn't bloody believe it. He brought his head down fast capturing her lips, shoving his tongue into her mouth making her taste herself on his tongue.

With him still kissing her, he leaned over her. Hermione had never been this close to him. She could feel the heat of his body radiating off of him, his lean muscles stretching over bone as he moved, could smell his manly scent. For the first time she realized he wasn't just her teacher, but a man. He wasn't just a recluse of the dungeons of her school. He was a man who had blood pumping through his veins, a man who had carnal needs like any other human beings. Of this she knew when she felt his bulging erection against her thigh through his pants. She shifted over wanting to avoid the lower half of his body. He stopped her movement with his hands on her hip.

He lifted himself up and released his already leaking member from its depths. She was about to be raped by her teacher, by Severus Snape. He was going to fuck her, whether she wanted it or not. She wanted to die. She looked away. She didn't want to look at him. Would it help if she thought of someone else? Maybe it would make it better. When the head of his erect penis made contact with her entrance, she couldn't help but cry out and attempt one last time for him to stop.

"Traitor!"

She got the response she wanted. Snape looked at her in disbelief.

"What is this, Professor?" She chokes out. "Whose side are you really on? You help us, spying, you say, on Voldemort. Hell, it was you who leaked out the information about the attack on the ministry last May and now this?"

At that admission, realization dawned in Malfoy's eyes. They had known someone in their midst was telling someone on about their plans, but no one knew who.

Hermione looked Snape in the eyes defiantly. "If your're going to ruin me, then by God, I will ruin you," she said, looking him straight into his black eyes, not caring what the implications of her admission would be. Then the look in his eyes made her bravery falter; the pained expression they had soon turned into one of mock acceptance, which scared her. Oh, God, what have I done?

He brought his mouth down to her ear. To everyone else it looked like he was biting it. Leaning a good portion of his weight on her, he hissed, "My ruin is my blessing, Miss Granger, now you free me from it." Then all at once he plunged into her unready tightness and she was blinded.

A blinding seared through her core, the tearing of the tissue causing her to cry out as his cock sheathed inside her. She closed her eyes shut trying to will the pain away. She had never imagined anything like this. Never imagined it would hurt this much. She couldn't think. The intrusion was big and burned her insides.

He pulled out and thrust forward into her again. She screamed. It felt unnatural, the way his penis pushed through her insides. He'll tear me apart, she thought. Hermione pushed at Snape's stomach, trying to pull his cock from within her. He just put more force on his thrusts, smashing her beneath his body. She felt her insides rip apart, trying to stretch to accommodate his dick's intrusion.

"Oh, God, please, stop! No!" She pleaded with him. He was ignoring her not looking at her face but concentrating on what he was doing. Hermione bit her tongue determined not to scream again. 'Is this what my mother felt?' she wondered.

She opened her eyes and caught some of the other Death Eaters running their hands up and down their shafts through their robes. She looked up at Snape who was panting heavily as he rocked their bodies back and forth. His long lanky hair curtained his face hiding his face and his eyes.

He kissed her again. She tried to pull back. He bit at her already swollen lips, his tongue in her mouth moving in time with his thrusts and groped at her breasts painfully. She bit down on his tongue and he raised his head to lick the blood pleasurably off his lips. She turned from him in disgust.

His ministrations became rapid and more urgent, pounding into her again and again. She could feel warm a warm sticky fluid form between them, coming from inside her. Finally, with one last thrust of his hips, his engorged penis released its semen inside her. She screamed so loud with her voice so hoarse her throat hurt.

He slowly removed his penis from her, sliding easily from within her folds. Her muscles immediately and painfully contracted from his withdraw. Hermione saw her own blood on him, his dick dyed red before he put himself to rights. She felt empty; she felt numb. She couldn't move.

Hermione barely remembered what happened afterwards besides the Aurors arriving and the Death Eaters apparating away. She had woken up in the hospital wing only two days after coming to Hogwarts for medical attention.

"I'm so, so sorry," his apology bringing her out of her reverie.

He was sitting right across from her on the cold stone floor, his head in his hands. She didn't know what to do, or to think. Hermione knew of some of the things that Voldemort's followers were famous for doing to their victims. She knew he had participated in many of their activities before. He had raped before, once being a true Death Eater. So if he had, if he was the monster she knew he was, why was he doing this to himself?

She was confused.

"I don't know what to do," it sounded like it hurt him to speak, "for you... I..." He sighed and just stopped.

Hermione didn't know why but she was scared. Terrified of the man before her for what he had done, and for the stranger he exhibited as on his knees. The turmoil had brought him to the ground and she didn't know what to do. This wasn't the man who had raped her. He had been vicious and relentless, his black eyes blazing with hatred and lust. The man crouched on the floor of the hospital wing torturing himself. She found she didn't know either of them.

She had kept her feelings inside, not talking much about the night she had been raped. She had no one to speak to about it, anyway. Rather, she didn't want to discuss it, especially not with the Headmaster or her head of house. It was awkward enough to have Madame Pomfrey poking and prodding at her mind and body. She kept that night locked away in the back of her mind.

She had thought long and hard about her experience. She was sure it would have been worse had Malfoy been the one to violate her. But it made it perhaps even more uncomfortable that Snape was her professor, and had been for six years. She was supposed to respect and look up to him as an authority figure. Well, it was pretty damn hard to respect him when Snape, the trusted scholar that he supposedly was, was the one who had ripped off her knickers, and unrelentingly thrust into her sex.

She unconsciously wrapped her arms around her knees, which she brought up to her chin. She still hurt. It was like a throbbing, aching pain between her thighs.
She could hear him mumbling and he finally caught her soft chocolate brown eyes with his solid obsidians, to hear him say, "Sod it," more to himself than her.

"I'm sorry. I, I don't know what else to say or do for that matter." He got up off the floor, brushing off his robes, "I'm not here asking for your forgiveness, Merlin knows I don't deserve it, but...," he paused taking in a shaky breath, pacing up and down floor in front of her bed, "I am truly sorry and I know," another pause, "I know that there is nothing that I can do to condone for what I have done to you. Nothing I do will ever be enough. I took something special from you. I can't," he swallowed his nervousness, "give back what I've taken. I'm sorry, I am so sorry that this had to happen to you, sorry it was me, I'm sorry your parents are dead, sorry that—I'm just sorry for everything."

Hermione didn't know what to say. But she knew he was right: there was nothing he could do.

"I don't expect, or want, you to accept my apology. I just want you to know that I am sorry."

No, she wouldn't accept it. She didn't want it. She wanted Snape to stay the hell away from her. They fell into a lapse of silence. She still hated him.

"I hate you," she ground out, teeth gritted.

"You should," he countered.

"I wish you'd just die."

"I will, you don't have to worry about that."

Hermione wanted to say so many things, but her voice just cracked every time she tried.

"It Hurt. It hurt so much…what you did…"

"I know. I don't pretend that I didn't hurt you."

"I'm so scared. I can't forget it. It keeps coming back. When I close my eyes to go to sleep, you're there. Waiting, to r-r-rape me a-again." She saw him wince. "I can never forget. I will always remember. I will not forgive you. I still feel…" she stopped, wondering if she should go on. "You," she whispered.

He expected no less, and just stayed silent. With nothing further seemingly left, "I'll go. You rest." As he started to walk out a thought came to her.

She asked, "What will happen to you?"

"Pardon?"

"Well, um, what about what I said that night? About you helping us. I pretty much blew your cover, didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. I'm sure Voldemort has been informed of what transpired at your house by now. Your wish, it seems, will be granted soon enough."

She looked away from him. She knew he spoke of her wish for him to die. She did want him to die a long, painful death. An end, worthy of a beast of a man like him. With opening her mouth, she signed his death warrant.

"It doesn't matter anymore whether I am caught by the Dark Lord or not. I am a traitor on both sides now. It's only a matter of time until I am apprehended by either side."

She just stared at him. He did rape her. If the Ministry knew, would be sent to Azkaban or given the Dementor's Kiss?

He hated what he had done to her. He could see it in her eyes, the pain and confusion she was in. "Is there anything? Anything that I may do for you? Anything at all?"

For some reason, she couldn't help but be hostile to him. Hostility seemed easier to convey. "Curse you, Severus Snape. Only death is worthy of a monster like you."

He agreed. He yearned for the freedom that death would afford him. The horrors he had witnessed throughout his life, the atrocities he had committed over and over stained his soul, as the blood of his victims still refused to wash away from his skin. He could still see her blood on himself.

"I'm already damned."

"Go to Hell!" She screamed.

"This is hell, Miss Granger. Nothing, not even an eternity of fire and brimstone will ever compare to the misery of this life."

She didn't want to talk anymore. She lay back down and covered her whole body with the warm blankets making a cocoon. His voice broke through to her again.

"If it's any consolation, I have turned in my resignation to the Headmaster."

Her silence told him it was time to leave. Hermione listened to his calculating retreat out of the wing. Only when she heard the doors close behind him and his footsteps die away down the hall did she uncover her face.