Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
I found a one-shot I wrote some time ago, made some editing changes and thought you might like to read it. :)
The story is quite angsty and some parts are gruesome. Read carefully if you squick easy. Enjoy!
She only wanted a glass of water - sometimes sleep made her thirsty.
Instead, upon entering Grimmauld's kitchen, she found him. His face, although usually unfriendly, was twisted into revulsion and hate. He was so cold and black, and he was on her in seconds.
"Are you afraid, Miss Granger?"
"Yes." She was trapped atop the kitchen table.
"Then I must be very thorough," he breathed.
Then his blackness swallowed her up.
Hermione sunk into the corner of her dingy room. She'd been here for days, and she had refused to call out to Snape to ask for food or the toilet. The furthest corner smelled. Her stomach hurt badly.
She was losing her resolve.
Hermione crawled to the door and knocked weakly.
"Professor?" she said quietly. No response.
Had he left her here by herself? Was she going to die from starvation? There weren't any windows - could the ammonia from her own waste kill her?
She was going to die here.
She pounded harder, banging her fists against the door.
"Snape!" she screamed.
Suddenly she heard heavy, rushed footsteps in her direction. She stopped drumming the door and stared wide-eyed at the floor, frozen in her terror.
The door swung inward and smacked into her knees, causing Hermione to scramble backwards.
"Do you know what time it is?" Snape seethed.
"No," Hermione said, "there isn't a w-window…" Any confidence she had weakened at the twisted expression growing on him.
"You stink," he spat and glanced at her bathroom corner. "What do you want?"
"I need food. I need the loo," she said. Snape looked down his nose at her, his lips still curled in disgust. His black eyes were cold. Dead.
He simply looked at her like this for minutes. Minutes turned into half an hour.
Hermione didn't move from her crumpled spot on the floor, trying to steadily meet his eyes. She readied herself to scream. Throw punches. Scratch like a wild hellcat.
But she was too petrified - Snape had become the most horrifying creature she'd ever seen.
"Why are you doing this?" Her voice barely reached a whisper. He cocked his head a little and listened. "I thought you were on our side."
His speculative silence pressed her onward. Hermione gathered courage from somewhere deep inside and crawled. Her fingertips touched his boots.
"I've always respected you," she said, craning her neck to study him. "I always defend you. I revere you."
His dry lips parted as he watched her. His eyes - still dead.
Her fingers fisted the fabric of his trousers.
"You are my mentor - our savior," Hermione said. She took a leap with her words. "I love you for it."
"Silence!" he screamed. His boot pulled back and made contact again with her collarbone. A sickening crunch reached her ears. Hermione thudded on the wooden floor and froze.
"You will get nothing!" Snape hissed. The door slammed shut.
She never moved, not even to use her corner. Instead, she laid very still and soiled herself as she was.
Finally, after what seemed like weeks, Snape returned. His footsteps were slow this time - softer. She wondered if he was stalling.
"You are filth," he said. Hermione didn't look up at him. She was in too much pain so she stared at his toes.
"I know," she whispered. Her buttocks and thighs were sticky.
Snape squatted before her so she could at least see his calves.
"You will not speak to me like that," he said flatly. Hermione knew what he referred to: "I love you for it."
Hermione nodded, and she whimpered her pain. His wand lowered, pointed at her chest, and he breathed a spell. He healed her broken collarbone. Hermione could finally move. She stretched out of her fetal position.
By the time she stood, Snape had left again.
But she heard him walk downstairs this time. Something was thrown, something loud and breakable, against a wall below.
Hermione gasped and scrambled to her feet. Too slow. Snape shoved her with one hand to the floor.
"Again! Get up!"
She was so tired. So hungry. She was shoved again.
"You lazy Mudblood," Snape snarled. Hermione finally wrenched herself to her feet. He watched her sway and clutch to the wall with white fingertips. Then he waved his wand and several buckets of water floated beside him.
"I can smell you from downstairs, you dirty girl," he said. Then, without warning, Hermione was drenched in freezing water. She shrieked at the shock of it.
"Strip!" Snape barked.
The remaining buckets thudded on the floor as Snape stopped levitating them. He was on her, his hands suddenly like talons. Her clothes ripped away and her shame burned. She was definitely dirty, especially between her legs and her buttocks. She'd had nothing to clean with.
He didn't care for her nakedness.
"You think I would want you?" he sneered. "Look at yourself, witch! Look at what you've done to yourself! Don't sit - stand!"
The buckets started pouring over her again - it seemed they refilled themselves. Snape was unrelenting in his scrutiny. He had her turn to all sides to rid of her filth. He could have done this easily with a charm, but it would not have been humiliating enough.
When she could take no more, Hermione collapsed against the wall. She hugged it and tried to make the stones swallow her between their cracks.
For the first time, Hermione wept. Loud, body heaving, ugly weeping.
"Stop it," he snapped. "Your face is a mess again." Cold water poured into her face and washed away the snot and tears.
Hermione stared over her shoulder at him. Snape was Scourgifying the room of her waste. His appearance was spotless and professional. He looked like her potions Professor.
"I don't understand," she choked.
Snape strode back to her and pointed his wand at her clothes. They jumped up into flames.
"No!" Hermione screeched. She reached for her robes and pulled back quickly when her flesh burned. "Give me back my clothes!"
"No," Snape said. The flames turned his face red and black. "You don't deserve the skin you're in, let alone clothes, Mudblood." He started for the door.
"Goodnight, Miss Granger."
The closing door left her in complete darkness, except for the fire burning the only dignity she had left.
When he returned, Hermione recognized the noise of the opening door. Light spilled into the room. She pulled herself to her feet and covered her body with her hands as he lit the room with his wand.
She snarled at him through the wild mane of her hair.
"Crawl here to my boots," Snape said. A long, pale finger pointed at the floor before him.
She'd never said that before.
"Fuck you, you fucking fucker!" she said again and snickered. How a four letter word could describe the world so perfectly!
Snape raised his unkempt eyebrows.
Hermione sighed and shuffled her hands and knees across the floorboards until she was looking directly at Snape's knees. His boot lifted and slammed down on her shoulder, knocking Hermione belly-down on the floor.
"Now…" He squatted down and clutched a handful of her hair. "Miss Granger. I have a question for you. You will answer it. What is Potter looking for?"
"What?" Her voice managed annoyance, but it was muffled against the floor.
"Listen," Snape snapped. "What are his plans? How will he destroy the Dark Lord?"
"What happens if I tell you?" she ventured. His grip tightened in her hair.
"I'll let you go, my brilliant Granger." His voice was suddenly warm like cigars or a hot stone massage. Hermione had enjoyed one of those at some point in her life, she remembered. "I'll heal all your bruises, feed you hot soup and put you in the softest sheets you've ever known. I'll tell you all my best potion-brewing secrets."
Tears of want flooded Hermione's eyes. Just the words of comfort made her heart ache.
"And if I don't?" she said.
His fingers relaxed to massage her scalp. Hermione practically purred.
"Your blood will fill this room, Miss Granger," he said, still massaging her. She choked a little. For a moment, she let Snape massage her head. His fingertips parted her hair, rolled over her scalp and smoothed her hair.
Finally, she sat up on her knees, not bothering to hide her nakedness from him. Snape's fingers dropped to cup her cheek. Hermione finally noticed his eyes were not black, but a very deep brown like the coffee Hermione used to sip in the cafe with her parents long before in London.
"I…" she started. Her entire body and heart ached to leave this room. She could feel her blood warming at the very thought. Would Snape really feed her?
"Come, Granger. Just say it. What's Potter going to do?"
"I… I… can't," she said. For a second, his coffee eyes looked sad. "You know I can't do that."
His expression darkened quicker than a tornado sky.
"But perhaps if I just tell you a little bit-!"
"No!" She whimpered under his anger, and he gripped her hair again.
Snape flicked his wand and four chains began snaking themselves out of the ceiling and floorboards. Hermione watched with fascination as they wriggled like snakes in the air and grew shackles on the ends.
"Stand," Snape said. When she moved too slowly, he jerked her up and locked the shackles around her wrists and ankles. With a wave of his wand, they shortened so she was outstretched in mid-air. Hermione stared at her bicep - skin and muscles seemed to be shaking in separate motions.
Snape produced a small table covered with a cloth and various silver knives laid atop it. Hermione's eyes grew round as he picked up a knife.
"Beautiful, isn't it, Miss Granger?"
"Will you tell me?"
Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She wouldn't do it.
"Too pretty for pain," he said softly, admiring the sheen of silver. His eyes shifted to her. "But that is its purpose. To deny its purpose, is to deny its beauty."
"Please, Professor," she sobbed. "Please!"
He lowered the blade to her quivering skin.
"Will you tell me?"
"Feed me. Just let me eat."
Snape's cold eyes studied her briefly, and he reached into his pocket.
"Eat," he said. He threw a piece of bread of her. It was about the size of her fist.
Hermione scrambled for the bread. She imagined her teeth tore at the bread like a lion's would tear at fresh carcass. Her skin ached and stung with cuts from Snape's knives. His masochistic attentions yesterday had lasted for hours.
When she finished, Snape had erected a chair beside the door. He sat down, his pointed chin raised and back stiff, and watched her every movement.
Hermione wiped the crumbs from her lips and licked her fingers. His attention made her nervous. Her muscles started to slacken. She tried to ball a fist but couldn't make her joints cooperate.
Her eyes met Snape's and she saw his mouth tighten.
"Did you poison it?" she whispered. He didn't respond. "What have you done?"
Her movements slowed, her brain buzzed and she slumped to the floor. Her vision swam once, and Harry and Ron were suddenly standing beside Snape.
"Harry! Ron!" she wheezed. Her hand reached to them, but they both smiled. It was wrong, their smiles. Slow and cruel.
Suddenly they lunged for her like wolves.
Their hands were like cold steel, grabbing her skin and the fresh cuts. Harry and Ron pulled and pushed her and rid of each other's clothes. Their unnaturally strong hands trapped her down but couldn't silence her whimpers and screams.
She didn't see Snape flinch once among them.
Harry shoved two cold fingers into her quim, and Hermione looked desperately away. Snape remained sitting like a stone.
"Stop it!" she told him. "This isn't them!"
"How do you know?" he said silkily. "How do you know we aren't in it together? How long have you teased them, Mudblood?"
"Never," Hermione cried. Ron sat on her chest. He started rubbing his erection on her face.
"How long have you nagged them to their last nerve? Fought with them? Flirted with them?" Snape asked. Hot tears burned into her cheeks - they came easily and regularly since she first wept into the wall.
Snape saw this and sighed.
Harry and Ron heaved her up on her knees between them. Their erections were the only warm things about them - they burned.
"Stop squirming, you slut!" Ron hissed. His hand snaked around her throat and squeezed. Harry snickered in front of her.
"Ron's always wanted to fuck your ass, Hermione," Harry said. "Hope you're clean."
Their cocks suddenly intruded, both searing hot poles tearing at her insides. Hermione wailed, her body stiffening and going cold.
She turned her head, trying to appeal to Snape once more. He shook his head, as if scolding her.
"Pay your dues, Miss Granger," he said before opening the door. He was leaving. Hermione could only whimper her distress. He was leaving her. Leaving her alone, in the dark, with them.
When Snape returned, Hermione was horizontal between them. Her eyes were blank. She'd checked out long before. She felt nothing but emptiness, like floating in still water of Marigold Park's pool where her parents would spend summer days. Her mother always made her wear orange arm floaties, and her father bought her two ice cream cones because she often dropped her first one.
Snape said, "That's enough." The boys promptly pulled out and left the room. Hermione dropped like a stone onto the floor while Snape shut the door and left her in blackness.
Had they been real?
Days and weeks and months blended together. Snape had found a new way to torture her: pain. He shoved her to her limits, using knives and wax and curses. Hermione found herself building a shell.
She thought of herself as a turtle with a scarred shell. She could be exposed, if she chose, but there was also a safe place. All she had to do was recede. After the third day of Snape's knife torture, Hermione found her shell, and she never came out.
She could take anything. Do anything.
This man didn't scare her. He was nothing but a pathetic tool in a much more important story.
And as much as he asked the question: "What's Potter planning?" she wouldn't tell.
Her wrists were bloody from the shackles, and wax nearly completely covered her body. The burning was fading away and within her shell, Hermione smiled.
Snape produced a chair and collapsed into it. His once crisp shirt was wrinkled. Hermione's body stretched like a canvas before him, splattered with red, drying wax. Her head lolled forward - she hadn't slept in days - but her eyes still watched him.
Snape rested his face in his hands for several minutes.
"Getting tired, Snape?" she croaked. He moved his hands slightly to peer at her. She wished she could read them - tired, sad… regretful?
"This is the last time I'll ask you, Mudblood," he said softly as he stood again. He raised his wand to her breast, above her heart. "I'm weary of you, your stink, and your pathetic existence. If you do not comply this time… I'm going to kill you."
She considered him - would he kill her? Probably. Was she ready to die? Had she done enough?
"Now…" he said. Hermione chewed her lip. In her life, she'd been best friend to Harry Potter, helped him win on numerous accounts, kissed a foreign boy, been loved by her parents, loved Ronald Weasley, and been the brightest witch to attend Hogwarts.
Yes, she'd done enough.
"What are Potter's plans?"
"Say that again," he snarled.
Hermione drew herself up, raised her chin, and looked down her nose at him.
"I'm Hermione fucking Granger, and I'm not telling you anything," she hissed.
A red light shot into her breast.
She'd finished it.
When Hermione awoke, she was lying in an unfamiliar room. The bed was soft. Uncomfortable. Beside the bed was a small table with a basket of Floo powder, stationary, and a note telling her to call for Iffy the house elf if she required anything.
She was in an inn.
Hadn't she died? Was heaven an inn?
She moved slowly, testing her body. It was healed. For the first time in forever, she felt no pain. Hermione lifted her shirt (she was wearing clothes?) and looked down at her torso. The scars of Snape's attentions were there but well healed. They were only thin white lines on her skin, flat and pure.
The vaguely familiar smell of food touched her nostrils and reached right down into her stomach. Hermione nearly fell out of bed in her haste to reach the table. It was laden with all sorts of steaming food: turkey, bread, potatoes, cheesy pies…
As she hunched over the table, the sunlit window was darkened. Just for a second. Hermione saw a black shadow swoop past it, and then it was gone.
Hermione Granger had been missing - kidnapped by Snape - for a month.
She told no one who it was. The man had done so many humiliating things to her - produced Harry and Ron countless times, left her shackled during her menses so the blood puddled under her, made her lick the bottoms of his boots, bathed her with dangerously cold water, made her bark like a dog, rubbed lemon in her cuts… among all the torture he inflicted… the pain was the worst. She flinched at knives and avoided cauldrons altogether.
He dipped her feet in a cauldron of hot wax once. She'd wailed so loud, her voice was gone for days.
Yet, Hermione couldn't tell on him.
Besides, there was already a warrant for his arrest. If they couldn't find him now, they wouldn't find him after she told either. She'd just be embarrassing herself.
No one should know what he did to her, or what she had to do. She wanted it behind her. She could hide it all in her shell.
But, despite her attempts to forget, Hermione was kidnapped exactly one week after she returned.
Hermione lay flat, stomach down, on the dungeon floor. Lucius had just finished with her. Several times a day, the aristocrat entered her cell and interrogated her on the whereabouts of Harry Potter, or the Order, or Dumbledore. She never uttered a word.
He was so much worse than Snape. Snape worked up to the worst tortures. Lucius began with them. Lucius fucked her. Tore and burned at her insides until Hermione wanted to drink bleach.
Snape never fucked her. He never touched her like that.
If she screamed while Lucius used knives on her, he sliced at her tongue.
Snape had let her scream.
Right now, she wanted so badly to scream. She wanted to feel the buckets of freezing water thrown on her. She wanted the tainted bread that kept her from starving. She cried for healing on her broken fingers.
She wanted Snape. He was the only one who knew her. His cruel eyes were thoughts of comfort.
She began whispering his name while she wept. First she hated herself for her tongue's betrayal - she shouldn't want him! - but the name brought her relief.
"Professor…" she breathed, rolling her forehead into the stone floor and shoulders heaving. "Snape… Professor, please…"
The floor rumbled under her body. Hermione pressed her palm to it.
It shook again so violently that she swayed. The dungeons lit up. Hermione flinched away and scampered into a dark corner. Once before, Lucius sent two Death Eaters below to play with her. Hermione could barely crawl that night.
She lifted her head. "Yes?" she whispered, only loud enough for herself. It'd been so long since she heard her name.
"Hermione!" That was Remus Lupin's voice, wasn't it? Hermione tentatively shuffled forward. Several people were moving rapidly through the dungeons, shining their wand lights into cells.
The light blinded her, but her cell door was wrenched open with a great squeal. Hermione shrieked when hands landed on her.
"Sh, shhh! It's Remus, Hermione! Remember? Do you remember me? Hermione, darling, please look…" A large hand pulled her chin up and it was Remus Lupin peering back at her. He was shrugging off his coat and wrapping her in it.
"Remus…" Yes, she remembered him. "What's happening?"
"It's ending," he said. "This war and Voldemort. It ends tonight. Come on, you've got to get out."
If Lucius found her escaping, he'd be pissed. Spitting mad.
"It's okay," said Remus. They were ascending the stairs from the dungeons.
"But Lucius!" Breath seared in her chest.
"He's not going to get you, I promise." Remus had a tight grip wrapped in the coat on her.
"He'll kill you, Remus! He'll… He'll - to me… Oh…" Her lungs inflamed with panic and fear. "Remus, no!"
"Everyone's here, Hermione!" Remus yelled now, turning to face her. "Everyone's outside, you're safe, stop being brainwashed!"
"…Everyone?" she whispered. One face flickered in her mind. The only one she'd be safe with - the only one that could protect her from Lucius.
"Yes - Hermione, no!"
She'd shrugged out of the jacket and tore naked through the manor. She knew what direction the front door lay in, because she'd heard it echo before. All of her breaks and bruises faded in her desperation to find him.
Bursting out on the front lawn, she could see the complete chaos befalling the manor. The mansion was partly on fire and spells humming with hatred sped across the lawn. Trees and hunks of earth were thrown about. The Dark and Light were fighting, and there, far across near the trees, she could see him.
Snape was standing… on the Light side.
He was on their side. In the end.
Lucius had seen her. His golden hair rippled around his face. He had the sweat on his upper lip that appeared whenever he had sex with her.
Hermione's chest heaved in shock.
Snape's head snapped toward her but she was already sprinting, her hands and arms outstretched. Why did he look so afraid? He caused hurt - didn't receive it.
"MUDBLOOD, GET BACK HERE! I'M GOING TO PULL YOUR SKIN OFF, GIRL!"
Hermione sobbed, still running. Closer, closer. Snape never moved.
She finally met him - leapt and collided with such force that he nearly fell.
"Take me! Cut me, burn me, fuck me, I don't care! Just don't let him have me, please!"
"Granger," he breathed into her dirty hair.
Before Lucius' green curse could hit them, Snape turned on the spot.
Hermione peeked over Snape's shoulder to find them in a living room with gleaming wooden flooring and forest green walls. A large ivory-colored fireplace warmed the room and Hermione's naked skin. She'd been so cold for so long… Hermione pressed herself harder to Snape. Consciousness came and went freely.
Snape scooped her up and put her in a bath filled with warm water, and he poured in several vials of potions. The bruises and wounds on her body began to tingle. He piled her hair meticulously above her head.
"I missed you," Hermione murmured. "Why did I miss you?"
"Because in the end… I'm the only one you can trust," Snape said. He unlaced his shoes, toed them off and rolled up his pants legs. Hermione stared at his pale muscled calves and the prominent bones in his feet as Snape sat on the edge of the bathtub behind her head. His legs submersed in the water on either side of her. His hands worked water and scented shampoo through her dirty curls. Buttercup scents.
"I don't understand," she yawned. She leaned her head against his knee and hummed with pleasure.
"I know," he said heavily. He leaned down and in an odd gesture bumped his chin against her shoulder, like he'd changed his mind about something at the last second and drew back.
His fingers began the familiar massage on her scalp.
"I knew the Death Eaters were going to take you," he said. "I couldn't stop them so I had to prepare you. Dumbledore ordered me to make sure you wouldn't speak or…"
"Or kill you."
She wanted to think more about that, but her mind was sluggish and her heart too warm.
Snape's sudsy hands gripped her shoulders.
"I'm so sorry, Granger," he said, like the words were difficult to form.
Hermione pressed her cheek into Snape's leg and smiled. In the strange confines of her mind, she didn't care what the man had done to her. She knew she hadn't cared before he confessed.
"I forgive you."
"Of course you do." Then Snape leaned his mouth close to her ear and said, "I'm proud of you, lion."
I hope you enjoyed it, even though it was dark and probably depressing. :) Most of my fics aren't like this, I swear!
Please review, thank you!