Inside the Blackest Heart (Edit, Not Update)
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
65
Views:
60,622
Reviews:
1020
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
65
Views:
60,622
Reviews:
1020
Recommended:
1
Currently Reading:
1
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Aftermath
Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 5 ~ Aftermath
As soon as Hermione was sure she was out of sight of both the Professor and Dumbledore, she stopped and leaned against the wall, shuddering, trying to calm her pounding heart. She inhaled deeply, counting to four before exhaling. This she did several times until she felt she could breathe normally again. Then she headed for Gryffindor Tower, feeling weak and disoriented by the Potion Master’s assault.
Hermione’s whole body tingled from her contact with the Professor’s long, lean frame, not to mention his erection pressing through his robes. During his brief contact, she could actually feel his cock pulsing and throbbing between them, hard but supple, moving against her like a separate entity where his body met hers. She still felt the dull ache of response between her thighs, and was ashamed of it. What she was feeling in the situation wasn’t right. It couldn’t be healthy. She was running from him like she should be outwardly, but there was a tug inside, a dark, unthinking compulsion to relinquish control. An urge to just go to him and serve the one purpose he said she could. She shuddered again at the wrongness of the illicit impulse and tried to wipe it from her mind.
Hermione realized guiltily as she walked through the castle, that as much as she vocally protested him pressing against her body, not once did she try to physically push him away. If Dumbledore hadn’t arrived when he did, she was certain she would no longer be a virgin.
She walked up the shifting staircases, wondering why she didn’t tell Dumbledore the truth about what he walked in on? Why didn’t she say that the Potions Master had been about to forcibly take away her virtue? Possibly because she had responded to the deatheater’s advances. Even as she consciously denied him, her hungry body betrayed her. And that is what the dark wizard had been reacting to, her body’s responses. He knew. He had seen through her. He had called her on her secret shame. Her attraction to him was her shame now, instead of her secret, because he had revealed who and what he was, and it seemed to make no difference to her body. She was still attracted to him, maybe even more so when she saw for herself what he was capable of doing to her, and how he would do it to her. She felt hot all over when she thought about him on her, in complete control.
Again Hermione shuddered, hurrying to the tower, trying to straighten out the twisted thoughts and feelings barreling through her. Trying to shake off the heat in her body. The crazy feelings coursing through her. She should be livid, she should want to punish him, make him pay for taking liberties with her, for attempting to pull her into his darkness willingly or by force. What was wrong with her? This was not the logical, safe path of thinking that she normally took when faced with conflict.
Hermione had gravitated to the good for so long. She was a good student, a good person, a good Head Girl, a good daughter, and a good friend. She broke rules but only for good reasons. Everyone said she had a good future ahead of her. Everyone expected nothing but good out of her. Hermione Granger could always be counted on to make good decisions. She was held up as the example everyone should aspire to, and considered the consummate goody-two shoes by all who knew her. If she had thought about this general perception others had of who she was, it probably would have sickened her. As it was, everyone around her was safe, comfortable, and properly Hermione-oriented.
Voldemort was always a specter of danger hanging over her life and the lives of all she knew, but there had been nothing tangibly dark, illicit and dangerous in her life, until the Potions Master showed his true colors last night. True she had lusted after her romantic image of him, the noble unappreciated hero, but there was no true interaction between them. Now, he was soul-shakingly real and frighteningly accessible, dark, cruel and lustful. A wizard who was an admitted deatheater, guilty of some of the most heinous acts ever committed in the wizarding world, who served the side of Good. And he wanted her. Not for any good reason, she was sure, but reason didn’t play into this at all.
Professor Snape had shown her in one night he was a man who had no redeeming qualities and reveled in his lack of them. He was someone who did not meet with anyone’s approval, and didn’t care. Hermione had always needed approval. Someone to say she was all right, and acceptable. What freedom the Potions Master must have, not to require the permission of others to make it through each day.
She always wondered what the lure of darkness was? Why people chose evil over good? Was it that sense of freedom from convention? From principles? From standards? She didn’t know, but she was feeling the pull of the Professor, evil as he was, and a powerful urge to descend into his darkness if only one time to see what it was like to give in to her baser nature, if she had one. She knew she did have a desire to know what it would be like to not be the consummate Gryffindor, the princess apparent mounted on the pedestal. She’d like to feel what it was like to jump off it, roll in the mud and get herself dirty. To not be handled like a precious gem or a delicate flower by everyone around her, waiting like vultures for her brilliance and intelligence to be put to the service of others. For once she would like to break out of the glass house of perfection everyone had built around her. Maybe the Professor could be the one to cast that first liberating stone.
Hermione had a dark side, but being young, sheltered and manipulated by others as she was, she never recognized it. All her young life she had been groomed to be used by others. Her ego stroked, her intelligence nurtured, her accomplishments praised, more and more responsibilities placed on her small shoulders, all so she could play a part in someone else’s larger plans when she came of age. Harry had used her. Ron had used her. If she hadn't been so smart, the threesome would have been a twosome. Even Dumbledore had used her. Everyone wanted to utilize her mind. Well, almost everyone. Snape wanted to utilize her body.
The Professor held no such glorified image of Hermione in his mind. He never had. To him, she was never the golden girl the rest of Hogwarts made her out to be. He saw what they were turning her into, what she was letting them turn her into, and it made him sick she fell for all the bullshit. She was bright, but in his estimation, hardly intelligent in the areas that mattered, or she would have seen through all the manipulations. Well Snape wouldn’t play into it, and made her feel as unsure and inadequate as he could. It didn’t matter though. Albus Dumbledore would put her to work just as surely as he did him and she would roll over, play dead and use her brilliant mind to further the old bastard’s aims, just like he did. And when Snape recognized that he could put her to use too, he went for it. Why not? Everyone else was getting a piece of her. Why not him? Fuck the brilliant mind. He’d go for something more tangible and make just as big as an impression on her without the subtleties. At least she knew what he wanted, and now he knew what she wanted too. He’d give it to her.
He had been right about her dreams. After Hermione left the dungeons, she had dreamed about the Professor fucking her last night, and he wasn’t gentle, or kind or loving. He was brutal and insatiable, doing things to her that she had never imagined people did, and saying things to her decent people just didn’t say. She woke in a huge wet spot in the morning, proof that the dream caused a very real reaction in her body. She also had a persistent yearning ache in the middle of her lower belly that lasted most of the day that would flare any time she thought about the dream. It had reawakened when the Professor appeared in the dungeons, even before he had backed her against the wall.
After her dreams, Hermione had been glad she didn’t have a Potions class today. She didn't know how she would react to the Professor after a night of dreaming of him fucking her. But she would have one tomorrow, right after breakfast. Despite her situation with the Potions Master, she couldn’t miss it if she wanted to keep her marks up. She had no idea how the Potions Master would treat her in front of the class. Hopefully no different. Maybe the close call with Dumbledore had cooled his ardor a bit.
Hermione arrived at the common room entrance and gave the password to the fat lady, who swung in without comment this time. She entered that passageway, heading for her room and one very sleepless night.
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A/N: Interesting chapter to write. Please review.
*******************************
Chapter 5 ~ Aftermath
As soon as Hermione was sure she was out of sight of both the Professor and Dumbledore, she stopped and leaned against the wall, shuddering, trying to calm her pounding heart. She inhaled deeply, counting to four before exhaling. This she did several times until she felt she could breathe normally again. Then she headed for Gryffindor Tower, feeling weak and disoriented by the Potion Master’s assault.
Hermione’s whole body tingled from her contact with the Professor’s long, lean frame, not to mention his erection pressing through his robes. During his brief contact, she could actually feel his cock pulsing and throbbing between them, hard but supple, moving against her like a separate entity where his body met hers. She still felt the dull ache of response between her thighs, and was ashamed of it. What she was feeling in the situation wasn’t right. It couldn’t be healthy. She was running from him like she should be outwardly, but there was a tug inside, a dark, unthinking compulsion to relinquish control. An urge to just go to him and serve the one purpose he said she could. She shuddered again at the wrongness of the illicit impulse and tried to wipe it from her mind.
Hermione realized guiltily as she walked through the castle, that as much as she vocally protested him pressing against her body, not once did she try to physically push him away. If Dumbledore hadn’t arrived when he did, she was certain she would no longer be a virgin.
She walked up the shifting staircases, wondering why she didn’t tell Dumbledore the truth about what he walked in on? Why didn’t she say that the Potions Master had been about to forcibly take away her virtue? Possibly because she had responded to the deatheater’s advances. Even as she consciously denied him, her hungry body betrayed her. And that is what the dark wizard had been reacting to, her body’s responses. He knew. He had seen through her. He had called her on her secret shame. Her attraction to him was her shame now, instead of her secret, because he had revealed who and what he was, and it seemed to make no difference to her body. She was still attracted to him, maybe even more so when she saw for herself what he was capable of doing to her, and how he would do it to her. She felt hot all over when she thought about him on her, in complete control.
Again Hermione shuddered, hurrying to the tower, trying to straighten out the twisted thoughts and feelings barreling through her. Trying to shake off the heat in her body. The crazy feelings coursing through her. She should be livid, she should want to punish him, make him pay for taking liberties with her, for attempting to pull her into his darkness willingly or by force. What was wrong with her? This was not the logical, safe path of thinking that she normally took when faced with conflict.
Hermione had gravitated to the good for so long. She was a good student, a good person, a good Head Girl, a good daughter, and a good friend. She broke rules but only for good reasons. Everyone said she had a good future ahead of her. Everyone expected nothing but good out of her. Hermione Granger could always be counted on to make good decisions. She was held up as the example everyone should aspire to, and considered the consummate goody-two shoes by all who knew her. If she had thought about this general perception others had of who she was, it probably would have sickened her. As it was, everyone around her was safe, comfortable, and properly Hermione-oriented.
Voldemort was always a specter of danger hanging over her life and the lives of all she knew, but there had been nothing tangibly dark, illicit and dangerous in her life, until the Potions Master showed his true colors last night. True she had lusted after her romantic image of him, the noble unappreciated hero, but there was no true interaction between them. Now, he was soul-shakingly real and frighteningly accessible, dark, cruel and lustful. A wizard who was an admitted deatheater, guilty of some of the most heinous acts ever committed in the wizarding world, who served the side of Good. And he wanted her. Not for any good reason, she was sure, but reason didn’t play into this at all.
Professor Snape had shown her in one night he was a man who had no redeeming qualities and reveled in his lack of them. He was someone who did not meet with anyone’s approval, and didn’t care. Hermione had always needed approval. Someone to say she was all right, and acceptable. What freedom the Potions Master must have, not to require the permission of others to make it through each day.
She always wondered what the lure of darkness was? Why people chose evil over good? Was it that sense of freedom from convention? From principles? From standards? She didn’t know, but she was feeling the pull of the Professor, evil as he was, and a powerful urge to descend into his darkness if only one time to see what it was like to give in to her baser nature, if she had one. She knew she did have a desire to know what it would be like to not be the consummate Gryffindor, the princess apparent mounted on the pedestal. She’d like to feel what it was like to jump off it, roll in the mud and get herself dirty. To not be handled like a precious gem or a delicate flower by everyone around her, waiting like vultures for her brilliance and intelligence to be put to the service of others. For once she would like to break out of the glass house of perfection everyone had built around her. Maybe the Professor could be the one to cast that first liberating stone.
Hermione had a dark side, but being young, sheltered and manipulated by others as she was, she never recognized it. All her young life she had been groomed to be used by others. Her ego stroked, her intelligence nurtured, her accomplishments praised, more and more responsibilities placed on her small shoulders, all so she could play a part in someone else’s larger plans when she came of age. Harry had used her. Ron had used her. If she hadn't been so smart, the threesome would have been a twosome. Even Dumbledore had used her. Everyone wanted to utilize her mind. Well, almost everyone. Snape wanted to utilize her body.
The Professor held no such glorified image of Hermione in his mind. He never had. To him, she was never the golden girl the rest of Hogwarts made her out to be. He saw what they were turning her into, what she was letting them turn her into, and it made him sick she fell for all the bullshit. She was bright, but in his estimation, hardly intelligent in the areas that mattered, or she would have seen through all the manipulations. Well Snape wouldn’t play into it, and made her feel as unsure and inadequate as he could. It didn’t matter though. Albus Dumbledore would put her to work just as surely as he did him and she would roll over, play dead and use her brilliant mind to further the old bastard’s aims, just like he did. And when Snape recognized that he could put her to use too, he went for it. Why not? Everyone else was getting a piece of her. Why not him? Fuck the brilliant mind. He’d go for something more tangible and make just as big as an impression on her without the subtleties. At least she knew what he wanted, and now he knew what she wanted too. He’d give it to her.
He had been right about her dreams. After Hermione left the dungeons, she had dreamed about the Professor fucking her last night, and he wasn’t gentle, or kind or loving. He was brutal and insatiable, doing things to her that she had never imagined people did, and saying things to her decent people just didn’t say. She woke in a huge wet spot in the morning, proof that the dream caused a very real reaction in her body. She also had a persistent yearning ache in the middle of her lower belly that lasted most of the day that would flare any time she thought about the dream. It had reawakened when the Professor appeared in the dungeons, even before he had backed her against the wall.
After her dreams, Hermione had been glad she didn’t have a Potions class today. She didn't know how she would react to the Professor after a night of dreaming of him fucking her. But she would have one tomorrow, right after breakfast. Despite her situation with the Potions Master, she couldn’t miss it if she wanted to keep her marks up. She had no idea how the Potions Master would treat her in front of the class. Hopefully no different. Maybe the close call with Dumbledore had cooled his ardor a bit.
Hermione arrived at the common room entrance and gave the password to the fat lady, who swung in without comment this time. She entered that passageway, heading for her room and one very sleepless night.
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A/N: Interesting chapter to write. Please review.