Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of seventeen. It contains sexual content, including some non-consensual, and may offend some readers. If this subject is offensive to you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 3 – Each Alone

Hermione was gone and Snape was alone in his office. His clothes were still on the floor, except for his robe, which he had pulled around himself - knowing that the cold he was feeling was nothing to do with the temperature in the room.

He had raped a student. Oh, God! When the spell binding her to his desk had been lifted, he had helplessly watched, as she struggled into her clothes and ran from him. Emotions in turmoil, he had watched her leave his office, heard the door on the other side of the classroom flung wide, and her running footsteps up the stairs. He had stared, unbelievingly, after her, then stood and slammed the office door closed with a force that shook the dungeon.

Being unsure of himself was something Snape was not accustomed to dealing with. How could she have thrown him so much off balance? Anger, hatred, fear, disgust - he'd dealt with them all before, but not like this. Always, before, he'd had a focus for his emotions - he knew who he hated, what he feared - but not right now. Without any control or rationality, he flipped between conflicting feelings - anger at his own lack of control, hatred of Hermione for what she'd led him to, disgust at himself for even thinking of blaming her, fear of the outside world once Dumbledore threw him out, longing to hold that beautiful body in his arms again - jangling images and feelings, overwhelming him.

Where was the girl now? Who would she go to? The possibilities flashed in front of him. Dumbledore - unlikely - it would probably be to a woman. Pomfrey, maybe. No - McGonagall was head of Gryffindor, and Hermione would likely go straight to her. By this time tomorrow, he would be out of Hogwarts. Dumbledore had forgiven Snape for far more than he had any right to expect, but not this time. And why should he? He didn't deserve forgiveness for this. The poor, frightened, innocent girl. Maybe he should start packing his things now. Or better still - go to Dumbledore before McGonagall did. Not that it would make any difference to his being thrown out. Leaving Hogwarts would likely be death for him. With Snape's past, he knew full well that without the protection of the school he would have been killed before now. The thought almost brought him comfort. If nothing else, it would blot out the image in his mind of Hermione's tear-stained face.

That beautiful face. He couldn't even remember deciding to kiss her - he had just felt her nearness and reached out. And the moment when she'd stopped pushing him away and relaxed into his kiss - a warmth spread through him at the memory - it had been so long since he'd felt, if only for a moment, so warm and wanted. Then when he'd started to take it further and she'd resisted - he tried to tell himself that he'd lost control, but knew it wasn't true. He'd known exactly what he was doing. Old habits die hard, and when he'd seen what he wanted he'd just decided to take it. In the moment when he'd lifted her in his arms, all the possibilities and consequences that he was now facing had flashed through his mind and he'd made his decision at that moment - that it was worth it. And he'd been right. In those few moments when she hadn't been fighting him - when she had responded to his touch, when she'd begged him not to stop, when she'd moaned his name in pleasure - it had been worth whatever the consequences would be.

If only he hadn't hurt her!

"I am so, so sorry, Hermione," he whispered into the emptiness of the office.

When Hermione found that the spell holder her had been broken, she grabbed her clothes and bolted, half expecting Snape to prevent her from leaving. Flinging the door to the office, then the classroom wide open, she ran. The slamming door behind her reverberated up the stone steps and seemed to speed her along on the edge of the shockwave. It was the second time this week that she'd run, crying, from the dungeon, but instead of the infirmary, her only thought was for her own room.

But the common-room would be full at this time of night, and going through it was the only way to her room. She needed somewhere to be alone and to think. The only place that immediately sprang to mind was one of the Prefects' bathrooms. The one she had in mind was less used than the others, being several floors up in one of the towers, so would likely be empty. Thankfully it was, and she carefully closed and locked the door behind her before leaning against a wall and sinking to the floor, hugging her knees bent up close to her.

She cried. Everything that had happened that evening had her hurt, confused and sore. Images burned in her mind of Snape's hands on her body, his face close to hers, his weight on top of her. Unable to deal with them, she simply let them wash over her as she cried.

She'd been raped. But had she? She had been given the opportunity to make him stop and she'd not only turned it down, but begged him to continue. He had given her the most intense pleasure she had ever experienced and she'd wanted it - and wanted him - without question. But then what he'd done to her afterwards! The pain he'd caused her as he pushed himself inside her, and the bruising on her back from his weight crushing her beneath him on the unyielding desk. She'd called out his name as the breath was forced out of her, wanting him to stop, and cried in pain as he took his own pleasure at her expense. There was a thought at the back of her mind, though, that maybe even then, if he'd asked, she wouldn't have stopped him. How could she know?

Her body had betrayed her. First with his kiss, making her melt as his lips took hers, then when his tongue was on her and she was moaning his name. It was wrong, and she knew it, but she had wanted him so much.

And, she realized, with a shock that brought further tears, she still did.