WARNING - this story contains major rape/non-con elements. Snape is massively OOC. And as a victim of rape myself, I in no way condone his behaviour in real life. This story can be construed as fantasy only.
DISCLAIMER - I obviously don't own the characters!
REVIEWS - Absolutely welcome, I'd love to hear your thoughts! Chapter 2 coming very soon.
Hermione flew down the dungeon passage and stopped breathlessly at the door of the Potions classroom. She was a few minutes late, she knew it, but her detention with Professor Snape had conflicted with her Head Girl duties and it was now past the appointed time of 9pm. She paused for a second outside the door, to adjust her slightly dishevelled uniform, and ran a hand through her hair so it at least looked a bit tidier. Then she realised what she was doing.
"Why are you bothering about how you look, it's only Snape, for god's sake!" she scolded herself crossly, knocking at the door without further preamble.
It swung open at her touch and Hermione was taken aback, as she found herself face to face with her Potions professor. She had had a few detentions with Snape over the years, and he had never once moved from his desk. She hadn't expected him to be standing silently just behind the door. He was several inches taller than she was, and seemed to loom over her forebodingly, in the scant, greenish light from the classroom.
"You're late, Miss Granger," he said softly, his arms folded tightly over his chest.
"Yes, Professor, I'm sorry," Hermione replied, uncertainly. She had never been this close to Snape before and it was extremely disconcerting. She hadn't realised he was so tall. And his arms looked faintly muscular through the black, buttoned up robes he always wore, folded next to his chest like that. A strange, jolting sensation in her stomach took Hermione by surprise, and she felt oddly nervous all of a sudden. She had always found Snape slightly intimidating, of course, but this seemed different somehow. Suddenly, she found she didn't know where to look.
Professor Snape's lips curled slightly. "Would you care to explain the reason for your tardiness?"
"I... I have to patrol the seventh floor, Professor, as Head Girl. Until 9 o'clock. And it's quite a long walk from there to the dungeons. I ran all the way, but even so..." she trailed off feebly, suddenly realising her palms were sweaty and that, though she was no longer running, she was feeling inexplicably more flushed than before.
Snape's cold, black eyes seemed to sweep over her all at once, taking in her still rather rumpled cloak and her pink, flustered face. He stepped aside, allowing her to enter the classroom, and the door swung shut behind them. Hermione stood rather hesitantly by the door and was relieved when Snape swept back over to the desk, clearly meaning for her to follow. Once they were both sitting either side of Snape's desk, Hermione seemed to feel some of her strength come back to her. This was normal, at least. This was what she had expected. But that didn't alter the fact that, even now normality had been restored, she wasn't sure why she was here. Snape had lapsed into a moody silence and seemed to be scrutinising some papers on his desk. As she watched, waiting for him to say something, she thought she saw his hands shaking slightly as he shuffled the paperwork. But surely not? That must be her imagination.
The silence continued, and though not even a minute had passed, Hermione felt as though she'd been sitting in the dungeon for hours. She could feel her heart beating faster and her mouth felt rather dry. Should she say something? She could think of no reason why she'd been given detention at all and, despite the strange feeling that seemed to have settled in her stomach, she was slightly indignant that she'd been called back here this evening apparently just to sit in silence.
"Um, Professor?" she asked, timidly. Her voice came out croakily and she cleared her throat, hoping her next words would sound slightly less feeble. "Could... could you tell me why I'm here?"
Snape's head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and with a slight shock, Hermione realised she hadn't been wrong about his hands shaking. There seemed to be something gravely wrong with her Potions professor. His skin was even more pallid than usual, and his lank hair seemed to be sticking slightly to his forehead. Beads of sweat glistened on his temples. But as he looked at her, it was his eyes that seemed the most, well, wrong. There was a wild look to them, one she had never seen before, or ever imagined that she might see there. Snape was always so cool, so composed. She had never thought him capable of behaving in this way. He must be ill. Hermione wondered if she ought to run for Madam Pomfrey.
"Why you are here..." he spoke softly, slowly, enunciating every word in that slightly infuriating manner of his. Hermione waited, her eyes now locked with Snape's. His seemed to glitter strangely - she had never fully realised how black they were, how cold. And suddenly, she began to feel frightened. There was something there, in those pools of liquid black, that were usually so devoid of any emotion at all. Something she didn't know how to read, but that seemed to turn the fluttery feeling in her stomach to molten lead. She was afraid now, really afraid, and she didn't know why.
Hermione stood up suddenly, and quick as a flash, Snape was on his feet as well.
"I'm sorry, I need to go," she muttered, flustered, as she turned on her heels and made for the classroom door as quickly as possible. But even before she got there, she heard the soft click of the door latch as he locked it wordlessly. Out of instinct, fear, anything, she still tried the door handle, knowing full well it was useless. She pulled at the handle desperately. She didn't want to have to turn around and face him, when it was clear that something was so horribly wrong.
"Pulling on the door handle is completely futile," he said, softly, still standing motionless behind the desk. And that did it. Something in Hermione snapped. She was deathly afraid, deeply uncomfortable, trapped in a locked dungeon, and the worst of it was that she didn't know why.
"Why have you locked this door?" she demanded of him, her voice unsteady but furious.
Snape stared at her for a few moments, that strange, unfamiliar glimmer in his eyes still apparent, even from across the room.
"You wanted to know why you are here, did you not?" he replied, his voice so low that she barely made it out over the oppressive silence and the thumping of her own chest. Her heart was beating so wildly, she thought it might burst out of her.
"Tell me why I'm here!" Hermione found herself shouting now, angrily, desperately. She had no idea what in the world was going on, except that she was locked in a classroom with a deranged Professor Snape.
"Do not shout at me," Snape replied, stiffly. He patted the surface in front of him. "You will return to the desk, and we will discuss the reason for your detention like two grown adults."
Furious and scared though Hermione was, and though her entire body revolted at moving closer to Professor Snape, she found herself approaching the desk. She sat on the other side, positioning her chair as far away from him as possible, and folding her arms protectively across her chest. Looking at him made her feel nauseous, but she was too frightened to look elsewhere.
"Now," said Snape, his hands clasped together in front of him on the desk, in a much more characteristic way. Hermione noticed they'd stopped shaking and he seemed much more composed now, though the strange, wild look in his eyes still remained. She didn't know what this meant. It was even worse than the manic behaviour of ten minutes previously. At least there had been something faintly human about that. Where she had been flustered just moments before, Hermione now felt as though her insides had turned to ice.
"You are not here, Miss Granger, because you have done anything wrong," Snape continued, and suddenly Hermione thought she could detect a hint of amusement in his voice. What in the name of Merlin was going on?! The man had taken complete leave of his senses, surely!
"You are here to help me take care of a little... problem," he smirked as he said this, and Hermione's stomach turned over. The fluttering in her abdomen had returned, though the heavy, sinking feeling of dread and fear far surpassed it.
"What... problem?" she asked, her tongue darting nervously over her lips, which felt dry and chapped. He watched the movement of her tongue and his eyes seemed to darken. That odd, glittering look Hermione found it so hard to place had intensified. And suddenly, she realised he was enjoying her discomfort now, as he did whenever he made disparaging comments during lessons. It was more Snape-like than anything he had said or done so far this evening, but the familiarity of it scared her stiff. His eyes bored into hers and she was totally incapable of looking away.
"I've been having... thoughts, Miss Granger," Snape continued, his gaze never leaving hers, even for a second. "At the end of the day, when I'm... alone in my chambers, I've been having uncontrollable thoughts. Urges, if you will, that cannot be satisfied. No matter how hard I try."
Hermione's eyes widened and her heart seemed to have stopped. Why was he saying this? Did he mean...? He was her professor, for god's sake! She opened her mouth to say something, but the words didn't come. What words?! What could she possibly say in response to this?!
"You are here, Miss Granger, because for the last few months I've found myself wondering. Fantasising. About you," Snape seemed to be having no problems with his words at all. Hermione wished he'd stop speaking. Please, god, just let him stop. His words were horrifying, totally unexpected, nothing could have taken her more by surprise than to hear her professor talking about her like this. Talking to her like this. She didn't know if she could bear it. And, worst of all, the butterflies in her stomach seemed to be going haywire. It didn't feel wholly like fear anymore.
"It's got to the point that it's bordering on obsession. And so... I intend to do something about it," Snape's voice was smoother and silkier than ever. Gone were the manic look in his eyes and the sweat on his forehead. Snape was in total control. Of himself and of the situation. And they both knew it.
"You... you can't," Hermione protested weakly, panic finally goading her into speech. She felt slightly manic now. This couldn't be happening, it just couldn't!
"And why not?" Snape replied, as calmly as though she'd just pointed out a flaw in her Pepperup Potion. God knows, I need at least fifty of those right now, Hermione thought wildly.
"I... I don't want you to," she burst out, desperately, wondering as she said it if it was entirely true. Snape's black eyes seemed to be keeping her there at the desk, far more than the locked door. And that feeling in her stomach, persistent through her fear and revulsion, felt worryingly like desire.
At her words, Snape stood up suddenly yet again and placing his hands either side of her on the desk, leaned in so that his face was inches away from hers.
"True," he replied, so softly it was almost a whisper. "And yet untrue. I am a skilled Legilimens, Miss Granger. And you... you are an open book."
Hermione swallowed and took a deep breath, suddenly feeling as though she was suffocating. His close proximity, and the fact she could actually smell his cologne as he leaned over her, was tying her stomach into terrified knots. She had forgotten about Occlumency. She felt stupid, vulnerable, and was visited with a sudden desire to flee to the other side of the castle. If only he hadn't made that deliberately and completely impossible.
"What do you want from me?" She whispered, her eyes wide and frightened. She knew the answer already, it was painfully obvious to both of them. No need for Legilimency at all on that front. But Hermione was scared. Although she was a now a seventh year and legally an adult, she was a virgin still. Ron hadn't yet made that kind of move. And she wasn't sure if she wanted this. Yet the door was locked fast, and she knew she was no match for him, magically or physically. She was completely at his mercy and they both knew it.
"You know exactly what I want from you, Miss Granger," Snape replied, his eyes glittering so intensely now that they seemed to have liquified entirely. "I want to fuck you."
She flinched at the language, a word she had never said in her life and had certainly never heard used in this kind of context. And yet, vulgar and repulsive though it was, something was stirring down below at his coarse words. Even worse was the fact that he knew it, his lip curling triumphantly. Snape's smirk was so infuriating, Hermione knew she'd have been tempted to hit him, if she wasn't so terrified of the consequences.
"So, Miss Granger," he said, straightening up and still staring her down with that heated gaze. "I suggest you come around to this side of the desk and bend over it. I'm not a patient man and I won't wait much longer."
Hermione froze in her seat. She wanted to pinch herself, hard, just to make entirely sure this wasn't some kind of horrifying nightmare. How could he be saying this to her?! How could he be demanding... this? How could any of this possibly be real?!
"I won't ask you twice," he hissed, his voice still silky smooth, but with an unmistakable undercurrent of danger running through it. "If you won't comply with my demands, then we'll have to do this the hard way."
And suddenly, through a wave of sickness and incredulity, Hermione felt tears prick her eyelids at the implication. She couldn't deny she was feeling some kind of twisted attraction to Professor Snape, but she didn't want this. She couldn't want this. And now he was making it clear that it didn't matter what she thought, how she was feeling. He was prepared to do whatever was necessary. And the door was locked. Woefully, utterly locked.
"Now, Miss Granger." His voice was deadly and she had no doubt he meant what he said. What choice did she have?
Slowly, shaking, her eyes filled with tears, Hermione got up from the chair and walked around to the other side of the desk. She placed her palms flat on the surface, exactly as he had done just moments before, and closed her eyes. She felt sick, humiliated, every part of her body was shaking violently. She didn't even know how this worked, what he was going to do. But still, she waited for him to make his move. What choice did she have?