Chapter Text
He had stopped keeping track, so he didn't know it, but it was the thirty-first time.
He had gone straight to Dumbledore's office after Apparating back to Hogwarts from the Riddle home. It was nearly three A.M. by the time he stumbled back to his quarters, and he knew that the attack on the school would come before dinner the next day.
The war had escalated to the point where there could be no denying it. Even Severus Snape was stumbling. He was exhausted and horrified by the tightrope he'd had to walk and the things he'd had to do in the last months of his life, and there could be no vision in his head except making it to the Final Battle.
Not beyond. Just to.
Hermione Granger was already in his chambers. She stood by the sideboard as he slammed through the door. She was nude in the light of the fireplace, her hair pulled back, and she turned to him with a tumbler of brandy in her hand.
He snatched the drink with one hand and shoved her to her knees with the other; she parted the folds of his robes and engulfed him in her mouth as he downed the brandy and refilled it twice. Then he summoned a chair, collapsed back into it with her hardly missing a stroke, and came in her mouth with a grunt.
"You shouldn't be here. You have your own business to attend to," he observed wearily after a moment.
"Harry and Ron and I are prepared, and we will be together tomorrow. For now, Ginny is with Harry and Ron has taken Dreamless Sleep. This is where I belong," she told him from her place at his feet.
He grabbed a handful of her upswept hair and pressed her face against his upper thigh. She sighed.
He was exhausted but far too wired to sleep, and could not afford the after-effects of Dreamless Sleep on the morrow himself. Better to spend the night fucking Hermione. It might be his last chance.
The thought enraged him anew. He had no idea how he could possibly have emotion left in him at this point, but clearly he did.
Snape rose from the chair, his hand still tangled in her hair, and dragged her after him on her hands and knees. She squealed and did her best to keep up. In the bedroom, he summoned the ottoman that he'd bent her over many times by now, but this time he pushed her to stand on it, so that her head was actually above his by a few inches.
Hermione watched him warily, but her juices glistened visibly at the cleft of her pussy. He prowled the room angrily, sometimes muttering to himself, while she waited nervously but without comment.
Finally he whirled on her and stalked across the room. He snatched off the blood-red robes that he still wore, and swirled them around her naked shoulders instead. He was much taller than she, but the extra length of fabric fell around the ottoman.
Her respiration increased as he glared at her in the Death Eater robes with something akin to hatred.
"How do they feel?" he asked her in a menacing voice.
"They're awful," she replied quietly, her own tones vibrating with her fear or her arousal, and as usual he didn't much care which it was.
He nodded, then drew his mask from its pocket in the robes and enlarged it. She stared at it in his hands with her breath caught in her throat, and he reached up and slipped it over her face.
Her shaking was pronounced now. Snape stepped back as if to survey her thoughtfully, and then with a flick of his wand she found her hands jerked overhead, bound uncomfortably at the wrist and chained to the ceiling far above.
Another flick of his wand and the robes were swept open in the front to hang back over her shoulders, so that her nudity was exposed to him. His eyes glittered blackly as he stared at the image she made, his own personal Death Eater doll, to use as he liked.
He could feel his erection straining against the pants he wore. He stared at her in silence for a long moment, then raised his hand and sneered.
"Sectumsempra," he intoned, and Hermione shrieked as a gash appeared across her right breast, above the nipple, and began to bleed freely.
"Sectumsempra," again, and another gash on her left thigh. Snape had a degree of control with this spell that no one else could possibly achieve.
"Sectumsempra." This time the hex fell across her cheek, beneath the mask, without shattering the mask itself, and blood began to slowly drip from beneath its edge, at her jawline.
She was screaming freely now and writhing in her bonds. He had hurt her often over the months, but never quite as savagely as this.
"Sectumsempra... Sectumsempra... Sectumsempra..."
His voice was actually becoming calmer as he continued, even as her screams became more panicked. She turned wildly and slashes appeared on her hip, on the outer curve of her ass, on the delicate line of her bicep.
"Sectumsempra... Sectumsempra..."
Blood ran down her body and legs and dripped freely from her flailing toes. A few drops spattered across his cheek as he stood before her, casting the hex over and over, but it didn't bother him.
"Sectumsempra!" His voice was now a harsh whisper, his eyes narrowed in concentration. "Sectumsempra!"
As time passed she began to flail less, her screams became hoarse, and a pool of blood soaked into the ottoman beneath her feet and dripped onto the floor around it. She was becoming weaker, and as she became more still he was able to focus the hex more carefully, causing smaller, shallower gashes to appear on her inner thighs, across her areolas, and even one across the skin of her throat.
She did not plead, she did not curse him, but the soft, wet noises she made from beneath the hated mask were noises of terror and fear.
Snape stepped closer to her, within kicking distance now that she was too weak to kick him. He reached up, pushed her bushy hair over one shoulder, and pressed his fingers against her neck, calmly taking her pulse.
Her head hung limply down, and she continued to bleed. Anyone who didn't know much about human anatomy would have looked at the amount of blood that covered her skin and the floor beneath her and been certain that she had already been murdered, but Snape knew better.
He studied her, feeling a sense of inner peace that he really only felt while hurting her. His erection throbbed uncomfortably, and absently he reached down to shift its position. Then his eyes narrowed suddenly and his shoulders tensed, and Hermione found it in herself to begin to scream anew even before the first blow landed on her bleeding breast.
He pummeled her thighs, her shoulders, her arse, but more than anywhere else he pummeled her bouncing, blood-smeared tits. Many of his blows landed directly over a gash that he had caused, leading to a fresh well of blood. Her screams were no more than pathetic rasps by now, but still he cherished them.
Suddenly he stopped, grabbed her breast in a bruising grip, and pushed himself close so that he could nearly touch her face with his even with her still above him.
"I don't know if you should have let me put you in that mask," he hissed softly, his eyes shining with malice. "When I can't see your pretty Gryffindor face reminding me who you are, the temptation to rip you into shreds becomes much harder to resist."
She whimpered and kicked weakly, once. He could see the terror in her eyes, but everything else about her expression was smooth, cool, hidden away. Which was, of course, the point of the mask.
Fury surged. "Death Eater cunt!" he spat, and punched her again in the tit.
"Fucking Death Eater whore!" he screamed, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking it hard enough to elicit a response from her even in her current state.
"You're filthy, disgusting murdering trash, aren't you?" He plunged his hand between her thighs, pushing three long fingers into her just enough to wet his hand in her juices before pressing the fourth and his thumb in with them. Of course, even with her experience with this, it was impossible to simply impale her instantly, but he pushed as hard as he could and her cunt began to tear around the invasion.
"You like the things I do in that mask, and that makes you as bad as I am," he grunted, pushing, pushing hard to get inside of her. "You fantasize about being the women that I rape and murder, I know you do. I know you do! And so you're as responsible as I am!"
His hand was inside her now, far enough for his fingers to naturally curl into his palm. The tearing wasn't as bad as that first time, but blood dripped from her pussy now as well as her many wounds. He considered taking the mask off so that he could see her face, but part of him knew that it was only the mask that was letting him go this far and he didn't want to stop.
He slammed his fist into her cervix and she turned and whimpered, but could do nothing to stop him. He grabbed her by the throat with his other hand and squeezed, staring into the eyeholes of the mask to see what he could of her face.
"Do you think I'll do it? Do you think I'll finally snap and do it?" he whispered madly.
And was surprised when she somehow found the strength to shake her head no.
Snape pulled his hand abruptly from her body, which he knew must hurt her nearly as much as the way he had pressed in. He backed up two steps sharply and stared at her in open hatred, and her only response was to minutely shake her head again.
He exhaled and raised his wand and the chains holding her up disappeared. However, he caught her in a fast Mobilicorpus, and levitated her battered body onto the bed. She groaned as she landed.
Snape knelt on the bed beside her and rolled her roughly onto her back, removing the now-tattered red robes in the process and throwing them on the floor. Most of her wounds had stopped actively bleeding, but she was covered in tacky blood and she was entirely limp.
Snape pulled the mask from her face and threw in on the floor beside the robes. Her mouth and chin were covered in blood and snot, and tears were crusted on her cheeks. She was perfection, beautiful.
He lowered his wand to her pussy and cast a healing charm, which she responded to only by fluttering her eyelids.
Snape spread her thighs and positioned himself between them, propped on his arms above her. Her eyes opened and fixed on his face as he pressed his swollen cock into her still-bloody cunt.
"I'm fertile this week," she whispered with what little voice she had left.
"I don't care," he replied as he pressed into her all the way to her womb.
It was astonishing that a woman's passage was elastic enough that this was still enjoyable after invading her with his entire hand. And though Snape had a great fondness for fucking a woman's arse -- mainly because so many women objected to it so strenuously -- there was nothing quite like finding his way home into the center of her body.
He groaned as he fucked her battered and filthy flesh. She could barely whimper anymore, but she blinked up at him, looking somehow content. She raised a hand weakly to his face, and he lowered his mouth over hers.
"Kiss me, Hermione, tonight."
Her eyes gazed at him lovingly. "No."
He sighed, and nuzzled into the hot space by her throat as he continued to use her body.
It was the fifty-third time when he finally came to understand what she was waiting for.
Somehow he'd survived the Final Battle. If his life had been a storybook, he would not have, but she also would have finally given in and kissed him on that last night, or wound up pregnant from his foolhardy lack of contraception. Neither happened. He'd healed her, given her potions to rejuvenate her blood supply and help her rest beneficially, and sent her back to her dorm.
The next day, Harry Potter had killed Lord Voldemort. In the process, Voldemort had nearly killed Severus Snape, and Hermione Granger had taken a few curses intended for her best friend. Hermione had spent several days in the infirmary... Snape, several weeks. But somehow, both had survived.
And then she'd graduated.
And then she'd gone away.
But she came back to him when the necklace that she wore warmed. She no longer needed to come back without being called, because he was no longer being summoned before the Dark Lord. Because the Dark Lord was dead.
The hadn't spoken about what would happen after she left Hogwarts. She'd graduated, he'd shaken her hand sullenly at the commencement just like he'd shaken the hands of her classmates, and she'd packed her things and left Hogwarts for the last time. The last time as a student, anyway.
And three nights later, not knowing if she'd come, he'd invoked the spell that would cause her pendant to respond.
And she had Flooed to him. And he had fucked her mouth, beaten her ass, derided her, and finally fallen asleep with her curled against his side.
That had been the forty-sixth time. By the time the fifty-third time came around, he had been thinking.
And when she stepped out of the fireplace to come to him, then started to sink to her knees, he grabbed a fistful of her hair to keep her on her feet and she yelped.
He stared at her, hard. She bit her lip, meeting his eyes. He still frightened her, and he knew that was part of the reason that she still came to him when he called.
He leaned forward, once again, and brushed his lips over hers, and once again, she did not kiss him, and he smirked.
"For a long time I thought that you were waiting for me to tell you that I love you, you know." He breathed the words into her mouth.
She shook her head minutely, which was not easy with the grip that he had. "No, sir," she whispered.
"I've never said it, but you know perfectly well that I love you."
Her eyes widened. "Yes, sir, I know."
His other hand traced down her body, finding her nipple and tugging on it through the filmy fabric of her summer dress, which made her groan. "That's not what you've been waiting for," he said, and it wasn't really a question.
"No, sir," she agreed in a voice thick with lust.
He stripped her of her dress and knickers, by hand instead of by magic, and compliantly she lifted her arms so that he could pull the former garment away from her.
He grabbed her by the upper arm, hauled her into the bedroom and threw her across the bed. She crawled to the edge and began to fumble with his pants, to get at the prick that she serviced every time she came to him. There was a time when he would not have allowed her this much license, but by now he finally believed that she was not lying in wait to try to rebel against his dominance over their relationship, and so it no longer bothered him when she took this kind of initiative.
He chuckled as she freed his cock and devoured it hungrily, allowing her to play for a moment before he pushed her back into a heap on the bed.
He flipped her with an efficient motion, spit on his hand, and worked his saliva into the pucker of her arsehole. She wiggled and writhed and he pushed his cock into her in a smooth, slow, well-practiced motion.
He grabbed her hair again and pressed her face into the pillow. She knew better than to try to turn her head, so she fisted her fingers into the bedsheets and struggled for air, coughing and gasping until he let her breathe again.
He pounded into her hard, and leaned forward, over her shoulder.
"I've nearly killed you more than once, and you've never lifted a hand to stop me," he murmured.
"Yes, sir," she exhaled between her whimpers.
He squeezed her throat. "I'll probably come close again, you know."
"Yes, sir," she managed to choke out before he released his grip.
His hand found his way beneath her, closing on her breast in a mauling grip; his pace picked up a bit, making her grunt.
"And yet, I'll never do it," he snarled into her ear.
"I know, sir," she ground out, panting.
He pulled free from her arse, flipped her roughly, and drove into her cunt this time. He reached down and hooked one strong hand under her knee, raising her thigh until it was nearly pressed against her torso; then he drove into her deeply enough to bruise her cervix with his length.
"I love you," he grunted, using all his weight to press into her body. "I love you madly. I love you painfully. I love you hurtfully."
She jerked and convulsed around him, gazing up at him as she always did when he fucked her. Her lips were parted and they glistened invitingly with her spit. "I love you too, Professor Snape."
His other hand pressed against her throat again, and she choked as he leaned forward and continued to pound into her. His next words came from between gritted teeth. "I don't have to punish you for calling me that anymore."
He eased up then on her throat, and she gasped desperately for air, her eyes glazed with lust. He stared at her and all she could do for several seconds was shake her head as she caught her breath.
"No, sir," she rasped, her fingers digging into his biceps, and Snape slammed home one final time and grunted as he spilled himself inside of her, their eyes locked. "No, Professor, you don't. I can call you that now. I can call you by name, even now, when you fuck me, when you hurt me."
He collapsed on top of her, panting heavily, his face next to hers.
She turned her face slightly toward him, and he turned his toward her in response.
"Would you like me to kiss you now, sir?" she asked in a whisper.
Snape pulled back just a few centimetres, just enough to see her expression. She was gazing at him with longing, her lips parted.
In response, he smirked down at her. "No. Maybe later."