He had pushed her too far with the spanking, he just knew it. Why, why, why would he have to ruin everything that was good and fun in his life? How on earth had he been so stupid as to think he could do anything he pleased to a witch like Hermione Granger?

Severus realized, he had gone about this like a true Death Eater would: Never asking, only taking, doing what he wanted with no care for her wishes. Though he had to admit, it had certainly seemed like she had enjoyed herself. With what he'd have to do this year, what he had stupidly pledged himself to do, he berated himself for not cherishing her and the enjoyment he found in their encounters. Who knew, he might be dead – or worse – in a few months. He should have embraced the very sweetness of her, that he somehow had been granted. Merlin knew his life was a dark enough mess as it was.

In the days that followed, he was more vicious than ever in the classroom. Even the faculty avoided him more than usual, sensing his anger, discontent and disappointment. Merlin, he had to get a grip on himself. He had let her get to him, rejoicing in the luxury of frequent sex – fantastic sex at that, with that hot, willing, tight little sheath enveloping his cock, welcoming both roughness and... Get a grip, he grumbled to himself.

He had never meant to sleep with her in the first place, and certainly never continuing it. But, here he was, living what he had to name a kind of Granger-withdrawal-symptom. Unhappiness, grumpiness, horniness – you name it, he had it. His nights were filled with dreams of her, and more often than not, he woke, gasping as his cock spurted thick, wet strands all over his bedsheets, just like a teenager with no control at all.

In a few days, he had to attend the Dark Lord's Samhain Revel, and he had to be level-headed, focused and strong. If that bastard ever got wind of his entanglement with Miss Granger, there would be no end to it. He would first be tortured, and then forced to apologize to the girl with the aim of luring her to Malfoy Manor to meet her demise at the hands of the Dark Lord himself. And there was no way he'd be able to do just that.

Xxxx

She had no romantic feelings for Ronald Bilius Weasley, she was absolutely sure. Still, seeing Ron and Lavender snogging all over the place made her feel something. A certain lack in her life, of affection, of caring, and of pure, unadultered lust. Because she wasn't getting any, anymore, thanks to herself and her stuffy, stupid pride. But deep down, she knew she had done the right thing for her self-respect. She couldn't live with an image of herself as Professor Snape's little sex doll, running at his beck and call, but now she felt the consequences. Because she wanted him very, very bad.

So, she got a petty revenge on Ron, not helping him with his homework – though the poor boy didn't even know why Hermione was frustrated. And her nights were filled with hot dreams of her Professor, and she didn't dare to sleep without setting a Silencing spell on her bed, worried that her dorm mates would wake to her moaning his name.

Xxxx

"Severus." He knelt at the Dark Lords feet, and his master stroked his hair slowly, hands snagging, tearing roughly at his scalp. "Severus, you've done well. You've kept me well abreast of the old codger's plans, feeding us vital information. I feel generous, Severus. Any women here tonight, anyone, is at your disposal."

Severus lifted his head, staring incredulously at his Lord. Voldemort tipped a meaningful glance in the direction of Narcissa and Bellatrix, whispering: "Sisters, Severus, serving you. Both."

Severus gave a deep bow, hiding his disgust behind his trademark sneer, saying: "I prefer virgins, my lord."

"Ah yes. Red-headed ones, I believe?"

"Indeed, my Lord. You know me too well."

The Dark Lord chuckled, and with a bony hand with long, dark nails, he lazily beckoned a young, beautiful girl with red tresses down her naked back.

"Girl, you'll serve Severus tonight. Whatever he wants, you'll give with pleasure. Your virginity, your mouth, your arse – everything."

The girl nodded blankly, turning to Severus with a mechanical smile. Oh, he could smell the Dark Lord's handiwork from afar. The girl was well and truly Imperius'ed. He bowed again, choking out: "My Lord is magnanimous. Your servant is grateful."

Stepping up to the girl, he took her hand, leading her to the shadows between the pillared great hall of Malfoy Manor. The revel would peak soon, already people were grunting in the corners, short, pierced shrieks and pleading wails were emanating from the shadows around them. The rest of the Inner Circle were standing in the uplit areas, chatting politely, while some moved in an elegant dance to the music from the string orchestra. A Strauss waltz, he believed.

But not for long would the polite façade stick in place. Already, Antonin was crunching his glass between those giant ham-fists of his, stalking into the darkest corner were a writhing mass of bound people were struggling to free themselves, coming at them like Death itself to pick his victims.

Lucius was dancing with Avery's nineteen-year old daughter, one of Severus' former Slytherins, of course, groping the girls arse vulgarly as Narcissa stared haughtily down her nose at anyone, anything – everything, to avoid the humiliation and shame her husband inflicted on her. The girl was wide-eyed, breathing through her nose, obviously terrified. Yes, she had been rather prudish, but not enough to NOT join the Death Eaters, Severus thought.

Bellatrix cackled madly, suddenly raining curses on her sorry excuse of a husband, him freeing his cock to pleasure himself, moaning in submission. The Dark Lord himself had a selection of pretty young Muggles in front of him, two were stroking his cock, while three of them were pleasuring each other while he leered at them, eyes only a red slit in his face. Pouting, Bellatrix strutted up to him, slapping off the girls, and kneeling down between the Dark Lord's legs to take their prime position. Somewhere, in the darkest corner, several people screamed as they suddenly Incendio'ed at Dolohov's wand. Full tilt, Severus thought, the revel was speeding up, now. Soon, the Dark Lord would have his orgasm, and then he'd start cursing those poor unfortunates left after Dolohov's ministrations. If those poor sods had had a choice, Severus would recommend Dolohov. The Dark Lord was … singularly … vicious.

Turning to the girl, he felt queasy. He had absolutely no wish to defile her, knowing that the Dark Lord's favorite form of the Imperius curse in this regard was to make the curse stick until the exact moment the girl orgasmed underneath him. Then, she'd scream in terror, seeing those red-slitted eyes, the lack of nose and the skeletal frame above her and deep inside whatever hole the Dark Lord had chosen to partake of. Severus sincerely hoped that seeing himself wouldn't be that bad.

However, he was certain he'd need the Erecato charm. Looking at the pretty, naked girl, tits bouncy and large, shaven mound, and face slightly reminiscent of Lily, he realized he wasn't interested. He wasn't. He wanted brown, riotous curls, big brown eyes, a slim, tight body, and the brain to match it all. Gods, Granger. He wanted her – only her. Not this pretty slip of a poor, cursed Muggle.

Struggling with himself, he raised his wand to perform the charm that would give him a failsafe erection. Then a blast rang through the hall, and he turned to see gory bits and blood rain over the Pure-bloods in the main area. Narcissa delicately drew her wand over her face, ridding herself of drops of blood and gore, while the Avery girl shrieked, finding the opportunity to escape Lucius and run into her father's arms. Merlin, what a mess. The Dark Lord had obviously had his orgasm, and now he had literally exploded one of the girls kneeling in front of him, bone-white wand out, ready to blast another. Bellatrix was frantically scrubbing what had to be the Dark Lord's dripping semen from the lacy neckline of her dress.

Disgusted, Severus had to remind himself: Why was he here, again? Oh yes, because Dumbledore needed a spy. Severus swore to himself, that if both he and the old man survived the war, he'd force the codger to watch all the revels he had participated in in his Pensieve. It was getting worse, every time.

Reluctantly, he performed the spell that would leave him hard enough to perform with the girl, but he found, his mind was fighting him at every step. The spell wouldn't take, it wouldn't sit, it didn't hold – and he had to pour more and more of his magic into it, before he finally had a lasting erection. Quickly, he stripped his trousers, and as he bent the girl over, positioning himself, the goddamned thing flagged again.

Breathing hard with disgust in himself for his lack of survival instinct, he decided to improvise. Plunging three fingers deep into the girl, breaking her virginity, he turned her around to get eye contact. In her mind, he carefully placed a memory of being brutally, painfully reamed from behind with his cock – absolutely no pleasure for her to explain why she didn't orgasm, thus no reason for breaking the Dark Lord's special Imperius. Conjuring a whitish mess, he strategically placed it halfway inside her, half dripping out of her, and for good measure, he inserted a little in her arse too. His fingers, bloodied from her barrier, he trailed over her face, smearing red fingerprints over her cheeks. He couldn't do more for her. The only thing to do after this, was to pretend to be roaring drunk and unable to perform on more witches and victims. And, get back safely to see the bright, innocent face of Granger in his classroom, once again.

Xxxx

She cried in the bathroom, alone. Why, oh why, had she been stupid enough to go with McLaggen to Slughorn's Christmas party? He had crushed her to him under the mistletoe, slobbering all over her, wet, disgusting kisses, nothing at all like the passionate, hot, probing tongue of her dark, too-experienced teacher. Tears of anger, humiliation and shame pooled in her eyes, and she wanted nothing else but to go back in time for a few days to turn down McLaggen. Better to go alone, she thought. Drying her tears, she emerged from her stall, walking slowly towards the sink.

Her former lover – it pained her to think of him like that – had not made any advances to continue their relationship. As the weeks flew by, she had concluded, he was not that interested. Still, she could feel his eyes upon her, in class, at meals, when he oversaw periods of homework, in the halls… But no, there was no use in fantasizing about Severus Snape. He obviously didn't care enough to bat an eyelid. The man probably had loads of witches wanting to shag him. And gods, how it hurt. She wanted to run her fingers through his coarse, stringy hair, to smooth out those lines of worry etching his face, to tenderly caress those wicked scars on his upper body, to stroke his throbbing cock, to ride him with abandon…

Berating herself for the umpteenth time, she tore her mind out of her fantasies. She had to accept that he was only her Professor. He. didn't. care. about. her. at. all.

Clutching the sides of the sink, she stared at her too-serious face in the mirror. Eyes big, still shiny with tears and smudged mascara, lip trembling slightly. She spelled her red, runny nose dry and pale, and restored her eye make-up. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders to enter the fray at Slughorn's Christmas Party again, hoping to avoid her Quidditch suitor for the rest of the evening.

Xxxx

Just outside in the corridor, he heard scuffling and a muted yelp. He was heading back to the Slug party after a chat with Draco, and here, in front of him, students were obviously going at it, uninhibited in the halls, those little, horny bastards.

Stalking towards the noise, he stopped short at what he saw. Granger. Jealousy burned through him, and he wanted to hex both her and the soddy bastard that was pawing her. But wait… Granger was fighting the boy, trying to deflect his hands, pushed back at the wall, her wand on the cold tiles of the floor. The boy was a big, strong burly fellow, and right now, he had shoved his hand inside Granger's dress to feel up her cleavage, while the other hand was underneath her dress, somewhere in the vicinity of her quim.

With a snarl, he grabbed the neck of the boy – Quidditch player, Gryffindor, McLaggen – wrenching him away from Granger, and he whispered silkily, dangerously: "Two hundred points for accosting a fellow, female student in the halls." The boy almost quaked in fear as he stared up at him, and Severus felt his anger molt into white-hot fury when he realized the boy had already opened his trousers, his cock now hanging out, limp and flaccid.

He hissed: "You should count yourself lucky I won't castrate you right now. Run along, you filthy piece of shit, and I'll make sure to tell your Head of House you almost raped Granger in the halls. Let me tell you this…", his voice fell to a deadly whisper, "Minerva McGonagall will make you wish you were dead." Letting go of the little wanker, the boy scarpered off quickly, but his eyes were all for Granger.

Her bottom lip trembled, and with a sob, she flung herself into his arms, tears sprouting from her eyes. He held her, feeling an odd sense of contentment as she rested her head against his chest. This was it. Granger should be in his arms. Forever.

Severus knew he should say something mean to keep up his façade. He groped for hurting words, like – you're a witch, Granger, how could you let yourself sink this far – but he couldn't. No one knew better than him how helpless a wandless witch could be, when cornered by a strong man with violence on his mind.

Instead, he whispered: "There, there, nothing happened, I've got you. He'll never bother you again. You're safe now." He stroked her back gently, even her potion-tamed, slick hair, and slowly, gradually, her weeping subsided.

After a few deep breaths, she extricated herself from his arms, and took two steps back.

"I'm sorry for crying all over you," she mumbled.

He stood still, willing her to look at him, but she turned on the spot and fled.

Xxxx

Why did she feel so right, so good in Professor Snape's arms? She missed him, more than she wanted to admit, and she was afraid it was much more than a physical need. She had to talk to him. She had, at least, a legitimate reason for seeing him, as she hadn't thanked him for rescuing her from McLaggen. In a way, it was ironic. Her former lover saving her from the assault by her new date, when all she wanted was to be in his arms again.

With a heavy heart, she knocked on his office door. It banged open, the door crashing into the wall, and his hulking, menacing shadow filled the opening.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Granger?" he asked, voice low and silkily dangerous.

Her breath quickened, and she stepped inside, brushing by him. When he shut the door, she could see his eyes burning at her. Filled with passion, desire, want… She swallowed heavily, knowing all too well that her own eyes held an answering fire.

"I wanted to thank you for saving me," she said formally. "I am in your debt."

At that, he looked angry, his familiar sneer twisting his features into scorn and derision. "And you decided to thank me in person, is that it?" He took a step towards her, looming threateningly over her, and she gasped. Merlin, she'd never thought he'd interpret her coming here like … that.

"No," she said hurriedly, flustered, "no, not like that. I merely wanted to tell you I'm grateful, I didn't mean to… I acknowledge my debt, and pledge to keep it." She squared her shoulders, looking him straight in the face.

Oddly enough, his shoulders seemed to sag a little in relief, and he studied her, dark eyes probing at her. After a long, breathless moment, he said: "It's my duty to protect all students, Miss Granger. However," his face became even more severe, "you are of age. I see your debt, and I thank you for your pledge."

Both stood still, black eyes boring into honey-brown eyes, and at last she nodded, turning to leave, heart thudding in her chest. Her mouth felt dry, but she had no words. She, Hermione Granger, had no words to express what she felt. An overwhelming desire, a need to touch him, a craving in her soul to be in the arms of this dark, foreboding, dangerous, mean wizard. Gods, it was more than lust. It was… Her belly clenched – it was desire alright – but also something deliciously forbidden and frightening, something that threatened to burn her up from the inside out.

Giving off a ragged sigh as she walked towards the door, tears pooled in her eyes. It was no use. He would never feel that way about her, all she was, was an easy, young fuck.

Then his voice interrupted her train of thoughts.

Xxxx

He couldn't allow her to leave, not again. Though she obviously wouldn't be interested in a wizard with twenty years on her age, not for anything else than the excitement of a few, illegal fucks, he had to try, though trying had left him bereft in the past.

His controlled, measured voice totally left him, and he croaked out: "Please. Stay. Please, I need you."

She stopped in her tracks, standing stock still.

That broken voice – a voice that he could barely recognize as his own – stayed with him as he continued: "Please. I'll go about this differently. I realize, you have the right to decide too. Give me a safe word, tell me your limits. Please!" He stretched out a hand to her, imploring her, but it fell limply to his side when she didn't respond.

Then she suddenly spun around, her face both incredulous and somehow uplifted, relieved. Those beautiful, sexy, pouty lips fell apart, and her tongue came out, licking her bottom lip. And suddenly, he had an armful of young, crying witch, smiling through her tears and hugging him hard. It felt like a ton of bricks Levitating from his shoulders. Severus straightened his posture, crushing the girl to him, lifting her up, finding her lips.

Xxxx

Her mouth was invaded by his demanding tongue and lips, and she slung her legs around his hips, clutching his shoulders. Gods, she had missed this, and he had too! He had begged her – Severus Snape had begged her to stay. She felt delirious with pleasure, happiness and want, and she was also getting wet – almost soaked.

She pulled her lips from him, and whispered: "Gryffindor. My safe word will be Gryffindor."

He nodded, growling out a hoarse "yes, Gryffindor it is." His black eyes were almost glazed over, and she supposed she could have claimed "Potter" as a safe word for all he cared right now.

Then he found her lips again, kissing her and entwining his tongue around hers, and she reciprocated eagerly. He grunted as he massaged her arse with his large hands, crushing her to his hips, and she could feel his hard bulge straining at her sex. Tearing his mouth from her, he whispered a spell, leaving them both stark naked, and – oh yes – with a jerk of his hips, she was impaled on his large, throbbing cock, sliding easily down on him, her wetness slicking his entrance. His eyes were closed, his head thrown back in bliss, hair hanging down over his shoulders, and she licked his neck, kissing him, her fingers raking red marks on his shoulder blades, tugging at his hair.

He thrust unevenly up into her, and she answered by squeezing her cunt around him, making his eyes flutter with a glassy expression and his mouth becoming slack-jawed. Her clit throbbed, and she worked his cock, sliding up and down on him, trying to crush him with her muscles.

With a low, muttered oath, he lifted her off him, and said harshly: "Down on your hands and knees, now!"

She obeyed, again thrilled by his dominance, and looked back over her shoulder as he positioned himself behind her. He put a hand on the small of her back, pushing her upper body down and her arse in the air, spreading her cheeks with his other hand. He groaned at the sight, and said hoarsely: "I've pictured you just like this in the last month, your pert little ass up in the air, displaying your sweet, tight cunt to me so wantonly, so aroused that the smell of your juices fill the air."

She shivered in anticipation, wriggling her arse at him, begging him as seductively as she managed: "Please, take me, please shove your big cock inside me again, do me hard, Professor!"

His breath hitched, and he obliged, thrusting violently inside her, filling her up, holding her hips in a bruising grip as he pounded into her. One hand found her clit, rubbing her in time with his thrusts, and he buried the other in her hair, pulling her head back. Her orgasm built rapidly, cunt twitching, belly burning, clit throbbing, and then it was there – she gasped, moaned, clenched around his cock in long-lasting spasms, screaming his name: "Severus! Oh, please, more!"

And he came, spurting into her with a frantic jerking of his hips, cock thudding home in her with harsh, hard thrusts.

His arms came down on either side of her, so they both were standing on all fours, panting. After a while, he pulled her hair aside, kissing her neck, and withdrew. Her cunt was slick with his semen, their combined fluids running down her thighs, and she turned around, sitting on the floor beside him. Their eyes met, and he gave her a crooked, sweaty smile. Her own mouth turned up at the corners, and she smiled back at him. Both were still breathing heavily, drenched in sweat, but the seconds ticked by in shared contentment and joy of just being together. For a moment, all was well in the world.

A/N: This story started as a one-shot PWP, and ended up somewhat longer. The ending is open for your imagination. It could go in direction of canon (but since you're here, I suppose you think Snape deserved better too), or it could end up in Hermione saving him through her pledge – or something wildly different. Either way, there are loads of great stories on the site covering all alternatives. Thanks for following and favouriting, and if you enjoyed Twenty Points to Gryffindor, please review!