13/17

Chapter Thirteen

Day 72

Snape didn't come home yesterday.

We both made sure of that.

Snape finally closed Jane Eyre, fingers running almost tenderly over the cover.

"I like Jane Austen better," Hermione promptly announced. Though Snape was rather like Rochester, all dark and brooding, and then thinking he wasn't deserving enough of Jane in the end. But she stayed with him despite his flaws and disfigurement...she loved him anyway.

Still, Austen's precise, canny, and cutting humour ingratiated Hermione more toward the regency author.

"Your palate is unrefined," Snape drawled, placing the book gently on the bedside table.

"Oh?" Hermione said, poking him lightly. "That's not what you said half an hour ago."

Hermione had the pleasure of watching Snape blush a little before he turned a chiding frown on her. "One can be eloquent in some matters and wholly crude in others."

"Crude?" Hermione said, affecting an aghast tone. "How dare you, sir? You malign me!"

"You beg to be maligned," he drawled, and suddenly they weren't talking about books anymore.

"Only by you," she whispered against his lips, forgiving his slur on her literary acumen in favour of showing him her other talents.

But after only a few moments of blissful snogging, Snape pulled away, looking anywhere but at her.

"I will not be able to keep this up any longer," he said at length, his face impassive as she shot up and stared at him.

"What are you talking about?" she demanded, her heart jumping.

"It is putting us both at risk, and despite my considerable skills as a spy, I do not have such blind faith in my abilities that I can carry on."

"No, please, sir, no..."

"We are acting selfishly!" he shouted suddenly, and Hermione drew back sharply. "We are not the only ones in danger. We are making choices for people who would not choose to sacrifice themselves so we can fuck." His voice had lowered into a snarl, and he fairly spat the last word.

"What happened yesterday?" she asked, defeated.

"More of the same," he said, and his voice wasn't angry any longer, just resigned. "The Dark Lord wants proof of your suffering. I can no longer hide all these memories behind the times I starved you or made you suffer. He wants fresh memories, more... creative suffering."

All Hermione heard was that she was in danger of losing Snape. "Make me suffer then!" she cried recklessly. "I know you can make it look worse than it is. You could... you could beat me. Not really, but make it look like it... and then he won't think you're going soft or anything."

But Snape was shaking his head. "It is not a beating he wants to see, Miss Granger. Would that it were. As you say, it would be easier to enact a beating or even more intricate torture. I would not know how to... pretend to do what he wants."

Because Snape wouldn't meet her eyes, she immediately knew what he meant. "He wants you to fuck me," she said flatly.

"Not fuck you."

"Rape me," she amended. She crossed her arms over her body. The idea made her feel dirty and soiled. Having sex with Snape had made her feel anything but...she'd felt wanted, cherished, even. But the Dark Lord didn't want captives to be cherished. He wanted them broken.

"Just so," Snape said, looking at a point on the wall beyond her head.

"If the Dark Lord saw such a thing, would your place as a spy be secured?"

Snape nodded detachedly. "And my place in the Order destroyed once it got out, and it would. The Dark Lord would make it a point to tell even the lowliest of minions that I had... violated you."

"But you could still send them tips anonymously," she suggested.

"Yes, I could. I do that even now, when the information I gather means that I was a part of something that... that even Dumbledore wouldn't have forgiven me for."

"Are you worried about what people will think once the war is over?"

He shook his head. "I have never worried about the thoughts of others. That is not to say I want an extended vacation in Azkaban thanks to their misconceptions..."

"I won't let them!" she cried hotly. "I'll show them memories, I'll..."

Snorting, Snape touched her cheek gently in what very much resembled a gesture of annoyed affection. "I will always be hunted. Once the Dark Lord is defeated, his loyal followers...and there are many...will despise me for being involved in his downfall. I will not be able to live a normal life for quite some time."

"But the Death Eaters will be rounded up and prosecuted!"

"And some will not serve time. Some will make deals; some will have proof of their coercion or force. Nearly all but the most fervent supporters have a back-up plan if their side turns out to be the wrong one."

"We will never be free," she whispered, horrified.

"You will be free," Snape corrected. "You will go back to your friends and your family, ascertain that everyone is all right, and you will look back on your time here as a horrible but necessary experience. Do not waste our time making empty promises and false declarations. Potter will almost certainly not see fit to use the evidence he has regarding my spy status..."

"What?" she interrupted. "Harry has proof?"

"He is in possession of it, yes, but it will not reveal itself to him until the fall of the Dark Lord. It was Dumbledore's plan for me."

Hermione suddenly felt very small. Knowing she was nothing more than part of a plan made her feel insignificant and scared, but knowing that it was Snape's plan also made her feel safe. His plans were good; they were sound, and he wasn't going to let anything bad happen to her.

"Even if you are not the world's favourite wizard after the war, I want you to know, you'll always be important to me. I'll come visit you, wherever you are, and annoy you. I might even bring Harry to get in the full allotment of irritation."

For some reason, this made Snape wrap his arms around her very tightly, though he said nothing.

"Professor Snape," she began a time later, "I think we could make it look like rape."

"I cannot do that to you; I cannot even conceive of it."

Hermione pressed a lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth. "But we are warriors, remember? We do what we have to do. You make it look like it hurts, and I'll make it look like it's real. And then after... we can make love, and you can take away those ugly memories of what we just did and replace them with something beautiful. That way the Dark Lord will have something to look at and laugh at, and I'll... I'll be able to remember that you didn't mean it, that you did it for the cause. And you'll be able to remember that, as well."

"The Dark Lord will not be easily fooled," Snape warned, and Hermione felt a shiver through her heart. She could only begin to guess what he meant by that, but she had the feeling that whatever Snape did, she would be hard pressed to remember that it was a ruse.

"Do what you have to do," she said with a braveness that was almost all affectation.

Snape closed his eyes. Hermione held her breath; a part of her was hoping he'd say no, he'd promise to find another way. But there didn't seem to be another way, and when she thought of Snape suffering under Voldemort's wrath because of her, it made her sick. And even more than that, if Voldemort did manage to uncover the truth, her own life was certainly forfeit, along with Snape's. A little acting would save both their lives.

"I can't do this now," Snape said tiredly. He seemed to be look anywhere but at her, and Hermione almost wanted to call him a coward for that. "I will leave, and when I come back... when I come back, we will begin. Immediately. Do you understand?"

"Yes," said Hermione in a small but strong voice. "I understand."

He nodded brusquely and left without looking back. With the cell locked and Hermione alone, she couldn't help but begin to doubt the plan, such as it was.

When Snape returned, Hermione was going to be raped.

And he wouldn't come in with soothing words and reassurances, Hermione knew. Immediately, he'd said. She'd just seen the last of Snape as she knew him. It was very possible that neither would be able to move past what was about to happen, even though it needed to happen. But she'd meant what she'd told him before; after, he would have to make love to her and remind her that she wasn't in this alone, that he cared, that he didn't want to hurt her like that.

Hermione's thoughts were ugly and crowding in the time between Snape's departure and his return.

She'd stripped the bed of linens and herself of clothing. She thought it would add a realness to the memory. Snape could force different emotions to attach to real memories, but he couldn't really change what he saw, and if Voldemort saw comfortable bedclothes and full Muggle garb for her, he'd surely have questions...though he must have noticed it before. But this was the memory that was going to make the difference, she knew. After this, Snape would no longer be punished, and she wouldn't have to tear her hair out every time she heard him Disapparate from the house.

It had to more than look real; it had to be real.

And Hermione was terrified.

She sat, shivering and naked, on the bed and waited for Snape. She didn't feel ready for this. Letting her eyes fall closed, Hermione imagined herself on a bed in her own home, a place of her own that didn't exist but one day would. She was wearing a black negligee and waiting for her husband to return from work. Maybe it was their anniversary.

She heard the heavy wooden door open, and she tried to imagine how excited she'd feel, all dressed up for her husband. He'd be so excited to see her.

Snape wasn't making a sound.

She heard the clink of the key in the lock and the cell door swung open noisily. A shudder ran through her and she opened her eyes. She owed it to him to at least try her hardest to make this look real. She owed it to them both to not drift away amidst a sea of false promises.

Her eyes widened when they fell on Snape. It was like spinning through time back to when she'd been a student. His glare was so sharp and full of spite, his sneer so vicious that it made her cringe. She brought her knees to her chest, unwilling to expose herself to his gaze. He laughed coldly, and Hermione clenched her eyes closed, hoping that when she opened them, her Snape would be back.

He wasn't.

Snape was unbuttoning his robes slowly, never looking away from her. She could do nothing but wait, helpless and willing but somehow not. She could fight this, but she couldn't stop it.

Not bothering to get fully undressed, Snape approached the bed in black slacks and white shirtsleeves, unbuttoned and pushed up his forearms, baring the Dark Mark. She exhaled sharply at the sight, half in disgust, half in awe that he was playing the part so well.

"Well, Mudblood?" he spat, grabbing her hair and forcing her onto her back. She tried to stay curled up, but he twisted her until she lay flat against the bed.

"Please, don't do this," she said, and it seemed even he didn't know whether or not she was playing the part. She almost didn't know anymore.

He didn't pause, but there was a hesitation in his eyes, a look of self-loathing that made Hermione want to tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss his sallow cheek. Everything will be all right, she said with her eyes, though her heart didn't quite believe her.

Snape slapped at the inside of her thigh, and she parted them softly, not wanting to spread herself to his gaze. Everything Snape saw, Voldemort would see. She looked away.

"Wider!" he snapped, smacking her again, harder. The point of impact flared and she hissed, but obeyed.

"Such a pretty little whore," he cooed, black eyes empty and hard.

"Don't," she whimpered. She couldn't bear to hear him talk like that. He made it seem so real.

Settling himself between her thighs, Snape took his wand from behind his back and cast an unfamiliar spell. She gasped as her arms were tightly bound, first together and then to the headboard. There wasn't enough give in the ropes to even rock from side to side without straining her shoulders.

Snape was looking at her body and stroking his freed cock with one hand. He studiously avoided her face, and Hermione felt ill. He was using her body to get erect; she was nothing more than an image to him. She began to breathe shallowly...breathing deeply kept her aware on a visceral level, and that made her feel desperate. Shallow breathing made her feel lighter, more in control.

Breathing was hers; it wasn't something he could take from her.

She heard him spit and a wave of nausea rolled through her, filling her mouth with saliva. She moaned when his wet fingers touched her; the cool spit against her body was disgusting and unwanted. She tried to jerk away, and he only laughed.

"Stop... stop, stop, stop," she chanted, meaning the laughter. The actions she could handle, the actions were part of the plan. The laughter and the words would be unforgivable, and she needed to be able to forgive this; she'd never survive, otherwise.

Then he was pushing into her, and she'd never felt such anger. How dare he? And how could she have offered herself up like this? She'd always had such self-respect.

But a part of her brain reminded her that she was strong for doing this, not weak. She was doing the best she could with the scant resources she had. But somehow, her body stretching around a previously welcomed cock, she only felt dirty and stupid.

Snape was sitting upright, not leaning over her, and for that she was grateful. Being so close to him, seeing the flickering reflection of the torches in his eyes as he fucked her would be something she'd never be able to see past. Hauling her body into his lap and making her arms lock as he stretched her, Snape used her body, pulling her onto him in a parody of consent.

And that was what this was, after all. A parody of non-consent. It was strange to not want this, and yet allow it all the same.

Her pussy was thankfully providing slickness, just as the spit had begun to wear thin. She felt absolutely no enjoyment from his actions; they weren't meant to entice her at all. She'd thought that maybe Voldemort would get a kick out of seeing her come against her will, but she was thankful that Snape didn't seem to agree. She wouldn't have been able to feel pleasure even if Snape were trying to elicit it, and if she had, she'd always compare it to their first time, and she'd never be able to be with him again without thinking of what they'd been forced to do.

As he thrust into her, filling and emptying her, Hermione realised this was as much of a rape for him as it was for her. He didn't want to do this any more than she did, only he did have to come.

When she tossed her head to the side at a particularly brutal thrust, she felt a coolness against her cheeks as though they were wet. She sobbed brokenly. She hadn't wanted to cry, to make this harder on him, on herself. She'd thought she could remain detached and leave this horrible memory in a part of herself that she'd never have to revisit.

Snape was no longer grinning or laughing. He was barely making any noise. His face was a mask of concentration, but she could see, when she braved a look, that he was frustrated.

He wasn't going to be able to come.

Despite her attempts to keep her breath shallow, she inhaled reflexively at that thought. Her natural lubrication was already fading, and she could feel him abrading her inner walls.

Hermione began to clench her pussy whenever he bottomed out inside her. He would groan and thrust again, harder, faster, and she would continue to grip him, tightening around him. She knew right away it was helping; his thrusts began to accelerate, his hands digging in bruisingly around her hips and arse.

And finally, with a sound more like pain than pleasure, Snape roared in completion and filled her, his come immediately soothing her dryness.

"Looks like we found a use for Mudbloods, after all," he spat, withdrawing from her quickly and leaving the bed. The cell door slammed shut and he locked it with the key and the spell before stalking out of the room.

Hermione immediately curled onto her side. She felt like she was going to throw up. Her body ached and her heart was tired. A dry sob wracked her body, but she quelled it, trying not to think that this had been her idea.

She hated Voldemort for needing such ugly proof. She hated herself for being so angry. She hated Snape for saying those words.

A few moments later when the wooden door to the room slowly opened, Hermione didn't move. It was too soon for him to be back here.

Her eyes were dry when she watched him open the cell door. He didn't hesitate before getting back onto the bed. Snape tried to pull her into his arms, but she froze.

"I apologise," he said quietly, tracing her cheek with his thumb very lightly. "I don't think that."

Hermione knew that. But the image of her Snape had been shattered, and it hurt to lose that piece of stability. Now she felt as though she had nothing left, nothing real. Snape was illusory; there was no real him.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She knew he was trying to help, but he had no idea how to go about comforting her; in truth, she didn't even know what she needed at the moment.

She shook her head, not looking at him.

Snape did pull her into his arms then, and she let him. It was obvious that he needed it as much as she did. They were in this together.

"I know it seems like empty platitudes," he said slowly, caressing her trembling back and he spoke close to her ear. "But you very well could have saved my life. No one has ever..." He trailed off, his hand gripping her side lightly. "Your sacrifices are not unappreciated."

Just please don't let them be for nothing, she thought desperately, allowing herself to find comfort in his embrace.

"Kiss me?" she said quietly, clenching her eyes closed. She tried not to feel so dirty, his come slicking her thighs and fingerprint bruises forming on her hips. She wanted him to cover her graffiti with a fresh coat of paint. Make her new again.

Snape tilted her face up to meet his, and his lips were soft and searching. Even through her closed eyes she could sense his intensity. He needed a fresh coat of paint just as badly as she did.

His tongue tentatively touched her lips, seeking entrance. Hermione obliged, opening her mouth to him and moaning when their tongues slid together. It was already worlds apart from what they'd just done.

"Come here," he said, standing and holding his arm out to her. Hermione shakily crawled off the bed and folded herself into his arms. With a few spells, Hermione was fresh and clean, free of the stains from their act. Another spell had the bed made and the pillows back in order. This was familiar, this was right.

She let Snape draw her back onto the bed, his hands moving soothingly, exploring her body.

The bed sheets were cool and crisp against her heated skin, and she squirmed against the softness beneath her. Snape took her breast in his hand and softly cupped it; his gentleness so at odds with his harshness only minutes before that Hermione almost believed it was just a horrible dream. Or that it had been another man...not her Severus.

Snape took her nipple into his mouth, making her groan as he teased it, flicking it with his tongue and sucking. Her other nipple was not left out, as his hand pinched and tweaked. Being under his control in this way was infinitely better than before, and beneath his tender touch, all thought of the staged rape made way for new, sensual thoughts involving only two of them, and all the consent she was capable of giving.

Snape kissed a trail down her body, beginning at the sensitive underside of her breast, nipping the skin before travelling farther. He kissed each rib on his way down, licking her navel and biting her hipbone before finally spreading her folds with his fingers and placing the most teasing of kisses against her clit.

"Oh, please," she whispered, drawing her knees up to intimately expose herself to him. This was right. He wouldn't hurt her or take advantage. Snape wanted her.

Her body's reaction to Snape was night and day to how she'd felt earlier; no longer trapped in that liminal space of unwilling arousal and self-disgust, Hermione wanted Snape with her entire being.

"Professor, please, I want you inside me," she said hoarsely, touching his hair lightly with her fingers.

Snape slid back up beside her to kiss her, and she began to unbutton his robes. He would be naked for this, she vowed. It would be nothing like before.

With his help, Hermione removed Snape's clothing, though it took longer than she would have liked. His body was a sight to behold, all scars and white and covered in history. She traced an ovular scar on his pectoral, curious about the story behind it.

Her fingers moved down his body with purpose and threaded through the thick, dark hair that surrounded his cock. Hermione bit her lower lip as she took his member in her hand, stroking lightly with not-quite-certain movements. Snape groaned a little in his throat before he wrapped his hand around hers, showing her what he liked...long, slow, and tight. Learning quickly, Hermione kissed him as she stroked, taking a less passive position as he turned onto his back and she leaned over him. Everywhere his skin touched her own, she burned.

"I want you to ride me," he said, so quietly she might have missed if she hadn't been kissing his neck, her ear close to his mouth.

His words sent a surge through her, and though she felt a little nervousness...too soon...she wanted to show both of them that she wanted this, that this was something she could control.

Straddling him, Hermione raised herself up and steadied his cock with one hand, the other bracing her weight against his chest. His eyes were flashing, his lip raised in what might have been a sneer in any other circumstance, and she watched him carefully as she lowered herself.

Hermione was able to accommodate Snape much more comfortably now that she was wet and ready for him. She sank slowly, relishing every inch of his throbbing cock until she was seated against his body.

Snape's mouth had dropped open, and his hands were running up and down her thighs. Hermione leaned over him, letting him hold her weight as she began to move slowly, rolling her hips and coming only a few inches off of him before sinking back down blissfully.

Long fingers found their way into her hair, and he gripped it tightly, guiding her mouth to his for a long and amorous kiss, as slow and tortuous as the way she was moving on him.

Snape's other hand gripped her arse cheek and moved her harder, faster, as his kiss began to react similarly. Even though she was on top, Snape was completely in control. She let herself relax and move with his motions. He began thrusting into her from below, pushing her body onto his and pressing her against him, her nipples rubbing against his chest hair, making her shiver and clench.

Shifting a little, a jolt went through Hermione when the base of Snape's cock rubbed against her clit with every thrust. Pushing herself harder and harder onto him, Hermione felt her orgasm gather like a perfect storm. Crying out as she came, Hermione watched as Snape's face tightened; his hands became almost punishing. He came soundlessly, pulling her hips hard onto his cock.

Once they both stopped panting, Snape brought Hermione's face down for a slow, sweet kiss. She tasted salt on his mouth and realised she was crying. Brushing her errant tears impatiently, she kissed him again.

"Will you be able to hide this?" she asked quietly.

"I have always been a greedy, possessive man. I've no intention of sharing you, even in memory." He pulled the coverlet over them and settled them both comfortably on their sides.

She wondered if he would stay the night...if it was night.

"What happens after all of this, Professor Snape?"

Placing a tender kiss on her temple, Snape said, "I think you should call me Severus."

Hermione didn't offer for him to use her first name. It was easier to imagine that Miss Granger and Professor Snape were two different people, just two trapped characters in a play. Hermione and Severus... maybe they had a chance, or maybe not. But when she left here, she'd leave Miss Granger behind. She'd leave Professor Snape as well. And it would be up to him whether he became Severus after.

"What happens after?" she repeated.

"I imagine once Potter has defeated the Dark Lord, you'll find yourself back in the arms of many a redhead, celebrating the defeat of the darkest wizard of our time."

Hermione asked the question she'd been dreading for weeks. "Will you Obliviate me?"

Snape sighed and pulled back to look at her. His face was impassive, but the twitch in his jaw and the slight flaring on his nostrils meant that he didn't want to say whatever he was about to.

"I don't see that I have a choice. You can't expect Potter...or the Wizengamot, for that matter...to understand, especially if they learn about our more intimate connection. It would also be very dangerous for me if it got out that I protected you instead of handing you over...you can't expect Potter to get rid of every single Death Eater. It is in my best interest to make sure you don't remember. You may not thank me, but you'll know it is for the best."

"Not for me," she insisted stubbornly, glaring at him.

"When you are free, you will likely be horrified to learn that what happened between us happened because you were in a delicate mental state, of which I took advantage. You needn't live your life with those memories."

"I want them!" she insisted, pressing her lips against his for emphasis. "Please, sir."

Snape didn't answer, but she could tell she had done nothing to convince him. A wave of sadness hit her as she realised everything they'd done, everything she'd learned about herself would be gone. She'd be the same girl she'd been before her capture. She didn't want to be that girl anymore.

"Don't," she whispered against his chest, wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly to her. Snape reciprocated the embrace just as fervently, and though she desperately wanted to, she didn't cry as she lay in his arms, feeling as though it was good-bye.