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Memories of Deception	By : professorflo Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 20868 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Memories of Deception
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9.
- 10-10
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Disclaimer: See chapter 1

This is a fairly graphic chapter, with violence and hints of rape.

Sorry for the shorter length of this chapter. Again, please let me know what you think, all critique is welcomed.

As the cloud lifted from her head, Hermione realised that she had sunk to the floor of the bathroom and there were silent tears running down her cheeks at the weight of the memories.

After passing out from the sheer agony of Voldemort's Cruciatus curse she awoke to find herself spread out on the bed in her room last night. Wrapping her cold body in the blanket she had been lying on, she had tentatively explored the new territory; a small dark room with no window, lit with a dim glow that came from no discernable source. The only furniture was the uncomfortable, narrow bed with no pillow and the blanket that did little to protect her from the winter cold, and one plain, old-fashioned wooden chair.

She had settled back down on the bed to wait, drawing her feet up under her and draping the blanket as tightly as possible around her naked body. Despite the tension and worry she felt at waiting for something to happen she had eventually begun to doze when the door had banged open without warning.

The dark figured silhouetted by the brighter light outside the room could only be one man. Snape. Hermione had instantly felt sick to her stomach. She wasn't sure what was coming, but she know it would not be a pleasant experience. Snape had slowly stalked across the room, slamming the door shut behind him with a flick of his wrist. Hermione's eyes widened and she frantically looked for another way out, despite knowing there was none.

As he had crossed the room, his face, which had been hidden in shadow, came into view. His lips were pressed tightly together, thick eyebrows drawn down low and a deep light in his eyes. He was furious, Hermione had realised with a gulp. Six years of potions and then Defence against the Dark Arts with the loathed Gryffindors, six years of Harry and Ron and herself infuriating him, Neville consistently blowing up his cauldrons, all their escapades which had unfortunately come to his attention, and she had never seen him look so enraged.

Hermione shuddered again at the thought of the look on his face. Taking a deep breath she attempted to push the memories out of her head, succeeding only when the ache in her legs made her realise how long she had been slumped on the cold, tiled bathroom floor. She slowly stood up, the muscles in her legs protesting. Finally making it onto her feet, she picked up her bucket again, left the bathroom and moved down the hall towards the end. Her room was the last on this side, with Snape's bedroom opposite. She needed a few more moemtns to completely collect herself before she could face the place where he slept, so she opened the door to her room, intending to check it quickly for any obvious dirt or dust that she could clean once she had finished Snape's rooms.

As the door swung open she realised she had make a mistake in returning to this room so soon after reliving the memory of the previous night. Her eyes fell immediately on the wall by the bed, and on two small smears of dirt around shoulder height. Hand over her mouth, she stepped closer, finally understand what they were… two small partial fingerprints made in blood. His blood.

With a cry of disgust and dismay she grabbed a cloth out of the bucket, which was then dropped without thought and she flung herself at the wall and started scrubbing it wildly.

The marks were long gone before she stopped scouring then wall and only when her fingers started to go numb from clenching the rag so tight in her fist did she sink to the floor, wiping away the tears that had started to fall once again.

She had curled in on herself, trying to shield her exposed skin from his merciless glare, but he wasn't even looking. He had ripped the blanket from her shoulders and grabbing her arm, had pulled her onto her feet and held her by the shoulders while he glowered down at her.

His rough manhandling of her after the indignity she had suffered at Malfoy Manor made her snap suddenly, and she had lunged at him, clawing and scratching any part of him she could reach. However, wrapped up in his usual layers of black cloth, there were very few parts of him that had been vunerable to her frantic hands, and he had rapidly caught both her wrists in his hand, twisting her so her back was touching his chest. He had rammed her up against the wall, her arms trapped between them.

His teaching robes by then had been hanging off his arms and he quickly shrugged then off, keeping Hermione's hands pinned with one, then the other of his own. They had fallen to the floor with a soft sound and pooled around his feet until he kicked them away. Hermione had caught him with her nails, once on his face, and again just under his chin and partway down his neck.

Holding her again with one hand and the weight of his body, he had touched his face delicately, finding a few spots of blood.

"You little bitch," he had hissed into her ear, slamming her hard against the wall again. "How dare you touch me."

"How dare I touch you…? How dare I…? Hermione had spluttered, before throwing her head back against his shoulder and laughing maniacally, the horror of the situation she had found herself in pushing her beyond sense. "You bastard," she had screeched "He trusted you! Dumbledore trusted you, he told us all to trust you, that you had changed. And now look how many people have died. You killed him! He trusted you and you looked him in the eyes and killed him. I believed in you too. After third year, I kept telling them to listen to Dumbledore, how you never would have thrown yourself in front of the were-wolf to protect us if you weren't a decent person. What fools we were. You…you bastard." Her indignant rant petering out she had tried to wriggle out of his grasp again but he held tight and pushed her back against the wall.

"So you said already", he had jeered. "Call yourself a top student, you can't even muster the vocabulary to think of another foul name to call me." Pulling his wand out before she had a chance to respond, he had pointed it at her throat and whispered, "Silencio."

Pushing his leg in between hers and reaching down between their bodies he had whispered, "See what happens to little mudbloods who know nothing and understand even less when they don't have a book to instruct them."

Hermione opened her eyes again. The tears had stopped and dried upon her face, but she just couldn't bear to think about what had happened next. The memories still felt hazy and she struggled to understand how she could feel so calm and detached at the thought of what he had done to her. Intellectually she knew what happened to the victims of rape, the shame and disgust they felt at themselves, the feelings of guilt and self-blame they carried for long after, but she felt almost serene now she had relived the events of the prior day.

Maybe it's shock, a little voice whispered. Maybe you'll run screaming down the hall later when it all hits you. Or maybe you're just too sensible to truly believe it's your fault. "Maybe both", she whispered. She had always been good at compartmentalising her life, drawing up list after list, never letting even the crazy events since she had started at Hogwarts get in the way of her studying. It's not my fault, she thought again. It's Voldemort's. And his. And Dumbeldore's for putting his trust in the wrong person.

"Dammit! Just get on with it. You've got plenty of time for thinking later", she told herself. "I want a bath before he returns. And you haven't even started any of your cleaning," she admonished herself. Hermione pulled herself up onto the bed, and ran a hand over her hair. The plait which she had weave many hours ago was horribly messy, probably only holding about half of her hair still in the elastic. She unwound it quickly and pulled her fingers through the tangles, trying to get rid of as many as she could so she could pull it back into the neatest plait possible without a brush and large amounts of frizz-ease.

The simple act of redoing her hair had gone a long way towards settling her nerves. She hauled herself back onto her feet, picked up the bucket and the items that had spilled out when she had dropped it earlier, and left the room.
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Memories of Deception