Custody Battle

A/N: Warning, this chapter contains a violent and potentially graphic sex scene. If this sort of thing squicks you, and it does border on rape, then please, you all know how babies are made, so move on. Thanks for all those who have reviewed thus far!

Warmth radiated around his body and the faint sound of crackling wood filled his ears. There was darkness, but not sobering and cold, rather comforting and pleasant. Tendrils of warm baked goods tickled his nostrils and as he shifted, a soft satin brushed against his bare forearm. Eyelashes batted at sleep and an orange glow flooded his pupils. He found himself gazing up at a bluish green drop tile ceiling.

Peering down his body, he found himself on his back, covered in blankets atop a couch. Though his body ached there were no signs of extreme or excruciating pain, and as he touched his hands to his face he noted the smoothed skin over where he’d been clawed by the winged rats. Even his nose felt normal, not even swollen. Severus sat up, eyes falling to the coffee table between him and the fireplace. At the center of the table rested his wand, held together with Spello-tape in two places.

The sound of running water thrumming in the background slowly came to the foreground as he stood and moved toward what appeared to be a small kitchenette on the far wall behind the sofa. His bare toes curled in the carpet and he gazed down. A pair of blue flannel jammy bottoms, elastic at the waist, covered his legs and a faded gray cotton shirt clothed his torso.

They were not his clothes yet they fit very comfortably. The kitchen appeared orderly, and pulling open the door to the icebox he found the contents to be sparse, but livable.

“If you’re hungry I can whip something right up.” Severus jumped, startled at her voice and spun round to face her, “Unless you’re investigating my icebox for another reason?”

His black eyes gazed at her, from dripping wet hair, down over the green towel, to her bare toes. She was a curved woman, more so than Hogwarts’ school robes had ever led on. He found it difficult to tear his eyes away from her body but eventually forced his gaze back to her eyes.

Hermione kept a hand just over her chest, pinning the towel in place. “Are you hungry?”

Eyes blinking, he continued to gaze silently at her, wheels turning, trying to formulate coherent thought. The questions to which he felt answers were necessary were already tumbling around in his head. It was obvious that they were not at Mungo’s but at her flat, Merlin only knew where, and that she had transfigured pajamas for him to wear. And it was quite obvious that she’d just come from the shower, her tresses still dripping.

“Sir?” she asked, her hand brushing against his shoulder.

“You’re wearing a towel.” He stated.

Her face tinged crimson for a moment. “Yes, I’ve just finished up in the shower and was on my way to my bedroom when I saw you from the hallway.” She nodded back in the general direction behind her. “I just cast a few quick cleansing charms on you after healing you, I hope that’s acceptable, but you’re more than welcome to use the shower if you’d like.”

“That will not be necessary. I shall have my clothing and take my leave.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest. But that vulnerable twinkle, however brief its existence, surfaced in his eyes only to be dashed out with the cold black firmness of his emotionless face, as he scowled.

“I think I managed to heal your cracked ribs, but I can imagine they’re quite fragile,” Hermione said, her voice a gentle whisper as she continued on acting as if he had not spoken at all. “And your face cleaned up quite nicely,” though she didn’t mention the full twenty minutes she’d spent detangling and scourgifying his hair.

The witch looked as if she wanted to speak more but he waved a hand to stop her words. “Be that as it may, Miss Granger, I’ll have my clothes and take my leave.”

“Stubborn right git,” she twisted her lips into a sideways quirk and then she frowned. “You should rest, you’re not fully recovered.”

“I will take my leave. Your generous advances are unnecessary and furthermore unwanted, unlike my garments, and if you’d stop and use that ever questions, three pound chunk of gray sponge that’s resting inside your noggin, you would be fetching my things to me so that I may take my leave!”

“You’d do well to appreciate the fact that I didn’t leave you lying there to bleed out, Professor!” she snapped, the words tumbling in heat from her lips, one hand shifting to her hip.

“Given the circumstances I believe I would prefer a state of unconsciousness, alone!” he growled. Before she could protest further he waved his hand by her mouth. “And stop calling me professor, the title hardly applies!”

Her eyes were stinging with hurt as he verbally assaulted her efforts and pride. But she was not the weak fourth year he’d been so easily able to insult years ago. In her eyes, though the whole process of his hearing had been very shady, he hadn’t changed. He was still a snarky, cantankerous, surly man, but a man nonetheless, a man that she respected and thought highly of, despite recent actions.

Hermione took a step toward him, and stood up on her toes in an attempt to make herself level to him. “You should rest.” The words slithered through clenched teeth. Severus stood solid, a great stone statue of highly irritated, brooding bat. Her eyes were locked with his, daring him to look away or to retaliate. It almost rattled his cage, almost.

Whether he moved forward thinking she could shrink back in cowardice, or she advanced on him assuming he would back down, not even the finest eye of a well seasoned Quidditch referee could tell. They stood, chest to chest, eyes never leaving the other’s. Both of her hands came up to push against his shoulders but she met firm resistance in his steadfast hold.

Her eyes narrowed but before she could vocalize her frustration, the sheet of terrycloth slipped from between them, slithered down her body and fell over the tops of her feet. Silence and stillness filled the room, swelling and bubbling around them. His eyes did not leave hers. A full on flush swam through her cheeks but she tried very hard not to let it.

With a deep drawn breath, she eased the tremble that threatened to possess her body. She could not back down and she certainly couldn’t let him see her crumble.

What was slightly worse was that he was about to see her naked. Her body had been exposed, every inch of flesh revealed, though his eyes had not left hers. The intense stare continued. She tired with every ounce of control in her body not to let the blush in her cheeks spread down her skin and so devoted was she in her efforts that she nearly missed his body tense as his eyes briefly flickered their focus.

Her body seemed to respond in quite a different fashion than she had planned and her face nearly rivaled Ron Weasley’s hair at feeling her own physical betrayal. Dropping to retrieve the towel meant further exposure and that his eyes could roam to his heart’s (or other functioning organ’s) content. This only seemed to excite her body further, but staying completely still pressed only centimeters from his body was quickly expiring as an option.

Should she bend to fetch the towel? A conundrum worthy of Hamlet if ever there was one. But what other choice was there? Her body answered that question for her as she pressed herself forward, naked breasts rubbing against the gray cotton top.

“Miss Granger,” his voice was level, his face impassive. There was a collective calm about him that would have warranted the cliché simile cool as a cucumber had it been true that cucumbers were actually cool and not temperature regulated by the duration of their stay in the icebox. It indeed was a strange place for Hermione’s mind to be wandering, the vegetable crisper of the ice box, of all locations, especially given the circumstances but it proved to be a welcomed distraction for her intellectual conscious.

However, all thoughts of the icebox, the vegetable crisper, and the cucumber splattered like tiny raindrops to the floor of her mind as he spoke. “You’re getting me all wet.” The natural course of action that should have followed would have had Hermione abruptly stepping back, gathering the towel about her, and rushing into another room with muttered apologies from behind closed doors. The following actions were anything but natural.

She found herself teetering on the balls of her feet, Newton’s principle of gravity prevented only by the bulk of her weight finding support against his chest. Her eyes were half closed, tiny chocolate slivers gazing out to his face. “Miss Granger—”

Her lips covered his. There was no difficult as her tongue pressed into his open lips. But he stood still, denying the girl a response of any kind, as she explored his mouth, her kiss passionate and provoking. Pulling back she wrapped an arm around his shoulder, steadying herself. He neither shrugged her off nor welcomed the embrace, but instead was very still and completely silent.

Again she moved her lips to his. She met no resistance and felt no response. His lips were soft, easily moved by her tongue as she slipped it into his mouth and caressed his own tongue as if attempting to stroke it to life. She allowed her eyes to open as her lips moved gently against his. His eyes were closed, and his breathing was even, slow and deep, in and out of his nose. Pulling back once more she noticed that his eyes opened when she stopped kissing him. Those black orbs, gazing forward at her, seemed almost hollow, passive, void of emotion.

She started this time tracing his lower lip with her tongue, and then she sucked it between her own lips. Her hands brushed soft strands of his hair back from his face. His eyes were again closed. As her lips covered his, her tongue again roving through his mouth, she took notice of how long and fine his eyelashes were, making his face soft and look years younger to her eyes.

Her need to breathe pulled her back from the one-sided kiss once more. His eyes opened, staying on her face, passive and emotionless as ever. Pressing her lips forward she was surprised to feel the flesh of his palm against her mouth. He’d cupped his hand there, and his eyes were open, suddenly focused and aware.

“Miss Granger, you have now kissed me thrice and received no change in my response, it would be foolish for you to continue to do so. If you are expecting me to welcome and return your advances or perhaps to push you back roughly in disgust, try it a handful more times and I can assure you that you will receive the latter over the former.”

She should have welled up with tears or at the very least laid a hand to his cheek in frustration, but Hermione stood still, body pressed to his, eyes searching his. After a moment she seemed to find her voice. “Don’t’ you like being kissed?”

It was hardly a question that was common and in his many years of life he could not recall a single instance in which he’d been asked. He tilted his head ever so slightly to the side, potentially pondering a response. His lips were pursed together. “My preference of the action has little to do with the circumstance at present.”

“You’ve gone and made it complicated,” she sighed. “It’s like ice cream, either you like it or you don’t.”

“Miss Granger, kissing is not like ice cream.”

“Yes it is. It’s exactly like ice cream. It’s enjoyable, and sweet, and you can crave it at the strangest of times.” She thought for a moment. “And it makes your lips tingle.”

“Kissing is noting like ice cream. It’s a feeble attempt at initiating some sort of intimate scenario, a disgusting act of germ swapping and it’s not a food—”

“You’re being too literal, and it is not a disgusting—”

“—unless you take into consideration that both items in question are a sappy indulgence of the female gender in which case they are exactly the same thing, both of which, like this conversation, are absolutely ridiculous.”

Hermione opened her mouth and then closed it. Her lips quirked to the side. “I don’t think you like ice cream, or kissing.”

He sighed. “Miss Granger, kindly remove yourself from my person, clothe yourself properly, and cease these ludicrous questions.”

Her lips formed a rather pinched frown, but she did not step back from him. “And what is wrong with my current state of dress?”

“Aside from a lack there of, it’s highly inappropriate.”

She scoffed. “Inappropriate? You thinking that any wizard should be allowed to beat the living daylights out of you because they feel like it is what’s inappropriate.”

“Miss Granger—”

“What would you have done had I not wandered by?”

“If you’re implying that I needed your help—”

“Are you saying you were going to defend yourself? Because from I could see, you were perfectly content to let those idiots beat you to death!”

“And so what if I was?” he growled, black eyes flashing. It startled her, his voice so angry, his eyes suddenly alive and moving rapidly across her face. “You should learn to mind your own business, Miss Granger.” His voice was a twisted snarl and she felt a tiny prickle of fear at the base of her spine.

She grunted in frustration and before she could rationalize her thoughts, she’d wrapped both arms around his neck, burying both of her hands into his hair, pulling his head back. Hermione’s lips kissed him hard, and he growled low, pulling his head back. “Go on!” her voice was practically a cry. “Push me off in disgust then!” Forcing his head forward she crushed her lips to his again, forcing her tongue into his mouth, and try as he might to pull back, she kept his head firmly in place, her nail digging into his scalp.

Severus tried to back-step but found her hold on him too difficult to break. But in one swift moment she was screaming out, as his hand tangled into her wet hair and yanked it hard, his teeth coming down harsh into the pad of her lower lip. Grabbing her by the hair, he spun her around, pulling the girl from his person and thrust her hard against the island in the middle of the kitchenette.

The cold marble surface cut into her stomach and before she could try to move, he’d grabbed her hips and practically tossed her up onto the top of it, her stomach scraping across the semi finished surface. With one hand still in her hair he yanked her head back hard and she yelped, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She sobbed, crying out as his lips sucked hard at the back of her neck just near her shoulder, his teeth tearing at her skin.

Her trembling fingers gripped the counter surface, trying to gain leverage but as she shifted forward she felt one strong hand forcing her thighs apart, his body standing between them. Again she cried out, twisting her head about, tugging strands of her hair free from her scalp, whimpering in pain, as she tried to turn around and escape him. She hadn’t heard the rumpling of the flannel material as the pajama bottoms pooled around his knees.

He forced her head forward, and her cheek hit the corner of the island hard, and she wailed, trying to wriggle her body away but before she could even focus on the swelling and stinging coming to her face he’d forced himself between her legs and thrust his hard, firm member up into her.

Hermione shouted, screamed, her voice raw, tears trickling down her cheek as he tore into her. She was not virginal but it had been over three years since she’d experienced sex and the boy, Viktor, had hardly been this long, hard, and wide. Severus pumped himself into her, the tight, dry heat, making him nearly explode, though he longed for something smoother, silkier.

His growling lips settled over the bite mark he’d left on her flesh, licking the wound and then suckling her flesh until his lips were at her ear. “Don’t you like to be fucked?” he hissed. “It’s just like ice cream…”

“My preference of the action doesn’t matter given the circumstances,” she whimpered and closed her eyes tightly as she felt his fingers, intrusively long fingers, stroking between them, his thumb twisting until he found her nub. Hermione swallowed hard. She could feel her body start to shudder, a warm flood pooling between her legs.

He growled, feeling her body reacting to his touch, her juices coating his prick and making it much easier to slide in and out of her, harder and faster. His lips were everywhere, on every inch of her back, one hand still roughly twisted in her hair. She cried, her nails chipping as she clawed at the edge of the counter, trying not to arch back into his thrusting prick.

Severus growled, losing his control and he climaxed, coming inside her, thudding three final rough strokes into her tightness. He pulled out at once, hardly tucking himself away before moving around to where her face lay on the table, and he narrowed his eyes at her. She stayed still, her body trembling with silent sobs, her face red, eyes puffy. “Well?” he growled. “Call the ministry now, Miss Granger! Turn me in! They’ll be more than happy to take me away to Azkaban!” he growled.

She said nothing, her body still trembling as she pulled herself up to sitting on the counter. Crossing her arms over her chest, she could feel his seed spilling down the inside of her thighs, coating her legs in thick sticky warmth. Brown eyes blinked away tears and she gazed at him, trying to read his face.

“What is wrong with you, you foolish girl?” his arms grasped her shoulders and he shook her, watching her almost lifeless figure sway violently back and forth like a rag doll. “Fine, I’ll do it myself,” and he pushed away from her shoulders. Reaching for his wand he pointed it skyward only to feel her tiny fingers gripping hard into his wrist, nails digging into his skin.

“I’ll tell them I let you,” she hissed.

His eyes were wide, and his wand clattered to the floor. “I’ve raped you, you stupid girl! Why are you still sitting there? Call for help!”

“It’s not rape if I wanted it,” she said, her voice still trembling but her eyes had found that twinkle of defiance.

His forehead had begun to drip sweat and he was panting, searching her eyes almost frantically. “You’ve gone mad, you didn’t want that! You didn’t even know—”

“I kissed you. I wanted it rough. I begged you to take me. You complied.” She said, her eyes almost cold. “Call them, that’s what I’ll tell them. Sure, they’ll detain you a night, but you’ll be right back on the streets in the morning.” She let herself slide down from the counter. “You were foolish to think I’d let you take the coward’s way out, Severus Snape.”

His body was shaking almost uncontrollably and his knees gave out from beneath him. Collapsing to his knees, Severus buried his face in his hands, body quaking, and a groan grew from his lips, quickly replaced by a howl and then a sob. She could see tears trickling down through his hands. Hermione was careful as she approached him, placing both hands on his shoulders as she knelt beside him, pulling his hands from his face, her eyes though red and swollen, looking on him with a face of passive understanding.

“Why have you…why have…” his words were broken by sobs. The great and powerful man, formidable and surly in all senses of the word had crumbled before her very eyes. And although she could still feel the sting of his assault between her thighs, she closed her eyes for a brief moment, knowing it had to be for the greater good that she saved him from himself.

“You only did it to end your life. If they took you away for raping me, you’d be kissed for sure…” she whispered and stroked a hand over the top of his hair. “You didn’t mean to hurt me…like I know you didn’t mean to hurt Dumbledore…but you had no choice in the matter.”

He collapsed forward into her waiting arms, sobbing uncontrollably, unable to help himself as she stroked his back, her naked trembling body welcoming the man who had raped her, welcoming the tormented soul of Severus Snape. “Come on, you need rest,” she whispered, and helped him to his feet.

By the time she’d slipped a nightgown over her head and gathered the disturbed man into her bed, she too felt exhausted. She had only meant to take him in and allow him to recover from the injuries sustained when he’d been attacked by the men in the ally, but it was clear that he needed to recover from far more than just that simple physical attack. There was a dark demon haunting his sole, one that would force rape upon her to allow himself the peaceful bliss of a soulless life. And of the many witches in the world, Hermione was probably the only one who understood that. He had suffered a great deal and she would not allow him to fall to pieces for all that he had done.

Her body trembled as she climbed into bed with him, and pressed her body to his. “I told you I wanted to help you,” she whispered. “And I’m sorry you felt that you needed so desperately to get away from the burdens of your life, but that’s never the answer,” she whispered stroking his hair.

His eyes searched hers, and his lips trembled. “I’m sorry,” his voice was a broken plea.

“Don’t, Severus Snape, don’t.” she said. It was difficult, and she closed her eyes. “It was a mistake, that’s all,” her body quaked. “I shouldn’t have pushed you. I just didn’t want to see you hurt.”

“And now you’re hurt because of it. I destroy everyone who tries to help me…”

“Not true, you never seem to have a choice in the matter.”

“I had a choice in what I did to you. I let that monster rule me.”

She sighed. “You’re exhausted. I am too. You’re still not fully healed, you need rest,” she said, but did not pull back from him. “Get some rest and we can discuss this in the morning.”

He closed his eyes, but then opened them. “Hermione Granger,” he said, and her eyes shot to his. “I am sorry for what I’ve done to you, but I hold for you such a gratitude for the actions you’ve taken and not taken against me. You did— do want to help and for that I am grateful.” His lips leaned forward and nudged against hers. At first she held still, body tense, but slowly her lips kissed his, and they shared a soft, tender kiss, tongues gently greeting each other.

One arm came around her back and she shifted against him. “I do like ice cream and kissing,” he whispered, and he thought he felt her giggle.

“I’m going to get you help, I promise…sleep, now.” She whispered and gently kissed his forehead.

~*~

She woke with a start, finding the bed empty. Hermione sighed and then remembered the pain between her thighs that should have forced her from the bed hours ago. Only she couldn’t feel it. The scroll of parchment caught her eye from the nightstand.

“Miss Granger, again I apologize for the incident last night prior. You are a courageous woman for doing what you did, and allowing what happened to happen. I shall never forgive myself and hope that neither shall you forgive me, for I truly am a monster and deserve whatever punishment is handed out to me. Albus Dumbledore’s death will forever lie on my shoulders, and so shall the robbing of an innocence that I had no right to take. Do not seek me out as I have sent myself into exile and wish not to be found, my past still evades me and I only hope that someone will help you in the way you intended to help me, though by far you do not need the help I’ve needed. My deepest regrets and sincere apologies, Severus Snape.”

She sighed and fell back on the bed, weeping in earnest. How could she help him, how could she save him if he did not wish to be helped or saved? Perhaps she had been insane not to hand him over to the ministry, but a very large part of her, deep down, knew that he was not in his right mind to have done such a thing. And he had tried to warn her, though she persisted.

What had come over her own body, she hadn’t been sure, why she had insisted on kissing him when he’d verbally tossed her aside, she couldn’t fathom. The strangest sensation of them all was not that her body had eventually responding to the incident, but how strangely safe she had felt embraced in his arms. Shaking her head, she gaze up at the ceiling. There would be nothing she could do. It was time to return to her parents and her friends, it was time to move on.