WARNING! This is an extremely dark, sexually deviant Het/Slash fic. HG/HP/SS. Snape exacts a very violent, brutal and sexually graphic revenge on Harry and Hermione before forgiving them for sending him to Azkaban. Instances of torture, rape, exchanges of bodily fluids and other non-consensual acts feature. This story is NOT for minors, the squeamish, prudish or individuals with delicate sensibilities. Bits of sick, dark humor throughout. My objective at the time was to "clear my head" of cobwebs and try to write the darkest, most disturbing, twisted, sex-filled story I could manage. It's sort of self-inflicted shock therapy This fic is what came of that exercise. It certainly cleared my head. But heed the warnings and enjoy... if you can.

A/N: This story has been voluntarily trimmed because of the content. To read REMORSE in entirety, follow the directions at the end of this chapter.


Remorse

Harry Potter and Hermione Granger walked through a street bordered by dilapidated brick buildings. The setting was depressing to say the least. A dog barked as the wind shuffled bits of discarded paper up the street. The stink of a nearby river filled their nostrils.

"He lives here?" Harry asked Hermione.

Hermione nodded as she looked at the slip of parchment in her hand.

It had been two years since Albus Dumbledore was restored by a Horcrux he'd hidden in his Phoenix Fawkes, but only after Harry Potter had killed Voldemort, their meeting facilitated by Severus Snape. Albus had such a reverence for life, that he felt anytime it was taken, regardless of the circumstances . . . it was murder. Each time he killed for the Greater Good, his soul was torn, so he had the ability to create a Horcrux because committing a murder was a requirement in order to fragment a soul. Albus' death at Snape's hand was part of an elaborate ruse to strengthen the Dark Lord's faith in the Potions master so Severus could orchestrate the evil tyrant's demise.

Snape managed to do this, but not before spending a year in Azkaban after being publicly flogged for his presumed treachery. He was also very badly treated in the prison, raped and brutalized by the Azkaban guards. Several hours after Voldemort's death, Albus Dumbledore appeared at Hogwarts, whole and strong, shocking everyone and expecting Severus to only have been imprisoned for a few hours, collected with the other Death Eaters. The old wizard was horrified to find out Snape had been caught over a year ago and was in Azkaban.

It wasn't supposed to work that way. He was supposed to give himself up with the rest of the Death Eaters and Albus was to retrieve him.

Snape was released and the Ministry tried to make him a hero after the fact, the story coming out for all to know . . . but Snape refused the Order of Merlin medal they wanted to give him, and disappeared from the public view.

Harry and Hermione had been the ones to capture Snape, Harry Crucioing the wizard to the point of death before Hermione stopped him. She had stood by and let him do it, her hatred for the Potions master stronger than her own humanity. It was only because she wanted to see him put on trial and punished that she didn't let Harry kill him.

Snape had tried to tell them things weren't as they seemed, but neither Hermione nor Harry was willing to listen. They tormented the wizard to the brink of death, then turned him over to the Aurors who exacted their own revenge.

When he was put on trial, the wizard's appearance was horrible. He was bruised and beaten, but refused to speak on his own behalf. Voldemort was still alive and Snape couldn't tell anything that could ruin the plot.

He was taken out and tied between two posts in front of the Ministry building, and with a cheering audience of thousands, cursing, spitting and throwing things at him, was publicly scourged. Everyone was disappointed however, because the wizard didn't scream once. Snape was used to such treatment.

When Albus freed Snape, he offered him his old position back, but the wizard refused, saying he'd had enough of Hogwarts, dunderheads and people in general. Albus gave him a generous pension, and the Ministry also issued him a stipend that he would receive for the rest of his life. Snape retired to his home at Spinner's End, a recluse.

Harry and Hermione had been absolutely horrified to learn the truth about the Potions master concerning his role in the destruction of Voldemort. It was Snape who surreptiously left the clues where the Horcruxes could be found and who created the special Port Key that took Harry into Voldemort's presence so he could kill the surprised despot.

At risk to his own life, Snape had turned Voldemort himself into a living Port Key destination and placed the charmed ring behind the last Horcrux. When Harry destroyed it, he saw the ring. The moment Harry picked it up, he was transported to Voldemort's presence. The despot had been asleep in his bed when a startled Harry arrived in his bedroom and when he realized he was looking on the sleeping form of Voldemort, cast the Killing Curse on him, then beating his head in with a heavy statue of a serpent to insure he was dead.

Full of guilt, Harry and Hermione worked on the Headmaster for several months, trying to find out where Snape was. Finally, Albus relented, telling them he lived at Spinner's End, but would most likely refuse to see them. He gave them the address reluctantly. The wizard didn't see any way the pair could make this up to the wizard and tried to dissuade them by telling them exactly what the former Potions master suffered while in Azkaban.

Hermione cried buckets as she heard how he was brutalized, and Harry's face was pale with horror. They had brought this on him. They didn't want to hear anything the wizard had to say. They believed Snape had killed the most wonderful wizard Hogwarts had ever known and vengeance was the only voice they hearkened.

Now, they walked up Spinner's end, their footsteps echoing on the cobbles as they passed abandoned and boarded up houses. To say the area was depressing was an understatement. The very last house was occupied. A dim light shined through the curtains in a downstairs room.

"This is it," Hermione whispered to Harry.

Witch and wizard both stood there, looking at the sad little house, unsure of what they would say to the wizard who they brought even more pain to.

"Come on, Hermione," Harry said, walking up to the door, shadowed by a nervous Hermione. Drawing a deep breath, Harry knocked.

It opened rather quickly, but just a crack.

"Who is it?" a silken voice hissed through the opening.

"Professor, it's Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. We want to talk to you," Harry said loudly.

There was a moment of silence, then the door widened.

"Come in," the voice said.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, and each instinctively drew their wands, but held them at their sides. They didn't know if Snape were going to attack them. They really couldn't blame him if he did. Slowly, Harry led the way in, Hermione so close she was stepping on his robes.

They didn't see Snape. He appeared from behind the door when they entered fully, closing it suddenly behind them. Both spun and faced him.

Professor Snape looked much as he did at Hogwarts, except that his lank black hair had grown longer and now fell over his shoulders. He had the same sallow skin, deep dark eyes, hooked nose and cruel mouth. Actually he seemed even paler than before, thin blue veins visible at his temple. He stared at the couple for a moment, then oddly . . . smirked, before walking past them with his trademark billow of robes.

They were in a tiny sitting room. It felt like a cell and the walls were covered in leather-bound books. A ragged sofa, armchair and table were grouped together under a candle lamp hung from the ceiling that cast a dim light. The air was close and rather stale.

"I was wondering when you two would show up," Severus said softly, sitting in the armchair and gesturing them to the sofa.

Harry and Hermione both walked over and sat down, Hermione perched on the edge of it. They put their wands into their robe pockets, Hermione clasping her hands together in her lap as she looked at the wizard.

"You were expecting us, Professor?" Hermione asked.

Snape leveled his eyes on the witch. She was twenty now and her hair was curly, rather than the bushy locks he remembered. He picked up a glass of amber liquid and took a sip before answering her, his long pale fingers curled around the glass. Hermione remembered how dexterous and sure those fingers had been when engaged in brewing. The witch had for a short time, lusted after the dour wizard. But that changed once he killed Dumbledore. Snape put the glass down.

"Of course I expected you. You are both Gryffindors. I knew the guilt you both felt at causing my incarceration would drive you to seek me out sooner or later. And as brave as Gryffindors are purported to be, I knew neither of you could face me alone . . . and so, would visit me together in an attempt to ease your consciences and beg my forgiveness," the wizard crooned.

"We didn't know, Professor," Harry said earnestly. "If only you had told us . . . "

"Told you, Potter?" Snape said, his voice harsh. "When was I to tell you? Between blasts of the Cruciatus curse? Or maybe between lashes when I was put on display in front of the Ministry?"

"But you didn't say a word to defend yourself, Professor . . . even after you were arrested. Even when you were on trial," Hermione countered.

Snape looked at her as if she were an idiot. As far as he was concerned, she was.

"If I had said anything, Miss Granger, then all Albus and I had planned would have come to nothing. Voldemort would have known there was a plot against him. I had to keep my silence," the pale wizard said.

Harry's eyes shifted toward the glass of Firewhisky and he swallowed reflexively. He could use a shot of something. Snape's eyes glittered at him.

"We're sorry, Professor," Harry said lamely. Sorry was not enough in this case, and he knew it. They had caused the Professor more pain for less reason than anyone else in his life, including the Dark Lord.

"Yes, we're sorry," Hermione echoed.

Snape looked at them.

"And you believe saying 'I'm sorry' is enough?" the wizard asked the two, his face sober.

"What else can we do, Professor? If there is any way we can make this up to you, just tell us. We're willing to do anything," Harry said.

Snape's eyes narrowed and flicked from Harry to Hermione then back again.

"Your words are lies as always, Mr. Potter. You say 'anything' without conviction, or meaning. Empty echoes of conscience. The same goes for you, Miss Granger. You too offer me empty words," he said with a sneer.

Harry felt himself heating up. He always did his best to keep his word.

"They are not empty echoes of conscience. I mean it, Professor. I feel terrible about what happened to you because of me and I would do anything to make it up to you," he declared.

"As would I," Hermione added, frowning. She was also a witch of her word.

Suddenly, strong magic swirled around the both of them. They had such intent behind their words, they both invoked a Wizard's Oath. They were bound to their words now.

Snape felt the magic and looked at the two of them, shaking his head slowly.

"Only Gryffindors would bind themselves to such a stupid sentiment," he said, a slow, rather nasty smile playing across his pale face. "Now you are both obligated to fulfill your promise of doing anything to make up for your error. You cannot leave my presence until you've 'made it up to me.'"

Hermione's stomach began to knot up as she met his eyes. Harry stood up and tried to walk to the front door, and found he couldn't do it. He looked at Hermione, his eyes round.

"I can't leave, Hermione," he said to her.

Hermione stood up and found she was in a similar situation.

Snape smirked at them, then waved his hand lazily.

"Accio wands," he said. Both Harry and Hermione's wands flew out of their pockets and neatly into the wizard's hands.

"Hey, give those back!" Harry cried.

Snape smirked at him, depositing the wands in his own robes pocket.

"They will be returned to you, Mr. Potter, when you've both made up for your crimes against me," the wizard purred. "That is why you both came here, is it not?"

Both Hermione and Harry sat back down.

"Yes," they said together.

Snape looked at the pair, tapping the tips of his fingers together.

"When I was in Azkaban, I often thought about the two of you . . . how I would like to reward you for my flogging and incarceration, not to mention being almost Crucio'd to death by you Mr. Potter, while you watched without saying a word, Miss Granger. I was particularly surprised at your venom, witch, considering what a bleeding heart you normally are. I imagine I didn't even rate the respect a house elf deserved in your eyes," he purred.

"I particularly thought about you, Harry," the wizard said, shifting to using Harry's first name. "When the Azkaban guards were having their way with me. It was quite humiliating . . . but, the mind is a marvelous thing and will twist a thousand different ways in order to help the body survive the horrors it faces. So after weeks and months of such treatment I developed a taste for brutalization in order to keep my sanity. It worked until I was freed. I never reported the guards. I plan to seek them each out . . . in time and show them how much I appreciated them broadening my . . . horizons."

Snape picked up his glass of Firewhisky and finished it, Hermione and Harry looking at him as if mesmerized. Snape continued.

"But I knew you two would come to me. I wouldn't have to seek you out. Your own guilt would bring you . . . and bind you to an unnamed promise to me. Gryffindors are so predictable," he purred, his fingers caressing the empty glass sensuously for a moment.

"I know your orientation, Mr. Potter," Snape said to him. "You like cock. You always have."

Harry colored. He had did his best to hide he was gay and keep his trysts secret. Of course, Hermione knew. It didn't matter to her. Harry was her friend.

Snape's black eyes shifted to Hermione.

"And you used to twiddle in your twat while breathing my name, Miss Granger," he said to her. "Oh, I knew."

Now it was Hermione's turn to flush. Neither could say a word as Snape continued.

"I haven't touched a woman since before I 'killed' Albus. I haven't touched a man since Azkaban. Yes, eventually I too succumbed to shagging men in an effort to show myself I still had some manhood left. I was forced to be a bottom by the guards . . . but I assure you that is not my natural inclination . . . "

The wizard's voice died away for a moment as he looked at Harry and Hermione.

"I assume you are both not too dense to realize where I am going with this," he purred.

Both Harry and Hermione looked at him, but didn't respond. Yes, they did know. Snape wanted sexual payback and because of the oath they inadvertently took, they knew protesting would do no good. This was Severus Snape. He didn't have a drop of mercy in his pale body.

"I am going to get my due from the both of you," the wizard said smoothly. "An inch at a time. By the time you leave Spinner's End, I will be satisfied and both of you, absolved."

Snape stood up and waved his hand at the candle lamp. All but one candle flickered out. He turned and walked to the bottom of the stairs, then looked back at Harry and Hermione.

"Follow me," he ordered, starting up the stairs.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other, then at the front door. They knew the oath wouldn't let them leave until they fulfilled it. They rose and followed Snape.

They had no choice.

Snape's robes billowed before them as Harry and Hermione navigated the narrow stairwell to the second floor. It led to a bare hallway, illuminated by another dim candle lamp hanging from the ceiling. The wooden floor was scuffed and dull, the paint on the walls, cracked and peeling. A single filmy window rested at the end of the hall, framed by black curtains. It was rusted shut. There were two warped doors visible, one on either side of the hall. Snape turned toward them and pointed to the door on the left.

"Go in there. I will join you momentarily," he said softly.

Harry turned the knob and both he and Hermione entered the room, Snape closing the door behind them. His lip curled for a moment as he stared at the door, then he walked up the hall and entered the door on the right.

The room was completely black. With a wave of his hand Severus illuminated the candle lamp. Several pairs of small red eyes glared at him from a cage as he walked through his small, cluttered lab to his potions stores, a small cabinet that could barely hold ingredients, much less a collection of potions. His work would have been severely curtailed if he had been focused on creating and brewing potions for marketing. But Snape hadn't been. For the past year he only had a single focus, developing an elixir that would give him satisfaction.

Snape removed the ward and opened the cabinet, his black eyes glittering as he picked up a small black bottle, the culmination of his work. He closed the cabinet back, not bothering to ward it. The only thing of value in it was now in his pale hand.

"At last," he breathed, then turned and exited the lab, putting out the candle lamp and closing the door securely. He walked back to the room Harry and Hermione occupied and let himself in.

This was his bedroom.

The paint in here also was chipped and peeling, and was a dismal shade of brown. A king-sized bed with an ancient wrought iron frame dominated the small room. It was unmade, the sheets dingy and the mattress sagging somewhat in the middle. The bed coverings were Slytherin green and tossed to the bottom of the bed as if flung there.

A small wooden end table sat close to the bed with a clock sitting on top of it. There were four sconces on the wall with thick candles inside them that sputtered from time to time as if made from tallow. A battered dresser with a cracked mirror sat against the far wall, knobs missing from several of the drawers, and a rather beaten up wardrobe stood next to it. The flooring was wood and creaked as if ready to fall apart. The room had no windows and also felt like a cell. Two wooden folding chairs sat against the wall. In these two chairs sat Harry and Hermione, looking at the Potions master and the bottle in his hand somewhat apprehensively.

Snape sat down on the edge of the bed across from them, the mattress sinking from his weight. He brushed back several strands of his long lank hair that had fallen across his face and studied the pair.

"Remorse," he said silkily, his eyes flitting from Harry to Hermione. "I imagine that's what you two believe you feel. But it isn't. You came here not for me, but to assuage your own guilt. A purely selfish motive. You think you empathize with me . . . with my situation. With my pain. You have no idea what pain is . . . neither one of you."

Harry and Hermione didn't reply but looked distinctly uncomfortable. Snape continued.

"You see, there is physical pain, such as the pain one feels when an arse that's not used to being roughly impaled by six hard rods for a few hours is subjected to such treatment. Then there is psychological pain in which your mind is constantly tormented by its own memories and convoluted thinking. When it tears into pieces and reforms, creased and broken, bits of sanity lost and only will left to fill the void until some type of closure comes. These are the two types of pain with which I am best familiar, although there are many, many others I've experienced in my lifetime," the wizard said, his voice like velvet.

Suddenly he looked at Harry sharply.

"You've seen one of my most hated memories, Mr. Potter, and for an instant . . . you pitied me. But I need no one's pity. Your father was a filthy coward as was your godfather. Men like that are unfit to live. So some justice was served by their deaths," he said coldly.

Harry bristled at this but said nothing.

Snape looked down at the bottle in his hand.

"This elixir will allow the both of you to experience parts of my life I feel relevant for you to experience before we move forward. After taking this brew, you will both be suitably prepared to earn my 'forgiveness' as it were. You will have the benefit of experiencing it without the physical damage I suffered. You must truly know my pain before you can understand what it is I have suffered through because of you and others."

Snape corked the bottle and held it out to Harry.

"Drink," he said.

Harry didn't move.

"How do we know that isn't poison, Professor?" Hermione said. "You may be planning on killing us."

Snape sneered at her.

"If I were going to kill the both of you, Miss Granger, I assure you, you'd both already be dead. Death is not a punishment, but a release. I have no desire to release either of you," he said in a low voice before looking at them both derisively.

"Gryffindor courage," he spat, turning the bottle up to his own lips and drinking some of it down. He lowered it and looked at Harry and Hermione. "A courage I've always believed highly over-rated."

Harry reached out for the bottle.

"Give it here," he said through gritted teeth. He wasn't a coward . . . just cautious. Seeing the elixir did nothing to Snape, he was now willing to drink it. Willing to do anything to get out of Spinner's End.

Snape watched as Harry drank down half of the elixir, then gave Hermione the other half . . . both making terrible faces. They weren't surprised. Anything given to them by the Professor was bound to be disgusting, and purposely so.

Snape leaned forward eagerly, watching them closely.

Hermione looked back at him suspiciously.

What are you watching for, Professor Snape?" she asked.

Suddenly Harry stiffened, his eyes going wide with horror. Hermione only managed to get a glance at him before her face also contorted in horror.

Severus watched as the witch and wizard both slowly curled forward in their chairs, then fell hard to the floor, folding up into fetal positions, their arms wrapped protectively around their shuddering bodies, their eyes wide and staring at something unseen.

"I was watching for that, Miss Granger," Snape said silkily, an evil smile spreading across his pallid face. He rose from the bed.

"You two are going to be indisposed for a while," he sneered down at the trembling, jerking pair. "I might as well partake of my supper. Don't wander."

Snape stepped over them and exited the room, walking down the stairs, through the small parlor and into his tiny, dingy kitchen. But the pots and pans that hung from hooks on the wall were bright and immaculate. Snape walked over to the cooler and took out a small steak, and proceeded to prepare it.

He wanted to be well-fed and ready when Harry and Hermione came back from their little inner journey.

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Because of the extreme violence and sexually graphic nature of the rest of the story I have ended this here. If you are over 18 you are welcome to continue reading this story on my personal website, The Burning Pen. To find the story, go to Google and type in the following

"Remorse Ms_Figg Index Page"

and you will receive a direct link. Thanks for reading.