Inside the Blackest Heart (Edit, Not Update)

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to JKR. All situations are mine. No $$$ is being made from this fanfic.
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Chapter 7 ~ Last Minute Soul-Searching

Hermione could find no reason to let the Professor do this to her. Not one reason why he deserved her. She couldn’t find a single reason why she should go down to the dungeons at eight o’clock other than to keep from getting written up for skipping an assigned detention.

Hermione sat cross-legged in her bed, her belly all-aquiver, trying to figure out why she wanted to go to the dark wizard. Why she wanted to give up her virginity to a man who wouldn’t give a damn about it. She was trying to use logic, unable to see that logic had nothing to do with desire. Logically, every answer said, stay away from him. That she was crazy to trust this wicked, admittedly evil man. But every nerve ending in her body was crying out for his touch.

Hermione went over the list again.

He had treated her unfairly for the whole time she attended Hogwarts, browbeat her, insulted her, gave her marks she didn’t deserve, and took house points for no good reason. He had told her he was evil and would take pleasure in giving her pain. He had shown her how brutal he was through the shared image of him forcefully taking her. He had said he was a deatheater despite being a spy for the Order, and did what deatheaters do. Which meant he had participated in the rape and murder of innocent women as well as others. She had seen him kill two men and ruthlessly dispose of their bodies. He was rude, unlikable, sarcastic, and cruel. There was nothing good about him, nothing at all. He was the antithesis of every thing she had been taught to respect in a wizard.

Hermione sighed.

She had begun this path with the crazy idea the Professor was a noble and courageous man, risking life and limb for the good of the wizarding world, unappreciated and alone, forced into a life he abhorred, and her body latched on to that image. When the reality of what and who he really was, was made plain, that he embraced the evil he was immersed in, her body didn’t care. It had already made its choice. Hermione had heard once that a hot pussy and a hard cock have no conscience. Obviously, the statement was true in this case. She was burning up for the Potions Master wanting nothing more than to experience him and all his darkness. Maybe she was just tired of all this ‘goodness’ that surrounded her. Maybe she was going through a teenaged rebellious stage, choosing to fuck someone her parents and friends would not approve of to show her independence. Maybe she was sexually deviant by nature and wanted to be thoroughly abused and humiliated by the man. She shuddered.

Or maybe she just wanted to be touched by evil.

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Snape sat in the armchair before the fireplace, tucking in yet another firewhiskey. He drank three so far, and had a good buzz on. His black eyes flicked toward the clock. It read six-thirty. Shit. He’d been nursing an erection all day, and it seemed like someone had spelled time. The closer it got to eight o’clock, the slower time moved. He had half a mind to don his invisibility cloak, go to Gryffindor tower and fuck Hermione right under McGonagal’s pointed nose. Maybe he’d send that old bird a pensieve too. She’d definitely have a heart attack. No, she was a crazy bitch. She’d want to duel him or something equally asinine. Minerva wasn’t wrapped too tight. If Albus hadn’t been giving her the high hard one for the past thirty years, she would have been long gone.

Anyway, the dungeons were much better. Less chance of interruptions here. He took another sip of his drink. He wondered how Hermione was feeling about this, knowing he’d be fucking her in less than two hours. The witch must be all tied up in knots, wondering what the hell she was doing. He loved doing young women. They were so fucked up in the head and ruled by their bodies. For Miss Granger it had to be doubly hard, no doubt she was trying to find some logic to this, when there wasn’t any. He was sexy to her. Dangerous. Off-limits. Wrong. That’s why she was going to let him fuck her. He went against everything they had drilled into her head. She needed to know what evil was for herself and he fit the bill. He had always been cruel to her. Maybe she even hoped for a bit of kindness from him. If orgasms were kind, then she had nothing to worry about, he would be extremely kind to her as he stroked them out of her.

He wondered if she were a screamer.

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It was seven o’clock now. Hermione was mentally and emotionally exhausted from all the useless thinking she had done. She felt off-kilter, as if the whole world had gone askew. There was a sense of unreality drifting over her. She roused herself and divestoed her clothing, then walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. She held her hand under the spray, and let it run a little cool before she stepped into it. She stood there, leaning her forehead against the tile, letting the water run over her sensitized body. Her nipples hardened as the liquid ran in rivulets over her skin and she spun around so her the back of her head rested on the tile and the water ran over her breasts, belly and below, swirling into the drain. She stood like this a few minutes, then began to wash.

Finished with her shower, Hermione decided not to wear any scent. She wasn’t trying to attract the Potions Master. He was already attracted. Applied scent would probably make no difference to him. The only scent he wanted filling those large nostrils was the scent of sex. Her sex. The delicious feelings washed back over her, settling between her thighs. It was like a sweet yearning for something she couldn’t reach alone, and it was powerfully connected to the Potions Master, and he was drawing her in as if she were tied to him. This was probably the most stupid, dangerous thing she had ever done in her life. Giving herself willingly to a deatheater. A man without morals or conscience. A man without goodness. A man whose darkness was calling her.

She walked naked into her bedroom and looked at the clock. It was seven-thirty. She opened her wardrobe, trying to decide what to wear. That wouldn’t matter much to him either, she thought. It was what was under her clothes that he wanted. At least he had dispelled any notions of romance. But how many women let men fuck them who only pretended to love them to have at their bodies? Countless. At least she knew what he wanted. He was evil, but honest. Would it be better to have a good man who was a liar? But it was strange. Both times he cornered her, he said this was what she wanted. Since she was going to him, he must be right in his assessment.

Hermione picked out a school uniform, what she would normally wear to detention. She doubted if it would thwart him any. She was a student after all. She put on her bra and panties. Simple white cotton, nothing fancy. Virginal. She had fancy underclothes, but she didn’t want to wear them. She didn’t need to arouse him. He was already aroused. Better to just go as she was. Not put on any pretense. Just go.

She put on her uniform and her Gryffindor robes, and looked at the clock. It was seven-forty five. She drew in a deep breath, walked to the bedroom door, opened it and exited her room.

It was time to go and serve her ‘detention’.

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A/N: There seems to be a lot of soul-searching going on with Hermione. All useless it seems. She just wants him, plain and simple. She’s into his evil, it seems. I wonder…can it rub off? Hmm. Well, please review.