Propensity and the Chaotic Pendulum.
Rated: R
Warnings: Violence, lots of it. Some of it sexual in nature.
Chapter Two.
"My child," Dumbledore soothed, holding Hermione's weeping form gently. Snape kept his eyes firmly on the ground. A voice inside her chided, 'look at her! Look at what you have done.' The frightening truth, he realized, was that he was not at all sure if this was a voice of pride or shame.
The power of rape, he reflected. To so utterly and completely own one's body and soul in one instant of passion and rage. It was worse than murder, but felt infinitely better. Both were measures of power, yes. And Severus Snape had murdered. He had known the frightening joy which came from watching one writhe beneath his wand, the last fighting breaths leaving their body with torrents of blood. Knowing that at the exact moment the body died, the bowels evacuated--he was of the utmost importance. Not a person mattered more than the one taking your life from you. To be fully honest, Snape had always wanted that power.
As the simple, albeit intimidating, Potions master of Hogwarts, Snape's power was of limited supply. He certainly had the ability to make many a student quake in their robes as he approached them, his patented sneer and dark robes coming in for the kill. But how long had it been since someone looked upon Snape with the sheer reverence-- the desperate idolatry, that veritably oozed from the pores of one about to die by his hand?
But Snape had not entertained these thoughts for some time. It was the rain, he insisted to himself. The rain, the argument with Potter, the loss of yet another opportunity for recognition… it was not at all, he allowed himself to realize, her perfume. Nor was it her dress robes, a little tight around the bosom, nor was it her hair, free and loose and tickling his cheek as they stood in hiding in a Malfoy Manor closet.
His head began to swim again, the order of events horrendously out of synch. When had he chosen--HAD he chosen--to harm her? When did their gentle kisses become her cries and his forceful penetration? Why had he abandoned his morality, why why why why…
"Oddly enough, that's what I was going to ask you." Dumbledore's voice, containing not one discernible ounce of anything less than complete hatred, broke into his thoughts. Snape instinctively went down on his knees again. "It is telling, Severus, how you seem to equate me with your Dark Master," Dumbledore continued.
"He is not my master, sir," Snape argued in a respectful lowered tone. He knew he was acting precisely as Death Eater etiquette dictated one behave before the Lord they had wronged.
"To the point, Severus. What can you say, if anything, to explain your atrocious actions?"
"I can say nothing, sir," Snape lied.
"Do not lie to me, Severus! You have precisely one hour with which to convince me not to kill you with my own hands!" Dumbledore was yelling, and the very sound of the man's normally quiet and genial voice so harsh--it was nearly enough to send Snape for the vial of aconitine in his robe pocket. Ah, undiluted wolfsbane. Upwards of ten grams and one will simply drop off permanently. Quite an unpleasant way to die, really. Diarrhea, sweating, cardiac arrest. All quite fitting a man such as Severus Snape, really.
"Sir, please… allow me one hour to rest and organize my thoughts. I swear on whatever is left of my honor that I will not flee. I will give you my story, however… lacking it may be."
"I will see you here in one hour. I've given Miss Granger a sleeping draught and will be taking her to the home of her parents. I daresay she could use love and rest at the moment."
Dumbledore swept the limp Hermione into his arms and left Snape standing quite alone in his rooms, to attempt some sort of defense. As if there is any defense for what I have done, he cursed. He slipped a hand into his robes and idly fingered the poison. "You cannot, Severus," he whispered to himself. "You owe them--you owe HER, at the very least--an explanation." He pulled the vial and held it in his still trembling fingers, cuticles stained with blood. He felt vomit rise in his throat as he realized the blood was Hermione's. He solemnly returned the vial to his pocket, with a single thought.
Later.
Rated: R
Warnings: Violence, lots of it. Some of it sexual in nature.
Chapter Two.
"My child," Dumbledore soothed, holding Hermione's weeping form gently. Snape kept his eyes firmly on the ground. A voice inside her chided, 'look at her! Look at what you have done.' The frightening truth, he realized, was that he was not at all sure if this was a voice of pride or shame.
The power of rape, he reflected. To so utterly and completely own one's body and soul in one instant of passion and rage. It was worse than murder, but felt infinitely better. Both were measures of power, yes. And Severus Snape had murdered. He had known the frightening joy which came from watching one writhe beneath his wand, the last fighting breaths leaving their body with torrents of blood. Knowing that at the exact moment the body died, the bowels evacuated--he was of the utmost importance. Not a person mattered more than the one taking your life from you. To be fully honest, Snape had always wanted that power.
As the simple, albeit intimidating, Potions master of Hogwarts, Snape's power was of limited supply. He certainly had the ability to make many a student quake in their robes as he approached them, his patented sneer and dark robes coming in for the kill. But how long had it been since someone looked upon Snape with the sheer reverence-- the desperate idolatry, that veritably oozed from the pores of one about to die by his hand?
But Snape had not entertained these thoughts for some time. It was the rain, he insisted to himself. The rain, the argument with Potter, the loss of yet another opportunity for recognition… it was not at all, he allowed himself to realize, her perfume. Nor was it her dress robes, a little tight around the bosom, nor was it her hair, free and loose and tickling his cheek as they stood in hiding in a Malfoy Manor closet.
His head began to swim again, the order of events horrendously out of synch. When had he chosen--HAD he chosen--to harm her? When did their gentle kisses become her cries and his forceful penetration? Why had he abandoned his morality, why why why why…
"Oddly enough, that's what I was going to ask you." Dumbledore's voice, containing not one discernible ounce of anything less than complete hatred, broke into his thoughts. Snape instinctively went down on his knees again. "It is telling, Severus, how you seem to equate me with your Dark Master," Dumbledore continued.
"He is not my master, sir," Snape argued in a respectful lowered tone. He knew he was acting precisely as Death Eater etiquette dictated one behave before the Lord they had wronged.
"To the point, Severus. What can you say, if anything, to explain your atrocious actions?"
"I can say nothing, sir," Snape lied.
"Do not lie to me, Severus! You have precisely one hour with which to convince me not to kill you with my own hands!" Dumbledore was yelling, and the very sound of the man's normally quiet and genial voice so harsh--it was nearly enough to send Snape for the vial of aconitine in his robe pocket. Ah, undiluted wolfsbane. Upwards of ten grams and one will simply drop off permanently. Quite an unpleasant way to die, really. Diarrhea, sweating, cardiac arrest. All quite fitting a man such as Severus Snape, really.
"Sir, please… allow me one hour to rest and organize my thoughts. I swear on whatever is left of my honor that I will not flee. I will give you my story, however… lacking it may be."
"I will see you here in one hour. I've given Miss Granger a sleeping draught and will be taking her to the home of her parents. I daresay she could use love and rest at the moment."
Dumbledore swept the limp Hermione into his arms and left Snape standing quite alone in his rooms, to attempt some sort of defense. As if there is any defense for what I have done, he cursed. He slipped a hand into his robes and idly fingered the poison. "You cannot, Severus," he whispered to himself. "You owe them--you owe HER, at the very least--an explanation." He pulled the vial and held it in his still trembling fingers, cuticles stained with blood. He felt vomit rise in his throat as he realized the blood was Hermione's. He solemnly returned the vial to his pocket, with a single thought.
Later.