Twenty: The Valley of Pain

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

When I'm hurting I have a dangerous tongue; I lose it and use it like a gun. Oh won't you stop me if you see me taking aim? I'm walking through the valley of the pain...

Hermione started her sixth year at Hogwarts feeling a bit like an imposter - or worse, an infiltrator. Spending the requisite time with her classmates in her House or in the library was by turns enjoyable and tedious. She felt less in touch with the puerile chatter of the Common Room with every passing day. She supposed it came from the weeks of challenging, stimulating and often heated conversation with Severus; she had spent most of her summer at his side, and she enjoyed him.

She also worried about him. She cast surreptitious glances up at the Head Table to make sure he was eating enough, and keeping his diet balanced. She had spent the last five years driving both Harry and Ron mad with her dietary suggestions; transferring her nagging to Severus seemed as natural as breathing.

He tended to go a little heavy on red meat for her tastes, and not enough on the green vegetables. He also showed a tendency toward white bread. She spent part of their evenings together sweetly imploring him to get a little more fibre in his diet, please; try some yoghurt with fruit for the cultures, trust me, Severus. Anything she could think of to regulate his rather delicate digestive system.

He always gave her sour looks when she brought up his diet. He was a spy, he reminded her; a life lived on high alert, bullshit with fear, went hand in glove with rumbling stomachs. He would eat whatever pleased him, thank you. Refusing to take offence, she merely changed tactics and began to coerce the house-elves into placing more broccoli and spinach on his plate and substituting whole wheat rolls.

She never realised just how much it pleased him to be fussed over in this way. That she nagged him for the sole reason she was concerned for him was quite honestly something no one had ever done. Severus' mother had been happy to just have food in the house most days. Many a morning meal in the Snape household had comprised of cold porridge oats with water and salt. Nutrition was a reserve of the middle classes.

He concluded that Hermione's parents had reared their precocious daughter to be as healthy as a horse, and she fully intended on bridling him with the same nosebag. Severus simply pretended to ignore her advice, and swallowed a few forkfuls of spinach when she wasn't looking.

During the Welcoming feast, where Severus was named as the Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher, Harry had been furious, making no secret of the fact that he thought Severus was starting to show his true colours - all of them Dark. Harry was still smarting from his altercation on the train with Draco. If Luna Lovegood hadn't found him, he would have been halfway to London now.

Hermione and her two friends now sat together, surrounded by the chatter of excited first years and the boisterous camaraderie of students coming together after the long summer. Hermione listened with pretended surprise as they told of their run-in with Draco in Diagon Alley, and how he'd been seen in Borgin & Burkes on some mysterious mission. It hadn't helped that Draco had overpowered Harry on the train to Hogwarts and left him there, making him late for the Sorting ceremony, and, of course, the victim of Severus' wrath.

Harry was also convinced that Draco had taken the Dark Mark over the summer. "I'll bet that greasy git put him up to it, too," Harry said, spearing a sprout with his fork. "And I've got detention with him tomorrow afternoon!" he added, still smarting from his run-in with Severus at the school gates. "Bloody git didn't say a word to Luna for being late, oh no. Just me!"

Hermione felt a queasy feeling of protectiveness for her husband, and frustration of not being able to defend him. It was a feeling she would come to know very well. She had to admit that Severus' view of Harry was still, at best, prejudiced, and at worst, obtuse. She also thought Harry deliberately pushed Severus' buttons whenever possible. Mistakes were made on both sides, and it troubled Hermione to be in the middle of them, even if only Severus knew it.

It also bothered her that Harry made no mention of the events of the previous spring, and their row just before school had ended. He was still mourning Sirius, but seemed to feel that the best course of action was just not to mention it. Hermione, never one to ignore a problem, found herself relieved that he had chosen not to challenge the matter further.

Hermione found sixth-year work every bit as grueling as she had imagined it. During the day, she behaved as she had always: attending classes, researching in the library, doing homework in the common room and listening to Harry and Ron discuss Quidditch, Malfoy and Professor Snape.

At night, she would wait until after curfew and Floo into Severus's bedroom. Because she had always gone to bed later and risen earlier than either Lavender or Pavarti, it was easy to convince them that she was spending the maximum amount of time studying, and as Prefect she made sure the Common Room was empty before leaving through the fireplace.

Many was the night she stumbled out of the fireplace, falling into his arms, exhausted from pretending. Severus always welcomed her, listened to her relive the events of the day, made suggestions on her Potions work, and made love to her as if it might be the last time.

At times, their lovemaking took on a desperate tang. It was the frightening realization that any minute he could be summoned; the balance of things could shift. Severus was, as always, a constant, gifted lover. He never took her in anger, although he was angry a great deal of the time, and he never left her wanting, even when his own passions were quick fire and too incendiary to wait. He always made sure she was satisfied. Oh, Merlin, could he satisfy her.

While DADA was the subject Severus had always loved and the position he had coveted from his first year at Hogwarts, he found no pleasure in it, knowing what was soon to happen. Dumbledore was growing frailer, more unpredictable with each day; it was heartbreaking to see the once fierce warrior wizard disintegrating practically before his eyes. The days felt too much like marking time.

At breakfast in the Great Hall, Harry rolled the vial of Felix Felicis between his fingers around on the table. It had been his reward for making a perfect potion for their new Potions Master, Professor Slughorn, and Harry was rather pleased with himself. His eyes kept straying to his battered Potions textbook. Hermione, in spite of herself, was intrigued.

"Harry, where did you say you got this text again? It looks ancient," she said, reaching for it.

To her shock, Harry snatched the book out of her hands. "It was just a moldy old copy I found in the cupboard. All the nice ones were taken."

Hermione watched him carefully. He had never been so cagey about anything, especially a book.

From the first week of school, Harry had started 'private lessons' with the Headmaster, and the things he reported back to Ron and Hermione were cryptic and puzzling. He told them of the memories he'd witnessed in the Pensieve, and the reason the Headmaster was so adamant that Professor Slughorn return to teach Potions.

"And, in the memory, Tom Riddle asked Professor Slughorn if he knew anything about something called 'Horcruxes.' That's when the memory got dodgy, and Professor Dumbledore said that Slughorn had tried to tamper with it," Harry concluded.

"Horcrux? He actually used the word, 'Horcrux'?" Hermione said, and her heart started beating just a little more quickly. Hadn't Dumbledore mentioned that word before she and Severus had gotten married? He had promised her he would explain things when school started, but it looked as though Harry would be the one to explain it, not Dumbledore.

"Yeah. I asked him what it meant, but all he would say is that I needed to persuade Slughorn to give me the true memory of what happened when Tom Riddle asked him about it. It seemed more important that Tom knew what a Horcrux was than whether or not I knew." In spite of Harry's unshakable loyalty to Dumbledore, Hermione could sense a bit of frustration. Harry, more than anyone, hated to be kept in the dark, and he'd been led around in less than stellar light by Dumbledore practically all his life.

"What does it all mean?" Ron asked, looking at Hermione, his large eyes holding a particular meaning all their own.

It both amused and dismayed Hermione to realise that Ron was staring at her more often with that penetrating gaze that passes for 'meaningful' in teenaged boys. To Hermione, he looked like a sick cow. She decided not to mention it to Severus. He had already shown a bit of jealousy when Cormac McClaggen started sniffing around her in class. Severus had given him a detention for 'raising his wand too far to the left' during a jinxing spell, and poor Cormac had spent the evening mixing Thestral dung with Professor Sprout's special fertilizer for Hogwarts' rosebushes.

Voldemort had been strangely quiet, and Severus had not been summoned since the day he and Hermione were given a private audience with him. It troubled Severus, and he knew that, when the time came, it would not be a pleasant occurrence.

That summoning came on the first Hogsmeade weekend - the day Katie Bell almost died.

Hermione entered his chambers slowly, feeling numb with shock. Severus was waiting for her. He was storing away his Death Eater robes and the hated mask. He looked tired, but otherwise unharmed. Hermione did the only thing she knew to draw away the taint of the Dark Lord from Severus' soul. She put her arms around him, and held him until the tension drained from his body.

"How is she?" Hermione asked without preamble. Everyone in school had heard of the terrible events. Katie Bell had been with the rest of them in Hogsmeade, when she was cursed by a necklace that was laced with Dark magic. Hagrid had carried the unconscious girl to the infirmary, but Severus had been the one to examine her.

He led Hermione to the sofa and drew her onto his lap. She felt cold; with a muttered spell, Severus quickly removed her clothing and wrapped her in his warmest, thickest dressing robe. She leaned against him gratefully.

"To be perfectly honest, Lass, Miss Bell is lucky to be alive. The curse was caught in time, but we could have had Hogwarts' first student fatality of the war today. She's in St. Mungo's now." He felt her shiver, and held her closer. "Hagrid told me the three of you saw what happened to her."

"It was truly horrible to watch," Hermione said, describing the awful event; Katie, thrown into the air, screaming in pain and terror. The entire incident was so nightmarish Hermione was sure it would haunt all of them for a long time.

"Miss Bell remembers nothing after going to the loo in the Three Broomsticks," Severus mused. "She must have been Imperused there."

Hermione bit her lip. "Harry is convinced it was the same necklace he saw Draco looking at in Borgin and Burkes a couple of years ago; ergo, Katie must have received the necklace from Draco."

"In the women's loo? I can't picture him there myself, but –"

Hermione smirked, and Severus could feel her expression change, although he couldn't see it. "Well, you don't have to. Professor McGonagall had Draco in detention all afternoon."

"Hmm. Sit up a little straighter, Hermione, you're pinching my – ah, yes, that's better." Severus shifted into a more comfortable position. "So he wasn't there. That doesn't necessarily preclude the fact that he could have planted it."

"You're starting to sound like Harry."

"Merlin forbid." He turned her in his arms until she was straddling him. "All I could think was that it could have been you. It could have been my witch, cursed." His dark eyes were bleak and resigned, and his voice became soft. "Remind me that I'm alive, Hermione. Remind me that you are whole and unharmed, and mine."

He pulled open her robe as he spoke, gazing raptly down at her body. He pulled her close. "Hide me away, Hermione, where no one can find us."

Hermione lay against Severus' chest, listening to the comforting, steady beat of his heart. Their coupling had been frenzied and brief, and as they finished, panting, their mouths still fused together, Hermione could feel the heat from her man through his clothes. She unbuttoned his pristine white lawn shirt, revealing the smooth, pale flesh glistening beneath, and she blew on it to cool him.

He shivered, in spite of their combined heat, and Hermione sensed something was wrong. He had not volunteered any information regarding the summoning. As much as she dreaded it, Hermione knew she would have to pull it from him, as no explanation was forthcoming.

"Severus?" She looked into his liquid eyes, black as ink, and let her own ask the question. He tilted his head, and sighed.

"I know, Hermione. I haven't told you because I can't bring myself to." He looked down, toying with the sash of her robe. "I can hardly bear to remember it."

Alarmed, she whispered, "What happened?" The blood oath they shared would have told her if he himself were in harm's way. No, this had been something so horrible he had disrobed her, pulled her into his arms and initiated desperate sex with her so that he would not have to talk or think about it.

Hermione took his head in her hands. "You're going to have to tell me eventually, Severus."

He looked down and swallowed. "It was a Revel. A Dark Revel. I was excused from participating because of 'my concubine's delicate condition,' the Dark Lord explained." Severus' brow furrowed. "Everyone had great laugh at that.

"They had a – a Muggle girl there. She was about your age. They – they brutalized her, they shared her and passed her around like a party favour." He still would not meet her eyes. "When it was over, they killed her. Bella did it. She did it while forcing the poor girl to – " He stopped, and looked away. Hermione felt him shudder, and she knew exactly what he was thinking. It could have been her. She could have been Bella's Muggle plaything, to bat around and abuse before destroying.

She cupped his face with her hands and gently kissed his forehead, trying to comfort him. I'm here now, she said, wordlessly. You must forgive yourself. You could not have prevented it. There comes a time to act, but for now, Professor Dumbledore's Greater Good has to apply. It's the only way you can live with yourself.

He shook his head, her words offering no consolation. "And I had to stand there, looking bored, looking as if I saw this every day. Hermione, Bellatrix knew about Katie Bell. She asked me if the Headmaster had received any tokens of affection lately. The necklace must have been meant for Albus."

For a long moment, she and Severus looked down at his hands, clasped protectively around hers. "Then we have to find out what Draco's planning," Hermione said thoughtfully.

Severus nodded. "And more to the point, what Dumbledore is planning."

Several weeks into the school year, Hermione grimly considered the implications of getting what she wished for, as she mounted the steps up to the Headmaster's study.

"Ah, come in, Miss Granger – or Madam Granger-Snape, I should say," he said cordially, as if their last, heated discussion had never taken place. "Thank you for answering my summons so promptly. Please join your husband, my dear."

Hermione moved to sit awkwardly beside Severus on a small sofa. Their eyes met briefly. Give nothing away, Lass, came his voice in her head. Occlude your mind as if you were meeting the Dark Lord. Hermione looked carefully ahead, and rather primly cleared her throat, their pre-arranged signal during situations like this.

For several moments, Professor Dumbledore regarded them carefully, as if trying to make up his mind about something. "And how are your classes, Madam Granger-Snape? Are you settling in well?"

Hermione felt a vague irritation at his clumsy attempt at small talk. "Very well, thank you, sir." She decided to cut to the chase. After glancing quickly at Severus, she continued, "The last time we spoke, you mentioned 'Horcruxes,' sir. I had hoped we might continue our discussion."

For the first time in months, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he reminded her of the kindly, grandfatherly wizard Hermione remembered as a first year. But she was no longer eleven, and the stakes were too high to be taken in by his fatherly mien.

"To the point, as always, my dear. Very well." He looked at Severus pointedly.

In retrospect, Hermione almost wished he had beat around the bush a little more.

An hour later, Hermione sat across from Severus on his bed. He was propped up against one of the large end posts; she was leaning against the more comfortable headboard. He took a long drink of Ogden's. Hermione had been too upset to even consider drinking anything stronger than pumpkin juice.

Finally, Severus spoke. "Merlin, I feel sick." With the swift, angry movement of a man who must do something or jump out of his skin, he leapt to his feet and began to pace the room. "He knew! That old poof knew! All this time he's played me for the worst fool, and I've let him!"

He strode about the room. "He's not going to tell Potter, you know that, don't you?" He mimicked Dumbledore. "'When the time comes, I will give Harry all of the knowledge he will need to fulfill his destiny.' What utter bullshit! We can't even tell the boy the truth!"

"You weren't to know – "

"I should have guessed!" Severus ran a distracted hand through his hair. "I should have known that Potter's scar meant something, but at the time all I could think about was –" He stopped, knowing his words would, at best, sound incredibly insensitive, and at worst, hurt the one person on earth he had no desire to hurt. He sat down on the bed beside her, numb with the shock of it. His hand reached out and stroked her foot, but it was an automatic gesture; he was barely aware he was doing it.

"I've spent the last sixteen years insuring that Lily's son survived. And now I'm told I've helped keep him alive so that he can sacrifice himself in the end. I've sat by and watched James Potter's son flaunt every school rule, risk his life stupidly and taunt me with his insolence, but I've endured it for the end game." He scrubbed his face with his hands. "I could have let Quirrell knock him off his broom during his first year and it would have made no more difference."

"It would have made all the difference in the world to you - here, where it counts," Hermione replied, placing her hand over his heart. She knew he could rail about Harry for Britain. But Severus was a man of honour, even though he thought of himself as anything but. If she did nothing else before she left this earth, Hermione was determined to convince him that he was merely a man who'd made the wrong choices in life and had done his penance. Severus had always thought himself an unredeemable man given a mission; Hermione knew him to be a loyal man with an unshakable sense of duty.

His shoulders slumped, and that gesture of defeat made Hermione's heart ache for her husband – this fine man, who had lost so much and was being asked to sacrifice so much more. "After all you've done for him – after all you promised you would do? He knew your soul would be torn the moment you – " She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence. The moment you took his life, to cement your alliance with the Dark Lord and play out this grisly plan. But why Harry? Why does Harry have to die to win?

Hermione tried to put all the pieces together, but all she could see were the two hideous facts bookending her mind: Severus would forfeit his soul when he killed Dumbledore, and Harry would have to die anyway. Severus would be permanently damaged and in the end it would be for nothing. She would lose them both.

Pain and anger swept over Hermione like wildfire. She looked up at her husband. Severus Snape was a good man, and she loved him with all her heart. He was not perfect, he was not pretty. But he was beautiful, and his soul was like a kaleidoscope of intellect, passion and duty that awed and soothed her, that excited and challenged her. It was a precious soul in its pain and acceptance, and Hermione felt privileged to be a part of this complex, multi-faceted man's life. He was too valuable to throw away, yet Dumbledore was preparing to toss him aside like a used Muggle prophylactic.

No, she thought. I won't let it happen! She put her arms around him. "Please don't give up now, Severus," she whispered, knowing it was too late. "I'll help Harry find the other Horcruxes. Maybe we can find them before Draco tries – "

"It won't matter," he replied, his lovely voice flat and emotionless, devoid of its beauty. "In the end, Albus will die, and by my hand. Apparently Draco isn't too far gone for his chance at redemption, whereas I?" Severus shrugged. "It doesn't matter, Lass. We've agreed to this end; we have to play our parts, and that means you as well."

He turned and dragged her into his arms. "Every moment is precious to me now, Hermione." His onyx eyes burned into hers. "I don't care how you come to me, witch, but I need you every moment of the day. If you cannot get away, I'll come and get you. But I cannot entertain a hope for survival without you."

On her way back to the Common Room that evening, Harry caught her and Ron and rushed them into a corner, casting the Muffliato spell. He was terribly excited, his green eyes sparkling.

"I found out. I got him to tell me today! It was easy!" Harry was babbling, and both Ron and Hermione tried to calm him.

"Found out what, mate? No offence, but you're not making much sense," Ron said, and Harry nodded and took a deep breath.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just so excited! I decided to take the Felix Felicis, to see if I could get lucky enough to get Slughorn to talk to me, and it worked!" he cried, smiling at his friends. "I know what a Horcrux is! Two of them have been destroyed, and I know how to go about finding the others!"

"Well, tell us!" Hermione exclaimed, silently thanking the powers that be for all those acting lessons. Her heart was aching so badly it was all she could do to prevent herself from throwing her arms around him and bursting into tears.

The autumn months passed quickly; the weather grew cold, the air grew pungent with falling leaves and woodsmoke. Hermione was often tired, but she kept her promise to Severus in every way she could, and stayed with him every moment she could spare. They were careful, and with the help of friendly ghosts, suits of armour, and a surprisingly cooperative Mr. Filch, they were able to be together more than they'd ever hoped.

She found that Severus, while enjoying her body with abandon and talented skill, was still as content as he had been in the early part of their relationship to merely hold her. He could and did kiss her contentedly for hours, until she was so breathless and aroused that she would end up dragging him to their bed. She finally came to the realisation that he needed that reaction; he needed to be wanted.

When he initiated sex, it was very dominant and amazingly exciting to Hermione. He would be fully in charge, aggressive, dirty, a little rough, and she reveled in it. When she approached him, he was a tender, passionate lover, worshipping every inch of her body, shivering with delight at her reciprocation.

At night she stroked and fondled and petted him, trying to fill him with all the love she was capable of giving. His scars, growing dimmer with every passing day, seemed to melt beneath her touch, and he could literally lie still for a solid hour, groaning with pleasure as her gentle hands soothed the aches of his body and mind away.

DADA was a demanding class to teach, both magically and physically, and called for him to be at his physical peak. Severus had always prided himself in keeping as fit as possible; he could not have survived his association with the Dark Lord otherwise. Teaching Potions had its own physical challenges; after all, ingredients were often found in remote places, facilitating jaunts across terrain that was hilly and often treacherous. Cauldrons were heavy, and had to be moved from place to place, discarded when useless, acquired when needed. He could have used magic to transport them, but he chose to do it himself as a means of keeping his muscles conditioned. Patrolling a large castle several times a week had ensured stamina.

Severus knew, however, the aches of his spirit, the degenerative entropy of hope and happiness, could not be strengthened by mere physical means. It was for this spiritual wasting that Hermione was able to use her magic to heal and strengthen him. Severus privately felt he was being selfish and indulgent to lie here night after night, purring like a cat beneath her gentle hands and healing kisses; he tried not to feel like the most self-centred bastard on the planet as she crooned and petted him, and he consoled himself that she did it simply because she loved him, and he could and did return her ministrations equally.

Even as he slept, he was aware in the deepest part of his subconscious of her hands, whispering lightly over his skin; he could feel her healing magic seeping into him through his pores, like water filling the cracked ground of a barren land, nourishing him, making him feel more alive than he honestly knew he had a right to feel.

No one had ever touched him this way. His mother was too broken and cowed to show her unusual son more than just the most oblique affection. Other women of his youth had stroked him, had given him callow, dirty kisses, had sucked his impressive cock with the indifference of their profession, and fucked him because he had been sufficiently and conveniently hard enough for them.

He had been raped by women, buggered by men; forced to do any amount of degrading, soul-destroying things in the name of serving the Dark Lord. Those things, those people, had been purged from him along with the scars he had borne. Hermione had swept them away from him, to the point where he barely remembered his jaded self when they were sequestered in their bedroom.

His skin was almost flawless now; only the Dark Mark remained, and even it looked smudged, redundant. Severus looked at it sometimes as if he truly didn't know what it was anymore. Only Hermione mattered now, Hermione and this mission Dumbledore was determined to fulfill. To Dumbledore, the only thing that mattered was Potter, and Severus even wondered about that.

He saw the way Dumbledore followed the boy with his eyes; Severus still remembered the look on Albus' face when he and Potter came in late the first night of school. Potter, always flaunting his notoriety, had been last off the train and swaggered into the Great Hall with Severus following grimly behind. The relief and joy on the Headmaster's face had looked like, well, like Severus' when Hermione appeared in their chambers at the end of a long day. Yes, he wondered about that.

Hermione found Defense Against The Dark Arts a rigorous subject in the most peaceable of times. Except for the mind-numbing so-called tutelage of Dolores Umbridge, Hermione had always had to work hard to excel in it. The DA had helped. In the bosom of her friends, she had relaxed and found her natural rhythm. Her reflexes had sharpened, and she had gradually honed her skills to a sharp edge.

It was not a subject that came naturally or easily to her, and try as she might, it galled her to admit to her own husband that she would struggle in his class during the term. With typical Severus Snape snarkiness, he merely gave her a pointed look and said, "Why, Madam Granger-Snape, does this mean that you may actually have to study to get passable grades? There goes our quality time."

But she was not the only one with strong opinions on the subject. "I hate the way Snape talks about the Dark Arts," Harry spat, one evening, as they sat in the Gryffindor Common Room, revising for a practical exam. "He makes it sound so – " Harry made a face. "I don't know, seductive."

Hermione rolled her eyes and counted to three. "It's Professor Snape, Harry, and he's proving a point! The Dark Arts are seductive, and you have to be vigilant to not be seduced by them."

Harry scowled. It would have irritated both him and Severus to know that, at that moment, Hermione thought they looked absurdly alike. "Well, he doesn't have to sound like he enjoys talking about them so much," he grumbled.

"Harry! What he teaches us might save our lives soon!" Hermione shot back, rising from her chair. "I, for one, wouldn't care if he stood on the table and sang their praises to the tune of 'I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside,' as long as he's showing me how to defend myself against the Death Eaters!"

"You're just saying that because he gave you a passing mark for dueling today!" Ron called after her, as Hermione stalked away toward the library. She tried not to let Ron's parting shot irritate her. She'd bloody well earned that passing grade. Well, she should have. They practiced dueling almost every night before they collapsed in bed for a few precious hours together.

Hermione suppressed a grin. It had been a memorable lesson today for a number of reasons.

Class that day had covered blocking during defensive dueling, a professed weak spot for Hermione. Severus had paired her off with Lavender Brown, and Hermione had held her own for several minutes, blocking spells and moving with reflexes honed by hours with Severus, who never pulled his punches. She was feeling very pleased with herself when Lavender got lucky and derailed her with a well-timed Jelly-Legs Jinx, and Hermione had wobbled all over the place to the hilarity of her classmates. Even Harry and Ron were amused.

Severus had allowed the jinx to last just long enough for the Slytherins to have a good long laugh, before cancelling the spell. "It seems a pity to give you a passing grade for your less than stellar performance today, Miss Granger. However, you did manage to block the prerequisite number of spells from Miss Brown. Pity she was able to bring you down in such an undignified manner. I can see your indolent summer holidays thoroughly prepared you for more advanced work," he'd sneered, and the insecure part of Hermione's ego wanted to slap the smug look off his long face.

"Yes, sir," she'd replied. "Hopefully I will find more room for improvement."

"If it rests between the pages of a book, I'm sure you will, Miss Granger," he drawled languidly, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. He gave her a sidelong glance, his eyes sliding under long lashes, and in spite of the derisory laughter of the Slytherins, Hermione felt moisture pooling in her knickers. His expression grew haughty, and she felt his mind touch hers, feeling the desire growing within her.

Severus turned on his heel and walked toward his desk. "See me after class, Miss Granger. Perhaps you can find that room for improvement in detention."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione saw Harry shoot Severus a hard, hated look. She shook her head at Harry. "I'll be fine," she said, quietly. As she turned to retrieve her books, she accidentally bumped into Draco Malfoy. "Sorry," she said, automatically, then cursed herself for apologizing.

Draco mumbled something she didn't understand, and Hermione looked up at the blond boy's face. It was pinched and drawn, his eyes enormous and shadowed. For a moment, their eyes met, and Hermione sensed his thoughts, and what she saw there was pure, abject terror. She made a promise to herself that soon, she would manufacture an opportunity to speak with him. He looked like someone who needed to pour his heart out to a sympathetic ear.

The chime sounded, ending the class, and they all filed out, with Hermione lagging behind. "You two go on," she said, feigning frustration at being told to stay behind for class. "I'll see you later at dinner."

Hermione looked over at her husband, and in spite of the embarrassing events of the past hour, felt as if he didn't touch her soon, she would go mad. Something about being in class with him today of all days; she didn't know why, but she knew she wasn't leaving this room until he shagged her rotten. She turned and closed the door behind the last of the students.

"Lock it, Miss Granger," he purred, and she closed her eyes, feeling her face grow hot. She quickly obeyed him and turned to face him as he finished warding the room. He looked up at her and she saw the spark flash in his eyes. He stood and walked over to the front of his desk and favoured her with a sneer.

"Come here, Miss Granger," he intoned, his voice imperious and cold. Hermione felt her body flush as hot as her face; how was it possible to want the man any more?

Obediently she approached him, and met eyes that were impenetrable as night. "Yes, sir?" she said, unable to keep a tiny smile from quirking at the corners of her mouth.

"Do you think this amusing, Miss Granger? I, for one, do not." he hissed, and she ducked her head, waiting for his next move. She could feel her core growing hotter and pulsing with that sweet, shivery ache only he knew how to soothe.

"I'm sorry, sir."

"Apologies aren't enough, girl," he drawled, his voice so alluring it seemed to glide over her skin, pebbling her nipples and tickling her belly. He towered over her, tipping her chin until her eyes met his. Not so indifferent, then, she thought, as they blazed with lust so dark it felt wicked, unlawful to share.

She tried a different tack. "I – I could do extra credit, sir. To show I'm sincere."

"Not good enough, either." He brushed his thumb across her plump bottom lip. As his thumb slid over her mouth, he pushed it between her lips, and gasped quietly as she sucked it into her warm, wet mouth. His cock strained as she rolled her tongue around his thumb, suckling it, her eyes burning into his.

"Dirty little witch," he sneered, and Hermione shivered and felt heat radiating from her core. "Dirty little girl, trying to seduce her professor."

Her response was to suck his finger harder. She closed her eyes, giving in to the dark, aching need in her belly, knowing that soon, he would give her what she wanted; what was her right to take.

To her disappointment, he removed his thumb from her mouth, and smeared the wet pad over her lips, making them glisten. He purred, 'Do you know what happens to bad little witches who try to seduce their teachers?" He smiled. "They get what they deserve."

His kiss was like an attack, and Hermione cried out as he roughly yanked her into his arms, forcing her mouth open, forcing her to open to him, his tongue punishing hers. He grasped the back of her head, and pressed her to him, his lips and tongue battling with hers, moaning deep within his chest, not allowing her to breathe or to pull away from him.

Hermione held onto him, grinding her pelvis against his, feeling his erection pulsing against her belly. She was moaning helplessly now, pushing her thoughts into his mind: Touch me ... take me ... hurt me if you need to, but do it! I need it ... I need you ...

And suddenly he was spinning her around, muttering an incantation. The legs of his large desk lowered until it was the perfect height for her to lie over. Hermione gasped and placed her hands on the top to keep her knees from buckling.

"Extra credit, Miss Granger?" His seductive, rich voice made her shiver with longing. "Show me. Show me what you have in mind."

Hermione smiled, and in the ultimate gesture of trust, she bent over the desk. With this signal, she was telling him she was ready – ready to put that ugly encounter with Sirius Black in Grimmauld Place away forever.

Hermione felt Severus' large hand on her neck, gently pushing her, forcing her down onto the desk. He lifted her hips until she was dangling from the surface, and his large hands were reaching for her knickers even as he spelled her robes from her body.

"Bad little girls get fucked on their professor's desk, Miss Granger," he crooned, freeing his aching cock from its confines and rubbing the head between her swollen, drenched labia. "So wet. Such a dirty little witch," he ground out, and plunged into her, burying himself to the hilt with a soft, growling sound. Hermione's answering cry of passion almost took him over the edge.

His lust was hot and dark, and he fucked her hard, ruthlessly trying to pound her into the desk. He was babbling, but he didn't seem to notice or care.

"I've wanted to do this for too long, Miss Granger," he panted, and she mewled helplessly, "Sweet, silky little cunt, perfect for me, made for me alone ..."

Hermione held onto the desk, crying out, wondrously filled and completely caught up in his fantasy. "God, don't stop! Please!"

He spanked her bottom hard enough to leave a red imprint of his hand, and she made a sharp, growling sound that made his groin feel as if it were filled with liquid magma. "That's right, little succubus, beg! Beg me for favours, delicious little vixen, tempting me, teasing me with your sweetness, your perfect innocence."

He was driving hard into her now, with long, slow, deep thrusts, and it was hard to concentrate. He panted, "I've wanted you longer than you should have been wanted, witch." He looked down at her round, heart-shaped bottom, his handprint still visible.

He slowed, but still moved within her. "Barely old enough to bleed, and you enticed me like a siren! I wanted your brilliant mind, and your strong heart, and your love. They belong to me now!"

"Yes! All of it is yours!" she cried out deliriously. His confession was visceral and carnal, and something within Hermione broke, and her orgasm rushed down on her, and her wail of ecstasy echoed off the walls of the room.

Feeling her tight cunt throbbing and undulating around his cock, Severus felt his own lust blazing out of control and he grasped her slender waist and pulled her to him with a feral snarl of pleasure. He slammed into her, hard, fast, the way she wanted it, and he cried out, "Mine, now! You're mine – you belong to me!" The sizzling wire running through him burst into flames and he felt his own release crashing down, melting his nervous system into a mess of thrusting, pumping heat. "Hermione! Gods ... oh, love, I'm coming for you ..."

He roared his completion as he pounded into her, spilling his seed, filling her with his body, his love, his entire being. Over and over he cried out into the room, head back, knees trembling, his body and hair damp with arousal and exertion.

He looked down at his beautiful wife, shuddering, holding onto the edge of the desk. Her little mewling cries were endearing and sweet, and he hastily withdrew and gently gathered her up in his arms. He was almost afraid he'd gone too far. Why was it that even the slightest brush with the darkness filled him with this unholy lust?

As he turned her to face him, murmuring to her, she flung her arms around his neck, kissing his cheeks, his nose, everywhere her mouth could reach. "Gods, Severus," she groaned, still shivering. "Gods, you're like an addiction. I can't get enough of you."

She looked up into his face, and she shook her head. "Severus, I swear your face is different. I think you look younger!" His onyx eyes widened at her statement. She nodded. "I'm serious!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him to the large mirror that stood in the classroom for wand practice. Together they looked. Severus stared at himself, shocked.

He was, he freely admitted, not a handsome man. No matter how much he was loved, it did not change the fact that he was whip-cord thin, pale and lanky. Hermione could not change his overly large nose, or his crooked teeth or messy, stringy hair. But she was right. He did look younger. He had not seen this man looking back at him for at least six years.

The precocious little witch standing on tiptoe beside him smiled at his reflection, and slipped her arms around his slender waist and squeezed until he grunted in mock pain.

She grinned up at her husband. "Gorgeous."

He scoffed. "Hardly, Lass. Love is truly blind."

Hermione sobered. "You really don't understand, do you, Severus?" She stroked his pale skin, and he closed his eyes at her gentle, loving touch. Each stroke of her hand whispered love. "You are beautiful to me. And I don't care if you live to be two hundred, you will always be beautiful."

He held her close. "And you, my love, are perfection." He kissed her wild, untamable hair. "And you are also running late for dinner. Go, and we will work on blocking that Jelly-Legs Jinx tonight in 'detention.'"

She grinned mischievously. "You know, I've always wondered about detentions with Professor Snape. Perhaps you'll have to give me a spanking."

He gasped, shocked. "Hermione! I have never –" Her sly expression stopped his words. He shook his head. "Well, for you I may be forced to make an exception." He spelled her clothing back where they belonged, regarded her for a moment more, then huffed. "Incorrigible witch. Off with you." He gave her backside a playful swat, and was rewarded with a tantilising grin as she all but skipped to the door.

She turned. "I'll see you tonight, Professor Snape." She tipped him a wink, and he crossed his arms, watching her delectable bum as she sauntered off.

He allowed himself a laugh, and readjusted his hopeful but disappointed erection. Whatever he had done to deserve this insufferable little know-it-all, he only wished to continue doing it.

When Hermione and Severus rose that morning, there was no nagging feeling of impending disaster, no blip in the magical radar to give any hint that something was amiss. It was like every day they rose together.

Hermione felt Severus' arm on her shoulder, and she jumped out of bed in her typical fashion. While she enjoyed a lie-in as much as anyone, especially lie-ins with Severus, school days were sacrosanct, and even Severus found it impressive watching someone zoom out of the starting gate that easily.

With a kiss and a hug, and another kiss because Severus was greedy, she would literally dress as she talked, cleaned her teeth, ran a brush through her impossible hair and told him her plans for the day. By the time she had showered, dressed and flown out the door, Severus had more or less managed to stand up.

Classes went pretty much as per usual; no one killed anyone, and Katie Bell had returned to class, much to Severus' relief. He was late for dinner, and was walking down the corridor toward the Great Hall when the scream rent the air like a siren.

"Murder! Murder in the bathroom! Murder!"

Severus rolled his eyes. He despised Moaning Myrtle and her histrionics on a good day, but just as he was about to stop her and ask her to explain, he felt a sharp pinch in the palm of his hand, and a sudden, hasty thought lanced into his mind. Come quickly, Severus! It's Draco!

Running, Severus flew into Myrtle's hideout, to be met with a sight that would haunt him the rest of his days. Draco Malfoy was lying on the wet floor, even more pale than usual. Blood was streaming from dozens of different gashes all over his body. Standing against the sinks was Harry Potter, looking stunned and horrified, holding his wand as if he was afraid of it.

On her knees beside Draco, staring unseeing in shock, her shaking hands red with blood, her neck and abdomen slashed and bleeding profusely, was his Hermione.

Chapter title and song lyrics: Valley of Pain - Written by Allen Shamblin and Rob Mathes, from the Bonnie Raitt album, Silver Lining