Hermione was cradled against Snape's chest like a small child within the Headmaster's office. Her heart beat rapidly at first, thinking she was being taken to Dumbledore. He'd make everything better. Professor Snape had done what he needed to ensure her safety, that was all. But the old wizard was dead and gone. She'd been at his funeral, seen his tomb and was more than aware that Voldemort now held the Elder Wand. No, this wasn't Dumbledore's office. It now belonged to Snape. She had been on the run with her boys, never having to witness the iron-fist of Severus Snape as a Headmaster.

She was more confused than anything else. She wasn't sure how to feel about any of this. She just felt numb. Dead. Her friends had been killed. She had been assaulted and… she couldn't even bring herself to acknowledge what that man had done to her. And here he was, carrying her gently like he actually cared.

But of course he didn't care, how could he? Not after all he had so willingly done. She hated him. She hated him with her very soul. She vowed to escape or die trying. Hermione Granger refused to go down without a fight. After all, isn't that what she had been doing for the past seven years of her life?

Hermione felt exhausted, the alluring idea of sleep overtaking her as she was unable to keep her head off his chest. Her mind was battling with her, luring her into a false sense of security, desperate to rescue her from her current reality. She imagined someone else–anyone else. A nice man. A kind man. A protective man. His arms were strong and warm, the woodsy smell that clung to his cloak soothed her mind and her stomach. After all, she endured this much, how could it get worse? She'd cope or she'd die. Both options seemed just as likely and just as acceptable. Hermione sighed, exhausted. Her body had been through enough and she desperately sought out sleep.

There was a faint whispering as he carried her through the office, through the heavily warded doors, into his bedchamber. She stiffened, almost throwing herself out of his arms as her fear took over.

No! No he couldn't… not this soon after taking her the first time. She needed to heal. She was still so sore.

She struggled to get out of his arms, not unlike a scared kitten that didn't want to be picked up. She tried to claw and squirm, fight and bite her way free. But he was strong. Stronger than she'd ever have expected from his scrawny frame. She had underestimated her Professor, a fatal error. Moody would be so disappointed if he were alive. After all, wasn't his motto constant vigilance ?

Snape's arms tightened around her. "Stop. Squirming. Foolish girl," he grunted, giving up and tossing her on the bed. He looked at her with such disgust that she thought he might vomit. As if to prove her right, he stomped into the loo, retching loudly. Hermione trembled, wanting to hide beneath the warm blankets but terrified of what he'd do to her if he came out and saw her burrowed in his bed. She wasn't a lover, she was his slave . She looked down at her arm, crying once more when she saw his name.

The door to the washroom swung open. Snape's silhouette dominated the door frame. How had she never noticed how tall he was? He walked over to her, arms full of several phials and bandages. Her stomach churned. What was he going to do to her? What were those potions? With any luck, they'd be some sort of poison. Or perhaps she could simply break the glass and swallow it? He'd never be able to save her in time. Just a quick, sharp pain… a bit of blood… and then, finally, peace .

"Don't look at me like that. You're bleeding all over my bed. I can't have you exsanguinate before you're of any use to me, can I, girl?" He reached out and grabbed ahold of her wrist, extending her arm towards him to observe.

"You will do everything I command, when I command it. You will not hesitate. You will not ask any of your incessant questions. You will not ask for anything . You are here for one purpose, and one alone. Do you understand?"

His dark eyes penetrated hers. She feared he was using legilimency on her, fearful of what he would do if and when he saw how much she hated him in this very moment, how terrified she was. When she didn't answer him, he dug his finger into the "S" of his name, watching as the blood trickled out, listening to her yelp in pain as she desperately tried to pry his hands off her.

He raised his hand to her, slapping her face so hard that her head spun. "Pay attention, witch," he snarled. "Do you understand what I'm telling you?" He tapped his brand again. " Focus ."

"Yes," she hissed. Anger boiling inside her. Maybe if she infuriated him enough the games would end. He'd kill her and she could be reunited with everyone. A burning heat bloomed over her cheek where he smacked her. Tears filled her eyes as she raised a shaky hand to cover the handprint. Shocked wasn't strong enough of a word. Even though he had taken her, claimed her, raped her… there was something about being slapped across the cheek that was humiliating. She never expected him to actually hit her.

He took advantage of her stillness, rubbing some sort of blue potion that reeked of black licorice into her skin, wrapping it tightly with gauze. He moved on to the abrasions on her arms and knees before pushing her roughly to lay back against his downy pillows.

"Open," he commanded, nudging her knees apart. Hermione whimpered, squeezing her eyes shut and willing her muscles to resist the man for as long as possible.

"I said open ," he growled. Oh gods. She couldn't… not yet.

"You silly, insufferable girl. You will learn to obey me, without hesitation, or you risk your death."

She felt his large hands easily pry her legs open. It was pitiful to resist but her spirit was willing to fight to the death. She cried, turning her head to the side as her muscles released, her legs falling open. She felt so sticky and sore. His seed had mixed with her blood, painting her thighs a milky pink.

"No! No, please sir… I'm too sore… I can't."

His eyes snapped up to hers, black and foreboding. "Your cunt tore," he stated matter-of-factly. "I don't wish to wait for you to heal, nor do I want you howling in my ear when next I take you Granger."

He chuckled darkly at her dismay. "Oh yes, witch. I will take you as frequently as i desire. However," he paused, scooping up some thick pink ointment into his two fingers, rolling them against his thumb as he continued to speak. "I do not like my women bloodied and battered. I prefer softer women, ones that know their place and are obedient. That last part will be the hardest for you, Miss Granger, of that I am sure."

Hermione curled her lip, wanting to fight back, to spit in his mocking face. But that would only prove him right, wouldn't it?

"Now. Be a good girl and hold still," he purred. "This will hurt." His eyes darkened.

Hermione gasped as he slowly filled her violated channel with his fingers. The stretch burned horribly at first, making her thighs clench in an attempt to keep him out. He reached over her body with his free hand, scooping up some of the licorice scented potion and placing it over her lower belly.

Her womb.

She could feel his fingers manipulating her tissue from the inside as his other hand pressed down. She swore he'd be able to feel himself through her skin but wasn't sure if that was anatomically possible. She winced once more before relief finally came. A cooling, tingly sensation overtook her body. She sighed with relief, muscles fully relaxing as he continued his work. Her eyes closed briefly, this was almost relaxing.

She was sweating now. It was unbelievably hot. She blinked her eyes open, finding the room completely dark, save for the roaring fire. She was beneath the heavy blankets that she had fantasized about earlier. How long had she fallen asleep, and why didn't he wake her?

The deep rumble of voices stirred her even further from sleep, compelling her to follow the sound. She hissed when her bare feet hit the cold stone floor. She was still in her tattered clothing, blood soaked and grimy. But at least she was no longer in pain. She was thankful for that, but confused.

She tiptoed to the door, the voices growing stronger and more clear. Snape was yelling about something, she could tell by his tone of voice. But all the words were garbled. She scoffed, he probably had some sort of ward placed so no one could eavesdrop. Maybe… if she was quiet enough…

She pushed against the door, half expecting to get zapped or worse. But she felt no magical signature, no wards preventing her retreat. She slipped through the door, crouching down between a bookshelf and a table that held a few odds and ends that looked like they were left behind by Dumbledore. She looked around, but saw no one, save Snape, sitting at his desk fuming. The room was completely silent, the scratch of his quill on the parchment the only sign of life.

So who was he yelling at? Himself?

There was a loud bang on the door. Snape's greasy head snapped up, a scowl firmly in place when he barked "enter!"

Hermione clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent the scream from escaping. She'd recognize that long, pale face anywhere. He strode into the room with an arrogant swagger, a malicious grin plastered on his face. She did notice a bruise underneath his eye, and what looked like a split lip hidden breath his beard.

"Dolohov," Snape greeted with a bored tone. "To what do I owe this…" his eyes danced over the wizard, looking amused with a hint of disgust, "…pleasure?"

"Don't think you have any control over me, Snape. You may be headmaster and once again sit highly amongst the Dark Lord, but you hold no power where I'm concerned. He should've finished you off."

Snape subconsciously reached for his neck, fingering the faint scar that would remain there from the Dark Lord's slicing hex. Hermione remembered it well, she was a witness, after all. She still wasn't sure how Severus was able to talk his way out of dying, but he had whispered something to the dark wizard, eyes pleading as blood poured from his throat. Voldemort simply smiled, nodding once and disapparating with the snake. She'd never forget the gurgling noises Snape made as the blood left his body. Harry had been the first to run out, snapping at Hermione to find some sort of phial to collect the silvery substance that oozed from her professor's wound. Harry had run to the pensive with the memories, never to return again. Snape's voice returned her to the present time.

" Why are you here?"

"I wanted to see how the spell was going? There is little doubt you have felt compelled again? Where is the mudblood whore? Did you wear her out already?"

"Indeed," he answered curtly. "She is resting, as was I before you rudely interrupted." Hermione watched the muscles in his jaw jump as he clenched his teeth. He was getting angry, she could tell.

"I'll admit, I was a bit upset that Bellatrix was the one to cast it. You must believe me when I say I wanted to be the cause of your… renewed endurance. After all, the Dark Lord gave you a boon. It would be a waste for her to not be thoroughly… ravaged, yes?" Both men laughed, almost brotherly. Hermione grew even more confused about their relationship. Earlier he was threatening, and now they were, what? Chatting?

"Do I detect jealousy, Antonin? From you? Surely you were granted your own?" Snape said with a hint of enjoyment.

Dolohov snorted at that, a slender finger pointing to his battered face. "Some reward, she was. She fights like hell. That's only fun in the beginning, I'll grow tired of her, eventually," he sighed. "Any useful tips, brother? You've broken a witch or two from what I've heard. Besides, from the look of you, yours fights back just as hard."

Snape's nostrils flared, his body stiffening as his eyes grew dark. Could he smell her? He cleared his throat, rising from behind the desk and crossing his arms. "Why should I help you? I have my own to break. I can't be expected to do your dirty work for you."

"You should help," the wizard started, "because it'll help keep your own whore in check. They are quite close, after all."

"Who?" Snape raised a curious eyebrow.

"The Weasley bitch."

Oh gods, not Ginny. She's so young…

"Ah," Snape grinned. "Another Weasley. Am I to be expected to exterminate every ginger wizard or witch that crosses my path?"

"I can think of one that we took care of for you. I still see those green eyes—"

"Enough," Snape's voice was so cold it made her shiver. Dolohov seemed to obey this warning, raising his hands as if he were surrendering.

The wizard fingered his beard, clearing his throat before continuing. "I just figured you have some advice, is all. The beatings don't seem to work. The stupid bitch just takes it and fights harder. I want her broken. Soon."

"I'm sure you'll figure it out," the Headmaster said dismissively. "But… should you need assistance, you can always bring her to me. For extra… tutelage," he smirked.

Dolohov grinned, bowing his head slightly in thanks. They said their goodbyes and the man turned to leave. His hand on the doorknob, Hermione let out a sigh of relief.

The Death Eater chuckled, turning around slowly. "Oh, Severus," he laughed. "It looks like I'll get a chance to witness your infamous punishments first hand."

"Indeed." Snape turned, looking directly at her with such disdain and hatred that she scrambled to her feet, scrambling to the door as her heart pounded. She wanted to shout for joy as she grabbed ahold of the handle, grinning fiercely, she pressed against the door.

No! No…

Snape was on her in an instant.

Oh fuck.

She screamed as he grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her over to his large, ornate desk. She grabbed his wrist with her tiny hands, clawing at him to release her as her feet kicked, a feeble attempt at relieving the pain from her hair.

"No! Stop!" She screamed. "Help! Someone–"

He slapped her with such force that she tasted blood from her split lip. "What was my rule?" She looked at him with tear-stained cheeks, shaking her head as she silently pleaded with him.

"Answer me!" His voice was raw and powerful. He pulled her up, shoving her over his desk, pushing her face down onto the parchment. He allowed a string of saliva to drip from his lips into her ear. She squirmed, desperately trying to dry it with her shoulder as she cried out, but he wouldn't release her. She writhed beneath him, anxiety taking over her actions.

"No one is coming for you, Granger." He growled. He took a moment to calm his breathing, she noticed. "Now we have an audience, my pet. I expect you to behave like a good, proper slut for our guests. Do you understand?" He once again grabbed her injured arm, poking at the letters roughly.

Oh, god. Why did he have to keep pressing the same damn spot? It seared with pain, bringing bile up from her empty belly and forcing her to her knees.

"Stay." He commanded, stepping away from her to release his belt from his trousers. The snap of leather made her clench. She wasn't stupid, she knew what was coming.

"How hard do you do it, Snape? Will you make her bleed?" Dolohov was practically panting, watching the Master at work.

Hermione swallowed her fear as she heard the woosh of leather cutting through the air. Christ, that hurt. A heat bloomed across her bum after the initial shock wore off. She held her breath, waiting for the next blow.

"I prefer not to. I don't want blood on my cock or clothes. Bruising is adequate enough for my taste." His voice was distant and unfeeling. Hermione heard him snap the leather before hearing the belt slice the air again. He hit her other cheek, this time rubbing and squeezing her flesh, deepening the burn. He had spread her apart, displaying her sex and he inhaled deeply.

"Don't tell me the bitch is wet?" Dolohov's voice went up an entire octave as he rose on his tiptoes, as if he hoped he could see her better.

"But of course," Snape purred, running a long finger through her folds. Hermione turned her head to the side and sniveled. This time when the belt hit, she didn't react. She closed her eyes and counted the seconds between each blow. It was easier this way. It was just counting. She could survive that.

SWACK

One… two… three… four… five….

SWACK

One…two… three… four… five…

She continued on, whimpering and stomping her foot on the floor, trying to cope with the raw feeling on her backside. She started flinching more and more, desperately trying to get him to hit a new spot. Every so often, he'd shove one of his thick fingers inside her, probing around and then smearing her juices on her burning bum. She flinched, trying to avoid the sticky feeling of his fingers on her.

"I think that's enough for tonight," Snape said tiredly, pushing her away from him. She sagged in relief against the desk, the tension leaving her body as she allowed her tears to fall.

"Oh come on," Dolohov insisted. "The spell has to have kicked in again." He paused briefly before continuing in a deadly voice, "Fuck her." He seemed annoyed, agitated.

Hermione felt Severus shift behind her, a low growl escaped his lips.

"The bitch is obviously wet enough, I can hear and smell her from over here. Fuck her. And then I'll take my turn. I've been wanting to since the little whore showed up at the Ministry to fight." Dolohov palmed himself above his trousers.

"Ah yes, I forgot you were responsible for marking my new toy. You're lucky you missed her tit— I'd be awfully cross otherwise."

"Let me see 'em. Make ''em bounce for us, Snape. Go on…" Dolohov seemed to be growing anxious. She heard him walk closer, squeezing her eyes closed when she heard his belt jingle as he pulled out his length and began stroking.

"Don't you have your own toy to fuck? Go fuck her and leave me be. I've got work to do." Snape waved his hand in dismissal, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Dolohov started laughing then. Evidently, Snape had looked around at the portraits.

"Are you shy, Severus? Don't want the old headmasters to watch? I can guarantee you at least some of them had students across their desks," his voice rose when he called out directly to them, "didnt you?". He laughed again, shrugging. "They won't care. Besides, how great of a treat to let the mighty Dumbledore watch you take that sweet little pussy over his desk? Merlin knows he never took the opportunity. Do it. And let me have my turn."

Snape had edged closer, reaching out to touch her. His skin was burning hot— scorching. Sweaty palms ran across her skin, and Hermione could feel how the man was trembling. Did he want her that badly?

"Ah yes. There we go. There's no sense fighting the spell, brother. It'll only make everything hurt that much worse. Just give in and find your release. It's supposed to be a gift, not a punishment." Dolohov's voice seemed strained, as if he were holding himself back. Hermione could hear the way his clothing rustled as he stroked himself, small grunts escaping his lips.

She flushed. Burying her head in the crook of her arms as she raised her arms to brace herself against the desk. She felt her muscles contract, her legs twitching. If she got the opportunity to run, she'd take it.

She felt Snape kick her legs apart and she wanted to vomit. Her muscles ached from being held open for so long earlier. Hermione felt his trembling hands clench her waist. The heat that was radiating off his towering body, and the press of his clothed erection made her squeeze her eyes shut in shame. He was hesitating. Just what was this curse he was hit with? What would it make him to do to her?

Please. Please don't. Not with him watching.

"Let me see, Severus," the other man begged.

"Fuck off," Snape growled. His grip on her tightened, bruising her beneath his iron-grip.

"Let me see! I wanna see those eyes… see the fear."

"Fuck off, Dolohov. I can't bloody focus with you here." His breath was ragged as he remained as still as a statue, holding himself rigid against the desk.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Snape pulled his wand and warded it, pulling away from her immodestly without finding his release as with a flourish, flinging himself into his ornate chair as he groaned, doubled over in pain. Hermione hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. She turned, tugging down her covering as she whimpered at her own pain.

"Leave," he said tiredly, slumping deeper into the chair without his usual, intimidating posture. She opened her mouth to speak, to ask him what was wrong, what was happening… Why did he stop Dolohov? Her eyes glanced down, noting the tenting within his trousers still remained. Obviously his… equipment couldn't be blamed.

Her hesitation seemed to anger him. Black eyes burning with such an intense heat, she backed away to avoid getting burned as he rose to his full height, leaning towards her.

" This , Miss Granger," he gestured between the two of them. "This is why you must listen. Now…Get the fuck out!" He screamed, grimacing as he held his stomach.

Hermione ran through the door, sobbing as she burrowed beneath the sheets. Within minutes she had cried herself to sleep, more confused than ever. She didn't notice when the Headmaster pushed open the door to the bedroom and stepped inside.