Forbidden Rapture

BY : Marionne25
Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione
Dragon prints: 41259
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am not making money from this story.

Author's Note: 

 Howdee dear readers. I'm still alive and kicking. Sorry this took a while. Took me a while to dit it and for my beta to also work on it (we both have other lives hahaha ) but i'm extremely grateful for her help and guide and PATIENCE.  

 Anyway, hope everyone is doing well. Semester is nearly done for me and my recital (I'm a music major for those who are wondering) will be moved. So I'll have more time writing and practicing my craft haha. 

 Comments are warmly appreciated. Hope all is well. tell me your thoughts on the story or just chat around in the review box. 

 

xx 

 

 

Chapter IV 

In Your Memory 

Hermione lay crying alone in their bed that night. She’d had an argument with Harry after the trial. One of the Ministry officials had seen her running after the guards who were holding the accused ex-Potions master. She hadn’t reached him in time, and when she turned, tears in her eyes, the official was already with Harry, who was looking both furious and confused.

She tried to explain to him, but Harry was furious. He refused to listen to her explanation and had literary dragged her back to the trial room hallway, well aware of the eyes following them.

“Harry, you’re hurting me,” Hermione complained, trying to remove Harry’s claw-like fingers. He halted and rounded on her. “Harry—“

“And what do you think you’re doing to me?” Harry spat at her. “What do you bloody think I’m feeling right now?”

Hermione stared back at him unbelievingly. Hermione could feel the changes in Harry’s attitude worsening as the days passed. “I just wanted to—“

“You just wanted to what?” he demanded, breathing heavily. He had both hands clenched at his sides as if struggling not to hit her in a room filled with not only witnesses but Ministry officials. “You just wanted to what!”

“Mr. Potter,” a voice cut in. “Kindly keep your voice down. You are within Ministry premises.” An official had walked past and seen the whole argument.

Harry stood still as he decided whether he was going to continue yelling at Hermione and be reprimanded or yell at the Ministry official and be banned from the place.

“I need some air,” Harry finally said, and he stormed away from Hermione and the official, who both stared after at him.

 

 

 

“Harry?” Hermione asked. “Harry, are you going to eat dinner?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Hermione entered his room and found him putting on his cloak. She walked over and handed him the red scarf from the end of the bed.

“Where are you going? What time will you be home?” she asked as he took the scarf and wrapped it around his neck.

“I’ll be late. Don’t wait up for me. I have some things I need to finish.”

Hermione sat on the bed and listened as Harry left the apartment without another word to her.

He would be somewhere in Diagon Alley, drinking alone. It wasn't as if he was an alcoholic or anything, but she had noticed that it was becoming something of a habit. She had learned from Ginny that during her disappearance, Harry turned to drinking whenever he was depressed or frustrated.

She knew that she was tearing him apart, but she also didn’t know what to do. She understood his misery and anger, but she also couldn’t let an innocent man go to Azkaban.

 

 

 “What are you thinking about?” she asked in a soft voice. She was staring at his quiet silhouette next to her on the bed. “Are you all right?”

He didn’t answer. His back was turned to her, but she could tell by his breathing that he wasn’t asleep.

“I’m fine,”  Snape answered. “I’m just thinking. Go to sleep.”

Hermione frowned and scooted closer to him. She placed her arm around his bare body and tightened her grip around his waist.

“It’s cold,” Hermione said, kissing his left shoulder blade. “Please keep me warm.”

He didn’t move at all. He kept ignoring her, and Hermione could sense the indifference. She wondered what had brought on the sudden change when just several hours ago, he couldn't keep his eyes off her—or any other part of his body for that matter.

“I can’t sleep,” Hermione said after another silence. “I’m having these dreams again, although they were somewhat different last night.”

“I can make you a potion to put you to sleep,” Snape offered as he moved from the bed. Lifting her hand from his waist, he went for his wand. “I’ll be back in a while.”

“No, please stay,” Hermione moaned, pulling him back on the bed. “Don’t go.”

Hermione reached for him, but he was quick. He grabbed her wrists and stopped her. Hermione’s brow creased in confusion. She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out when his black eyes met hers. She didn’t want him out of her sight—not after what had just happened.

 “What’s wrong?” she asked him. “What are you thinking about?”

He was quiet. He didn’t know what to say or do. This was a mistake. He knew it was, and he was a bloody idiot who couldn’t stop himself from doing something he had tried to avoid for the past eight months. He should not have let his emotions get the better of him. He couldn’t even look her in the eye.

“I’m going to make your potion.” Reaching for his robe on the floor, he avoided her gaze as he murmured, “Stay here, and I’ll be back soon.”

“Please don’t go.”

He felt her warm touch on his left hand. He tried to control his breathing. He closed his eyes as the sensation ran through him. He could feel his body reacting to that minimal skin contact. He wanted to burn the goddamn idea out of his head.

“Miss Granger, please,” he begged her. Pushing her hand away, he spoke in a deep voice, “Move away from me. This shouldn’t be. It’s not . . . ”

“It’s not what?” Hermione demanded. “It’s not what exactly?”

He closed his eyes, clenching his fists at his sides to stop himself from grabbing her and pushing her against the bed so he could stare down at her with all the passion burning inside of him. 

He gently moved her hand and backed away another inch. “You know this isn’t right.” There was pain in his voice as he spoke. “You know this was a mistake to begin with.”

Hermione blinked and stared up at him in disbelief. “A mistake? A mistake, Professor?”

There was a hint of hurt in her voice. Tears quickly filled her eyes as she moved away.

“Hermione, no. What I meant—“

“No, don’t touch me,” Hermione cried, withdrawing from him and backing against the headboard. A look of fear and anguish filled her eyes.

Snape turned and reached for her. She flinched from his touch and sank back against the headboard.

“Hermione, I only meant that . . . ” Snape tried to explain himself. “What I was trying to say is—“

“What exactly were you trying to say?” she snapped.

He couldn’t explain himself. He knew what he sounded like—a bastard with a very special place in hell.

His eyes softened at the sight of her crying. He tried to reach for her again, but she moved away, dragging along the sheets and blanket in an attempt to cover her nakedness.

“Hermione.” His voice returned, and this time it was somewhat softer. “Love, please, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.”

Snape extended his hand to her. He didn’t say anything, but he tried to communicate with his eyes and with his body language. He hoped against hope that these would be more effective than his previous attempts. “I’m sorry.”

There was some silence. And then Hermione dived back towards him, crying with all her heart.

“There, there, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry,” Snape whispered, kissing her forehead as he placed his arms around her in a gesture of comfort. She cried in his arms and curled herself into a ball.

“I’m sorry.” Snape kissed her tear-stained eyelids. “I’m sorry, love. Please don’t cry. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Snape closed his eyes and tightened his grip to reassure her.

Several hours ago, he was Severus Snape—the professor of Hermione Granger. But now it was different; he was Severus Snape—the lover of Hermione Granger. Or was that what he should call it? Were they lovers? Whatever they were, he could not hate himself more.

He had tried to avoid her all the months they’d been together. The process of controlling himself around her was such a struggle. But he was weak—just like any other man. He gave in to what he had been longing for.

With only the two of them staying in that cottage, he knew something was bound to happen. He tried to ignore it, but he was too weak to fight it.

It was not that she was the only available witch. He knew deep down that he’d wanted her even before they had been thrown together.

He knew that there were some unexplained feelings for her that he had been having since seeing her one summer at Grimmauld Place. It was the summer after their fourth year—after the year of the Yule Ball, where he had first noticed her. She had become a woman at that Yule Ball—no longer just a Gryffindor know-it-all. But their age difference, their status within the cottage, would never permit anything more than a student-teacher relationship; and he had accepted that. He had accepted it and turned away from those cursed feelings. But fate intervened.

It was wrong in every sense, and yet here he was now with the Gryffindor girl in his arms. He knew she was still confused about her feelings for him, but there was no confusion on his part.

He knew that this was a point of no return. He was sworn to protect her, and he had failed miserably; now he needed to face the consequences of his actions. Whatever she was feeling for him, he was still the one responsible for everything that has happened. He was the only one to be blamed, and he should have known better.

He was a man to be detested. He abhorred himself, and he could think of no reason for her to love him. And yet here she was in his arms. She had agreed to stay with him for several months without question. Yes, she had tantrums at times, but she still stayed with him. He knew she was smarter than she let on; she could have escaped. But she did not. She stayed.

And now their relationship would definitely change. He could no longer command her as a professor, and surely she would no longer follow his orders the way she had before. She would no longer look at him the same way ever again; he knew that her respect for him had altered.

Was he that stupid and weak to have come to this decision? He should have been stronger. How was he going to handle the task given to him if feelings were now involved? It was the golden rule he lived by—never become entangled with anyone else. Now this was happening.

He had never slept with such a woman, and he knew that she was not just any woman. That night he had discovered that he was her first. He hated himself for having to do it—but she did not hesitate. She completely trusted him—with all her heart and soul. She was Gryffindor, best friend and lover of Harry Potter, but still she had given up to him what no other man had ever had and would never have.

Snape knew he was going to hell, and he was going to rot there, if not in Azkaban first. He did not belong in her gentle world; he had taken her innocence and everything there was to take from her. And she had allowed it. She had trusted him without question. She had succumbed willingly.

He had completely lost track of his plans now that this had happened. But to hell with it, he was going to die anyway. And that thought complicated things further. How was he ever going to leave her now?

 

 

 

“Your food,” called a guard’s voice.

Snape completely ignored the sound of the tray being pushed beneath his cell’s door. He wasn’t hungry. He didn’t want anything.

He closed his eyes and counted the seconds. How long had it been? Three months he recalled. It had been three months since he had been cast into the depths of Azkaban as one of its most highly-guarded prisoners.

He was facing a death or life sentence. He was charged with the killing of Muggles and the ambush of Harry Potter and his friends on the night of his transfer. But the most grave of all charges was the one that had been placed by Harry Potter—charges against him for abducting and keeping Hermione Granger for the past ten years.

Did he regret any of it? He closed his eyes and turned over in the bed, remembering the face of the Gryffindor girl and how she had smelled beneath him. He had seen her several times at the trials, and he knew that she would be attending each hearing. He had tried to avoid her gaze as much as possible. But today, he had heard her clearly going after him. He’d done his best to ignore her.

He had her captive for the past ten years, and after the first few days of separation from her, he thought he would go completely insane. These three months had been rough. At night he knew that he would be screaming for her, and even in his wakened state, he was still constantly thinking of her.

She would always be a part of him, and that would never change. He would die without his love for her. But what did she really feel for him? No, he should not think of it. He was a bastard, and he had destroyed her life. Yes, he was successful in keeping her alive, but he felt as if he had still failed his mission. He knew that Hermione Granger would never understand the consequences of his actions. But it didn’t matter—none of it did. He would rot and die in Azkaban.

He breathed deeply, closing his eyes and trying to lose himself in the memory of her. She was the only good thing that ever happened to him after Lily Evans. She was the only woman to ever accept him for who he was and what he was despite the consequences. She had stayed true to him, and now he must live with the regret. He could not tell her why he was doing everything he was doing now, and he wouldn’t allow her to know his true intentions ten years ago. No, she was safe now, and she would soon learn to forget him and be happy with The Boy Who Lived. It would take time, but she would heal and move on. After all, she wasn’t being kept within four walls of a cell, awaiting nothing but death.  



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