Hi everyone, this is the new story I've been dabbling in. Have no fear, I promise this will not interfere with my last updates on Learning to Live. This story has just taken my Muse hostage and wouldn't shut up until I got it all written down. Uptades will be coming fast, so never fear! Also, this story will be different from my others in that it gets intimate with some very dark subjects. I've dabbled in dark before, but never quite like this. If you're not sure this story is for you, see warnings below. And as always, Happy Reading!

WARNING-READ THIS FIRST! ~This story deals with very dark themes that may be inappropriate for some readers. Abuse, both sexual and emotional, death and addiction are all mentioned here. If you are not comfortable with such topics, you may not be happy with this story.

She heard the steps behind her. Cowered further into the corner, praying that if she couldn't see him, then he couldn't see her. His hand landed hard on her shoulder, heavy and hot, so much bigger than her. She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that he wasn't there. That she was all alone. His hand squeezed her shoulder and shook her. She looked up finally, cracked open her eyes but didn't look into his face. She couldn't look into his hard glare, couldn't stand to see the emotions there that turned her stomach. Instead she stared at his chest. The smears of dirt on his shirt that had become permanent stains. The buttons yellowed with age. She tried not to let her gaze lower to his trousers. To the bulge there. She knew what was coming. Knew that he would do what he wanted, no matter what she did. Should she fight? Cry? Deaden her limbs and pretend that it wasn't happening? She'd done them all, and none of them had stopped him before. He pulled her out of the corner and turned her to face him. She struggled against his hold, her body making the decision for her. Fight. She would fight, no matter how futile.

She squirmed in his arms as he lifted her. Pushed against his chest and cried out for help. No one would come. They never did. He allowed her to struggle, let her try and fight him because he knew that he was so much stronger than her. That there wasn't anything she could do to stop him. He let her because it turned him on. And she knew it. So why couldn't she stop herself from fighting him?

He pulled her to his body, almost cradling her against him, pinning her arms. Then he started walking. Over to the bed. She fought with renewed strength, knowing what was coming. But still, he held her effortlessly. She started begging as he pushed her on the bed and removed her clothes. Pleading with him. He ignored her and removed his own. Her tears had no effect on him. Her sobs would not sway him. He climbed up her body and settled himself between her legs, his smile wide and triumphant. She still refused to look into his eyes. Instead she stared over his shoulder at the ceiling. Counted the specks on the tiles. Pretended they were stars. Pain pierced her as he started to move. She squeezed her eyes shut as it lanced through her, blocking out the room, the world. Trying to block out the pain as easily as she blocked out the sight of him.

How long did it last? A minute? An hour? An eternity? Did time hold any meaning in hell? She continued to cry, to weep and beg for reprieve. Finally, it was over. He hugged her so tightly that she felt her air rush out in a painful exhale. He crushed her to him and put his lips next to her ear. "That was so good, baby. You're such a good girl. My good girl."

SS

I pulled back in shock, in disgust, in utter horror. The honey brown eyes that I'd fallen inadvertently into stared back at me, wide with fear. Her lips parted, chest heaved as she struggled for air. I knew my own chest was rising just as sharply. The Potter boy pushed from behind her, glaring at me angrily. I ignored him.

"What the bloody hell was that?" I exclaimed. Shame burned in her cheeks and rage suffused me. Who had dared to touch her that way? Who would do such a thing to her? She'd looked so young in the memory... My stomach roiled and I knew my fists were shaking ever so slightly. I pushed them into the folds of my robes so that neither Potter nor Miss Granger would see them. Tears filled her eyes and suddenly I felt awful for my harsh question. She was obviously terrified of what I'd seen. Before I could say anything further, attempt to be even a little gentler in my probing, Potter pointed his wand in my face.

"What's the matter with you?" he demanded. He glanced over his shoulder at Hermione. She trembled and blinked back the sheen of moisture on her eyes. Brave, I'd give her that. Did Potter know about the memory I'd just seen? Had she told him? Had she told anyone? "You can't just use Legimens to get an answer out of me if I don't want to give you one! You can't just barge into people's heads like that!"

"Clearly," I drawled, my glacial stare turning to his outraged face, "I can, mister Potter. But never fear. The tales you spun to the Minister are safe for now. Miss Granger pushed into my path before I could get into your mind." I flicked my gaze back to her. She was taking deep breaths, composing herself as if nothing had happened. But oh, I knew something had happened. Something monstrous. And if the emotions I'd gathered from the memory were true, then it wasn't the first time, and probably not the last. My mind whirled at breakneck speed. An uncle? Family friend? One of her father's co workers? Who had done that to her?

"Stay out of people's heads, Snape," Potter growled. He turned to his friend. "Are you alright Hermione?" She took a deep breath that only shook a little before flashing Potter a weak smile.

"I'm fine, Harry. I'm great at Occlumancy, you know that. I was just surprised is all."

"Did he see anything you didn't want him to see? He's good at zoning in on your best and worst memories," he said with another glare at me. I stared unblinking at her wide eyes. Yes, Miss Granger, what will you tell Potter I saw? She swallowed hard and flashed a more reassuring smile at Harry.

"Of course not, Harry. It wasn't anything important."

I felt the urge to gape at her in shock, but of course did nothing of the sort. I merely narrowed my eyes at her. Nothing important? Was that the lie she expected Potter to believe? When her eyes were still glistening and her hands were still trembling? But Potter did believe it. He'd always been a dunderhead. He obviously couldn't see what was right in front of him. She was clearly in distress and fighting like hell to hide it. Potter was a moron. An obtuse moron. But then, if I hadn't just witnessed the memory myself, would I have noticed either? How closely did anyone really look at the young witch?

"Come on, Mione. Lets get back to the group." He took her arm and started to pull her away. I interrupted before they'd taken a single step.

"A word, Miss Granger?" I kept my voice tightly controlled, letting none of my anger and disgust seep into my tone. Her big eyes met mine and I fought to keep myself from falling into them again. I didn't want to know what other horrors festered in her psyche. She lifted her chin defiantly.

"Some other time, perhaps, Severus." The little chit spoke clearly, boldly. As if defying me to challenge her use of my given name. As if daring me to speak about what I'd just seen. She turned and started to walk away. Before I could give regard to my thoughts, I was at her side, drawn up to my full imposing height and snatched her wrist tightly. It felt almost childlike in its size, and I saw her quick intake of breath, felt the slight tremor of her hand. Unwilling to be demurred by those things, I held onto her and stared down at her.

"Without a doubt, Miss Granger," I said through clenched teeth. I tried to give my voice the silky menace it usually held but knew that my tone was too harsh, my emotions making the words too raw to pull the effect off. Then I released her wrist and pulled away as quickly as I'd come. I turned, stalking back through the door to the Great Hall, leaving the crowd behind.