Inside the Blackest Heart Part 1

The dungeons were always colder than the rest of Hogwarts' vast hallways. This should have been attributed to their underground location. But many believed the temperature difference between the dungeons and the rest of the castle could be attributed to the sole occupant of those dank, dark corridors. A man who oozed coldness on even the most sweltering day. Professor Severus Snape.

To say he was a dark wizard hardly fit the bill. Dark meant there was some light. Severus Snape was completely black in his make-up. He may have served the Order in the fight against Voldemort, but being a spy was a job that had stolen the remnants of his soul. A job that had no redeeming qualities except for a distant hope that it would all be worthwhile. And hope was not in Snape's vocabulary. He had lost that when he joined the deatheaters and realized what they were. Fanatics. Murderers. Zealots, serving an insane Lord. Then when he tried to break away, Albus Dumbledore talked him into remaining, thus killing his final hope that through execution by the Aurors he would at last be free of evil. Instead, he was immersed in it, and like any thing that is marinated, that evil soaked into his being. He dripped it.

Although Snape was deemed a soldier of the Light, his very appearance shunned the light. He was tall and lean, with pale skin that ordinary sunlight would blister as if he were one of the undead. His long black hair hung lank around his shoulders. He possessed black, cold eyes that seemed as if they could see through stone, a hawkish nose that could sniff out a rule -breaking student at fifty paces and a sensuous cruel mouth not made for even the most rudimentary pleasantry. His voice was soft, seductive and hypnotic, and as capable of cutting through an unsuspecting person as viciously as the sharpest blade.

Snape was a professor at Hogwarts, the most hated one of all. His hatred of his life had transmuted to a cruel hatred of all happiness and joy, something that his students evidenced every day of their lives. He extinguished that youthful exuberance whenever he could, with cruel, biting remarks, detentions and unmitigated point taking. He never gave praise. Learning was an end in itself, and as far as he was concerned, the students were supposed to absorb his teachings. They were only doing what they were supposed to do. For the most part, he found them stupid and thick. There was only one student who he could see that had half a brain, the irritating Hermione Granger. She was in her seventh year now, and ready to leave Hogwarts. He would be glad to see her gone.

She was one of the few students who knew he was a spy for the Order, and for some reason was driven to try and get close to him. Obviously, the young woman thought he needed someone with which to commiserate. But he didn't. He was perfectly content to bear his burden alone. He remembered her sitting in the infirmary when he was still broken by the effects of the Cruciatus curse cast on him by Voldemort and unable to protest. She had grasped his hand and cried over him. The silly chit. As if her tears could make any difference. Then he had overheard her defending him against her idiot friends. He didn't need or want defending. He was a murderer, a rapist and a criminal as much as any other deatheater…even if he did serve the side of good. He had a license to be a monster, and he used that license to be just that. He had participated in the murders of innocents. He had tortured and raped countless men and women alike, brutally riding and climaxing in their shuddering, broken bodies during the Dark Revels. He had brewed potions to strengthen and give greater power to the Dark Lord. If he were sorry for anything, it was that he had ever been born.

But Miss Granger couldn't see that he was unredeemable. She thought he must be noble to do what he did. No, he only had to be cold, empty, and devoid of conscience. He wasn't driven by any ideal of saving the wizarding world, it was only his hatred of his Master that made him continue. He wanted to see him dead. The beatings, the whippings and the constant applications of the Cruciatus curse he went through, were simply the normal trimmings of the banquet of evil he feasted on daily. The dribbles of information he fed the Order were of little worth in Snape's estimation. He could never give them enough so he wouldn't have to return to the Dark Lord's presence. Oh, the information saved some lives, but he still took lives…so he gained nothing from his perceived acts of goodness. He still served Voldemort as if the Order didn't exist.

Tonight, as every night, he sat in his office grading papers with a red quill, cursing the stupidity of his students with every stroke. He was forced to deal with first and second year dunderheads as a matter of course, but after that he didn't understand why the students didn't bail, since his course became elective for those who didn't receive high enough marks to proceed to Advanced Potions. They returned again and again to try to pass, when they had neither the brains nor the aptitude for Potions making. And he had to keep teaching them just the same. Even in teaching, he could find no satisfaction. Only Miss Granger had managed to get almost perfect marks, despite his attempts at sabotage. He disliked the muggle-born witch. She was too much like unwelcome sunshine that met his eyes when he came up out of a dark place. She was also pushy and didn't understand what it meant when he told her stay away. She took it as a cry for help. Her mind couldn't wrap around the fact that there were people in this world who coveted their misery. People like him.

Snape viciously slashed a red mark through a thoroughly asinine statement concerning boomslang skin, when there was a knock on the door. He scowled at it. It was after nine. Who in their right mind would disturb him…other than Albus Dumbledore, who took advantage of his Headmaster status to constantly intrude on Snape's solitude. He put the quill down and pinched his nose in exasperation.

"Come in, if you absolutely must," he called. The door opened slowly. Gods, no. Not again.

"Good evening, Professor," said Hermione Granger, walking into the room.

She had taken to stopping by his office after curfew for no good reason, taking advantage of her position as Head Girl. He had requested that she desist, but the Gryffindor witch would not listen. She would find the most idiotic reasons to bother him. All the while he knew she was trying to get him to let her in, to be his 'friend'. What a joke. Women weren't friends. They were vessels. Toys. Their only value was what lay between their thighs, and even that value was reduced once those thighs were breeched.

The Professor's black eyes swept over the robed witch looking at him with wide, amber eyes, her long chestnut hair curling softly around her face. He imagined Miss Granger had not yet been breeched.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?" Snape said irritatedly, feeling like hexing the witch. Maybe then she'd understand that neither she nor her good intentions were wanted here.

"I was patrolling the corridors and thought I'd stop by to see if everything were all right here," she said. Snape rolled his eyes. What could the chit possibly do if things were not all right?

Miss Granger, if there were a problem here, there would be nothing you could do to rectify it. You are a student. Don't let your title go to your head. If there were danger here, you'd run squealing for your Head of House's aid," he sneered at her.

Hermione swelled indignantly.

"That's not so, Professor. I have never run from anything in my life," she shot back.

The dark wizard looked at her consideringly.

"Maybe you haven't been sufficiently frightened, Miss Granger," he said slowly. "How old are you now?"

"Eighteen," she replied. "Last month was my birthday."

The Professor sat back in his chair and looked at her with his cold, black eyes, his thumb and forefinger stroking his chin. Eighteen. A very curious age. Old enough to take a Wizard's Oath as well.

"Miss Granger, why do you come by my office night after night after I've expressly told you not to?" he asked her directly.

Hermione reddened.

"Well, to check up on you, actually. To make sure you're all right…" she faded away at the look on his face.

"To make sure the big, bad Dark Lord hasn't gotten me?" he said, chuckling nastily.

"What could you do if I wasn't all right, Miss Granger?" he asked her, "What could you do to possibly ease my pain? Cry over me? That's no help. Your tears are meaningless. Your concern is meaningless. You could only serve one purpose for me, ever. And in the end, even that would be meaningless."

"What?" Hermione asked, angered that he dismissed her ability to possibly help him so easily

He looked at her, his eyes darkening.

"That answer, Miss Granger, would be the one to make you take off running," he replied.

Hermione gave him a mutinous look.

The Professor scowled at her and said, "Miss Granger, you have erroneously judged me. You come here like I'm some kind of unsung hero, thinking I serve the Order out of some sense of nobility. I impart information to the Order, but they have left me a deatheater, Miss Granger. I have no qualms about what I do, or whom I do it to. I indulge in the same twisted appetites as they do. You see the tortured hero returning to his lair, but you do not see the animal ripping apart innocents and deriving pleasure from it. I am no hero, Miss Granger. I have evil in my heart. I would do evil to you too. Ruin your innocence simply because your pain would give me pleasure. You need to realize that and run back into the light."

Snape leaned forward in his chair, his black eyes glittering at the young witch.

"Every time you enter my domicile, you get a little bit closer to my darkness. I am of such value to the Order, even harming you would not result in my punishment. You are a lucky young woman in that I do not ruin you now. I do not give warnings often Miss Granger. This is the last time I will tell you to leave me alone, stay out of the dungeons after curfew. I am not redeemable. I am not the least bit noble. If you return to me again, it will mean only one thing to me, and that is you want to see the deatheater side of me. And I will show it to you, Miss Granger. For the last time, leave me alone. I do not need your pity or sympathy. If you return to these dungeons alone, you will be the one in need of pity and sympathy. You have been warned. Fifty points from Gryffindor. Now go!"

"I want to know the purpose I could serve," Hermione said stubbornly.

The Potions Master considered her.

"I will not say it in the open air. Come here if you would know, but remember, it was you who wanted to know," he said.

Hermione hesitated as the Potions Master sat in his chair, challenge in his black eyes. Taking a deep breath, she walked around his desk and faced him. His black eyes flicked over her, coming to rest on her face.

"You are brave, I give you that," he said. Then he stood, towering over her. She hadn't realized how much taller he was than her. He placed two fingers on his temple, and two on hers, then muttered an incantation.

Suddenly Hermione saw an image of the Professor bending her over a desk and twisting her arm behind her back painfully. He lifted her robes and her skirt, and pulled down her knickers. With one hand he opened his robe, unfastened his pants, took out his tool and entered her, thrusting into her brutally.

Hermione pulled back from him, the image disappearing when his fingers left her temple. She stared up at him, her eyes wide. His cold expression didn't change as he looked down at her.

"Now you know what to expect if you return here after curfew alone," he said, sitting back down in his chair and pulling his papers back toward him, picking up the red quill as if nothing had transpired. As if he hadn't shown her an image of him raping her.

Hermione backed away from his desk, her eyes still wide with horror. Snape looked up at her calmly. He liked the horrified look in her eyes. Now she had some idea of who he really was and would keep a respectful distance or face the consequences.

"Why are you still here, Miss Granger?" he said, "Want to lose more points? Or something other than points?"

Hermione reddened, and hurriedly left the room.

"Stupid chit," Snape muttered to himself, starting back on his papers.

Hermione hurried through the dungeon corridors, anxious for the light and safety of the Main Hall. Professor Snape had just threatened to rape her if she returned to his Potions room alone again after curfew. How could he do that? He was a Hogwarts teacher, and an Order of the Phoenix member!

"And a deatheater,"a small voice in her head said.

Hermione had always believed that the Professor merely acted like a deatheater to keep his cover, not that he embraced being one, or took pleasure in it. She had believed that he did what he did in order to save the wizarding world from Voldemort, exposing his secrets and weakness so they could be used against the insane Dark Lord. But from what he told her tonight, that wasn't so. He was a truly evil wizard and one that would gladly hurt her for his own pleasure. So why did she feel all achy inside?

Hermione hurried up the moving stairwells as quickly as she could, anxious to return to Gryffindor tower and the privacy of her room, so she could think about what happened tonight at length, and decide whether or not she should tell anyone of the Professor's threat. Though he did not actually threaten her, he showed her, which was much worse actually.

She arrived at the fat lady's portrait, which was dozing.

"Fizzy Whizzbangs," she said to the sleeping picture. The fat lady let out a raucous snore and continued sawing wood. Hermione frowned and knocked on the frame loudly.

The fat lady snorted and woke up suddenly.

"Well, what is it?" she asked snappishly.

"I want to get in," Hermione said to her, frowning.

"Well, give me the password you silly girl," the portrait said irritably.

Hermione huffed and considered throwing a turpentine spell on the picture, but got control of herself and repeated the password.

Scowling, the portrait swung in, giving Hermione access to the common room entrance. She sped through it, and the empty common room, shot up the stairs and entered the Head Girl's room. She fell on the bed.

Hermione was a brilliant witch. She had gone through Hogwarts with top marks in most of her classes, Potions being the exception. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get perfect marks. She suspected the Potions Master of purposely sabotaging her grades and had quite a few detentions under her belt for calling him on it year after year. She had always thought him a bastard, but when she found out in her fourth year that he was actually a spy, and suffered great punishments to provide information to the Order, she began to form an image of him in her mind as a tragic hero. A lonely one, in need of someone to care for him.

And that's how this infatuation began. Then she had witnessed something no one else knew about. She had been out on the Hogwarts grounds earlier in the year, at night, under Harry's invisibility cloak, on her way to collect an herb for a potion she was illegally brewing. The herb grew on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and could only be harvested at night. She was drawing near the forest, when she heard the sounds of a scuffle. She ran toward the noise, which was coming from within the Forbidden Forest. She ran through the trees, still under the cloak, and saw in a clearing, three men fighting with short blades. All three were deatheaters.

It was two against one. But the one deatheater was very skilled and deadly. He was winning. He sliced one deatheater straight up the middle, spilling his insides on the ground. The other deatheater turned to run, and he flung the short sword at him, striking him in the back, taking him down. He walked over to the fallen deatheater, put his foot on him and pulled out the blade. He lowered his hood and pulled off his mask. It was Professor Snape. He took out his wand and transformed both of the bodies into stones, which he then picked up and threw deep into the forest. Hermione sat pressed against the tree as he walked past, heading for the castle. He had just walked past her when he stopped and looked around suspiciously, sniffing. She held her breath, hoping he didn't smell her jasmine-scented shampoo. He shook his head, and kept going, returning to the castle. Watching him kill two men so easily and without remorse, did something to Hermione's insides. He was deadly and dangerous. A hero, and brilliant. A wizard with a secret identity, living on the edge of death at every moment. Thinking of the Professor this way made her feel hot all over. And that's how she had stayed.

Hermione was still a virgin. There had been some hot and heavy petting with Victor when she went to visit him one summer, but she ended up denying him. He was exotic and sexy but she wasn't ready. He pressured her too hard, and she balked, breaking up with him. Yet, he had awakened urges in her that never left, urges that somehow had transferred to the person of Professor Severus Snape. Yes, he was much older than she was, but her father was much older than her mother, and they got on fine. Age wasn't an issue, now. She was the age of consent.

Hermione was brilliant in the ways of books, logic and so forth. But in the ways of men and women, she lacked any working knowledge. If she had any, she would have realized by observation that the Professor was not the kind of man to want for a lover. He was dark, mysterious, dangerous, with a voice like silk and a command that held other in thrall, but he was cold and cruel as well. And this was no act. He had no capacity to love a woman, and if he took Hermione, it would mean little to him other than a momentary animalistic pleasure. Hermione was of the mind that if she gave the dark wizard her most precious gift, it would transform him into the perfect love of her life. She was so naive.

The young witch had no idea how to reach the Professor. He was so cold and unapproachable as far as telling him she was attracted to him. He would probably laugh at her, then insult her horribly. She thought about sending him love notes, but thought that would be too childish. She decided to try to get to know him better, try to be a friend first, and then maybe he would see her as a young woman who could be something more. That's what she had been working on these past couple of months, hoping for some kind of breakthrough before graduation. Showing up at his office every night, trying to make small talk. But he was always mean, always dismissive. But she was so stuck on her romanticized version of the "unsung hero who needed to be loved," she ignored his snarkiness, and continued to visit him. Tonight, he had shown her his true self, and what he was capable of.

The logical part of Hermione told her that the Professor was bad news, and to heed his warning, stay away from the man, get him out of her mind. He would hurt her both physically and emotionally. But there was that part of Hermione that brought the dark wizard to her in dreams, and he was just as cold in her dreams, but he was passionate with her, and met a dark need she had to be dominated. For now, the logical part was winning out. But how long would that last?

Potions was her favorite class, despite her grades. She enjoyed brewing, measuring and chopping. Most of all she enjoyed watching the Professor dominate the classroom, lecturing in his smooth voice, sweeping through the class with a billow of robes, creating elixirs with precision, his long fingered hands gentle and precise when handling the tools of his trade. She especially loved his invasion of her personal space. The Professor knew how to intimidate students, but in the case of an infatuated student, intimidation became titillation. When he would swoop behind her, standing mere inches from her body, looking over her shoulder so closely she could feel his heat, she got an intense feeling between her legs that was absolutely delicious. She could almost groan when he moved on to the next student. There were times she wanted to back up into him, and rub herself against him like a cat. She could only imagine his reaction to that. By the time she had served her ninety-nine years worth of detentions he would be long gone.

She also liked when he got snarky with her, yelled at her and ordered her to do things. There was a time she hated that, but after seeing him in the Forbidden Forest, that changed quickly. The sharp note of expectant compliance in his voice made her legs turned to rubber. The cruelty of his comments now made her wet. Hermione knew there was something very wrong with this and looked it up, finding that she was showing signs of being a masochist. She rationalized this, of course, deciding that she was like this because she dominated all of her classes, every argument, bossed Harry, Ron and other housemates around constantly, and always found herself in charge of things, which was very draining, and she sometimes wished it wasn't that way. She sometimes wished someone else had control. Professor Snape was in actuality, the only one who pushed her around at Hogwarts. Sometimes she pushed back, and it resulted in even more dominance on his part, with him taking house points and assigning her detentions, forcing her to concede in the end.

Hermione decided that she wouldn't tell anyone about what happened between her and the Professor tonight, and to stay away from his office after curfew, though she still had to do her rounds. She wasn't sure if he had shown her that image to frighten her, or because he actually meant it, but felt the wisest course of action would be to treat it as a serious threat. She would just have to get over him. Her lusting after him was ridiculous anyway.

That decided, the young witch undressed for bed, burying herself deep under the covers, and wiping all thoughts of the Potions Master from her conscious mind, occupying it instead with thoughts of Arithmancy problems. She drifted off to sleep.

The conscious mind can be controlled, but there was little one could do with the subconscious. While Hermione slept, the image of the Professor bending her over the desk and riding her brutally came back to her, but in this dream version, she was willing and loving what he was doing to her. She writhed and gasped in her sleep, never waking, even when she climaxed.

Finished marking his students' usual disappointing parchments, Snape retired to his bedroom. He divestoed his clothing and dropped into his bed, lying on top of the sheets naked. His mind idly turned to Hermione and the image he had sent her. He had to admit it had been highly arousing and he wondered if she would dare return after seeing the image of him shagging her. Since she knew what he intended to do to her if she did return, then it would no longer be rape as far as he was concerned. He swelled.

Hmm. Shagging Hermione Granger. The school darling. The Princess of Gryffindor. Yes, he could definitely do that. He'd wrap his fists in her hair and ride her like a hippogriff until her orifice was so worked over it would swell shut. She didn't know who she was dealing with, stupid girl. He stroked himself as he thought about it. But he'd only do it if she came back. He didn't think she would. She had looked scared, and he had meant to scare her. She was irritating. She didn't listen. For someone so brilliant, she was thick as lead.

He could imagine what Dumbledore would say to him if he did shag the Gryffindor witch.

"Severus, you must control yourself. What you've done to Miss Granger is atrocious. She is a student, even if she is of the age of consent, and you brutalized her. Still, you are too valuable to the Order for this to get out."

Then the old dodger would cover it up. He'd covered up other things. Severus snorted. People thought of Albus Dumbledore as a kindly old Headmaster, but the white-haired old coot could be just as vicious and manipulative as Voldemort when he wanted something done. No one had ever seen Albus' methods of interrogation except him. Usually what was left of the interrogated could be put in a matchbox with room left over. It was all bullshit. In all actuality Snape was caught between two Dark Lords. One was just better at hiding it. Dumbledore wouldn't take the seat of the Minister of Magic, because he could wield his power any way he wanted if he remained as he was. And he didn't hesitate to use his power to destroy his enemies. Albus Dumbledore was a dangerous wizard.

Severus scowled. The Headmaster used him without conscience, ordering him to give Voldemort false information that didn't pan out, which resulted in terrible punishments for the Potions Master. Then Pomfrey would bind him back together for the next round of torture. You would think the Headmaster would make some effort to at least make the information appear true, but no, he left the Potions Master high and dry every time…promising to do more next time, and never did. At least Voldemort came through on his promises some of the time. Snape suspected Dumbledore did it on purpose to punish him while he served the Order, some twisted sense of justice, payment for the crimes he committed while being undercover. Basically, it was the old man appeasing his own conscience concerning sending Snape out to murder, mutilate and rape in the name of the Order. The bastard.

Severus had deflated when his thoughts turned to Dumbledore. So he turned his thoughts to the last Dark Revel he attended, when a selection of muggle women had been presented for their use. He and Lucius had shared one of the women, a buxom young redhead with beautiful green eyes. He hardened again as he thought about it. She had been a real screamer. Lucius had taken her mouth while he buggered her. Lucius came first, and when he withdrew, the woman brokenly pleaded with Snape between her screams of pain, to kill her rather than hand her over to the long line of deatheaters waiting their turn. He promised he would if she would just stop talking to him, but he didn't. Her wide green eyes followed him when he came, slid out of her and backed away, to be replaced by another two deatheaters. He watched them rape her for a while, his eyes cold, his spirit unmoved. He was numb to it. He felt nothing when he later saw her battered, bloody and come-stained body left abandoned on the mattress staring lifelessly at something beyond this world while deatheaters walked around her like she was a discarded piece of trash. This was the hero's life Dumbledore arranged for him and he immersed himself in it totally. The muggle was just another casualty of the struggle between light and dark.

His thoughts turned back to Hermione. He was becoming more and more interested in doing her. Not just because all of Hogwarts would be in an uproar if it got out, but she was such a naïve little chit, probably full of romantic ideas that he could brutally crush right out of her. She lived the kind of charmed life he hated, a young witch adored by almost everyone and everyone constantly piling the compliments on, how bright Miss Granger was, how accomplished Miss Granger was, how focused and studious Miss Granger was. How very chaste she was. What a bright future was in front of her after graduation. He'd like to be the one to break her chastity, actually break her before she set out in the world, show her the truth, show her there is no such thing as a charmed life, that there was always something ugly swimming just beneath the surface. For her, he could be that hidden ugliness. Plus, brutalizing Hermione would be a good, hard shot at Dumbledore. He had plans for the witch in the Order. He could get some revenge on the old man, taking his prized student and stealing away all her innocence, hardening her before Albus could begin to mold her into the obedient creature he wanted. Yes, he liked that notion…he liked it very much.

For a moment he idly thought he might abduct Hermione and take her to a Dark Revel, but they would kill her for certain. Watching Miss Granger get raped to death by forty or more deatheaters might be interesting, but he'd probably have to kill Harry Potter when the boy found out what he'd done. And Potter was at the center of this whole mess, so he was an untouchable too. Albus would never stand for it, and would definitely try to kill him if he harmed a single hair on the boy's head.

But Hermione at a Dark Revel? A muggle-born witch that bested all their pureblood children in their studies? The deatheaters would line up for her for sure. She'd have dick busting out of her head, they'd ride her so hard for her audacity. Snape stroked his hard organ again at the image of Hermione being gang-raped, every orifice filled with meat, her hands stroking the tools of those waiting their turn to get at her, as other deatheaters took turns ejaculating on her. Shit, that was pretty hot. He fisted his organ and worked it furiously, Hermione's defilement his focus, and in a short while he groaned and spurted strongly, his release flying everywhere. He lay there for a while, letting himself calm down. That had been good. He scourgified himself.

Yes. He'd do her for the hell of it. He just had to find a way to get her back in his office after curfew. And he'd make sure Albus knew he'd done her. Maybe give him a pensieve of it. Now there was an idea. Send the old codger an anonymous pensieve with his ideal Gryffindor Princess getting thoroughly reamed by the Potions Master in every orifice. Why not? Maybe the old fuck would have a heart attack. Would serve the Headmaster right for all the shit he put him through.

Severus smiled at this pleasant thought, and it was with this thought dancing through his mind, he fell asleep.

Hermione had patrolled all the upper floors. It was time for her to check the dungeons. Although she had no intention on stopping at Professor Snape's office, she was experiencing a bit of anxiety at entering the dark halls. She walked down the stairs that led to the Main Hall and walked across it to the corridor that led down to the dungeon area. She took a deep breath. All she had to do was check the niches and hidden rooms all the way down to the Slytherin common room entrance, then come back and recheck them on her way out. There shouldn't be a problem.

Hermione descended the stairs and walked swiftly through the dungeon corridors, stopping and shining her wand into the recesses and niches. She felt the amount of them had doubled. She pressed the pattern to open a hidden room, and shined the light. Two sets of shocked eyes met hers.

"All right, get dressed and get out here," she said to the couple, who had been in the process of disrobing for a quick hot shag. She recognized the young man, a Slytherin. She wasn't familiar with the girl. She waited outside the room, tapping her foot impatiently, her arms crossed. She had hoped she wouldn't catch anyone down here. Finally the couple came out.

The young woman's wide blue eyes met Hermione's.

"We…we didn't do anything you know," she said to the Head Girl.

"I know," Hermione responded, snorting a bit, "Coitus Interruptus."

The girl blushed.

The young man looked at Hermione with a bit of a sneer.

"Philip Urnston, right?" Hermione said.

"Yes," he hissed at her.

"Twenty-five points from Slytherin and a detention with Filch to be served Wednesday," Hermione said.

"Twenty-five points! You're just doing that because you're a Gryffindor!" the young man accused.

"Would you like to try for fifty?" Hermione said sweetly.

The young man's handsome face went red with rage.

"No," he said sullenly.

"Good, now go back to your house," Hermione directed. Philip turned and stalked away. Hermione turned to the young woman.

"Your name and house?"

"Helga Bedwin, Hufflepuff House," she said in a small voice.

"All right. Fifteen points from Hufflepuff and two nights detention with Filch on Thursday and Friday," Hermione said.

"But I'm supposed to go to Hogsmeade Friday night," the young woman complained.

"That's not my problem," Hermione replied.

The girl frowned at her.

"Maybe if you had a boyfriend of your own to cuddle up to instead of books, you'd be more understanding," Helga spat at her.

"Twenty points from Hufflepuff," Hermione said smugly, "now go back to your house."

Thoroughly pissed at the additional point loss, the young woman walked away.

Hermione sighed and continued her patrol. What the Hufflepuff said bothered her a little. That's how everyone seemed to perceive her…as a cold bookworm who was jealous of other students' relationships. She was just doing her job.

She checked the rest of the rooms and niches. Thankfully there were no more errant students. She walked down to the Slytherin House entrance and her eyes swept the area. No one was there. She turned to head back and suddenly Professor Snape appeared in front of her, his black eyes glittering.

Hermione made to walk around him. He stepped in front of her, blocking her way. She walked to the other side. Again the Potions Master blocked her way. She looked up at him, a coldness growing in her belly. She gripped her wand tighter. She would hex him if she had to.

The Potions Master just looked at her.

"Accio wand!" he said suddenly. Hermione's wand flew out of her hand and neatly into his.

"Miss Granger. In the dungeon area," he purred at her.

"I have every right to be here. I am on patrol and this was my last area to check," she said, sounding braver than she really was, "now please return my wand so I can go."

The Potions Master smirked at her.

"You didn't stop by to see me tonight," he said silkily.

Hermione looked at him as if he were stark, raving nutters.

"After what you showed me yesterday, did you really think I would, Professor?" she replied, amazed he would even suggest she'd come to his office when he clearly showed her what he would do to her.

"Possibly," he said, his dark eyes meeting hers suggestively.

"I have no desire to be raped by you, Professor," Hermione said, still trying to slip by him only to be blocked by his body.

"If you came willingly, Miss Granger, it wouldn't be rape," he said, his voice low now.

Hermione felt a twinge of desire in her belly despite herself. Snape's eyes flickered a bit. His suspicion had been right. He had thought it over and wondered if Hermione stopping by so often might mean something else. By that little flash of desire in her eyes, he was sure it meant something else. Someone had a crush on the resident deatheater.

"You want me to shag you," he said, moving closer to her.

"What?" Hermione gasped, stepping back from the Potions Master, shocked at what he said, "I don't know what Potions you've been drinking but…"

"Don't try to lie to me, Miss Granger. Remember, I am a Legilimens. Do you want me to go inside your mind and see what you've been dreaming about lately?" he hissed at her.

"You have no right to do that. Now, you give me my wand and let me pass or I will report you to the Headmaster for sexual harassment," she said bravely.

"Do you really think he'll do anything to me, Miss Granger? I am his only link to Voldemort. He can't dismiss me," he said, moving toward her again, forcing her to back up until her back hit the wall. She was breathing hard now as he stood mere inches from her. She could feel his heat, and was mortified to find she was getting excited.

"Come to my office, Miss Granger," the Potions Master whispered.

"No," she whispered back, her voice seeming to fade out on her.

"You want to," he whispered hypnotically, his silky voice slipping over the words persuasively.

"No I don't. You want me to so you can do to me what you did in that image," she snapped at him, her voice returning.

"Yes I do," he said, "but I won't twist your arm. I don't think I'll have to."

Hermione's belly flipped completely over.

The Potions Master suddenly stepped forward, pressing his body against her. His entire body was so hard, including the bulge that pressed against her belly.

"Get off me," Hermione said weakly, blood pounding in her head. She felt herself getting wet and was horrified. This couldn't be happening.

"I could take you by force. I wouldn't be punished for it," Snape said, pressing against her harder. "You'd like it just the same once I got started."

Let me go, Professor," Hermione said again, feeling a throbbing ache growing between her legs.

Suddenly the Potions Master slammed his palms to the wall violently on either side of her.

"I don't think I will, Miss Granger," he said, snarling slightly, his black eyes starting to grow hard. "I think I'm going to do you right here."

Hermione was in trouble.

"Ah, there you are Severus!" A bright voice called out. The Potions Master stepped away from Hermione quickly.

Albus Dumbledore stood in the corridor, his blue eyes twinkling from behind his half-moon glasses.

"And Miss Granger!" he said, sounding pleased, "sharing patrols tonight?"

"Actually," Hermione said, snatching her wand out of the Potion Master's hand, who glowered at her darkly, "I was just about to return to my house, Headmaster. I am finished with my rounds tonight. I was just telling the Professor about the twenty-five points I took from Slytherin House."

"I see," said the Headmaster nodding. "Well, don't let me stop you, Miss Granger."

Hermione sidled past the Potions Master, whose eyes glittered after her.

"Good night, sir," she said to the Headmaster, noticeably ignoring Snape. She walked up the hall swiftly and soon disappeared from sight.

Dumbledore looked at Snape. The twinkle died in his eyes immediately, and he frowned the dark wizard.

"What do you think you were doing, Severus?" the Headmaster hissed at him, his eyes dangerous.

"Speaking to Miss Granger on a personal matter, sir," Snape replied, walking toward his office, passing the Headmaster. Albus reached out and grasped the Potions Master's arm with surprising strength, stopping him cold.

"You leave that child alone. She doesn't know anything about what you are capable of," the Headmaster said darkly.

"That 'child' is eighteen years old, and fair game," Snape replied, wrenching his arm free of Dumbledore's grip. "Besides, she wants me. I'm not about to turn down fresh trim, Albus. Not even for you."

The Headmaster scowled at him.

"She didn't seem willing, Severus. Not from where I was standing," Albus said.

"You couldn't smell her," Snape responded, "I could. I have the nose for it."

"I'm warning you, Severus," the Headmaster said. The look in his eyes was hard and cold.

"Warning me what? You're going to dismiss me for shagging a woman who wants it? I don't think so, Headmaster. You know you need me. She might be your "Princess' but I guarantee she's going to be my slut before graduation," Snape growled, his own black eyes hard now.

The two wizards faced off, staring at each other. Finally Albus sighed. He knew he couldn't stop the Potions Master if Hermione was what he wanted. He couldn't punish him either. He was the only solid link to Voldemort. The Headmaster's eyes turned a bit pleading.

"Just don't hurt her, Severus. She's young, inexperienced," Albus said softly.

The Potions Master walked to his office door and stopped. He looked back at the Headmaster.

"Albus, you know pain is my middle name," he said silkily, "but she'll survive me, I think."

The Potions Master walked into his office and closed the door.

Albus stood there a minute and shook his head.

"What a monster I've created," he said sadly, walking back toward the Main Hall.

A/N: Thanks for reading.