Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Turn On The Darkness	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 21044 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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A/N: This chapter probably also isn't for the faint of heart. But embrace it. Move toward the darkness.

She awoke feeling groggy, her eyes heavy her body cold. As she moved her arms slightly she noticed they felt strange, and strange quickly turned to the feeling of restraint. Her body ached and at once the throbbing in her forearms returned to her. Hermione bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. She was still tied to the bed. But the light flooded her eyes as she opened them and she was greeted with the sight of him hovering over her. There was something else; gauze, or dressings of some sort wrapped snugly around her ribs. It hurt if she inhaled too deeply but the pain was nothing compared to how it felt before.

            She moved her lips slowly; he had not resorted to reapplying the tape to her mouth. The fire was once more lit in the hearth but other than the bandages around her midsection she remained naked; though the room was hardly chilly. Hermione could not bring herself to meet his eyes and so she allowed her gaze to roam, seeing what limited things she could from her place tied down to the bed. But as she allowed her eyes to wander a sinking feeling filled her stomach as they rested on a metal tray. It was on a table that was level height with the bed; and he sat beside it, eyeing her carefully. The tray was lined with sharp metal instruments, a syringe, gauze, a few bottles of varying contents and a few other things she could not see as well.

            “What are you going to do to me?” her voice wavered more than she would have cared to admit. Hermione fought to keep her eyes up at the ceiling, refusing to cry, refusing to look at him.

            “Your scars will be permanent…” his voice was level, almost normal. “I intend to remove them.”

            She let her eyes fall closed. Bellatrix LeStrange had ruled her; tortured her, carved filthy words into her forearms. The bitter sting of tears fought to make its presence known, but despite her shaking chest and stinging eyelids, she forced her eyes open and once again gazed defiantly at the ceiling. “And how do you intend to do that?”

            There was silence; though the occasional pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth resounded and filled the room as she waited. Severus slowly picked up a tiny knife, the blade slick and sharp, tiny but pointed. “I shall cut them away, and lay skin from elsewhere on your body over the new wound so that it will heal without the carvings.” He said simply as if he were assigning a simple task to the students of his classroom.

            Her body trembled. She sniffled, trying to hold back her tears. “I don’t think you should touch me.” She managed through clenched teeth.

            He said nothing and she flinched as she felt him grip her right arm. Hermione twisted it, trying to pull away but he pinned her arm down against the mattress; forearm up, bearing the wicked letters scarring into her flesh. Again she twisted her arm, struggling against his weight. “Hold still or you shall cause yourself more damage.” He hissed and held the tiny knife firm in his hand.

            “You’ve done enough of that, you filthy snake.” She spat. And then the tears came. She could no more stop them than she could free herself from the bonds he’d trapped her in. Hermione shrieked out as the cold steel sliced into her flesh; warm coppery blood spilling down her arm as he dragged the knife out and around the markings that had been carved there. He was careful not to cut too deep, only enough to pull back the marred flesh and in moments she was covered in blood; whimpering and crying as he grasped a bottle in one hand and let her mutilated flesh slide to the floor.

            She shrieked as he sprayed a yellow-brown liquid against her raw wound; blood curdling and fizzing in reaction to the liquid. He packed a light piece of gauze against her arm and then quickly drew the syringe from the tray.

            “Don’t— please…” she whimpered, unable to stand further pain.

            “This is to prevent infection,” he said and then pressed the needle against the side of her arm, injecting its length into her flesh. Before she had realized what he’d done; Severus had grabbed her right leg and forced it to bend, pressing her knee against her chest. Hermione’s voice was raw as she cried out and felt the knife slicing into the skin at the back of her thigh.

            “Why!” she sobbed, eyes straining to stay focused on the ceiling.

            “No one will notice scarred flesh on the back of your thigh; you shall bear the mark of a slight bruise at best,” he said and carefully removed a covering of skin large enough to slide over the wound on her forearm. He placed it neatly on the silver tray and picked up a tiny pair of sterile steel scissors. The flesh was trimmed to fit just inside the wound on her forearm. He slowly pulled the gauze back from her arm but not before layering a thick stinging salve against the back of her thigh and padding it with bandages.

            She glanced to the side and watched him pull a tiny needle; so thin it was almost invisible; laced with some sort of fine string.

            “Stitches…” she hiccoughed, her body practically in shock.

            He said nothing but set to his work, slowly and carefully lining each stitch against her flesh; one after the next, each meticulous move of his fingers ensuring that the scar line would be faint and fade completely with time. Hermione’s body shook and she kept her eyes firm on the ceiling until she felt his hands wrapping bandages around her forearm; coating it layer after layer as he wrapped.

            Her head fell limply to the side and she closed her eyes a moment before lifting her lids to meet his gaze. “This does not fix what you’ve done,” she croaked.

            Again he said nothing, but pressed the back of his hand against her forehead. She tried to recoil but was weak and managed only a slight head jerk.

            “You are running a temperature.” He said. “Your body is experiencing shock.”

            “No shit,” she coughed. “You’ve raped me. Broken my bones, tortured me, cut me open and played doctor…” her voice trailed off as her vision blurred. “You should have let them kill me. Surviving wasn’t worth this.”

            He would not frown. Severus stood and removed the tray from the stool on which it had rested. She watched him disappear out of the room and return a moment later with a large woolen blanket. It stung in places as he draped it over her; her burns and welts still not completely healed. But it staved off the chill that she hadn’t noticed until then. “I shall address the other arm when your temperature returns,” he said and then pressed a damp cloth to her forehead. Again she made to jerk her head away but managed only to nod it slightly. “Stop fighting me, Miss Granger, you haven’t the strength.” Her eyes were fluttering back and forth and a biting remark rested on her tongue but the darkness overcame her before she could let it slip past her lips and be heard.

            There was more stinging; this time in the backs of her legs and her forearms and for a moment she envisioned Bellatrix carving the word mudblood on every inch of her skin. Her eyes shot open and were greeted with darkness. She was still restrained in the bed; the thick coverlet still over her body. “Wha—”

            A glass was pressed against her lips and she felt a firm hand at the back of her head. Hermione leaned into the glass and felt cool water splash into her mouth and slide down her throat. She hadn’t realized she was so thirsty but it felt refreshing. The hand guided her back against the pillow and the glass was removed from her lips. It took a moment for her eyes to focus in the darkness but she found him, sitting once again over the bed, watching her.

            She twisted her head to the left and bit her lower lip; gauze was wrapped around her left forearm as well. It stung and from her wrist to the bend in her elbow there was nothing but fluffy white medical cotton. The backs of both legs stung and it was obvious he had continued carving into her when she had passed out. She only half believed that he’d injected her with some sort of anti-biotic. Hermione struggled. “I demand you release me,” she croaked, her voice still quite hoarse.

            “So that you can cause further injury to yourself while you attempt to sort out revenge on my person? That would be unwise.” He said calmly.

            “You cannot keep me tied to this bed forever, you monster!” she struggled against her bonds but her body ached too much for her to put up any real protest.

            “You do have a point; bathing you is going to be difficult enough as your recovering scars cannot be wet or the graphs will fail and infection will set in…” he muttered. “And trying to cleanse you without magic whilst bound to the bed presents another set of challenges entirely…”

            Hermione’s eyes grew wide. “You won’t touch me!” she shrieked, trying to pull her legs together, only they were still bound to the four posters, tied at the ankles, each pulled away from her body. “God damnnit, let me go!” she shrieked.

            “Shrieking shall do you no good, Miss Granger. We are in a safe house, enchanted and protected, unplottable.”

            She let his words sink in. “You’ve brought me here to murder me.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous, if that were the case I would have left you there and spared myself the trouble in the process.”

            “Then let me go!” she shrieked.

            “Do not make me repeat myself, you foolish girl.” His voice was strained. “You are in no state to be moving about, your body is crippled at best; two cracked ribs, an ill-placed popped shoulder, you’ve experienced physical and emotional trauma—”

            “Because of you, you bastard!”

            “You’re not leaving the bed until your body has had a chance to regenerate further.” He stood at once and stormed out of the room.

            Hermione began to sob. It was hopeless. They were in an unplottable location; he’d said so himself, which meant no one was coming for them and she would die bound to a bed by a madman who thought he was saving her. Without being able to help Harry her life was useless. Voldemort would rise to power and destroy the world while she was chained to the bedposts. The sobs wracked through her body and she sniffled, trying to catch her breath as it hurt her ribs when she cried.

            She tried to pull back as he entered the room once more, another syringe in hand. “No,” she whimpered. “Please— don’t— I don’t want to blank out again— please—”

            Severus held the needle in his hand a moment before he sat on the bed beside her. “You need to rest, Miss Granger.” He placed one hand firm against her neck and tilted her head to the side.

            “No— please—” her eyes were wide, pleading with sincerity as she sobbed and trembled.

            He pressed forward and then drew the syringe back, setting it on the night stand. He eyed her carefully. Hermione held her breath, unsure of what he was going to do. Severus pressed two fingers against her neck; counting each erratic racing heartbeat. “You’re going to cause your stitches to bleed.”

            Her eyes turned quickly to her right forearm and they widened as she saw spots of pink forming on the surface of the white gauze pad. The spots deepened as they spread, turning red and then crimson as the blood surged forth from her stitches. “No…” she cried and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

            “You are hysterical. It is raising your blood pressure, which is too much strain on the fresh stitches. You need to calm yourself lest you bleed out.” He said with a much more firm tone than before. His hand gripped tight against the gauze and she winced. “I will have to redo them.”

            “No…” her voice was broken, much softer than before as he reached to the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the tiny needle and fine thread. It had stung so terribly before. She trembled, trying to pull her arm back. She just wanted to help Harry. “Please don’t touch me anymore…” she whimpered, closing her eyes.

            He reached for the syringe and placed the point against her neck. “You need to calm down or you will not heal, Miss Granger.” He said and forced the needle into her neck. Darkness swam before her eyes as she felt him pulling the bloody gauze back from her arm. And then the blackness took her over once more. Thank you for reading.

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Turn On The Darkness