Draco finished hearing confession just before dinnertime. He trudged into the Rectory, intending to go straight to his room, but Snape was waiting for him in the hallway, a rare and ugly smile flickering on his thin lips.

'How was confession?' Snape asked.

Draco yawned. 'Fine. I hadn't appreciated how tiring active listening can be, though.'

Snape grunted.

Draco took a step towards the stairs.

'And what of your first penitent?' Snape drawled.

Draco learned in the seminary that priests are supposed to forget about the sins they hear once they give absolution and allocate penance. If Snape thought he was going to get some sort of second-hand pornographic recounting of the woman's sins, he'd better think again.

So he lied.

'I honestly don't remember, Father. Everything just seemed to run together.'

Snape's nostrils flared.

'If you don't mind, I'll skip dinner this evening. I'm rather tired.'

Snape shrugged, his eyes speculative, and both went their separate ways.

In his room, Draco got to his knees and prayed to the crucifix on the wall. He searched his soul and his conscience. He tried to ask forgiveness for lying to Snape, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

How could Snape have treated that woman so cruelly?

He fought it as long as he could, but in the end, he stood up, removed his cassock, headed to his narrow bed and slumped onto it, staring at the yellowing, water-stained ceiling. He unbuttoned his black shirt and removed his clerical collar, dropping it onto the bedspread next to him. The late afternoon summer breeze played over his skin.

He looked up again.

'Forgive me, Lord,' he whispered.

His hand shook as he undid his belt and opened his trousers. His erection (which he'd managed to keep to no more than semi-hard for the rest of confession) sprang up energetically, angry at being suppressed for so long. He clenched his teeth in agonised ecstasy as he wrapped his hand around it.

It had been a long time.

Before he entered the seminary, he jerked off more or less every day, unless he had a girlfriend. His first few weeks at the seminary were particularly torturous, until he discovered how to send his self-desire to the back of his mind.

Now look at him.

The need to gratify his body turned into an urgent pulse that made his body throb. He stroked himself once – his flesh was so sensitive that he almost howled out loud. Pre-come spilled from the glans. Then he took long, slow strokes from the base of his significantly-sized cock to its head, watching himself through half-closed eyes.

He didn't know what the penitent looked like; barely remembered her scent. It didn't matter.

Her voice was soft, as was appropriate for the confessional; and it was smoky and low.

The sound of sex.

As for what she said…

In his mind, he saw a nude woman with blurred features on her knees with him standing naked before her. She stroked his cock just as he was doing now – slowly to start, then building up in pace. Intensity. Then - God, forgive me, he prayed – her mouth engulfed his aching flesh. Hot, wet and lush. Her tongue brushed against the sensitive underside of his cock and it felt unbelievable.

Sinfully good.

He should know.

His knuckles were nearly white. His hand was no match for a woman's mouth. Her cunt.

He closed his eyes and watched her working her mouth greedily down his shaft, coating his flesh with her saliva.

She looked up at him. He was certain her eyes were a warm brown, large for her face. When their stares connected, her eyes fluttered shut and she moaned in desire. His cock nudged the back of her throat, and the vibrations from her vocal cords shot through his shaft and reverberated through his body.

Draco clenched his teeth against his desperate need to moan out loud. Being discovered by a gloating, judgemental Snape was the last thing he wanted.

He felt his orgasm approach, his shaft starting to spasm in his hand. He cupped his balls with his other hand; they were heavy; so damn sensitive.

He recalled where her clients orgasmed – stuffed deep in her mouth or marking her body like an alley cat. Guiltily, he pictured the woman with curved, full breasts, lying on the floor in front of him, writhing, her breasts cupped in her hands. Offering them to him.

He closed his eyes.

'Come on my body, Draco,' she begged in her sexy voice, flicking her nipples with her fingertips. 'I want to watch you come' –

His body bowed off the bed as he orgasmed into his hand, spurt after spurt of come that, in his mind's eye, landed in fat, gooey splatters on her creamy flesh. Eyes sparkling, she drew her finger through his jism and lifted it to her mouth. Her tongue darted out and she licked it clean.

Slowly, she sat up. 'You made a mess,' she remarked.

He smirked at the unjustness of her statement.

She matched his smirk and raised it. 'Want a shower with me?'

'Anytime, love,' he smiled.

His eyes opened. In that short space of time, the sun had gone behind a cloud and his sparse room felt cold. A sheen of sweat on his chest added to the chill. His euphoria was replaced by guilt, regret and disappointment.

And his hand was covered in sticky semen.

Later that evening, Draco found himself at the beach. The Rectory held no appeal for him.

He sat on the still-warm sand, polishing off a Big Mac and Coke and watching the waves as they crashed on the darkening shore.

He needed advice.

He needed to confess.

He'd rather gouge out his eyeballs with a rusty spoon than seek both from Snape. Which left the Bishop.

But first, he needed to get more information. Something was going on, he was sure.

Snape should have been pleased that his pews were chock-full of churchgoers for the first service of Sunday, but as he walked down the nave to open the Mass, he seethed with resentment.

They were only here because of him. Malfoy.

Ungrateful sinners. Fair-weather friends. That's all they were.

He officiated the Mass while Malfoy conducted the sermon. He toyed with the idea of 'changing his mind' and taking over the sermon himself, just to see the expression on the congregation's face, but he didn't have an excuse. So, with his usual dour expression, he took his seat while the Golden Boy headed to the lectern.

With a smile and easy greeting, he had them eating out of his hands. They're all sitting up straight in those uncomfortable wooden pews, thought Snape, craning their necks to get a view of him. Like he's a movie star or something.

We shall see if the prodigal flock will stay the distance, he mused grimly.

The evening service was the same. Maybe worse. Standing room only. A lot of parents from the school were in attendance with their vapid children, who whispered and fidgeted and giggled throughout.

Snape administered the communion wafers to the churchgoers, while next to him, Draco held the chalice containing the wine.

'The Blood of Christ,' Draco murmured to each churchgoer, as they took a sip. Most looked shyly at him before they accepted the chalice, and while it wasn't good form to smile during this solemn rite, they were comforted by his kind grey eyes.

An old gent with quavering hands slowly passed the chalice back to Draco and shuffled off arthritically to the pews. While Draco cleaned the rim of the chalice, he caught the scent of orchids.

His hands slowed.

He looked up and found himself staring into the large brown eyes of a curvaceous young woman with wild, curly brown hair. She, too, found herself momentarily transfixed by him, until her gaze dropped to the chalice.

'The Blood of Christ,' he murmured, passing the chalice to her.

'Amen,' she whispered, and took a sip.

She only said one word, but he was certain she was the penitent.

She was the one he fantasised about.

The one that Ginny Potter called 'Hermione' when she left the pub on Tuesday evening.

Again, she was dressed plainly and wore no make-up, but Draco could see the foundation of beauty through her bone structure, clear skin and lovely eyes: caramel swirled through chocolate. She held herself with poise and grace.

But… she was gone as quickly as she came.

A teenage girl he vaguely recognised from St Hufflepuff's stepped up next, trying to suppress her giggles; not very hard by Draco's reckoning. He gently frowned at her before offering the chalice.

Draco made himself wait until Tuesday to return to the pub. He hoped she'd be there. He needed to talk to her. To find out what sort of odd relationship there was between Hermione and Snape. Not for any other reason.

If he said it to himself often enough, maybe he'd believe it.

'Hello, Father!' Ginny called cheerily from behind the bar. 'That was a lovely sermon you preached on Sunday. When do you think you'll be conducting the entire Mass?'

He smiled. 'When Father Snape believes I'm ready to, which could be tomorrow – or twenty years from now.'

'Certainly hope it won't be twenty years!'

'Me too, but I doubt it will be tomorrow, either.'

Ginny laughed. 'What can I get you?'

'Stout, please.'

Ginny poured it and placed it on the bar, just as an indignant baby-like shriek sounded from out back. Her shoulders slumped.

'Still having trouble with a babysitter?' he asked.

She grimaced.

'I'll look after him while I have my drink,' Draco offered.

'Would you really?' she exclaimed, before looking guilty. 'I won't make a habit of it, I promise.' She dashed out back.

A few minutes later, Draco clutched his drink in one hand and James in his other arm, who, in turn, gleefully clutched Draco's phone. The pair headed outside.

Draco stopped to say hello to a couple of parishioners making the most of the evening sun while he surreptitiously scanned the outdoor area. He was in luck – she was sitting in a shady corner with a half-drunk lager, reading a book.

Draco tried to smooth James's hair back without success. 'I want you on your best behaviour,' he said mock-sternly to the tot. James enthusiastically waved Draco's phone around.

He walked up to the woman's small table. 'Good evening,' he said with a smile.

Startled, the woman looked up, and did a double-take. 'F-Father Malfoy!' she stammered. 'Er, hello.' She smiled at the baby. 'Hello, James. You've done well to nab a priest for a babysitter.'

'I have a secret weapon,' Draco confessed on a smile. 'He's taken a liking to my phone.'

She smiled back. 'So I see.'

'May we sit?' he asked.

Fear bloomed in her eyes before she shuttered them. 'Of course,' she said politely.

Draco put his drink on the wooden table and sat at right angles to her, resting James in the crook of his arm. With luck, he'd fall asleep. As for the woman, he saw her fear and didn't blame her for it. He would have to tread softly and go slowly.

'Draco Malfoy,' he said, holding out his spare hand.

'Draco?' she queried.

He grinned. 'I was named after a constellation,' he said. 'My parents went through a hippy phase.'

She smiled. 'I can relate to having an unusual name,' she said. 'Hermione Granger.' They briefly shook hands.

'Hermione, daughter of Helen of Troy and King Menelaus,' Draco mused.

She looked surprised. 'You're familiar with Greek legends?'

'I studied Classics before I became a priest.'

She looked at him oddly. 'Why did you become a priest, if you don't mind me asking?'

'Not at all,' he replied. 'I'll answer your question if you answer one of mine.'

She stiffened, and he held his breath. 'I guess,' she said reluctantly.

'As for me, it's not that exciting. I was raised in a Catholic family, drifted away in my teens and early twenties. I felt something was missing, though. I'd been in an unhealthy relationship, and when I had myself to myself again, I heard the Lord's call. That's pretty much it.'

Hermione nodded and took a sip of her drink. 'What's your question for me?' she asked in a low voice.

Draco took a drink from his own glass while he thought.

'All right,' he said, hoping for the best. 'If I offered you my help, would you accept it?'

She jumped in her chair in surprise. 'I…' She looked at her hands, then put them underneath her thighs.

'I know you don't know me,' Draco said in a low voice. 'I know you must have a reason not to trust me, or any other priest. But… tell me this: hand on your heart, are you happy?'

She looked straight into his clear grey eyes; and faltered. He could tell from her tight jaw that her teeth were clenched.

'Hermione,' he whispered, '…I know something is going on, and that you're impacted by it. I'm open-minded; as far as priests usually go, I'm very open-minded. I want to help you live a happy life. Believe me.'

She sat utterly still. Draco held his breath. If she ran now, he would lose her forever.

A tear slowly crept down her cheek.

Then another.

Slowly, trying not to disturb the sleeping baby, Draco pulled out a laundered handkerchief from his pocket and placed it on the table next to her glass. Her fingers shook as she picked it up and dried her eyes.

'Give me a time and place where we can talk in private, where you feel safe,' he murmured.

Jerkily, she did so.

He nodded. 'I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening,' he said a little guiltily.

'You, too.'

Draco stood up carefully and carried the sleeping James back to his mum.

Ginny put James down in a Moses basket out the back of the bar. 'How did you get to be so good with children?' she whispered. 'You're like a baby whisperer.'

Draco smiled. 'I have three older sisters with lots of children.'

'But you don't want any yourself?'

Draco's face went blank. 'It's a sacrifice I'm willing to make to serve the Lord,' he replied eventually.

Ginny felt like an absolute heel, so when Draco wondered if he could ask a couple of questions, she agreed with relief.

'They're about Hermione,' he said. 'How well do you know her?'

Alarm filled her eyes. 'I don't think I should talk about her. I'm sorry.'

He nodded and turned to leave.

'I went to school with her,' she blurted. 'St Hufflepuff's. Father Snape was the school chaplain. I can only give you facts, you understand.'

He nodded. 'Thank you,' he replied.

Ginny watched him leave, then hoped - and prayed.

A week later, Draco pulled up outside an address in his misbehaving Jeep. He checked it against the address Hermione gave him. It was an ordinary house in an ordinary street. He hopped out, adjusted his clerical collar (in case anyone was peering from behind their curtains) and knocked on the unassuming door.

Hermione answered it, and let him in.

She was in leggings and a baggy t-shirt, yet she'd brushed her hair and highlighted her eyes, cheeks and lips with the barest of make-up. A mixed signal, maybe, if he were a normal man.

She skittered like a nervous deer in her own home - touching this and arranging that - so he sat himself down on her settee and held his hand out to her. 'Please, sit,' he murmured.

She did, with caution.

'I understand that what you may have to tell me is hard for you to say,' he said gently. 'The first steps are always rocky.' He caught her fearful gaze with his silver eyes. 'I'm not here to judge. I promise.'

She visibly shuddered. 'I – I have to close my eyes,' she whispered. 'I won't be able to bear the look on your face...'

'I can turn away, as in confession' –

'No.' Her voice was hard. 'Never like that. Ever.'

He swallowed, nodded, and waited for her to begin.

Trigger: rape scene

'He caught me making out with my boyfriend, in the church basement.'

Seventeen-year-old Hermione and her boyfriend Ron were leaders in the church's youth group. The session had ended for the day, and Ron had persuaded her to stay behind and fool around a bit. She was nervous – what if someone should see?

Ron laughed, taking her hand and rubbing it against his perma-erection.

'Everyone's gone, you silly girl,' he chided gently. 'Come on, love, I just want you to suck it. Everyone does it.'

With misgivings, she nonetheless sank to her knees while he rapidly undid his pants and freed his ginger erection. It bobbed in front of her nose, and she stared at it, cross-eyed.

'C'mon, girl,' Ron gritted, holding it at the base.

Shakily, she wrapped her hand around it, and, closing her eyes, poked out her tongue and touched it.

'Oh, yes – oh, Jesus!'

Suddenly, Ron's penis was gone and Hermione was left staring at the manky carpet.

Father Snape took Ron by the ear and steered him, none-too-gently, to the basement door, shouting promises of certain doom and disease to his nether bits if he ever tried to have sexual relations in a hallowed sanctuary ever again.

Somewhat embarrassed but relieved, Hermione said 'Thank you, Fath' –

But he squatted down in front of her, eyes burning with rage. 'And as for you, you little slut,' he spat, 'you need to be taught a lesson.'

Her eyes widened in fear. 'Wha?' –

She tried to back away but Snape caught her hair in a death grip.

'Stay where you are, whore!' he thundered, and to her horror, he undid his trousers.

'But I never – Father, I swear, I'm not a wh – uumph!' Her eyes bulged as Snape pinched her nose tight. When she gasped for air, he shoved his erection in her mouth.

'Let me in, slut, come on,' he gritted, using both hands in her hair to impale her on his cock.

She gurgled and choked and tried to break free. He slapped her face hard and told her to shut up. He ignored her hands, desperately scrabbling for freedom and gave himself to the agonising bliss of her mouth and throat. He fucked her and fucked her until, with an almighty groan, he ejaculated.

She convulsed and threw up, spewing his jism onto the carpet. He watched her distastefully, tucking himself in. When she finally looked up at him, tears streaming down her face, he curled his lip and spat 'Clean it up.'

Bewildered, she looked around.

'Use your tongue, you stupid girl! Otherwise your peers may be interested to know that you give head like a pro. Just like you were going to give it to young Mr Weasley.'

Broken, she lowered her mouth to the dirty carpet.

Four days later, she was summoned to the chaplain's office at St Hufflepuff's.

She dragged her feet, and Snape was seething by the time she turned up.

'You dare keep me waiting, girl?' he snarled, slamming the door shut and locking it.

She stood in the room, every muscle locked against him.

'You committed a grievous sin the other day,' he began.

She glared at him. 'Your sin was all the more grievous because it was also a crime,' she spat.

He paled with rage. 'How dare you talk back to your priest!' he thundered. His arm lashed out but he didn't slap her, as she expected. He grabbed her arm and dragged her to his tidy desk, throwing her across it. She tried to get away but again he held her hair in a vice.

'Insolent slut!' he spat. 'You shall be punished for your wickedness!'

With his free hand he flipped up her pleated uniform skirt and pulled her panties over her hips.

She began to scream, until she found her ripped panties stuffed into her mouth.

'Normally I'd ask you to count the strokes,' he muttered, as she heard the ominous sound of a zip being undone, 'but in this case, silence is a virtue.'

With that, he speared his huge, hard cock into her virgin body.

The pain...

Dear God, it was unbearable.

It took hold of the core of her body and spread through her limbs, her lungs and her head. She even blacked out; or maybe went to another place. When she realised where she was and what was going on, Father Snape was sawing in and out of her, grunting, begging God for forgiveness and blaming it on the wanton slut with her legs spread before him.

At last, with one final grunt, he spent himself. Hermione's skin crawled with the knowledge that she'd never be clean again.

When he got his breath back, Snape pulled his limp dick free of her. It was slimy with his come and her blood.

'Huh,' he murmured. 'You were a virgin. That'll explain why you were so useless.'

Hermione slumped to the floor.

He kicked her, and she yelped. 'You're making a mess,' he sneered. 'Go and clean yourself up. You're a disgrace.'

'Oh, and Ms Granger,' Snape cooed, now dressed and respectable as she stood, shaking, by the door, 'you'd better be a lot more enjoyable next time.'

End of rape scene

Hermione's voice trailed off into the quiet, clear night. She took a breath, and her eyes fluttered open.

Draco's silver eyes were hard. His jaw was clenched. His fists were clenched. Even his hair looked clenched. Then he blinked; and slumped, his face filled with desolation. Before he even realised what he was doing, he'd moved across the settee and gently enveloped her in his arms; a type of gentle she'd never known from a man.

And him a priest.

She tried not to cry; but large, fat, warm tears welled up from a hidden place and spilled onto his shoulders.

He held her and recited the Act of Contrition in his head. Again and again.

It was either that or return to the Rectory and kill that fucking bastard.

'Why haven't you told the Police? Or anyone?'

It wasn't an accusation; Hermione knew. During what felt like hours of his low-voiced questions and her stilted answers, she slumped further into the settee, closer to the to the dent in the cushions made by the considerably taller priest. His voice was mesmeric, never shrill or accusing, and before she knew it she was listing against his side. He would lean back a little; she would move with him. A little more. A little more.

Now her head lay on his black-clothed chest, her body resting over his. His arms lay around her, one hand winding through her hair. She wondered if this was how couples held each other after they made love.

If it was, then how funny that he, a priest, knew.

'It was my word against his,' she whispered. 'A respected priest versus a student with a reputation for being a lippy know-it-all. With Ron to confirm that I was about to fellate him, even if I hadn't begun. Or had been that into it in the first place. Snape trapped me. A few well-placed, bitter words from him and suddenly, all jobs were closed to me – except one.'

'I believe you,' he whispered into her hair.

She jolted; and her thigh brushed against his groin. He was semi-hard.

'Ignore it,' Draco murmured. 'Just friction.'

'You're a good man,' she whispered sadly, watching his face.

His lips quirked. 'And you're a good woman,' he murmured, watching his hand rise and stroke her cheek – before dropping back. He closed his eyes, as if in pain.

'Father Mal – Draco?' She shifted closer, concerned. 'Are you all right?'

He grimaced, then slowly opened his eyes. What she found there took away her breath.

'Everything's wrong,' he said lightly, but with an underlying heaviness that made her shudder. 'Everything I know is wrong.'

She reached out and touched his lips with her finger. 'Please don't say that,' she begged. 'Don't come apart on me. I need you to be strong.'

His lips parted beneath her touch. His breath was warm.

'I want you, Hermione,' he murmured. 'You must realise that. But it's the worst thing I could ever possibly do to you.'

They met each other's stare. The pit of her stomach tingled.

'It's not evil, you know,' she stuttered. 'To want to be intimate with someone.' Then her bravery ran out. 'If that's what you wanted.'

His eyes... so dark.

'If it's so wrong,' she continued, 'why are you still on my settee, with me on you, reacting to 'friction'?'

His flint eyes glinted. 'You tell me.'

She blushed and looked away. He made her whole body tingle, not just her tummy. She couldn't trust her head to make the best decisions. She carefully climbed off him and stood up. Then headed to the front door.

It was for the best.

'Hermione.'

She turned around. Draco was standing, but hadn't moved from the settee.

'Do you want me to go?'

She half-laughed. 'Of course I don't!' Her voice cracked. 'I want you. I feel safe with you. But there's still a tiny sliver of decency remaining in my heart that says I should let you go before you do something you'll seriously regret.'

Slowly, he walked to her. For the first time, Hermione felt desired; not afraid. Or numb. Or sick to her stomach.

They were close enough to breathe each other's air.

'That's a discussion I'll have with someone else,' he said.

Then he cupped her head in his hands and brought her lips to his.