One Cold Morning

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, nor the money they generate, etc, etc.

*Mwahs!* to my betas!!! Fervesco and Vanityfair graciously conceded to the task of cleaning up my first (& second) draft, and who‘s open honesty, corrections and advice greatly helped shape the final product.

WARNING WARNING WARNING: Extremely Dark Fic. Contains violent rape. Please do not read if you find this disturbing.

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Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, her vision greeted by the snow falling gently outside her window. Smiling softly, she sleepily surveyed the room, taking in the few decorations she had adorned the room with.

Shivering slightly from the cold, she pulled the blankets more tightly around herself and reached out in search of warmth and embrace, in search of Severus, only to find long abandoned sheets in his stead. Her disappointment at his absence quickly vanished as she remembered what day it was – Christmas Day!

She rose from the bed quickly, barely able to contain her excitement at the prospect of opening all her gifts. Even more enticing however, was the vision of giving to Severus what she hoped would be the greatest gift of his life.

She felt giddy as a child as she stepped into her slippers. She bounced happily down the stairs to the dining room to find Severus sitting stiffly at the dinner table, looking solemn on such a festive day.

A small fire crackled behind the grate as she scanned her eyes over the pile of presents scattered upon the table.

"Happy Christmas, Severus!" she squealed as she glided towards him.

Severus raised his eyes slowly from the parchment he had just finished reading to focus on her cheery face. A seething anger he had not known in years coursed through his veins. His eyes glittered maliciously as he pinned his wife with a heart-piercing, blood-chilling stare.

She stalled her movements at his first icy sentence, just as she reached the edge of the table.

"I just received an owl post of yours, my love," he hissed, maintaining eye contact. His terrifying whisper would have been inaudible if not for the deafening silence in the room. He noticed her nervous swallow as her eyes scanned the table before him, resting for a moment too long on the small golden package to his left, before darting her eyes back to him. The dawning realisation and fear that emerged on her features only served to infuriate him further, as though confirming his suspicions.

"Yes, Hermione. From the precious boy-wonder himself," he growled, without attempting to conceal his loathing. He rose swiftly, his chair teetering precariously at the sudden movement.

Hermione jumped involuntarily and took a small step backwards, her legs caught on the chair behind her, impeding her subconscious retreat. She kept her eyes trained on him as she disentangled herself from the confines of the table.

His glare was as glacial as the weather outside, accentuated by his knuckles blazing snow white from his vice grip on the parchment. The parchment itself, unable to withstand the merciless injury he imposed upon it, crumbled helplessly in his palm.

"Enlighten me, my love. What precisely does ‘Have you told him the secret yet?’ entail?" he asked while stepping clear of his chair.

Hermione gulped as anxiety rose within her. She was positive the fluttering at her neck was visible to him, where her pulse betrayed her rising apprehension like Morse code. This was to have been a joyous, happy day – she had planned it!

"Severus, please, you must let me explain before..." She broke off her sentence as he lunged at her, his eyes burning with fury. Fleeing to the other side of the table, desperate to keep space between them, she pleaded, "Please, let’s not fight! Not today! I have something important to tell you!"

Severus felt his control evaporating. ‘She was intending to confess her adultery to me on Christmas day?’ he fumed internally. A red rage began to envelop his senses, entwining its humming, seductive fingers around every fibre of his being. That she had the gall to betray him, and with that idiot, he could not bear.

"How is this even possible, my love, when I gave you implicit orders not to have any contact with that boy?"

Hermione stiffened. "You have no right to reprimand me for communicating with him, Severus! Harry is one of my best friends!"

At that, Severus bared his teeth, whether in a grimace or a feral grin, she could not tell.

"I would not have forbidden contact with him if I had not discovered you engaging in foreplay with him on my living room floor!" he bit out through clenched teeth.

Hermione, indignant at his accusations, retorted without hesitation "He was only tickling me for Merlin‘s sake! It was the farthest thing from foreplay I’ve ever done with Harry! I wish I could say the same for you!"

"Bitch," he seethed, further enraged at the comparison between his intimate physical contact, or lack thereof, and that of Harry’s attentions. The memory of Potter molesting his wife on the carpet was still as vivid in his mind as it was the day it occurred, adding fuel to his already raging ire.

Hermione could sense his hackles rising and realized she had just relinquished any hope she had of gaining control of the situation. Her confession of the truth would only sound like desperate pleading to him, as though trying to console him in order to save herself from the imminent attack, and would fall on deaf ears. His mood was mad and merciless. There was no longer any hope of calming him now.

He moved stealthily around the table as Hermione matched his advance by retreating farther from him, like prey from a starving predator.

"Come here," he snarled.

Hermione hesitated. She considered herself well experienced concerning his fits of rage. She was highly skilled in disarming his temper on most occasions.

On other occasions, however, such as the day Harry tickled her, she did not succeed in her attempts to pacify him. He had shouted at her and hit her repeatedly after promising only months prior never to hurt her again.

The state of ferocious madness he was currently in was unlike any other anger she had witnessed before.

Hermione knew the very moment she discovered that Severus had seen Harry’s gift, and read his letter, that he would assume the worst. Unfortunately, her chance to explain had passed, for he would have none of it. With his temper so inflamed and unpredictable, Hermione stood only one chance of overpowering him – to make it to her room where her wand lay on the nightstand.

Hermione continued maneuvering around the table to match his progression towards her. She circled the table to the same position she stood in when she first entered the dining room, with a clear path to the door. With Severus a looming threat on the other side of the table, she turned on her heel and fled like the wind towards the stairs.

Severus sensed her intention to flee a mere second before she turned her back on him. Even her attempt to escape his wrath communicated nothing to him but an admission of guilt.

He released an ear splitting cry of rage as he flew around the table with lightening speed, catching her by the messy tumble of curls that cascaded down her back before she could make it even halfway to the door. He gripped her forearm with bruising force and whirled her around to face him.

She struggled in vain against his grip, kicking and punching in a futile attempt to dislodge him. He did not flinch as her punches and forceful kicks collided with his knees and chest. He simply sneered down at his beloved wife as she desperately sought to escape him.

"After all I have done for you, my love, you dare to deceive me? Did you honestly think you could betray me? My instinct told me you were not trustworthy! I knew you were a common Muggle whore!" he screamed in a fiery rage as he pulled back his hand back to slap her, putting his full weight into it.

Hermione cried out in fear and pain as he pulled his hand back for another hit. She stumbled when he made contact with her face the second time. She would have fallen if not for his iron grip on her arm. Her face stung horribly and a rising panic was welling deep within her heart. She was alone, wandless, and her valiant self-defence was having little effect on him.

He hit her repeatedly, swearing obscenities under his breath. His rage was reaching an extreme more frightening than she had ever witnessed before. Her breath caught in her throat as she glimpsed the murderous flash in his eyes. She was beginning to fear for her life.

In her weakened and disoriented state, her resistance against him diminished. She put up a minimal fight as he tossed her to the cold, hard floor. He straddled her thighs as he began ripping the robe and nightgown from her body.

The cool air upon her skin and the sense of being exposed sharpened her senses and she renewed her struggle to escape her assailant, flailing her legs and clawing at his face in a desperate attempt scratch him, to gouge his eyes, anything to distract him if even for a moment.

He pressed his weight down on her thighs to still them and caught her wrists in one long-fingered hand, pinning them above her head. With the other he resumed his assault of her face, grunting with the force of every blow. His fist made contact relentlessly, each one tearing further at her soul, until she felt the delicious onset of unconsciousness beginning to slide over her, temporarily relieving her senses from reality.

He clawed the remaining clothing from her torso, scratching her tender arms and stomach. Brutally, he tore her panties from her prone figure, the elastic waistband bruising and cutting deep into her hips as it strained to remain intact. After discarding her tattered clothing, he positioned himself between her limp thighs, using his own thighs to spread and tilt her hips. Hermione’s head lolled slowly from side to side as he held her down with one hand, his other tearing himself from his pants, pressing his erection just at her opening.

He paused, leaning down to hiss in his barely conscious wife's ear, "Is this what you require wife? Is this how you sate the desires of a whore?" He thrust his hips forward violently, tearing into her un-aroused and tender flesh.

Hermione cringed and screamed out in acute pain. Sobbing and fully conscious now, she writhed beneath him and weakly tugged at her restrained arms.

Snape released her wrists only to brace himself for a renewed onslaught on her fragile body. He was determined to evoke within her the same despair that was erupting violently within himself. This assault communicated his will to inflict this soul shattering punishment as justice for her crime against him.

He was glaring at her, a twisted, feral mask upon his face. His frenzied movements and the shadows playing on his face cast a sinister and almost demonic look upon his features. Nothing about this man resembled the enigmatic, insecure, yet brilliant and endearing man she had married.

Her feeble struggles to push him or wretch her body away from his grasp had failed. Exhausted, she ceased her resistance, submitting to his attack and the sense of defeat, anger and sorrow warring within her. Hermione crossed her arms protectively over her soft abdomen and closed her eyes to shut out the sight of his contorted visage. She trembled and quaked with silent sobs as he violated her.

Snape’s movements became irregular as he climaxed within her, filling her womb with his semen and burning the fresh wounds on her uterine wall.

The intensity of her emotional upheaval, his abrasive friction and searing agony radiating from within her womb crested. Choking on sobs through her broken exclamations of pain, she turned her head to the side and emptied the contents of her stomach onto the floor.

Snape, having finished pouring his rage into her, withdrew quickly in disgust, as though extended physical contact with her would taint him. Rising from the floor, he turned away from her to readjust his anatomy and clothing, stalking silently back to his chair. He completely ignored Hermione as she slowly raised her bruised and disoriented body from the ground and clutched her tattered robe pathetically to her chest. He made no attempt to stop her as she staggered through the dining room towards the hall.

With her vision blurred by tears and her ragged breaths coming in short, erratic gasps, she carefully ascended the stairs to the bedchamber.

Snape sat in agitated silence, his ears tuned to her every move. After her stumbling footsteps and sobbing disappeared behind the closed door, Snape’s narrowed eyes fell once more upon the golden package taunting him from the table. He pulled the small golden package towards him. His impassive expression morphed into a sneer of contempt as he tore the package open, revealing the Muggle packing beneath. Throwing the filmy stuffing to the floor he glared at the contents, feeling a surge of vindictive pleasure that it was he who would claim this gift – the one sent to his whore of a wife by her pathetic paramour.

Snape held his breath in anticipation as he picked up the small bundle of cloth huddled at the bottom of the package with his thumbs and forefingers. With a violent shake, it unfolded itself and Snape’s sneer froze on his sharp features. His exhaled breath turned into a groan of despair as cold dread seeped through his very soul, finally settling into his heart, as he realized what it was he held. It was an infant sized jumper.

The secret between her and Potter wasn't adultery... it was that she was with child. His own child. He had raped his wife in a murderous rage, actually contemplating strangulation, as she lay sobbing on the ground with his child in her womb.

Panicked, he flew up the stairs and flung open the bedroom doors, the tiny garment still grasped in his hand.

Hermione lay crumpled on the bed facing the door with her knees drawn tightly to her chest. Her eyes met his as he entered the room, but her expression remained emotionless. It was as if he had drained every shred of joy from her very being and all that remained of her was an empty shell.

She finally reached for her wand, slowly pointing it with a wavering hand in Snape’s direction. He hesitated just within the doorway, the jumper dangling from his fist.

"What is this Hermione?" he asked softly, raising the jumper to her view.

Hermione let out a heaving sob as she dropped her wand and covered her face. Fresh tears gushed from beneath her eyelids, further marring her already sodden and swollen face.

Snape approached cautiously and sat on the bed next to her, laying the jumper on his pillow, smoothing out the wrinkles. He gazed silently at the jumper for a few moments, as though lost deep in thought, before he turned his full attention towards his wife.

"Hermione please, talk to me" he said quietly, knowing what he had done was unforgivable, that she may never forgive him, but that he must try to amend his grave mistake.

"I-I was g-going to tell you t-today as a Christmas present," she managed to say through her sobs.

Snape reached out a hand and brushed back strands of hair clinging to her moist cheek. She flinched at the contact and he swiftly removed his hand. He lowered himself onto the bed cautiously, fearing she would resist him. After a few moments he began to move towards Hermione, slowly unfolding the legs from her chest as he gently pressed his body flush against hers.

She made neither an attempt to move away, nor to recoil in horror as he expected from her. He realized then she only allowed him such close proximity to her because she desired the gentle contact of a human being, even his polluted contact, not because she had forgiven him. The desperate need for tenderness from the man she loved overrode her instinct to repel him.

Despite her better judgement, she clung to his robes as he encompassed her in his arms. Snape tentatively placed small kisses on her heated cheeks and forehead until her sobs died down and she lay spent in his arms. They embraced in that position for several minutes. She remained still, both physically and emotionally exhausted.

Snape broke the silence first. "My love, I am sorry for what I have done. I thought you had betrayed me with Potter... I lost control of my own actions. I do not expect that you shall ever forgive me. But will you give me the opportunity to redeem myself?"

Hermione stayed silent, twisting the dread in his heart, for he feared he knew her answer.

"No, Severus, I can give you no more chances," she said softly, surely. "I cannot expose an infant to your temper and risk the well being of my child."

His clutch on her tightened fearfully. His heart beat leaden in his chest at the finality of her words, as though it was her child alone and it was not her intention share the experience of raising their child.

"If I were to change? If I vowed to do whatever you wish to improve myself, would you promise to reconsider your decision?" he whispered into her ear, his voice cracking.

She hesitated, wondering what she should say. She loved him with all her heart and she feared that he would use that knowledge against her as he had so many times before. "I can’t promise anything, Severus," she whispered back. "I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I cannot stay here now."

Snape let Hermione push away from his clutching embrace and rise to pack her belongings. He remained on the bed as a strange numbness resonated from the depths within him. The sounds of Hermione rustling through her wardrobe seemed distant and indistinct. Snape gazed at the canopy above him as thoughts cascaded through his mind like dust slipping through his fingers, ever-changing and elusive.

This was his family, the very thing he yearned for like nothing else in the world and he had torn it apart with his own two hands. Once again he had destroyed his hopes and dreams. With the destructive cycle repeating he felt doomed never to escape the tragic mistakes of his past.

Hermione paused by the bed and considered the small jumper. She wondered if she should take it for her child to wear; she was confidant she would not be here when she eventually gave birth. Leaving it there would only serve as a reminder to torment him further... but perhaps a reminder such as this was exactly what he needed.

She caught his gaze and held it, noting the bleak desolation behind his eyes that matched her own. "Goodbye, Severus," was all she said before turning her back on him and making her way out into the cold, frosty Christmas morning.

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Author’s Notes: Okay- I'm about to contradict myself, so bear with me! I don’t believe Severus is capable of rape, or any form or violence, on a woman. (Told you I'd contradict myself!)

His reaction to Narcissa’s sorrow in Spinner’s End reaffirmed my views concerning his capacity for compassion. (I'm also appalled at what Rowling made of his character at the end of HBP *shakes fist* Yet, that is the man this fic is based on) I still hold steadfast to the belief that he is innocent... perhaps I’m stubborn but I can’t shake the feeling some secret is still hidden from our sight. When the truth is finally revealed without question- this fic turns AU.

The idea for this was originally spawned by his actions at the end of HBP, where he physically harms an emotionally distraught innocent (Harry) for the first time ever. I had always thought Severus in total control of his emotions and actions, never going too far, but that scene made me do some serious questioning and rethinking.

Please review and tell me what you think of this one shot-- it being my first one!!! (PS Negative reviews are just as welcome as positive ones. Input only improves the author- And besides, I find the prospect of being called a ‘horrible horrible Turkey‘ rather amusing actually.... er... well, Fervesco knows what I‘m talking about!)