Bad Romance

To correct a misunderstanding- this is not the final chapter. There are two more (possibly two more plus an epilogue) chapters coming, so keep reading!

I don’t wanna be friends
No, I don’t wanna be friends
I don’t wanna be friends

Want your bad romance
Want your bad romance

“Why do you do this?” he asks. She is kneeling in her usual position in his hall, wearing her usual garment. He can see the marks he has left on her, the myriad of bruises, cuts, and little scars.

“I thought you needed it,” she answers, just as quietly, but with a gentleness that his voice lacks.

“No one ever stood up for you. You suffered, you suffered a great deal. You had no outlet. Blasting rose bushes didn’t help. I thought if I gave myself to you… you might heal. I thought it would help.” The last sentence is spoken in a whisper he can barely hear.

“And you?” he asks, a slight sneer returning to his voice. “You were wet, every time. Did you think to use me for your sick fantasies?”

She recoils from his words as if from a blow.

“No,” he continues, voice gentle. “I was not the only one who needed this. I’ve Legilimensed you while you sleep. I started some time ago- it was just another violation of you, and I enjoyed it. You suffered too. So much guilt… so much pain and self-loathing.” He pauses for a moment, an ugly look on his face.

“You came to me because you wanted to help me, and because you thought I would hurt you. I did. I hurt you more than you should have allowed, more than you should have enjoyed. I whipped you, cut you, chained you up like a dog. I subjected you to fire and to ice, to needles and to belts. And you took it all as though I was giving you a gift.” The disgust in his voice is palpable.

“But no more,” he says, shaking his head. She looks up at him, eyes wide.

He reaches down and unlocks her collar. Next he unties the ribbon, and gently removes all the chains that she has worn so often. Now she is naked but for the rings on her nipples and clit hood. These cannot be removed, for the charm he used to attach them was permanent. He looks at them with remorse.

“I am sorry,” he whispers, taking off his cloak and wrapping it around her. She clutches at it, shell-shocked. He grips her by the elbows and raises her to her feet. Her eyes are still slightly vacant, as though she has not grasped this new reality.

He stands in front of her, waiting for a while. She is silent for long minutes as her eyes slowly come into focus. She bites her lip, and he knows her brain is now going a million miles a minute as it used to during his classes.

“Severus.”

He is startled but pleased by her use of his name. She has never called him by his name before. She wraps the cloak around her nakedness and sits down upon the chair next to his cloak rack.

“I… I came to you because I wanted to help you. I felt guilty. I made many mistakes, mistakes no one ever reprimanded me for. I broke dozens of school rules, I was reckless, I endangered the lives of others. Sometimes there were good reasons, but… I did feel guilty. I felt as though I needed to be punished. My parents…” She pauses, her breath hitching.

“They don’t remember me. I was able to restore all their memories but their memory of me. The charm I placed on them was too strong. I had meant to keep them safe, but I stole their daughter from them. They will never be the same.

“I told Harry, and Ron, and so many others… and they all told me was that I was a good daughter, that I had done what was necessary. But I…”

Tears are running down her cheeks, and he kneels beside her, enfolding her in his arms as she sobs. He strokes her hair gently, rather than gripping it tight as was his wont. After a few minutes her sobs subside and she pulls away from him, rubbing the tears from her eyes.

“I was raised Catholic. I went to confession with a priest I later Obliviated, but all the Hail Marys and Our Fathers didn’t heal my guilt. When you hurt me, I felt as though I was being forgiven. And yes, I did enjoy it. I don’t know why.” Her voice is now a little stronger.

“I suppose it was hardly the healthiest thing to do…I was anorexic for a while. When we were on the run we didn’t get much food. Afterwards, I ate only the bare minimum I need to function. It was penance. Ron noticed, and he tried to get me to stop. That was partially why we broke off our engagement. He spent over six months trying to help me.” Her face is guilty again.

“Ron took me to several psychologists, a dietician, even a hypnotist. Nothing worked. I didn‘t want it to work. I…I treated Ron rather badly. He said he couldn’t bear to watch me hurt myself so much. I told him I liked the hunger and the pain, and I threw him out.” Tears are slowly coursing down her cheeks again. He can tell she misses Weasley, and he feels guilty for forbidding contact.

“I came to you a week later. I wanted more pain. You were always cruel in our school days- the only professor who didn’t spoil me. You reeked of bitterness and hate. I wanted to help you. I didn’t much think of it helping me as well- I just wanted the pain. I loved the pain.”

“After I came to you, I started eating again. Not binging or anything, just eating healthily. Remember the first night you made me atone for Dumbledore? On my way home I bought the first chocolate I had had since before the War.” She smiles a little smile. He has never seen her look so bright.

“It was perfect, in its way. You hurt me, and you felt better. I felt your pain, and I felt better. The pain was glorious. Until… until you showed me to Lucius.” She is quiet for a moment.

“I felt so degraded. You used me, yes, and you called me your Mudblood whore. But I never felt like a whore until Lucius. He didn’t need me as you did, he only wanted to hurt me for fun. It was humiliating, and frightening, and wrong. And you watched as he played with me. You wouldn’t let him fuck me, but his eyes were so cruel. You never looked at me the way he did. He looked at me and saw just another pet.” She pauses, taking a deep breath.

“So much for the insufferable know-it-all who can’t keep her mouth shut,” she finishes, her voice bitter. She has said more to him in the past few minutes than over the year they have been meeting.

He should be mocking her for her presumptuous psychoanalysis. He should be sneering at her petty woes and self-loathing.

But he understands self-loathing all too well for that.

“Hermione,” he says softly.

“I am sorry about Lucius. I have never allowed anyone into my life the way you have been in it of late. I could not allow myself to trust you, let alone keep you. I thought I might hand you off to Lucius. He would have fed your appetite for pain thoroughly.” An unpleasant look comes on his face. How thoroughly, she would thankfully never know.

“But when I let him play with you, I felt guilty. You did not look happy, you did not enjoy it. But I told myself it was simply my imagination, that you would get used to him. I tried to push you away. You wouldn’t let me,” Severus says, his tone almost grateful. Hermione shakes her head before speaking hesitantly.

“No, I wouldn’t. I…I needed you. I was angry about Lucius, but, twisted as it is, I still wanted you. Sometimes I even think I might love you. I know I shouldn’t, but I think I do.” She wrings her hands in her lap, and he reaches out to take one.

“That is fortunate, as I am afraid the feeling is mutual.” And as he grasps her hand in his own, she blesses him with the most beautiful smile he has ever seen.

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A/N: Though I have invented plenty of not-quite-canon things in this story, I’d like to briefly tell why I made Hermione a Catholic. First, she seems like the type who would be, while not strictly religious, still devout in a quiet way. Normally fanfic has Hermione as a lapsed Church of England member, but I think Catholicism could fit her rather well. According to Wikipedia, “English Catholicism retained its renewed strength throughout the first half of the twentieth century, when it was associated primarily with elements in the English intellectual class and the ethnic Irish population.”

Parents who name their daughter after a Shakespeare character would seem to be rather intellectual. I imagine they attended mass irregularly, but with sincerity. Hermione tagged along, overcome by wonder at all the ritual and panoply. She attended masses with her parents during her rare visits home from Hogwarts. When her world fell apart, she tried to find comfort in the church where she and her parents had shared so many hours. Also, as for the anorexia- she's not been coping well. The time they spent on the run got her used to food deprivation, and continuing made sense to her in a neurotic way.