A/N:

Here is a little one-shot written for a friends birthday :) It takes place in the summer after Hermione's 6th year but is AU- Dumbledore lives and Snape is still on 'good' terms with the Order... Perhaps it doesn't make a lot of sense but just bear with me here lol.

This was a bit rushed and is unbeta'd so please forgive the mistakes I surely made. TW: injury and blood, teacher/student relations

Hermione rubbed at her tired eyes, wandering down to the kitchen for a fortifying cup of tea. She'd been sitting up in her bedroom all night, pouring over some of the darker titles from Grimmauld Place's library. Harry had finally divulged what he had been working on with Dumbledore all of sixth year, and Hermione was determined to find anything and everything she could concerning Horcruxes and other dark soul magic. But so far it was turning out to be a nearly impossible task. She'd barely found a hint of even the word Horcrux, let alone how to create them or destroy them. She wasn't going to give up easily, however, and therefore she was determined to get through another couple of books before the other inhabitants of the home woke for the day. She had found it was much easier to study in peace in the quiet hours of the night, when she wasn't being pestered by her friends or chastised for looking at dark materials by Mrs. Weasley. It was ridiculous, she had been a legal adult in the wizarding world for nearly a year, and yet the redheaded matriarch couldn't seem to let it go.

She set about gathering tea essentials in the silent kitchen, padding around softly to avoid waking the others, even though most of them were Weasleys and she figured they could probably sleep straight through the apocalypse. Just as she was about to set the kettle to boil there was a loud slamming of a door and the sound of stumbling footsteps, followed by the sound of grumbling and quiet cursing. Hermione froze in place, heart suddenly pounding fast in her chest. What in Merlin's name was that?

She grabbed her wand from the kitchen counter and crept slowly over to the kitchen doorway, a hex ready at the tip of her tongue as she peered carefully around the corner in the direction she was fairly certain the noise had come from. The sight that she was met with was entirely unexpected. It was Professor Snape, leaning hard against the wall of the entryway, panting and wincing with his wand held tight in one fist. Suddenly the portrait of Walburga began wailing her typical drivel, screaming in an incoherent rant at Snape but before she could even finish her first sentence he slashed his wand viciously in her direction, silencing her with some unknown charm. Or perhaps curse? The look in his eyes had been pure venom. A level of furious she had never seen from the man, and that was saying something. Hermione automatically shrank back despite herself, clutching her wand even tighter in her hand.

Her dark Professor began to walk, straightening himself up from against the wall with a short burst of air through his nostrils. His whole demeanor screamed pain; his shoulders were hunched strangely and he walked with an awkward shuffle, moving painfully slowly towards the stairs. She couldn't help but call out to him.

"P-professor? Are you alright?"

Snape's shoulders immediately stiffened and he froze in place at the sound of her voice. He didn't even turn to face her as he bit out the words,

"Go to bed, Granger."

Hermione crossed the small space between them.

"Wait. You're hurt, aren't you? Let me help. I can get someone for you…" She reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder blade before her brain could catch up to her own actions. He hissed, flinching away from her touch and she pulled her hand away immediately, wondering what she'd been thinking, touching him. Her mind had just gone on autopilot 'help' mode, she supposed. At least she knew now that it was his back that was hurt.

"Gods, I'm sorry!"

He continued his sad shuffle, moving away from her and towards the stairs. "I am perfectly capable of healing myself, Miss Granger. Go away." He seemed to be struggling just to get the words out and her stomach sank. How was he going to heal his own back?

"Professor, please. It'll be easier with help. I really don't mind."

"You may not mind, but I do. Leave. Me. Alone."

She really didn't think he'd make it up the staircase to the spare room by morning at the rate he was currently going. He may kill her for it later, but he needed help, and she wasn't going to stand by and watch him struggle any longer. Taking a fortifying breath, meanwhile screaming at herself internally about what an utter imbecile she was, she pressed forward once again, this time carefully lifting his arm and putting it over her shoulders.

"Stop being ridiculous sir, come sit down and let me look at it, at least. It'll take you ages to get up the stairs at that rate."

She didn't wait for him to chastise her, just pressed forward, gently guiding him across the hall and into the dimly lit kitchen. She pulled a chair out with a flick of her wand and helped him settle down onto it, sideways, so she had access to his back. He had gone suspiciously silent during their move into the kitchen, and she was anxiously aware that that couldn't be a good sign…

"Alright…" She pondered out loud, wondering what to do now. Should she go and get Mrs. Weasley? Surely she was more adept at healing spells. Should she take a look at his injuries first? She had done some research into magical healing recently, for obvious reasons. But that was no match for real life experience.

"You've done quite enough. Go to bed." Snape grumbled between deep, measured breaths. His eyes were squeezed tightly shut in concentration. The skin of his face was beginning to look frighteningly pale. Oh, no no no.

"I'm just going to take a look, okay?"

Her voice sounded much calmer than she felt. She wasn't entirely sure which one of them she was trying to reassure more. She walked herself through her next steps mentally. Okay, I'll just take off his coat and see how it looks… Then I'll know what to do next. Right?...

She unclasped his thick robes and set them aside, hanging over the back of another chair. Then she set to carefully unbuttoning his frock coat, trying her best to keep her eyes averted from his face. His chest rose and fell in slow, labored breaths. She wasn't sure if he was doing it on purpose or not, and that was worrying. She finally got to the bottom of the endless row of buttons and carefully peeling the coat off of his shoulders, noting how his muscles seemed to tremble under her fingers. Hermione took a deep breath and walked around to his backside, unable to hold back her gasp at the image in front of her eyes.

The back of his white dress shirt was almost entirely scarlet, and was almost in tatters, numerous long slash marks had cut across the cotton and his skin, creating nauseatingly deep cuts that continuously weeped sticky red blood.

"Oh my god."

Hermione had to reach out and grasp the back of the chair next to Snape's head for support, lest she plummet directly to the kitchen floor. She wasn't typically a queasy person but, it was a lot of blood. She'd never seen such deep wounds up close and personal. What could have done that to him? Who could have? And how on earth had he expected to heal it himself?

Okay, okay, deep breaths. You can't help him if you're unconscious on the ground. Right. First things first… Potions! I need potions!

"Okay, Professor, I need to go find some potions… I'll be right-"

He cut her off with a groan, "In my coat pockets."

Right. Of course he would carry potions with him. Hermione dug around in his coat and found a deep pocket on the inside - it must have been extended with a charm - and pulled out numerous vials, checking the labels and setting them aside on the table. There were so many different bottles it would take her ages to find what she needed!

"Accio, Miss Granger." Snape suddenly bit out.

Oh. Right. Where was her brain? In shock, surely. She used Accio to find the dittany, pain relieving potion, and blood replenisher. She wasn't certain what else she might need yet, but that seemed like a good start. She tried to hand him a pain relieving potion but he waved her hand away.

"Already taken one."

Gods, If he'd already had one he must really be in pain, for all of his wincing and labored breathing. Okay, she needed to get the blood loss under control, firstly. She set aside the vials and cut away the rest of his mangled shirt with her wand, then used a siphoning charm to clear the blood from his back. The deepest cuts immediately began to ooze blood again in a steady pour and she winced at the sight. Alright, she needed to close those up right away. But which charm was the right one? She closed her eyes in concentration, thinking back to the healing books she had recently read. There were a few different methods for closing wounds, it all depended on what was used to cause the injury in the first place.

"Sir? How did these cuts happen? I need to know what spells to use.."

"Hex." He huffed, hunching forward further with his hands braced on his knees. He seemed to be getting weaker.

Her mind flashed again to who had done it to him and why, but she couldn't linger on that thought, she needed to hurry. She closed her eyes again, thinking back to the words of the text on hex injuries. Ah! She remembered the closure spell! Thank Merlin for her photographic memory.

She set to closing up the slice wounds one by one, starting with the widest and deepest. The spell and movements were simple, but it did require quite a lot of strength and concentration. Her first few attempts simply opened right back up again. When she finally finished closing up the cuts she was nearly out of breath, swaying on the spot. To her credit, it was three AM. Without thinking she braced a hand on his shoulder, leaning against him to slow her racing heart. His skin felt damp under her hand, cool and clammy. The muscle of his shoulder quivered under her touch, tight and hard with tension.

"Don't." He said, quiet but firm. She swiftly pulled her hand away with a murmured apology. She walked around the chair to face him again.

"I've closed up the cuts. I'll put some dittany on them to be sure they stay closed. But I want to run a couple of diagnostics, is that alright?"

He averted his gaze to the floor but did acquiesce with a small jerky nod. Hermione lifted her wand and began casting the simple diagnostic charms she knew, feeling a bit more confident now because she had at least practiced these on herself and others, though never on someone who was actually hurt or sick. His heart rate was 110, a bit high for resting but not panic inducing. Blood pressure 110/65, perhaps a little low but she had no idea what his normal was. Respiratory rate, 15. He didn't seem to be suffering from anything more than slight blood loss, as far as she could tell, but she was no healer, and one blood replenisher couldn't hurt. She grabbed the small vial and handed it to him and then picked up the Essence of Dittany and walked back around to his back.

Now that her panic had subsided and her adrenaline high was wearing off, the silence in the room felt suffocatingly uncomfortable. She spread the thin potion over his injuries, only a few drops per cut, and smoothed it carefully over each fresh scar. Green smoke billowed up from his skin as the potion worked, healing up the scars into smooth pink lines. If he was lucky, they'd hardly be noticeable in a couple of days. She did notice, however, that he had numerous other scars littering his back, in various degrees of severity. Some were mere white lines, and others were raised, angry, purplish marks. It seemed as if this had happened to him before, and he'd had only subpar healing. Perhaps he'd attempted it himself, as he had tried to do this time. A sudden sadness gnawed at her belly at the thought. For all that he did for them all, laying himself before the Dark Lord time after time, this was the thanks he got? Surely the Order must know what he went through? Or at the very least, Dumbledore did. And yet, at every meeting she had attended since turning Seventeen she had watched as the other Order members looked on at him with suspicion and distaste, never taking him at his word. Surely, if he couldn't be trusted he wouldn't go through all of this?

She finished up with the potion application and put the cork back into the small vial, setting it aside next to the small pile of potions on the table. She was feeling quite ready for that cup of tea, now. She walked over to the kettle and set it to boil, turning back around to face Professor Snape again. He was still sitting on his chair sideways, leaning to his left against the backrest, looking at her oddly. His dress shirt hung precariously from his shoulders, somehow still covering his front even though the back was all but gone. The color had returned to his face, but that wasn't saying all that much, he still looked as dour and sallow as ever.

"Would you like some tea? I hope I did an okay job on your back, sir… I've never had to heal something quite so serious."

His dark eyes did a quick pass over her figure, flicking up briefly to her face and then back down to the ground. He ran a hand down over his tired face. "Just get your tea and leave, Granger."

Hermione frowned. His rudeness was nothing new, but it still stung a bit after everything she had just done to help him. Though, he probably was embarrassed. He was a proud man, and his student had just stripped his shirt off and healed his injuries. She supposed she could forgive his gruffness after the night he'd just had. She turned back towards the counter and pulled out another cup, deciding to give him some tea even if he didn't deserve it.

"Milk or sugar, Professor?" She called over her shoulder. She heard his heavy sigh before he replied simply,

"Neither."

She grinned to herself as she poured two piping hot cups of English Breakfast, adding in a splash of milk to her own before carrying them over to the table.

"Oh," she said as she passed him his cup, "I hope you don't mind, it's English Breakfast. I was trying to stay awake to do some reading…"

She felt a bit silly at that moment. Who makes someone a cup of English Breakfast in the middle of the night? She hadn't even thought about it, just automatically made what she'd been planning to before the man had crashed through the front door.

Snape just shrugged and looked at her critically. "Reading?" He raised one dark eyebrow, gaze pointedly focused on her chest.

She looked down at herself and blanched, having completely forgotten what she was wearing. In all of the commotion of his dramatic entrance she hadn't even thought about it. It was the middle of the night, she hadn't expected to run into anyone in her pajamas. Her small pajamas. Tiny little blue shorts with cute white polka dots, and a matching v-neck cami that left little to the imagination.

"Yes. Reading. In my own room, of course." She could feel heat filling her face, undoubtedly painting her cheeks a humiliated pink.

He smirked at her then, with a strangely dark look in his eyes. She was starting to realize that she was alone in a room with a grown man, in the middle of the night, barely dressed. Perhaps she should've felt nervous but all she felt was the shiver of a thrill run down her spine, pooling with warmth somewhere deep in her core. She was somewhat surprised at her own reaction, considering she'd only just patched up the man's horribly mangled skin. If anything, that fact only increased the feeling. All she could do was blame the late hour, she supposed. Perhaps she was merely punch-drunk. Yes, that was all.

"Miss Granger," he said suddenly, sitting up straighter in his seat and pinning her with a serious look, "You need to leave. Now."

He looked extremely uncomfortable, holding himself stiffly in his seat, hands clenched into fists at his side in a completely opposite pose than he'd had only seconds before. She leaned forward in concern.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt somewhere else?"

Gods, she was an idiot, she hadn't even asked him if he had any other injuries! He leaned even further away from her, jaw clenched tightly shut. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath through flared nostrils.

"I have no other injuries. Now, leave, for your own good."

For her own good? She had no idea what he was talking about. And he certainly looked like he was in pain…

"Sir, please, I'm not going to leave if you're still in pain. Let me help." It was a risk speaking to her Professor that way, she knew, but it had seemed to work last time. And she really just wanted to help him, as it seemed like no one else ever bothered.

His eyes flashed open with a dark look in her direction and he let out a tired chuckle. "Trust me, Miss Granger, you do not want to help me with this. I am under the effects of Dark Magic… Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you?" His words came out stitled, as if it pained him to speak.

Dark Magic? Did he mean the hex wounds? Oh Gods, had she made it worse by sealing them up? Had she trapped some kind of curse?

"From your injuries, sir?"

He gave her a long look and then ran a hand down his face in exasperation.

"No, not from that. From using Dark Magic… Do you remember what I taught you in class about the lure of the dark arts?..."

"Well, yes, its appeal is not only the power of it but the physical pleasure… It feels good to hurt others with Dark Magic… But, sir, what does that have to do with now? And what did you do?"

"That is beside the point," he bit out, eyes cast to the floor, "the point is that the after-effects of Dark Magic, specifically certain torture spells, can be quite intense in a way that most people don't expect. I thought I had avoided it this time, though I'm guessing it had only been hidden by the shock of my injuries. Now that I'm healing, well…" He paused and looked up at her briefly only to look straight back down again, a tremor pulsing through his rigid body, "The effects are not the same for all Wizards, but, for most it is not unlike a strong lust potion… Only worse. You've called forth the very darkest parts of your soul and that Dark energy needs an outlet. It's a… hunger that is quite difficult to resist."

Hermione's face was positively on fire now. Her Professor was begging her to leave so that he didn't lose control of himself and take advantage of her.. And she'd been stubborn enough to make him spell it out for her. That same thrilling shiver ran down her spine once again, only stronger this time. Apparently her body wasn't complaining about the situation. Oh my God, what is wrong with me?

"Oh… Has… Has it happened to you before?" She found herself asking, before her brain could catch up to her mouth. She quickly sipped her tea to hide her face.

"Yes. Now, leave, you imbecilic twit, before I lose complete control of myself." She didn't have to look at him to know he had a sneer on his face, she could hear it. For some unearthly reason the thought of him 'losing control' was doing something for her…

"Does… Does it hurt? To resist it?" She asked quietly, still staring steadfastly into her tea cup.

"Yes," he ground out with a heavy sigh, "and your presence is not helping. You. Need. To. Leave. I do not trust myself to move from this spot."

She chanced a look up from the table and nearly melted into the ground at the look he was giving her. He looked angry, but, it was more than that… He was looking at her like she was a home cooked meal and he hadn't eaten in a week. It wasn't just desire, it was hunger. Oh fuck. The thrill swirling around in her gut was a mixture of healthy fear and some kind of idiotic lust, all wrapped up into one nervous little package.

"What if I don't want to leave?" She whispered, struggling to maintain eye contact with the foreboding man.

The tension in the silence between them stretched on, so heavy she could hardly breathe and then suddenly he was on his feet, advancing on her quickly and she scrambled to stand in response, backing up in a panic until her lower back hit the kitchen countertop and she was stuck, boxed in by her Professor who was now towering over her with a frightening gleam in his eyes. Had he always been so tall? She swallowed thickly, eyes darting around the room, trying to assess just how much danger she was in. And yet at the same time, she could feel arousal bursting to life within herself, some of her most deeply hidden desires coming to the surface. She wanted him to lose control.

"What the fuck does that mean, Granger?" His voice was low and dangerous, rolling over her senses like pure molasses.

"You… You have suffered enough in the name of the Order tonight…" She bit her lip, feeling distinctly like a bug under a microscope under his intense gaze, "Let me help you. Give some of the pain to me."

Her professor snorted bitterly, his hand coming up towards her face briefly before he hastily pulled it back, clenching it into a fist at his side.

"You stupid, stupid, girl… You have no idea what you're saying."

Even as he spoke the words he was creeping closer, closing in on her inch by inch, nearly pressing her into the hard granite at her back.

"Please sir, I… I want to do something to help. I want to be useful..."

So many late nights she had spent in the library, searching and searching for answers, for some kind of clue as to what they could do to end the war. And she'd hardly found anything at all. Everyone else in the Order seemed to have a role, a useful task, and she was just floundering. Burying herself in ancient texts and pestering the boys to eat their vegetables and do their homework. All while the weight of the world fell onto their shoulders. It was a suffocating existence.

"And what makes you think I want your pity fuck?"

She'd never heard her Professor swear before, and it was jarring. But the way the word 'fuck' rolled off of his tongue was delightfully obscene.

"It's not just that, sir, I… I want.. I need to feel something… Something other than hopelessness..." It was only as the words left her own mouth that she realized just how true her statement was. They were at war. What did it matter if it was wrong? What did it matter if they didn't have feelings for eachother. Any day could be their last. And they were in a situation of mutual despair. So why shouldn't they seize any moment they could to forget? If only for a little while. She didn't even care that it was tainted by Dark Magic, she just wanted to lose herself in something mindless. Something that was pure instinct - purely physical, no deep thinking required.

Suddenly his hand shot up and into her hair, gripping the curls on the back of her head in a tight fist, yanking her head backwards to reveal her neck. His head followed, leaning in close, mouth hovering over her pulse point. Hermione's breath hitched in her throat.

"You're my student."

"I'm of age..."

He made a strangled noise then, a deep sound low in his throat and then he was on her, roughly pulling her closer and latching onto her neck, licking and sucking at the sensitive space behind her ear. Hermione moaned, scrambling to grab onto his shoulders for purchase. His grip was so tight in her hair her scalp was screaming, tears pricked in her eyes, but the hot slide of his tongue on her skin soothed the sting.

He was pressing her hard into the countertop, the granite edge dug into her lower back, and when he shifted just right she could feel his arousal, stiff against her belly. Oh Gods. Everything suddenly felt very surreal. Surely she'd fallen asleep with her textbook and she was having some sort of extremely vivid dream? But then he pulled away briefly and pulled out his wand, pointing it towards the kitchen door and the door slid shut, locking with a soft click. He cast a silencing charm then, over each of the walls and the ceiling, then the floor. And when he turned his gaze back to her she knew; this was no dream. This was very real. Perhaps she should have been terrified… Alone with a grown man under the influence of Dark Magic… Door locked, room silenced. In the middle of the night. No one could possibly help her if she needed it. But, she trusted him. She probably shouldn't, but she did.

He set his wand aside and turned back to her in a flash, gripping her at the waist and lifting her effortlessly onto the kitchen counter. He stepped up between the vee of her legs, grabbing onto her biceps with both hands and grinding his hardness against her center with a long groan.

"Tell me you aren't a virgin, Miss Granger." He bit out, closing his eyes as he spoke. His shoulders seemed to tremble as if he were barely holding himself back. Hermione shivered.

"I'm not."

His eyes flicked open and Hermione's heart began to race. She'd never seen a look of such desperate, dark need before in her life. There was an odd quality to his gaze, and it took her a moment to pinpoint what is was; his pupils were blown so wide there was hardly a sliver of iris left to be seen - his eyes were such a dark color it was almost unnoticeable - but this close up she could tell. It almost looked inhuman, the way his pupils shone in the dim candlelight of the kitchen, reflecting her own flushed face back at her. You could've heard a pin drop in that moment, in that split second of time that he simply stared straight into her eyes, the tension in between them thick and undeniable, and then, she let out a nearly inaudible whimper and he pounced. He viciously yanked down the straps of her camisole, revealing her small, pert breasts and leaning down over her with a growl, capturing one pink nipple between his teeth and teasing it with his tongue.

"Oh Gods!"

She cried out and clutched his head with both hands, trying to pull him in closer. He was anything but gentle, biting and pulling at each nipple in turn, stopping between them to suck dark bruises into the skin over her sternum and the tops of her breasts. Each suckle and scrap of teeth were shooting straight to her core, setting her nerves aflame with an unsettling neediness. No one had ever handled her so roughly, and it was exhilarating and terrifying and all encompassing and she needed more.

"Please, sir! Please touch me!" She pleaded with him breathlessly, fingers curling tight into his slippery black hair.

He gave her one last lick, soothing over the turgid nipple he'd just abused with a soft flat tongue before leaning back and grabbing for his wand again. Before she could even ask what he was doing he was casting a seam splitting charm, slicing open the center of her pajama shorts straight down the middle, obscenely revealing her. He all but threw his wand aside and knelt to the ground, burying his face between her legs without warning.

"Oh!"

He didn't waste any time teasing her, just went straight for her epicenter, sucking her clit into his mouth and flicking over it fervidly with the tip of his tongue. Hermione's eyes rolled back in her head, legs clamping together tightly, trapping his head between her rigid thighs. A deep moan fought to bubble up from her throat but when she opened her mouth only a short gasping breath came forth, so overcome she was by the overstimulation.

It was nearly painful, the way he was mercilessly working her swollen flesh, in a way she never would have thought she'd enjoy. But she was hurdling quite quickly to the finish line already, the heady heat in her core building up to scorching levels, her pelvic muscles seized and twitched with every fevered pass of his tongue.

And then his hand squeezed in between her thighs to join his mouth, spreading her labia and pulling back the protective hood of her engorged nub and diving back in with renewed vigor. She cried out and scrambled to grab onto his head, trying to pull him away. His direct touch on her sensitive nerve endings was almost razor sharp, and far more intense than she could handle. She wanted to jump right out of her own skin.

"Please, it's too much!... I can't!"

She was babbling and pleading, hips lifting up off of the counter restlessly, desperately trying to escape his sadistic mouth. Snape's other arm reached up to wrap around her lower back, fingers digging hard into her hip to hold her in place. She quickly realized he wasn't going to heed to her pleading. He didn't even seem to be affected by her vice grip on his hair. If anything, he was only encouraged by her yanking on his scalp. Just as she was on the verge of tears from the sheer intensity of it all his fingers slipped away from her clit and she breathed a sigh of relief, only to stiffen up again when two fingers made their way down to her entrance and slid inside with ease, expertly seeking out that hidden spot that made her see stars. His tongue never slowed its ministrations and it only took one, two, three strokes of his nimble fingers curling just right to send her soaring.

"Oh my God! Yessssss!"

Hermione wasn't sure if she'd ever felt so very alive in her entire life. Every single nerve ending in her body was set aflame, bliss surging through her veins like liquid fire. Nothing else mattered; her whole world had narrowed down to the small, dimly lit kitchen and the dark, frenzied man occupying the space between her thighs.

She hadn't even fully come down from her release when Snape pulled away, standing up suddenly and tearing open his belt and trousers with urgency. It was very clear to her that he was now deeply under the influence of magic compulsion, his eyes held an eerily crazed, glazed over quality. She wondered what it must feel like, what he must have done earlier that night to end up in such a state but before she could properly speculate he was surging forward, gripping his turgid, weeping cock in a tight fist and lining it up with her core.

He murmured into her ear then, just under his breath, "Forgive me," before pushing forward, filling her to the hilt in one swift, brutal thrust. She let out a strangled sob as he slammed into her cervix, gripping her legs just beneath her knees to spread her wide open. There was no time to adjust, he immediately began fucking her at a savage pace, hips snapping up to meet hers in a ruthless delirium. He sounded absolutely feral in her ear, panting and grunting as he took his pleasure from her, fucking the pain right out of his body and into hers. And she loved it. She wanted more. Even though her tailbone ached and the back of her head was slamming into the cupboard behind her with every thrust.

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, urging him even closer, trying to lift her hips at the right moments to match his thrusts. The skin of his shoulders was slippery under her fingers, still greasy from the dittany, and she didn't want to hurt his freshly healed wounds. So she grabbed on to what remained of his shirt collar and hung on tight. He growled roughly in her ear and she pulled tighter, twisting the cotton in her fists.

"Yesss! Harder! Please!"

She could hardly believe her own words, he was already going so hard she was surely going to be bruised in the morning. But she just couldn't get enough. A small hissing voice in her head kept egging her on, more more more. She wanted to hurt. She wanted to hurt him... Perhaps the Dark Magic was somehow affecting her too, she suddenly realized.

"Harder?" He demanded, voice like gravel. Hermione twisted his collar even tighter, digging it into his neck as she urged him on.

"Yes! Harder! Please!"

Without warning he gripped her under her bum and she was being lifted into his arms. He pivoted and quickly stepped over to the kitchen table and slammed her down gracelessly onto her back, falling forward over her and gripping her chin hard, thumb digging into her pulsepoint uncomfortably. He only paused for a split second before he was fucking into her again, the new angle allowing him even deeper access. There was an animalistic quality to the way he was using her, snapping his hips desperately, filling her over and over and over, snarling down into her face and gritting his teeth.

The pain was melding into pleasure in a most torturously exquisite way. She couldn't help the sounds that escaped her lips, desperate moans and whimpers, she would've cringed at the sound of her own whinging if she hadn't been so overwhelmed. Thank Merlin Snape had had the wherewithal to silence the room, or they'd certainly have been interrupted by an angry horde of Weasleys by now. She shivered at the sudden thought of being caught like this, splayed out on the table where they all ate breakfast, being ravaged by her Death Eater Professor. Oh Gods.

"Oh fuck! I'm so…. I'm.. Please!"

Snape sat up straighter, letting go of her chin and forcing her legs further apart. One hand slithered down between her legs and he strummed quickly over her abused clit with one thumb.

"Yessss," he hissed through clenched teeth, watching her intently through glossy black eyes, "come for me. I want to feel your tight little cunt clamp down on my cock."

Oh my God. She never knew he was capable of such obscenities; it was bewildering. His thumb was keeping perfect time with his hips, flicking over her swollen little nub in quick circles as he slammed his cock into her again and again. She was arching up off of the table, eyes squeezed tightly shut at the intensity of it all, babbling and pleading under her breath. But he didn't relent, stubborn man, and worked her over until she was falling apart beneath him once again, sobbing out her release as violent tremors wracked her body.

Her eyes popped back open just in time to watch Snape follow her into his own bliss. He fell slightly forward, hand abandoning her folds to brace himself on the table next to her head. His hips lost their rhythm and he pumped into her erratically, staring down at her with unseeing eyes. He let out a long, low groan as he spilled himself deep inside of her and then fell forward even further, panting into her neck.

They stayed like that for several moments, hearts beating fitfully in their chests. The sounds of their labored breathing filled the otherwise silent space, and the herbal scent of Dittany clung to the air. It suddenly sent her mind straight to the hospital wing, and all of the times she'd seen and heard of Snape rushing in to assist Madam Pomfrey. Always heeding the call to help others, no questions asked. And yet… Did no one care for him?

She wrapped her arms around his neck and the moment was over. Snape stiffened under her caress and abruptly stood up, shoving himself back into his trousers and collapsing into the nearest chair, rubbing a tired hand over his eyes. Hermione snapped her legs shut and fixed the hemline of her camisole, feeling quite awkward about her lewd display now that the dust had settled.

"Go to bed, Miss Granger… This was… Extremely inappropriate..." He sounded defeated, as if he couldn't muster the energy to properly bark at her.

Hermione slowly sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her tailbone, and examined the man for a short moment. He was slouched low in the wooden chair, staring steadfastly at the ground, jaw tight with tension. It was clear he didn't want to look at her. She sighed and got to her feet, scanning the room for her wand and finally spotting it on the table next to the haphazard pile of empty potions vials. She walked over and picked it up, casting a quick scorgify over herself and then doing her best to repair the tear in her shorts, though she was fairly certain they'd never function as a proper garment ever again. She didn't mind.

She tidied the kitchen quickly, sending their teacups to the sink and vanishing the empty vials, leaving the full potions on the table next to his coat. There was some blood on the floor and one of the chairs and she cleaned that up with a practiced swish of her wand. Snape sat stiffly in his chair the whole time. When she'd finished it hardly looked like they'd been there at all, minus the small pile of his things that she was sure he'd take with him when he left.

"Well…" She said awkwardly, voice coming out a bit raspy. She cleared her throat, "Goodnight, Professor…"

His head tilted down with the hint of a nod. "Miss Granger."

She walked towards the kitchen door, unlocked it, and with a last second impulse before opening it she called out softly,

"If… If you're ever in need of.. healing, again… Please, come and find me, sir.."

He stiffened in his seat but didn't answer, the silence stretched between them like a chasm. She sighed once again and slipped out the kitchen door and up the stairs to her room.

She climbed into bed, setting all her books aside, and fell asleep quite quickly, suddenly utterly exhausted, before she could even dwell on the events of the last hour.

And when she awoke the next morning she was almost certain it had all been some wild dream, spurred on by her habitual lack of sleep. But she was sore all over, and in places she didn't even know existed. And when sat up in bed she spotted something on her nightstand - a collection of vials. She picked them up one by one to read the tiny labels. Contraceptive, Pain Relief Potion, and Healing Balm. And underneath them all was a small scrap of parchment, on which were only two short words, written in a spiky, slanted scrawl:

Thank you