J.K. Rowling owns all characters, and this work produces no profit.
Hermione V
I didn't think he was going to take it well.
As he storms around the house, expostulating at great length about my idiocy and masochism, I think wryly that at least this has cured him of any remnant of that apologetic timidity I don't want to see from him. This was Severus Snape as I had seen him only in my Legilimency memories: furious, passionate and absolutely sure of himself.
I'd made myself comfortable in an armchair, since he seemed to be wound up for a while. Coming back into the room, he strides over to the chair and towers over me. It's not easy to look up and meet his eyes, but I do.
"Tell me," he says flatly. "Tell me what I have ever said or done-even in my most unethical treatment of you-that makes you think I would be capable of this."
"I never claimed it would be easy for you, Severus. Don't you think I'm afraid too? But it's a chance to kill him! If we can pull this off, he will be dead in a week! Isn't that worth whatever we have to go through? Every delay means more deaths, and I can't stand the thought of that."
His eyes soften a little, and he reaches down to caress the side of my face. "I don't doubt your courage, Hermione. How could I? And I know you've seen what the ritual involves. But that was me witnessing it; you have no idea of what it would really feel like!"
The afternoon passes this way, with endless repeats of the same argument. My head begins to throb, and my patience grows shorter. Finally, I snap. "Shut UP, Severus! I'm sick of you arguing the same points. You're lying to yourself. You know as well as I do that if it were really impossible, you'd just say so! You'd have the same sense of certainty that I accepted from you when you said you wouldn't be able to torture that girl."
"I am certain!" he retorts furiously.
"No, you're not." I push on when he opens his mouth to protest again. "You wouldn't be angry-and terrified-if you were. You'd know that there's no way for me to force you unless you agreed. You're afraid because you know we can do this. You're afraid because you're already on board and don't want to admit it!"
He glares at me, and I watch as he appears to compose and discard replies. At last, with a muttered oath, he stalks off and I hear the door to the lab slam. Good; let him think it over. I busy myself in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I eat alone when he doesn't return, determined to let him stew as long as he needs to. My resolve wavers when the time approaches midnight, and I call to him through the lab door. "Go away!" is the only reply. Well, he's alive.
I decide to try to get some sleep, but after I've put on my nightgown and wrapped myself in the quilts I find it hard to drift off without him there. After a long time I'm dozing fitfully, imagining every tiny sound is him. Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow, I'll make him see reason, and we can begin to plan.
-I come awake with a gasp, suddenly cold, my heart thudding. The quilts are gone. The room is dimly illuminated with wandlight, and Severus is standing at the side of the bed. His face is hard and angry, and when he speaks I detect a bit of slur in his voice.
"So, Miss Granger, shall we begin the lessons?"
I sit up, resigning myself to being the sane one in the conversation yet again. "Severus, you're drunk and talking nonsense. Go to sleep."
He laughs bitterly. "I am most definitely drunk, but I am talking quite sensibly. If we're going to put on a stellar performance for the Dark Lord, surely we'll need plenty of practice...more for your education than mine, of course."
The light dawns. "I get it, Severus. You think if you make it more real for me, I'll back out. You're trying to scare me."
Severus Snape smiles at me, almost tenderly. "Miss Granger...there will be no trying about it."
My wand's on the nightstand, but I don't even make it halfway before a hand grips my arm. Seconds later I'm pinned under him and he's breathing Firewhiskey fumes down into my face-and he's right, I am scared even though I still don't believe he'll go very far. I have memories of witnessing and experiencing every sex act I can imagine, but it's very different to feel his body pressing mine down and remember that this body has never known anything but a couple of clumsy kisses from Viktor.
"Stop this, Severus," I grit out as calmly as I can, testing my strength against his grip. He thwarts my efforts with the ease of long practice I shudder to think about, and brings one long-fingered hand to my throat. Sliding it up to grip the sides of my chin, he applies pressure and forces me to look at him. In the dim wandlight, his eyes are blacker than I have ever seen.
"You stop it, Hermione."
"We will talk about it in the morning, Severus."
"I'm sure we will." He crushes his mouth down onto mine. It's not a kiss; not meant to be one. I fight for breath, fight to wrench my head to the side and stop the invasion. A hand grips my right breast, pinching the nipple painfully, and the outrage I feel at being touched there for the first time lends me energy. Mostly through luck, I manage to bite his lip in return and take advantage of the distraction to twist sideways and break contact. His wand's closer; I've almost got it-
"Petrificus Totalus!"
Shit. He's too fast.
Severus walks to the lamp and turns it on, then smirks at my paralyzed form. "Lesson One, Miss Granger. A taste of non-magical means. Shall we proceed to Lesson Two?"
"Severus, pl-"
"Silencio."
He murmurs something else, and reaches for me. It must have been some variation on the Petrificus, because my limbs move slowly when he pushes them. He arranges my helpless form symmetrically, putting my arms down to my sides and tucking a pillow behind my shoulders so that I might be anyone reclining in their bed. My blue cotton nightgown doesn't do much to counter the feeling of exposure, especially when he drags my legs apart and bends my knees. I glare up at him, not wanting to look intimidated, but he doesn't seem to mind.
"You remember this, don't you, Hermione?" he muses as he goes on with his adjustments. "It was this way during much of the Consensi, wasn't it? The struggling becomes so tedious, and can interfere with the spectators' view of the details. They prefer to see every motion of the instruments." His fingers pull trapped locks of my hair from beneath my neck and spread them out upon the pillow. "This is a lovely adaptation of the spell, don't you think? Only your large muscle groups are immobilized; you'll still be able to show interesting expressions, scream and beg-if I'm in the mood to let you."
Finished with my hair, he draws back after patting my cheek. "Excuse me, Miss Granger, I just need to fetch a few supplies. You don't mind waiting, do you?"
Alone, I stare at the ceiling. I know what he wants me to think and feel, waiting like this. I can picture it too vividly: lying helpless, ignored, as Death Eaters chat and gossip before the main event begins. Treated like meat; powerless as meat awaiting the spit and the fire.
It's probably a few minutes before Severus returns, but it feels much longer. Coming in, he drops a leather bag onto the nightstand with a clinking noise. Despite my desire to act unafraid, my eyes are riveted to the first object he withdraws from it-a gleaming silver-toned knife with an ebony handle.
"Do you know the most wonderful thing about being magical, Miss Granger?" he says silkily. "We can heal just about any wound. And then there's Blood-Replenishing Potion; so useful. I don't need to risk your life-or even scar you permanently-to teach you a lesson."
Okay, I admit it. I'm starting to tremble. I still don't think he'll go really far, but I'm beginning to believe he is going to hurt me some. I remember all kinds of agony, and I've survived the memories, but it doesn't make the idea of being cut attractive. This is what you're signing up for if you do this, I remind myself. This and much more. Am I going to prove Severus right, and give up the plan? I am Hermione Granger, and I do not give up!
My thoughts are interrupted by the knife. Not on my skin, but slipped under the collar of my nightgown, which parts easily on the sharp edge. Slowly, casually, he drags the knife down toward my waist, pushing the halves of fabric to each side until my breasts are exposed. I shake my head slightly, all I can manage, but he doesn't stop there. The knife, the parting of cotton continues, until he puts it down and drags the remaining fabric out from under me. I'm naked. Naked before a man for the first time, and my eyes prickle with unwilling tears. Like any girl, I dreamed of a moment like this with someone I love, and he's stolen that from me.
I look up at Severus Snape, now sitting comfortably beside my reclining form. He's taken up the knife again, weighing it in his fingers. He's looking down, and the lamplight puts part of his face in shadow. When he raises it fully into the light, his eyes are still a deep black. He looks down at my body, his eyes traveling deliberately over every curve.
"I dreamed of this, you know," he says quietly. "Seeing you this way. Touching you-" he skims the tips of his fingers over the skin below my throat-"like this. In my fantasies, you wanted it, of course. I knew it could never happen unless you were under the Benevolus. But I didn't-I would never-" and for just a moment, the hard lines of his face crumple. They rearrange themselves quickly, and I can see the effort he makes to do it.
It undoes me; crashes into me and makes my heart lurch. As he begins to touch me, brushing his hands across my breasts and lightly pinching the nipples, I have the least likely thought one would imagine for a woman in my position: "Hermione, what a ruthless bitch you've become."
I know what this must be doing to him, what it's costing him. Violated, I feel like the violator in return. He touches me more roughly, until silent whimpers escape past my gritted teeth. The distress and pain are mixed with an odd type of arousal-I'm not surprised at that, or ashamed; I know from Severus's memories that the body can experience all sorts of reactions even in the most horrible circumstances. I flash on Severus being taunted for his reactions during the less brutal rapes he endured, and his despairing arousal entwined with guilt during the ones he was forced to commit.
"They'd touch you like this, you know," he grates out as his hands squeeze more tightly. "Malfoy, Dolohov, Greyback-they'd touch you everywhere, and laugh. They probably wouldn't fuck you, though, since you're a virgin. They'd want that to happen in the ritual. So it would be me, Miss Granger. Have you thought about that? About me fucking you, tearing into you roughly and making you bleed that way?"
He moves his hands down to my inner thighs, gripping them roughly and forcing them farther apart so that I feel even more exposed. I'm shaking my head, then nodding, unsure which will convey the message that I understand. Tears escape and course down the sides of my temples.
He lets go and moves up, leaning over my face and cupping my cheek with the side of his left hand. "And while I'm inside you, Miss Granger, and you're trying to adjust to the pain, this will begin." A searing pain blooms on the tender skin under my left breast, growing and spreading. Oh gods, he's really doing it. He's cutting me. He stares into my eyes as he drags the blade along my skin and lifts it up again. He whispers something, and my silent screech acquires sound.
"Please st-" His mouth covers mine, cutting off coherent speech, and he slices into me again. Deeper, this time. I scream into his mouth as the knife travels down along my ribs. Something warm trickles down my side. Mid-scream, he lifts his mouth from mine, and I gasp for breath and let out a rush of words; I know it's what he wants but I can't stop myself.
"Enough, please, no more, I'm sorry, enough, don't cut me any more, I understand, I promise I'll think about it, please stop, I promise I'll think hard, enough tonight, please please stop now." I break down and sob, unable to lift my hands to wipe my eyes or my running nose.
He does stop. He picks up his wand and heals the cuts instantly. Then he pulls a blanket over my nakedness, murmurs a cleaning spell at the sheets and gets up, taking his leather bag from the nightstand and slipping the bloody knife into it. Then he slips my wand into his robes. Walking to the door, he turns back to regard my still-immobilized form. "I'm locking you in until morning, Miss Granger, to give you some time to think. Do remember that the second round of lessons would be much more advanced." He releases the spell holding me and closes the door with a bang.
The moment my limbs can move, I turn to my side and curl into a ball, wrapping the blanket closely around me. Great shudders course through me, and I fight to slow my breathing. It's several minutes until I succeed by concentrating on deep, slow breaths. I get up and rummage through the drawers, then pull on pants, trousers, bra, shirt, sweater, socks and shoes. I'd probably put on a suit of mail if I had one, I need so badly to be covered.
Trying the door, I confirm that it's locked and warded, so I return to the bed and sit cross-legged on it. As promised, I spend a very long night-well, it's only a few hours until dawn-thinking hard about what just happened.
He wanted to scare me. He did. He wanted to make me doubt whether we can do this. He did. But he also wanted me to hate him, be disgusted by him so that I'd recoil from any possibility of being touched again-and there he failed. I can't hate him. Not when I know why he did what he did; what an act of utter desperation it was. I've been in his head and felt his feelings for me, and I can only wonder if this will be what finally breaks him-gods, what a bizarre moral dimension we two have entered. A dimension where terror and torture can be acts of love.
The man's just traumatized me, and all I want to do is hold him, weep with him, and hold the his vial of quick-death potion to his lips. Then drink the rest myself. The two of us are so shattered I can't sort out the mingled shards-how can there be any distinction between dark and light anymore?
As the gray predawn lightens the warded windows, I say the final phase of my goodbye to Hermione Granger, ambitious and idealistic student. If I survive whatever the two of us decide (and I know, now, it has to be a truly mutual decision) I'll never resemble her again.
I hold on to the one certainty I have left about myself: that I still want Voldemort destroyed. Somehow, Severus and I are going to do it. We have to.