WARNING! Okay, this chapter contains rape, not like in the other chapter, where I implied rape, this gets a bit more descriptive than I had planned, so if you can't handle it don't read it. I'm not responsible for underage minds being horribly, incurably warped. I must beg any young'uns to turn back and read something more suitably rated for their age, or I swear I'll tell your mommy on you.
Oh, and on a lighter note, this chapter gets distinctly lemony at the end, so if such things offend you, try (a) to get your lobotomy reversed, or
(b) something PG-13
Chapter 14
Looking at him now, Viola didn't think the hurt would ever go away. Pain and humiliation were etched deep into his face. His jaw was clamped shut, as if to stop himself from talking, and he was shaking violently, like in the throes of a seizure.
She had studied potions extensively enough throughout her schooling to recognize that he was suffering from an overdose. The recommended dosage of veritaserum is one to three drops, depending on body weight, no more. She now regretted rashly throwing the potion into the cauldron; she wasn't sure if she hadn't poisoned him.
He fell forward, suddenly very still, and guilt washed over Viola in punishing torrents. She sighed, but felt a bit of relief. He would be fine; his body had acted naturally to repel the potion by shutting down other functions. He would remain in this sleep like state for several hours, until the veritaserum was out of his system.
She stood for several minutes, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, nervously watching him sleep. She started to feel rather foolish soon, and realized she'd have to do something. She knew that logically she couldn't leave him there. What if he didn't wake up soon enough, and someone came in and discovered him like that? Hard to explain, certainly. Also, if she went and woke another teacher for help, she would be expelled in the blink of an eye for drugging him. She had to get him somewhere comfortable, preferably his bed, where he could sleep easier, but she had no idea where his rooms were located.
She pondered the situation for several more very tense moments, during which Snape dozed placidly, his head resting on his arms. His deep, even breathing was nearly hypnotic, penetrating into her thoughts and lulling her into a state of tranquility. Her eyelids drooped and she yawned, now very aware of how late it was, and of how much she wanted to just sleep and leave the events of that night so far behind her . . .
The door creaked open, and she was blasted out of her dazed reverie, biting back a scream. A tiny house elf had slipped into the room, ignored Viola and the comatose professor, and proceeded to fill the wall torches with oil. She almost giggled, and tried to calm her racing heartbeat.
His tea towel toga swung around his skinny legs as he hopped onto a stool to reach the high torches, humming to himself in a squeaky little voice as he worked.
"Um, excuse me?" Viola whispered.
The elf stopped his work and bowed low to her. "Can Ducky be helping you, Miss?"
"Um, yes, actually . . ." she glanced pointedly at Snape. "Would you happen to know - "
"What is wrong with Professor Snape?" The elf scampered onto the worktable where Snape's head was resting and peered into his face. "Is the Professor asleeping?" He asked in a cutely accusing sort of voice.
"Yes, he's sleeping. Do you know - "
"He should not sleep here." Ducky interrupted.
She strained to keep a tolerant smile on her face. "I know that. Could you tell me where - "
"He will be very sore when he wakes up."
"Oh, who fucking cares?" She cried, sick of interruptions and frightening poor Ducky into large tears.
"You should not be yelling, Miss." Ducky sniffled. "You'se going to wake him."
"Listen, do you know where his rooms are?" She pleaded, as if talking to a child in a tantrum.
"Why should I be telling you?" He stuck his tongue out at her, and she found herself uncharacteristically conspiring to kill him.
But instead of erasing the little shit from Hogwarts grounds, she coerced that comforting smile back up to full wattage, and kept her voice soft and pleasant. "So I can put him to bed, Ducky, so he won't be sore when he wakes up." She was nearly ready to just leave him there and return to her dorm for bed, consequences be damned, but the guilt stopped her in her tracks. After all, it was her fault he was asleep, and every second she wasted in the classroom made it more likely that she would get caught out of bed, past curfew, with a Professor that she had personally rendered unconscious. And even if he wasn't awake in the morning for breakfast, at least if he was in his own rooms, there would be no evidence whatsoever that she had done anything.
"Follow Ducky, Miss. I needs to collect the Professor's laundry," and he promptly turned and trotted out into the hallway.
She nearly had to run to keep up with the tiny elf, levitating the limp form of the Potions Master behind her. As a frequent user of marijuana, Viola was very familiar with the sensation of paranoia. Nevertheless, the journey through the dungeons was absolutely nerve-wracking, and she was praying with all her might that Mrs. Norris was incapacitated elsewhere in the castle.
Ducky, who really didn't seem to like Viola very much, led her strait to Snape's rooms as promised, his large, flat feet making small padding noises on the stone floor.
"Hey, Ducky," she whispered when the elf stopped outside an inconspicuous wooden door and began undoing wards. "Please, don't tell anyone about this."
"It is not the place of a house elf to tell secrets." He assured her in his adorable high-pitched voice. He opened the door, then stepped back so that she could enter first with the floating man. The lights blazed to life as soon as she crossed the threshold, and the fireplace burst into crackling flames, illuminating the large room.
Viola gasped and almost dropped Severus onto the floor. She was where Snape lived, and it was strangely attractive. For some reason, she had always accepted the rumor ( not necessarily believing it, just not questioning it) that Snape lived in a cave, or in a dungeon cell, or something else similarly uninviting, much like the man himself. This rumor, however, was widely inaccurate.
Her bare feet sunk into deep green carpet. Near the fireplace was a sofa and two armchairs, all black leather and looking delightfully comfortable. The stone walls were nonexistent in here, instead they were covered in dark wooden paneling. Paintings were hung everywhere, as well as various university diplomas. The hearth was dark stone, and on it was displayed several candles and incense burners. The other end of the room was taken by a mahogany table and three chairs. The table, and two of the chairs, were piled high with stacks of parchment and books, ink bottles and scattered quills. Near the table, a huge grandfather clock ticked decisively away. Another surprising adornment: a grand piano sat magnificently in a corner.
What amazed Viola was the far wall. It was taken up completely by bookshelves, from ceiling to floor.
There were two doors on opposite sides of the large room. One was ajar, and appeared to lead into a bathroom. Ducky had disappeared through here while Viola was gawking, and was now emerging, dragging a laundry bad behind him. By the process of elimination, his bedroom must be through the other door.
This new room was just as spectacular as his living room, but she barely looked at it. With a sigh of intense relief, she lowered him onto his bed.
He immediately shifted his position so that he was on his side, facing her, but remained unawake.
She would have left right away, but an unfortunate glance at his face caused her to linger. He looked so peaceful and content. So beautiful and unguarded.
She glanced down at herself for a second, and quickly turned her wand on herself. A rapid once-over with a cleaning charm and all traces of blood were gone from her clothing, eliminating the disgusting sticky feeling in her groin. But despite her new physical cleanliness, she still felt filthy.
Her legs shook and almost gave out. Now that she had most things sorted out, (what a long night it had been) and all other distractions gone, stress piled itself back onto her shoulders, and before she knew what she was doing she was weeping.
Snape's story had distracted her for a while, and allowed her to think about something other than her own pain, but now that he was sleeping, that diversion, and the lines of distress on his face were gone.
Tomorrow she would wake up in her bed, still tired, and she would have to eat breakfast in the Great Hall with the other Slytherins, gazing longingly at the Hufflepuff table and her friends who weren't really her friends anymore. And Brandon would be there, just like he always was, holding her hand, and no one would ever know what he had done to her because she had no one to tell.
She sat down heavily on the edge of Snape's huge sleigh bed, face buried in her hands, and tried desperately to get a hold of herself. It was no use, though, and the pressure of her sobs soon became painful in her chest. The shame and disgust were now back, fresh and livid. But it was so much worse, so much more painful and humiliating because she was alone. Isolated. And she cried for this reason, wanted to scream at the top of her lungs and curl up and die for this reason. More than anything, she wanted to feel the cold metal of a razor in her hand, fell the sharp pain and see the blood. Soon, Vi, she told herself. Just get a grip.
For the time being, she forgot where she was. Her surroundings disappeared and she was all alone in a spiraling void of despair.
Viola was never the type of person to cry very often, and when she did it was more of a way to let everything out than feeling sorry for herself. The tears soon became purifying and healing, and by acknowledging them, she felt that maybe she would be able to (cut) cope.
Either because of, or in spite of her break down she felt much stronger, but exhausted. Now so worn out, she didn't even flinch at the strong, comforting hand on her back, only leaned more comfortably into the embrace.
Snape had been floating, disembodied, through his dreams. Memories and images of things that never happened drifted through and around him, soundless and haunting, eliciting strange responses and arousals. He could feel the veritaserum coursing through his veins, and in a strange, ethereal sort of way he could see it. The blood vessels in his closed eyelids were shot with streaks of silver, still eliminating all rumination and intensifying urge and impulse alike.
Then there was a sound cutting through his dreams, sharp and morose, reminding him of his childhood for some reason.
He was dragged unwillingly from his sleep, and was slowly confronted with a number of real sensations. Without opening his eyes, his other senses told him that he was in his own place, on his bed. It made some sense to kick off his boots, so he did.
He would have loved to just go back to sleep, but the noise would not allow it. As he became more alert, he was able to associate the continuous racket with something real. Someone was crying. Crying hard, to, and for a long time, if the hiccoughs and gasping breath were any indication.
Through slightly opened eyes he saw a black robed back and a messy blond head. Viola.
Normally he would have been quite angry to find a student in his rooms, on his bed, and (God Forbid) keeping him awake. But perhaps it's proof that Severus Snape is only human, this was not his first consideration.
Hopelessly drugged, he was forced to do the first and only thing he really wanted, but would never allow himself to do otherwise. He lifted one heavy arm, and placed his hand on the small of her back. He thought he heard her sigh then, but thought he must have imagined it. He would never be able to explain, though, what happened next. All he ever knew was that it was perfect, and that night he slept better than any other time in his life. She leaned back slightly into him, and his hand circled from her back around her waist, pulling her gently against him.
He fell asleep then, as soon as she had relaxed next to him, cozy in the warmth of his body. Soon, she also drifted off into a blissfully dreamless sleep.
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Brandon Carter was in very lofty good spirits that evening, after he had sent Viola dazedly back to her dorm with a touch of Imperius. He was done with her for the time being, and didn't feel like looking at her until the morning came around. He had damaged her, and he knew it. And with a sick sort of curiosity he discovered that ever since the day he had bitten passionately through her lip, he had been craving the taste of her blood. He had been mad for it, after he had spent himself so roughly inside her, and caught the scent of claret oozing from her wrists where the restraints had cut into her skin. Before he knew what he was doing, he was lapping it up like a crazed animal, savoring the metallic flavor of her life.
Her body was limp and pliant underneath him. She was conscious, but just barely. She was reeling in a state of shock and pain, unable to fight him anymore. Her eyes were blurred with tears. She couldn't see him, or anything, just the foggy, grey mist of an enigma; unsolvable and terrifying in its confusion.
Her inability to respond to him physically was less of a problem for him now. Now that he knew he had power over her, power to force her to do anything he wanted. He was satisfied with that. So what if she didn't want to kiss him? All he had to do was hit her a couple times in the right spot and he could fuck her at his leisure. Some physical bindings and a wave of his wand were all it took to render her helpless, and that was just how he liked her. Any guilt he may have felt was overshadowed by indemnification, because now she belonged to him completely. And for Brandon Carter, the ends definitely justify the means.
After clearing the blood from her spiritless arms he looked at her lovely face, now battered and swollen from his injurious fists. He liked the way she looked now better than before, because now no one else could find her attractive, and he wouldn't have to worry about keeping those other assholes away from her. Not that it was hard work; he barely had to do anything to get rid of that jackass Randy, but he was sure eventually some guy would come along and . . .
He didn't want to think about that. Viola was his, he owned her since the second he tore through her virginity, and no one could take her. He would never allow it.
He idly puffed a cigarette, pinching her nipples until they were purple and bruised, thinking in an offhand sort of way that it was a shame she had such small breasts. Her whimpers of distress caused him to become aroused again, and before the pain could make her any more alert he stabbed inside her again, crying out louder than she did the fist time he penetrated her. Her cervix was slick with blood, but not enough to diminish the burning sensation Brandon was subjected to. He didn't mind the pain so much though, in fact, he sort of enjoyed it.
A few moments later he pulled out of her and gripped his cock tightly to the point of pain, and shot semen onto her stomach and breasts with a degenerative grunt. His cum was flecked with bits of her blood, and just the sight of her covered with it made him salivate. She looked like some sort of wanton whore, spread eagled and damp with his sweat and semen.
She didn't look too innocent anymore. He had to admit, it was a pleasurable change.
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Viola woke in a state of utter contentment. She was laying on her side, on a navy blue duvet on a very soft bed. Facing her, also on his side, was Severus Snape, sleeping like he hadn't done so in years. Her face was only an inch from his chest, and she found herself falling in love with his scent all over again. An arm was draped heavily over her, and a leg was tangled intimately with her own.
Feeling completely comfortable and not wanting to ask herself why, she snuggled closer to him, basking in the warmth from his body.
Hard to believe that her life had begun to spin so completely out of control . . . less than twelve hours ago. It seemed like years ago that she had followed Brandon into his dorm, but the reality remained the same. Last night she was raped, and the only thing that gave her strength to open her eyes now was the fact that she had not hurt herself afterwards in order to cope with the harmful afterthoughts of being subjected to that sickening act.
She had wanted to, oh gods she had ached for a razor to open the skin on her arms. But now that she had things in a bit more perspective she felt better knowing that she didn't cut herself, that she didn't deserve any more anguish for a while.
Straining her eyes, she saw an alarm clock on the bedside table. It was six o clock. . . . Was it Sunday morning? Yes, that was right. Still early, and no need to get up just yet and wake him so abruptly. They had only gotten about five hours of sleep, and she started to drift off again . . .
Severus was dreaming, and as soon as Viola fell asleep beside him for a second time she joined him also in his dreams, which changed abruptly in nature from nightmares to something much more agreeable.
She invaded his senses and turned away the darkness that besieged his mind, leaving both of them alone and warm outside in the sun.
He could smell her scent on the light breeze, mingled with the sweet smell of grass and fresh running water. They were in the forbidden forest, and judging from the position of the sun above them it was around noon. Sunlight streamed through the trees in beams of gold, driving away shadows that made the forest such a frightening place at night.
Looking around, he knew exactly where he was. This was the place where he came to harvest many potion ingredients he used in his classroom. Deadly Nightshade, wolfsbane, and lemongrass grew in abundance, and the smell of citrus was constantly wafting through the air.
Seated by the clear, cool stream was Viola, dressed in the beautiful green dress she had worn to Christmas dinner. The dress she was wearing when he had really touched her for the first time. He looked down at his dream form, and was mildly surprised to see that he was wearing white, instead of his habitual black robes. His clothing was loose fitting and delightfully comfortable, billowing out around him in the warm wind.
"Severus," Viola said softly, seemingly by way of greeting, and he made his was calmly toward her, sitting on the waving grass beside her.
Immediately she reached for him, and he obliged her by embracing her in his arms, taking her mouth in a heated, passionate kiss.
He fully understood the manner of this dream now. Oh yes, he had had them before. And as much as he hated to admit, many of them since Christmas had indeed starred Viola Rienne in deliciously inappropriate roles. But this one was made so much more welcome because he really could smell Viola's perfume, a unique blend of vanilla and coconut, as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, both in the vivid dream and in real life as he slept deeply beside her.
In his dream she moaned, arching into him provocatively. She moved to straddle him, but the long dress proved too cumbersome to be maneuvered in that way. So, naturally, being the gentleman that he was, he helped her remove it.
The cloth tousled her hair as he pulled it off over her head, and she finally sat astride him, beautifully naked and blushing with arousal. Their eye contact was intense, their breathing heavy and rhythmic. His hands finally remembered how to move and he cupped her breasts. They were small, he thought, but perfect, and he rubbed around her nipples with his thumbs.
She gasped at the sudden stimulation and arched her back again. His mouth moved to one breast and drew the tight peak into his mouth, nipping gently and then sucking harder. She ground her hips into his, and his arousal was making itself evident as much in real life as it was in the dream, pressing into her in both locations.
In real life, Severus had partly rolled over onto her, but had not woken her up. What did wake her was the sudden presence of his erection against her thigh, and a soft moan in her ear. His arm, which had been thrown limply over her before, was now holding her closer to him with such gentle need she felt like weeping again.
In the dream he was teasing her. One hand continued to knead her breast while the other delved into her slick folds, spreading the moisture there onto the insides of her thighs. Her hands were in his hair, and now it was she who was kissing him, with almost enough force to bruise his mouth. She bit his lower lip then sucked it into her mouth, stifling a cry when he plunged two fingers into her and scissored them, inflaming the sensitive walls of her tight passage.
Outside of this blissful dream, he involuntarily rubbed his hardness against her leg and murmured something into her neck which sent shivers down her spine in that wonderful way, but which she did not understand.
"Do you like this, Viola?" He said to her in the dream, and indeed had mumbled it into the pulse of her throat in the waking world. He pinched her nipple, while at the same time circling her swollen pearl with skilled fingers.
He was feeling delirious with lust at this point, his erection almost painful with a need for release and straining against white fabric in one world, black in another.
In one world, with the sun making her short hair shine like gold, he rolled so that she was laying in the grass and he was hovering over top, staring down at her in awe and adoration. He pulled his shirt off and tossed it aside, only breaking eye contact with her to pull it over his head.
"What do you want, Viola?" He asked her, his voice unusually husky as he divested himself of the baggy pants, naked and unembarrassed in this perfect fancy.
She spoke the words she had spoken so many times before in so many of his dreams. Spoke them with love and longing and their mutual thirst for each other. "I want you, Severus."
He moved his weight onto his elbows and positioned himself between her legs, the tip of his cock pressing into her entrance, making her gasp and writhe. Her hand reached between them and gripped his erection, guiding it further inside her.
"Take me . . ." She groaned, pulling him closer until all he could feel was the sweet friction of skin on skin, so hot and unbelievably ambrosial that he was nearly undone.
In another world, where he was stretched out on his velvet duvet, nearly completely on top of the object of his desire, his sleep became less absorbed. He began to wake up, and the lines that separated fiction from reality began to blur. The nude, flushed Viola imploring him to make love to her evaporated and became fully clothed and apprehensive, unsure of how to react to everything that was going on.
He continued to murmur nonsense and sensual moans into her neck, while at the same time gently rocking his hips against her pelvis. She knew he was asleep and dreaming, but it was arousing in a way she didn't quite understand. Her nipples tightened and became more perceptive to even the slightest touch of her robe.
Before she could really comprehend the sensations he was provoking, she acted on them, and pushed her hips into his, grinding against his cock through the fabric of their clothing, wanting to intensify the heat gathering between her legs.
He awoke fully when he felt her hands on his head and soft breath on his ear; the lovely, erotic sigh of an aroused woman. Finally, he lifted his head and looked at her. Really looked, for the first time, into her eyes, and noticed that they weren't just brown, as he had first thought. The irises were rimmed with black and flecked with bits of gold and rust, and as he continued to stare at her, showing no sign of looking away, those magnetic eyes clouded with nervousness.
She swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump forming in her throat and spoke. "What were you dreaming about?" she asked, anxiously running a hand through his hair.
"You." He answered softly, without any hesitation and she realized that he was most definitely still drugged with veritaserum. His answer, however, carried a lot of implications considering their current position. He remained poised over her for a split second longer, before he was carried away once again by an overwhelming desire to be close to her.
Severus kissed her.
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