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.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
A/N: Let me warn you. This chapter gets pretty dark and twisted. If you don’t like the bits from the very first chapter, well you won’t like this. The madness has sprung and it got dark and twisted.

            Darkness met her eyes when she finally managed to discern that she was awake. There was silence to greet her ears. No sounds of a whip cracking and splitting the air. No glowing lights from anywhere in the room or any light from either of the adjoining rooms. The pain that coursed through her body was dull; number than before, a slow throbbing ache that pulsed through her legs; radiated in her arms. There was no burning sensation; she assumed she was no longer bleeding. Hermione slowly lifted her shoulders; she was still bound to the bed by the loose fabric ties that restrained her wrists but they no longer seemed to hold her as she tugged gently against them. The cloth fell loose; unraveling against her flesh as she tugged gently toward her chest. Her shoulders ached; the dull sensation of staying in one position too long.

            The sheet clung to her figure as she touched her wrist now free from her bonds. She wondered for a moment if she was still naked but as she pressed her legs together she affirmed her suspicions; the sheet remaining her only covering. She shifted her weight forward a bit until she was able to pull herself up and lean back against the headboard. It ached but not as much as it had before when she had moved. It flashed through her mind; the bleeding, the shooting pains as she’d tried to drag her body across the floor. The memory made her muscles twitch and for a moment pain surged through her arms and she winced. But as quickly as it had started was as quickly as it had returned to the dull ache that had woken her from the darkness.

            The bed felt heavy beneath her; the mattress drooping beneath her weight as she rested back against the headboard and for a moment Hermione was tempted to close her eyes and sink back down to the pillow and allow the darkness to overcome her. She had no idea how much time had passed since the incident; or since she had arrived; since the night she’d been captured. Nausea roiled in her stomach and she felt bile rise against the back of her throat. The reality of the situation was catching up with her. It wasn’t that her senses were dulled by the drugs or the darkness, but she’d had no time to process everything. And now her mind was alert; and processing overtime.

            She had been captured. And she had been raped. Her mind glossed over the details of the event but the memory triggered a spastic muscle response; her legs trembling for a moment before she managed to think beyond it. And then she had ended up in the bed; bound and imprisoned with her tormentor; who had struggled to force her to live. And then the scene she had witnessed played behind her eyes and again she felt the wave of nausea but fought to keep herself from vomiting.

            Hermione drew in a deep breath; slowly exhaling through her nostrils, letting the tremor in her body subside. One thought surged to the forefront of her mind. He was somewhere within the confines of their dwelling. She had not seen anything other than the room in which her bed was kept; and the dingy bathroom in which he’d shorn her during his first attempt to bathe her clean. There was a door on the opposite wall of the room in which she was kept; one that he often disappeared through, which she assumed led to some other part of the dwelling; perhaps a place where he slept. Time had slipped away from her. Between being unconscious and being trapped in a room with no windows and no other indicator of night and day she began to wonder how long she had been held prisoner. Had it been days? Or months? With a trembling hand she reached up and rubbed her palm across her head.

            Short shorn wisps of hair scratched against her flesh. It couldn’t have been more than a few days since he’d taken the dull blade to her hair and that caused her to sigh slightly. At least she wasn’t going mad. Her chest tightened as she thought about him; his brutal hands with the washcloth against her skin; the way he’d pinned her against the sink, shearing her for his own ease in maintenance. And forcing himself upon her as he had. The bile rose up in her throat and she was unable to stop it; but Hermione leaned over her legs hard, arching toward the edge of the bed and heaved against the side; vomit sloshing over her lips and splattering against the floor. She coughed and cleared her throat; wishing she had water to clear away the taste that lingered on her tongue.

            Her ankles were weak; but as her toes scraped against the cold hardwood floor she found that they supported her weight better than before. She strained to stand straight up; tugging the sheet from the bed. She struggled for a moment trying to wrap it around her almost like a towel; tucking the end into the top near her breasts. It covered her body without restricting her movement and for a moment she felt a tiny spark of hope. It was brief; like a candle flickering in the darkness of a storm; but it was enough to give her courage to surge forward. She had recalled vaguely that the door was slightly off to the left of her sightline from the bed; and she moved accordingly toward where the mystery door should be.

            Hermione took slow steps; deliberate and close together. Her legs still stung and her ankles were still trembling. She was worried if she moved too fast that she would collapse or lose her balance and fall. But as she reached the wall she gripped the doorframe firmly and leaned her weight against it. She had made it from the bed to the door without falling or stumbling and nothing felt as if it was bleeding. She allowed herself a tiny sigh of relief; a sigh of achievement, though to what end she was uncertain. He had said it was an unplotted undetected safe house; though she supposed he could have been lying. It would have behooved him to lie to her; keep her convinced that he was the only way to survive. Though again to what end she was uncertain. So much of what had happened didn’t make sense. Over and over again his words repeated in her mind, you need to live.

            But the more she thought on it the more her blood began to boil. He had violated her; he had stolen her innocence. He had raped her. In front of a crowd who had jeered at her; mocked her tragedy as it occurred. She forced her eyes shut tight; trying not to think about how he had handled the dull blade against her skin, stripping the hair from her sex before defiling her. She tried to force the images of him thrusting into her and the other man; Carrow, forcing himself into her mouth; but the images were strong, burned into her mind, glaring against her eyes no matter how tight she shut them. Hermione felt a sob catch in her chest and she hiccupped against her arm; tears trickling down her cheeks.

            She could not reconcile the contrasting actions; his brutal nature, and then his attempts to keep her alive; to heal her wounds, not only those he had inflicted but those that had been forced upon her by others. Hermione gently touched the bandages on her left forearm. He had tried to remove her scars; tried to save her from being branded; yet had branded her with a horrendous memory so scarring that she doubted even the strongest of obliviate charms would take it away from her mind. She opened her eyes but still was greeted with darkness.

            She needed to live. Though she hated to admit it; his words held truth. If she was going to escape to help Harry defeat the Dark Lord, she would indeed need to live. Harry. The thought jolted through her mind and suddenly she felt a twang in her heart. She hadn’t thought of him or his cause. It seemed selfish now, to wish for death, when he was facing Merlin only knew what horrors and evils on his own. A frown crossed her lips and it hurt to breathe as she felt her chest tightening once more. She was willing to abandon her best friend and his cause to give in to her cowardice. Death had seemed such a simple escape; rather than live as a captive in her tormentor’s care. Suddenly Hermione felt sick again and she leaned over and vomited once more. She was a coward; and Gryffindors were not cowards.

            Timid steps led her through the doorway and into the darkened room beyond. A faint hint of silvery light glowed from the far side of the room. It wasn’t a flickering light like a candle; or moonlight from a window, but rather a dull glow; as if someone had left a silver fire burning and all the remained were the strange colored embers. As she took another careful step forward; her hands clutched at her chest to more securely hold her sheet in place she watched as the silver light began to grow. She’d only ever read about it; in a book that covered various instrumentations of the dark arts; a volume of a collection from the restricted section of the library that she’d managed to steal a glance at a handful of times during her Horcrux research the last time she’d visited Hogwarts. It was feign fire; a fire that emitted darkness; a darkness so thick that it could permeate natural light and man-made, covering a whole house or large outdoor space if strong enough. But from what she could recall from the text it was difficult to conjure and even more difficult to maintain. He must have used it to keep her in the darkness.

            “You’ve managed to stand.” His voice broke the darkness and as his words floated to her ear the silvery light blinked out and at once the room was lit with the warm orange glows of flames in a hearth. The light startled her eyes and she squinted at first; bringing the back of her hand against her eyes to shield them. Hermione stood still; despite now being able to see; and let her eyes adjust to the light. He was seated; with his back to her, on a sofa that faced the fireplace. Save for a long table pushed up against the far wall and a rug on the floor in front of the hearth; the room was barren. The walls an ashen shade of gray, the ceiling lower than she had imagined; the hardwood floor aged and without varnish.

            Her toes trembled as she took a careful step forward. First one then another until she was standing in front of him; her back to the fire. He was clothed; wearing a simple shirt and trousers of black, his hair hanging around his face as he gazed at the flames in the fire now obscured by her figure. Hermione felt uncertain in that moment. He made no attempt to move toward her; said nothing; did not meet her gaze. She was too weak to attack him; but could not find words to verbally lash out. She stood there; gazing at him, watching him as he watched the fire. Questions burned in her mind; her body was aching with the memories of every movement. The way his hands had pinned her to the bed; the way those same hands had moved so meticulously with the needle against her severed flesh; each prick of the needle; the sensation of the crude wooden spoon against her lips; each motion a memory imprinted as a dull ache flashing through her in that moment as she stood gazing at him.

            It was only when she took several more steps toward him that he appeared to meet her gaze rather than stare through her. Severus lifted his eyes to meet her stare and held her gaze with his own. Hermione clenched her fingers against the sheet; pressing it hard against her chest as she felt her calves begin to tremble. It seemed as if she’d been standing for ages; her legs weary and longing to rest. But she shifted her hips slightly and kept her balance refusing to fall forward at his feet from her weakened physical state. The throbbing sensations returned to her legs and arms once more; a sharper pain than before but she fought against the urge to crumble; to collapse and continued to stare at him, eyes burning.

            The soft crackle of the fire in the hearth was the only sound in the room; her breathing too shallow to hear as she tilted her head down slightly, trying to intensify her gaze. He hadn’t moved from the couch; he hadn’t attempted to bind her, and no words had left his lips since the feign fire had extinguished and it infuriated her; the simple gaze, holding her stare as he sat there otherwise motionless on the sofa. The fine worn threads of the furniture betrayed its age and misuse over the years though most of the fabric was obscured in the darkness between his dark clothing and the dim lighting of the room. Hermione imagined for a moment that it was a sofa he had always occupied; as if it had somehow been his outside of everything that had happened. He sitting there before the fire not having to atone for his actions in a faded green, thread-barren sofa. For a moment the image satisfied her until it was replaced with a darker image; the image of his naked body advancing upon hers. She bit her lower lip and tried her best not to shudder; but the convulsion shook up her spine and caused her to tremble visibly. Still yet the image haunted her but it was quickly replaced with the image she thought she’d half-dreamed; Severus Snape standing naked and bleeding, inflicting wounds upon himself with a whip and knife. Her eyes were glossy and unfocused and it was only his soft utterance that brought her mind back to the image of the man at present; seated before her on the sofa.

            “You are bleeding,” he said.

            The pain had been dull and she hadn’t noticed it. So many images and painful sensations floating through her mind; numbing her body in other places as she recollected them. But the bandage drawn around her right forearm was tinged pink; droplets trickling down against her wrist. When she turned her gaze upon it she felt the stinging and winced. “Damnit,” she muttered and then felt her head spin. The room began to spin but she closed her eyes, forcing her balance as she felt her body sway forward and back. Her legs trembled and at once the effort became too much for. Hermione stumbled forward; catching her arm against the back of the sofa before she collapsed against him.

            He did not move. Severus held no arm around her nor did he push her from his body; but remained there with the girl collapsed atop him. She began to shake; soft sobs emitting from her lips as her body quaked and she curled her legs against her chest. It was an awkward position; Hermione huddled in an almost fetal position, rocking against his lap, her head leaned over his shoulder against the back of the couch. “Why…” she whimpered. “Why…”

            The fire crackled softer than before as she whimpered and continued to rock; muttering softly, the same question over and over until her body could tremble no more. It was only when she stilled and her sobs had fallen quiet that he slowly took a hand to the back of her head and tugged against the short tufts of hair at the back of her neck; pulling her head up until he gazed into her eyes. His dark brown eyes searched her face for a moment but still he said nothing. Her eyes were puffy and red; rimmed with tears, her lips trembling as she gazed at him, and again her body began to quake. As he released his grip on her short hair; her head fell forward and she buried her face against his skin; resting in the crook of his neck. Hot tears trickled from her eyes; leaking down her cheeks and splattering against his neck as she cried. But her tremors calmed as one hand slowly stroked against the back of her head; soothing and easy down against the back of her neck to the top of her crown and back again. She sniffled and hiccoughed; her sobs quieting until she fell silent and stopped trembling.

            Severus continued to idly stroke her head; her short hair soft and fuzzy against his palm. His eyes shone like glass; the orange flames of the fire dancing their reflection in his obsidian orbs. He felt her lift her head slowly and he stilled his fingers, letting his hand fall gently to his side as she turned her tear-stained face to him. “I need a bath,” she said; her voice raspy, choked with the sound of crying.

            Her words sounded foreign; and yet so familiar. The voice of such a strong-headed know-it-all, now so weak and frail; times had changed. Everything had changed and yet the familiarity haunted him. He did not take his eyes from hers before he nodded slowly. With careful maneuvering he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and underneath her legs and as he stood, Severus lifted Hermione in his arms. Again her head fell against the crook of his neck only this time her sobs did not cause a heaving in her chest; her body did not tremble, but he could still feel the tears leaking down her face as he carried her into the tiny bathroom.

            When he set her down he held fast to her shoulders as she pitched forward. She had stood too long on her feet; her muscles exhausted. Severus did not sigh nor did he demand that she stand. He leaned her against the wall for a moment; Hermione feeling her legs quaking beneath her as he stepped out of the bathroom. She eyed the room warily; the porcelain sink, still filled with large roughly shorn clumps of her hair, now smattered on the rim with blood. The floor was much the same; bits of her hair around the sink and a few droplets of blood. It was not the massive pool she had seen before; when she had witnessed his self flagellation. The room did not reek of sick as she had expected; perhaps she had imagined that the plumbing in the derelict toilet did not work; but from what she could see aside from a few aged stains the toilet bowl was clean, water resting within it. She caught site of a simple wash basin; perhaps large enough for a child’s bath, and a crude faucet mounted to the far wall. Her eyes returned to him as he reentered the room, carrying a stool.

            It was wooden; gray and faded with age, though the seat appeared to rounded and smoothed or perhaps well-worn. He placed it in the center of the room; the spot where she had been bound to the ceiling the first time he’d washed her body. She trembled; closing her eyes as she recalled his hands; so violating, so cold and mechanical as they had washed over her flesh. Hermione did her best not to let the bile rising in the back of her throat escape. She swallowed hard and slowly stood straight, no longer leaning against the wall. But she slipped back and rested her weight there once more.

            Severus moved toward her and wrapped his arm carefully under her arm, letting her rest her weight against him as he pulled her off the wall. She wobbled slightly and leaned toward the sink. He moved with her but as she stumbled forward she turned in his arms; a rough, quick movement, and grabbed his shoulders, yanking against him hard. With all her might she tugged hard and forced his head against the edge of the porcelain. A resounding crack filled the room and for Severus Snape the world went black.

            She had struggled with his body; he was heavier than she had anticipated and in her weakened state it had taken much more of her strength than she had realized. She kept stopping to catch her balance and to catch her breath. But after what seemed like ages she’d managed to strip him of his garments; tearing his shirt to bind his hands behind his back at an awkward angle against the back leg of the stool. She had moved it against the wall and his body arched slightly backward like a bowstring strung across his spine; with his arms bound and tied beneath him. She allowed herself a moment to rest, leaning against the wall; her eyes closing. At first she had worried that she’d killed the man, though she supposed it wouldn’t have been the end of the world had that been the outcome of her attack. But when his breathing, shallow and faint, had caused his chest to move slightly, she was determined to avenge herself, though she knew not how. Torturing the man while unconscious seemed to deprive her of everything; his reaction and her satisfaction, and although he most likely deserved it, she couldn’t bring herself to gut the man, though she doubted the dull blade would have worked very well.

            And so she waited. She waited for his head to lull slowly forward with the groggy sensation of awaking from a darkness she knew all too well. As his eyes slowly lifted his shoulders shrugged and immediately he shifted, trying to free himself of his restraints but to no avail. His gaze settled upon her as she slowly peeled body from the wall and moved to stand before him. He sneered for a moment and then allowed his features to settle into neutrality. “Go ahead, Miss Granger,” he whispered.

            His words were a surprise. She didn’t know what to do. She’d managed to bind the man; had him naked at her disposal but knew not how to proceed. She clutched the sheet tight to her chest and felt the anger and the pain swell through her body. “You are going to answer me,” she spat as she stepped forward, hovering over him. It pained her to moved; more so than it had before but she carried on as if it were nothing more than the dull ache from a lack of proper sleep. His eyes were fathomless and dark; and she could see her reflection glaring back at her as she looked at him.

            Severus remained silent. He did not struggle against his bonds, though it did tug at the muscles of his shoulder in an unpleasant way. He held her gaze until she looked away, casting her eyes at the sink. Hermione picked up the dull blade from the edge. He’d used it to shear her more than once; the same dull blade he’d used to further her humiliation and torture in front of the Death Eaters; which he’d then turned on her head for the sake of ease and maintenance. It felt heavy in her hand. She’d held it to his throat once before; and for a moment she considered plunging it hard against his arm or his thigh; knowing it was not sharp enough to pierce flesh properly, knowing that would hurt all the more. But she leaned back against the sink; resting one hand against the pile of her shorn hair, the other turning the blade idly over in her palm as she stared at him.

            “Why,” she stated. Her tone was lower than before, her voice no longer raspy.

            “Why what?”

            “Why did you do this? Torture me? Rape me? And then this? I don’t understand!” her voice began to break and try as she might she could not stop the tears. Her legs trembled once more and she leaned further back against the sink; the raw porcelain digging against the sheet into her skin.

            He remained silent. His eyes never left hers and for a moment she thought she saw his face flicker with emotion; a mockery, and pity all at once. The blade slipped from her fingers into the sink and with a great pain she swung her arm out and backhanded him hard across his face. It stung her hand; though she’d slapped Malfoy harder in her fourth year. It caused her breath to hitch; she was gasping, panting as she gazed at him. “Why?” she repeated, and when again he said nothing she slapped him again; harder than before but still not as hard as she felt was warranted, however, she simply could not muster the physical strength.

            A low chuckle escaped his lips, “Slapping your victim will get you no answers,” he whispered.

            The emotional dam that had been building up inside of her burst. She could not contain her emotions; the rage, the fright, the fury, the agony; everything came flooding over her at once. Hermione grasped the blade once more and lunged forward, half straddling his figure half leaning against him. “Perhaps I should carve it in your flesh the way your consorts thought they would extract answers from me?” she shrieked; her voice quaking as she cried; pressing the dull point of the blade hard against his upper arm. His muscle flinched as she pressed the point harder until she drew blood. “Traitor would be a most fitting word,” she choked on a sob as she cried out, unable to drag the blade the way she wished; her hands too consumed by a tremor.

            “As fitting as mudblood?”

            Again her fist connected with his face; another stinging slap which more than likely hurt her fingers more than it had his cheek. She gripped the blade once more; grabbing it from where it had slipped between their bodies. Her legs shook as she tried to stand straight up; but again her efforts were feeble, her body feeling drained and exhausted overrun with emotions. Hermione settled for straddling her legs over his lap; the sheet preventing her from feeling his skin as she leaned her weight once more against him; grabbing a thick handful of his hair. She began to tug the blade against it; severing his tresses as he had shorn her.

            Severus chuckled; which only served to frustrate her. She tugged harder, ripping hairs from his head. “Perhaps I am not so vain as you, hair does not hold the same meaning for me,” his lips almost twisted into a smirk. Hermione growled and slammed the blade down against the sink; a thick handful of his raven tresses joining hers in the basin. She reached once again to slap him, but instead gripped both sides of his face firmly with her hands.

            “Answer me,” she spat.

            “Ask questions that deserve answers,” he sneered and turned his cheek to the side, expecting another slap. But she did not deliver. Her hands held fast to his face but in a moment she had reached over his shoulder and her lips twisted into an almost cruel smile. There were two fresh marks just on the back of his shoulders and she inhaled a tight trembling breath as she raked her nails over the still open wounds. He flinched but did not cry out as she dragged her nails deeper against his torn flesh; putting all of her effort into the motion.

            “Why must you torture me by keeping me here?”

            “Here is the only place they cannot get you,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

            “You’re the enemy! You attacked me!” she cried, unable to stop the tears as she pressed hard against the deeper part of his wound with the fingers on her left hand.

            “To protect you,” he hissed again. He had felt worse; it was a matter of outlasting her.

            Hermione stilled her motions for a moment and then removed her hands from his back. As she watched his chest sag in what she assumed to be relief she swung her arm back; despite the sharp shooting pain coursing through her limb, and slapped him hard across the mouth. “If raping me was your protecting plan, you failed.”

            He was silent once more. His face was a mask. It infuriated her. Suddenly she began to giggle. “You can’t be broken,” the tears mixed with her giggling made her seem mad. “He’s tortured you so much that I could stab your eyes out and you still wouldn’t tell me,”

            “Stab them,” he said. “Let me see no more this monster I’ve created.”

            “Monster?” she grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, laying his throat taught before her eyes. “You are the monster. You raped me, you took everything from me, and yet you continue to torment me, you mock me, you feel no remorse.”

            “Do not speak on my behalf, Granger,” he spat, despite his strained voice, the grip in his hair unyielding.

            “You feel nothing! I could knock out your teeth and it would only bring you satisfaction! You yearn for the pains so you can greet death as your bride; then you don’t have to worry about how to atone for your atrocious actions!” she spat, the eyes of a wild woman gazing at him.

            “Your stitches…” he strained; trying to nod in the direction of her forearm.

            “I can’t hurt you— you feel nothing— you—” She keeled forward her head knocking against the wall. It sent a wave of dizzying stars swimming behind her eyes. She felt the room swaying around her. Hermione released the grip on his hair, and slowly brought her free hand up to clutch at her forearm. She could feel the blood soaking through the bandage. She bit her lower lip and reached back to the sink; the roll of gauze resting just by the faucet. She gripped it tight and within moments had practically wrapped a tourniquet around her wound; a sea of white covering her arm. “You were whipping yourself,” she said suddenly.

            His eyes were weary as he met her gaze. His cheeks were red from her slaps though they did not sting. Severus held his tongue and waited for another slap at his silence. But she remained upright, still sitting across his lap, leaning against his chest, putting a further strain on his shoulders. After a moment he parted his lips and spoke softly. “There is remorse to be had…”

            “It pained you…” she whispered idly, tilting her head to the side as if trying to read his mind. Her eyes were wild with fire and insanity as she rocked back and slowly let her feet touch the ground. “It hurt you…you can be hurt…” she whispered.

            He shuddered as he felt her hand touch him. His body stiffened and tensed and he closed his eyes, refusing to watch. Her fingers had curled tightly around his flaccid member; a wound still scabbing against his mound where he’d tried to emulate the wounds he’d inflicted upon her. She tugged; stroking her hand up his limp member; and with a crude gesture spat against her hand. Hermione moved her fingers, curling and coiling about his member as she swayed forward and back. “Hurt me…to hurt you…” she repeated softly, continuing to stroke him until after a few moments she felt his flesh swelling against her palm.

            “Do not do this,” he whispered.

            But she forced her hand, harder and a bit faster, spitting once more until she felt him stiffen in her hand; his length erect. “Look at me,” she hissed. He did not open his eyes. Hermione grasped his chin with her other hand and shouted again, “Look. At. Me.” Her body trembled as she slid her thighs over his, the tiny stool creaking with their full combined weight. “You will look at me,” she spat and shook his head, her other hand still stroking his length.

            Severus opened his eyes; watching the tears streak down her face as she pulled her trembling figure atop him and with terrible difficultly; she forced her sex down against him. The tight dry heat surrounded him; and she whimpered, her body shaking. “Look at me,” she repeated, crying fully now. Hermione kept her good hand between them, tugging at his sac as she tried to force her hips into a circular motion. The effort was too much and she felt her body collapse forward against him; her chest heaving.

            A tear rolled down his cheek as he felt her dry heat enveloping him; the subtle shifts of her body keeping his erection stiff and firm between her folds. A moment passed before she pushed against his chest with her free hand and lifted her hips slightly; trying to ride him; tears in her eyes. “How does it feel?” she whimpered. It pained her to move; her chest stung, but she watched, blinking back her tears as his face drew pale. “Answer me,” she cried trying to push her hips down harder.

            She fucked him; struggling to keep her balance; watching the silent tears streak down the side of his face. It pained her; the stinging sensation everywhere; shooting through her body, between her thighs, in her forearms. But Hermione squeezed his balls in her hand and forced her hips against him harder; his bodily functions trained to respond from years in the service of the Dark Lord. He came; hanging his head as he did, but she was quick to grab his chin. “Look at me,” she repeated, watching the tears slow in his eyes, her own eyes so red rimmed and puffy that they were nearly swollen shut. Her body trembled and once again she fell forward, this time giving up the attempt to pull her body back up right. After a moment she felt him soften beneath her and she could feel her legs sliding from atop his lap. Hermione slid unceremoniously from atop him and crumpled to a heap on the floor. “How does it feel?” she whimpered shaking as she pulled her knees to her chest. “Hurt me to hurt you…” she sobbed, and closed her eyes, waiting so desperately for the darkness.

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Turn On The Darkness