Chapter 7

Snape summoned the last remaining shreds of his energy to Apparate back to the gates of Hogwarts and had barely anything left for the long trek to the castle. He was nearly at the door to his quarters, bone-tired and thinking only of sleep, when he noticed the cloaked figure huddled near his door. On hearing his approach, the figure rose to a standing position. With a lurch in his stomach, he realized who it must be, an instant before she pushed the hood from her face.

"Miss Granger," he said, "to what do I owe this... pleasure?" He had intended sarcasm but managed only exhaustion and weariness. He noted that she looked equally weary, and he wondered how long had she been waiting for him on that cold stone floor.

Without emotion she said, "Did it work?"

"Not here," he said, and with a series of gestures, he unwarded the door to let them both through. She hesitated before entering...hardly surprising, considering what had happened the last time she was here. But it was a brief hesitation only, and then they were both inside the large, sparsely furnished stone room where they had last met.

"Care to have a seat?" He gestured at the high-backed chair facing his desk, and after a moment's pause and what appeared to be a brief mental calculation, the girl nodded her assent. Wrapping her cloak tightly around herself, she perched gingerly on the edge of the chair.

He took the other seat. It would have suited his disposition to remain standing, but he was just so damnably tired.

"Professor," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Miss Granger, you asked me if it worked. If by that you are asking me if I was able to successfully deceive the Dark Lord into believing that I tortured you for information, rather than obtaining it by any... other means, then yes. I believe I was successful."

She closed her eyes for a moment, and some of the tension left her posture.

"Thank you, Professor. That's all I needed." She rose to leave, but he stopped her, sudden impulse bringing the words to his lips before he had time to think.

"Miss Granger, I do not understand why you will not let me Obliviate this from your mind."

Her gaze betrayed no emotion. "Thank you, Professor. I would just... I would rather you didn't."

Hidden by his sleeve, his fingers slid along the polished wooden surface of his wand. It would be so easy for him to do it without her permission; she must know that. She was standing there almost expectantly, as though she were waiting for him to do it.

To violate her again.

No, he decided. If she wanted the memory of being forced to suck his cock, of being humiliated and shamed, of being made to writhe in agony while begging him to kill her... if she wanted that, she could bloody well have it. It was of no matter to him.

He nodded. "As you wish. But..."

She lifted an eyebrow, waiting. Uncharacteristically silent, again. You made her beg for death, Severus. Do you expect her to be her normally chatty self?

He knew what he had to do. Not Obliviate her, though it would be so easy...the work of a moment, and then all of this would be forgotten. She could go back to being the classroom know-it-all, an answer to every problem ready on her lips. But... nobody knew exactly what the long-term effects of Obliviation were. Except that if you did it to someone too many times, it turned them into a vacant, gibbering wreck. He imagined this bright, sharp-witted girl in that condition, and a wave of revulsion rose up inside him. Likely this is also why she herself was anxious to avoid having the spell performed on her. They needed her mind, her talents, her ability to solve problems.

And so even though he wanted nothing more than for her to be out of his sight, out of his classroom, out of his life, there was only one thing to be done.

"You must learn Occlumency. Having this... information in your completely defenseless mind is dangerous. I'm sure you're smart enough to understand why." He let his words drip with sarcasm. It was easier for him to fall back into the role of sneering Potions professor, easier to distance himself from what they'd done. From what you did to her.

Her gaze never faltered.

"Do I? I suppose I do. Who do you suggest I find to teach me?"

The words hung between them; they both knew the answer.

Finally he spoke, his words clipped and cold. "Be at my Potions classroom tomorrow evening at 7. Do not be late, or I will take 10 points from Gryffindor for each tardy minute."

She nodded in acknowledgment. "Yes, Professor. I won't be late." And with a sweep of her cloak, she was gone.

...~...~...

That night he dreamt of her, kneeling between his thighs, her eyes flashing teasingly at him as she ran the tip of her tongue along his prick. The dream-Granger was even more talented and enthusiastic than the real one had been, and he woke in a cold sweat, his cock throbbing and ready for release. He threw the bedcovers off and got out of bed, pacing around his bedchamber, running his hands through his hair.

He was not some teenager to be enthralled with a girl, having puerile dreams about her desire for him. And even if he did want that, he'd hardly get it from this girl. He'd degraded her, humiliated her, tortured her. He could still hear her screams, could see her scrabbling uselessly at the floor, unable to gain any surcease from the pain. He had held his wand on her relentlessly, far longer than he had thought he could, wanting and needing to make it last, make it real, make sure that it would work. Inevitably, too, making sure that she would despise him.

His mind drifted again to how her mouth had felt sliding over his cock, and he realized that none of this had done anything to help with the reason he'd woken up in the first place. No, he would allow himself no relief this evening. He would not give himself pleasure while thinking of her. No. No, he would not.

He ran a shower with water that was glacially cold and stayed in it until his skin was mottled and blue. It did the job. But he got no further sleep that night.

...~...~...

Hermione, for her part, spent the night staring at the shadow-stippled ceiling of her bedchamber. She supposed that one of the benefits of being Head Girl was that she didn't have to pretend to be asleep for the benefit of her roommates.

If she closed her eyes, she could feel the Cruciatus curse again, feel herself writhing and twisting, desperate to make the pain stop. She could see Professor Snape's face, twisted with cruelty, watching her scream. She hadn't wanted to scream, but the sounds had been wrenched from her, almost as though Snape were drawing them out of her with his wand, his hateful wand.

And what a stupid, ridiculous situation to have got herself into, simply because she was so over-eager to share her research with a professor who openly despised her. But he was the only one who would have understood, she thought. Snape was cruel and belittling, but he also had a sharp mind and a fine eye for detail, not to mention a comprehensive knowledge of Potions. She wondered if he would have looked at her work... if he still would. Bellatrix had only burned one of her copies. She still had the original stashed in her room.

But she was in no mood, no position, to ask him for favors right now. She'd barely been able to stand being in the same room with him earlier that evening, but she'd had to know. Had to know if he'd been successful: if he'd shown Voldemort her torture, and if Voldemort had believed it. Had to know if there would be Death Eaters sent for her.

He said that he had achieved his task, and she believed him. No Death Eaters on their way. Except the one in the dungeons right now, she thought.

She closed her eyes, weary beyond reason, and again heard her own screams, felt Cruciatus, saw his sneer. You couldn't use Cruciatus against someone unless you really despised them. It had to come from a place of true hatred. He had to have been able to muster that up from somewhere.

He liked what I did to his cock, though. He didn't despise that, she thought with some vindictiveness. But maybe that had made it easier for him to cast the curse on her. Maybe his humiliation at being made to submit to some... Mudblood had given him what he needed to torture her afterward.

She could have let him Obliviate it from her mind, and she had been tempted. It would be as though it had never happened. He'd go back to simply being her Potions professor, and she'd go back to being his most irritating student. She knew it would have been easy for him to do it. She wondered why he hadn't done it to her anyway.

She knew why she'd refused him: She couldn't bear the thought of Snape looking at her and knowing what she'd done while she remained stupidly ignorant. The thought roiled her stomach. But... it's not just that, is it?

No, it was that she'd made him enjoy her. She'd given him pleasure, and they both knew it, and she would not let him take that away from her.

She wanted to be able to stop thinking about Snape and what he'd done to her...and what she'd done to him. She wanted to never see him again. She wanted sleep.

But instead she lay in her room, staring at the ceiling, while the hours ticked silently past.