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Scattered	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25013 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I don't make any money from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Depravity

“This one’s no good.” Snape grumbled, a few flicks of his wand determining that the abandoned house was a few footsteps from collapsing. Hermione sighed, feeling doubt and exhaustion beginning to set in. This was the seventh house they’d inspected, and all for one reason or another, had been unsuitable for their new hideout.
“We should make camp for the night.” Snape gestured to a small copse of trees on the other side of the small road. Hermione nodded and began hiking toward the small wood, her feet sore as the sun hung low on the horizon. Only one of the houses had been semi-acceptable, but she’d soon discovered that it was too close to a main road, visible to any passing cars or pedestrians. Snape had vetoed it immediately, as unsecurable.
She set her backpack down and opened it, summoning the tent, table, and chairs to set up their small site as Snape began making loops around the perimeter, sealing off the entire small section of trees from observers. He’d taught her a few new hiding charms, and she watched closely, inspecting the fluidity with which he moved, securing them from discovery. He seemed used to the motions, as though he set up the same wards everywhere he went.
“Will you use the same charms to secure our future headquarters?” Hermione asked, tucking her wand back in her pocket, and staring at the back of his head intently, trying to do what he’d predicted her to be capable of. She didn’t get so much as an inkling of his thoughts, though, until he turned to face her.
“These and more.” Memories of his time as Headmaster of Hogwarts were at the surface, renewing the ancient wards on the castle, and adding a few that the Dark Lord had deemed necessary. “I’ll make it unplottable, put an anti-Apparation jix on it, probably confundus charms mixed with the anti-muggle protections, so even wizards won’t be able to stumble across us…” He mumbled more to himself than to her, waving his wand and casting the final silent anti-muggle charm across the space.
“Do you think he knows you’re alive?” Hermione whispered, a bit worried by his thoughts of how Voldemort would search.
“No. I haven’t been summoned, which would have been the first thing he’d have done if he suspected.” Snape’s fingers grasped his left forearm absentmindedly, as he plopped himself into the chair opposite her. “Would you like lessons for the day, or are you too tired?”
His change of subject was a welcome one, and Hermione thought it over, comparing her sore feet to the promise of learning something new.
“Of course, what was I thinking.” Snape grumbled, leaning forward onto the table, rolling his eyes as he felt her mental discourse. He pulled his wand out and sighed with feigned exasperation. It would have been believable, except Hermione could read the eager twitch of his fingers, and the shadow of a smile that lifted his lips. His eyes met hers and confirmed her thoughts, letting her have brief access to his teasing thought of “Has to know everything, this one…” before his Occlumency barred her way, offering her a single path of thought to follow. It was like a slow stream, carrying her on a trickle of red.
“I’d like to take things up a notch, Granger. If you’re ever confronted by Bellatrix, Macnair, or their ilk, you won’t find their minds like mine. Bellatrix is an exceptional Occlumens, but if you do get through her barriers, her mind is twisted, evil, and bloody. I’d like you to practice maintaining a straight face, and unaffected pose while sifting through stressful, even horrifying things.” His voice was smooth, instructive. Hermione nodded, leaning back in her chair, and kept her face blank as she let him feed her images.
They started gentle, the red trickle getting thicker, obviously imitating blood. She kept herself still, her breathing even as the gory stream carried her to memories mixed with imagination. She had a hard time telling them apart as she was presented with the shape of a lifeless body, bleeding from it’s mouth. Glassy eyes, a giant wound in the torso. Another gruesome form, slumped against a wall, half-mummified, the hand jerking toward her. She jumped in fear, gasping with surprise at the Inferius.
“Be still, Granger.” The criticism was more gentle than she was used to, and she relaxed again, steadying her lungs, and preparing herself for more jump-scares. The feeling of a knife in her hands as she carved an animal was nauseating, but she kept her face calm, trying to keep her mind clear from emotion as she fought back bile. The image changed only slightly, the animal shape replaced by a human one. She did gag then, as the knife continued to slice, but managed to stop any other reaction. The image of a naked woman came to the forefront, and she held her breath for a moment, surprised by the sudden nudity. The same woman tied down, covered in bruises, crying pitifully. A different pose, but still bound, her wrists tethered to her ankles, keeping her bent over, her rear exposed, something black lashed out and struck her. A wailing scream. More lashes, leaving bright red marks across her ass and thighs, and then, a hand, slapping at the marks, inserting several fingers into the woman’s exposed privates. The image was replaced by another body, gasping breathlessly as the pained face slowly relaxed, death overtaking the agony.
“That’s enough for now. You did well.” Snape complimented, the images fading, leaving only his current words, and a pride that she’d been so unmoved.
“That was awful!” Hermione finally allowed herself to react. “Were those real?”
“Some.” He lifted his mental wall, protecting her from the knowledge of which had been real, though she suspected that the abused woman had been.
“Who was she?” She asked, considering for a moment that it had been one of his lovers, and that his fantasies of her were nothing, compared to.
“She was a muggle woman that Bellatrix kept for a few days. The Dark Lord found humor in the torture of muggles, and Bella is always eager to comply. If you ever delve into her mind, that is likely one of the more mild things you’ll encounter.” He said, his mind swirling with another round of guilt at her thought of him doing such a thing.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean…” Hermione tried to apologize for her assumption, but was cut off by his hand lifting, holding her words at bay. His eyes had left hers, leaving her to wonder at what he was feeling now. His face was impassive, and he blinked at the table a few times before lowering his hand, and looking up.
“You’re inexperienced. I don’t blame you for jumping to conclusions.” He said, not quite meeting her eyes. “Especially when you’ve seen what I crave.” Hermione’s cheeks blazed at the memory of him fantasizing about her. He’d imagined choking her, biting her, holding her down. She looked at the grain of the table, thinking over the question she wanted to ask, while trying to be tactful.
“Spit it out.” Snape barked, surprising her. She looked up to see him watching her keenly, his eyes catching how she tapped her finger, the wrinkle in her brow that meant she was thinking too hard about something.
“I… um… I was wondering… The memories of that woman didn’t… You didn’t seem aroused by them, but… You think about things like… that, when you...” She shrugged, her voice rising in pitch as she spoke, her face turning nearly beet red. She averted her gaze, hoping she hadn’t upset him by her intrusive comments.
“Ahh. You’re confused about what the difference is.” he comprehended, folding his arms across his chest. Hermione nodded mutely, not trusting her voice to do more than squeak. “Would you like me to try and explain it? You could see for yourself, if you dare.” He taunted, his voice held a smirk, and his tone was suddenly mocking.
“Don’t make fun of me.” Hermione snapped, looking into his derisive stare. “You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” He needled, sounding every bit as mean as he used to, the complementing and open man gone. Hermione let herself be drawn into his thoughts, searching for the underlying reasons to his reaction. Was he upset by the question, or just teasing her for his own sick amusement? There were traces of irritation, a swath of lust, the never-ending guilt, and some fluttery pink feeling that seemed trapped behind bars of obscuring darkness. She dove toward that hidden feeling, desperate to unravel what he was truly feeling, and was surprised when it was yanked away, put behind a wall, and seemed to cease to exist altogether.
“Careful, Granger. Don’t tread to deeply, or you might find yourself with unpleasant results.” His gaze was sharp, reprimanding her for seeing beneath what he presented. She stifled a grin at her nearly successful endeavor.
“Something you’d like to keep hidden professor? I thought I already knew all of your secrets.” She teased back, trying to mimic his sneer.
“Hardly.” Was all the reply she got. And a slight impression of that same fluttery pink. “Do you honestly want an answer, or would you like to keep your mental innocence in tact?”
She started, surprised by the candor in his tone, that he seemed to actually be offering her an explanation if she desired. She gulped down her sudden nervousness, and nodded eagerly. “I’d like to understand. Especially if it’s something that can make others minds easier to decipher.” She made a quick excuse, hoping he wouldn’t call out her cowardice, though he could clearly see it as their eyes locked.
“Very well. The difference between the two things is the response.” His face was expressionless, his tone the same as when he lectured. Hermione cocked her head, confused.
“Response? What do you mean?”
He sighed in a beleaguered fashion, and closed his eyes briefly, before opening them, and lifting his eyebrows in a look that said ‘Really?’ She could see images behind his black stare, faces, one crying as the girl begged for mercy and liberty. Another that was flushed, eyes glazed, mouth parted in a slight smile, even though she clearly couldn’t breathe.
“Oh.” Hermione looked to the table again, finally realizing what he’d meant. The response of his partner was what made the difference between the unarousing beating, and the lustful imaginary violence. Her mind whirled with the image of the last girl’s face, so happy, so passionate. She clamped her lips shut, fighting the urge to ask more questions. She wasn’t sure if he’d actually answer them, too, or continue with his earlier mockery.
“Granger, as much as I would have appreciated you keeping your mouth closed in my classes, I can’t help but feel as though you’re going to choke on your own tongue if you continue fighting yourself much longer.” He drawled, offering her his mocking without provocation. She rolled her eyes, and decided that if he was going to be rude anyway, she might as well try to learn.
“Does that actually feel good?” She asked, keeping her tone light, conversational, careful not to even hint at a judgemental stance.
“What, choking?” He sounded legitimately shocked by her question, and she glanced at him, reading his face more than his mind. He was watching her with a strange expression of disbelief, surprise, and what little she got from his mind was red hot desire.
“Yeah.” She confirmed, her eyes gone before he could get anything from them.
“It depends.” he tentatively answered, and she could almost feel the way he stared at her, gauging her reaction as he spoke, trying desperately to delve into her mind as she processed his words.
“On what?” She asked, continuing to look into the trees, worried that if she met his gaze again, she’d be drawn into his mind. She wasn’t sure she could handle any more of his sexual fantasies. It seemed like just talking about them was making her center turn to liquid fire.
“It depends on the people, how it’s done, the intent… Other, simultaneous, happenings…” He trailed off, clearly intending to embarrass her with the last insinuation. She nodded, fighting her blush at the thought of something so extreme being done while having sex. What if he accidentally took it too far? What if your partner died, and you didn’t notice until after?
“Now what are you worrying about?” He snapped across at her, seeing her bite at her lip nervously. She frowned, and turned to him, desperate for answers.
“Isn’t that dangerous? What if they died?” She demanded, confused by how anyone could find such a fetish enjoyable. It seemed like she’d be too worried to enjoy it, even if it did feel as good as the girl in his mind had seemed to think.
“It can be dangerous, depending on the partner. For instance, MacNair, he’d likely crush your throat for the fun of it. Bellatrix would be too rough, and not at all interested in her partner’s pleasure. A virgin would have no idea how to squeeze without posing a risk to their partner’s health.” She could see nearly a tutorial in his mind as he spoke, his long fingers wrapping around a slender neck, applying the exact right amount of force to cut off the air without hurting. Squeezing from the sides to impede the blood flow, so she could still breathe, but got lightheaded and felt the perverted pleasure of it. “It’s something best done with a knowledge of anatomy, or even better, a mentor. It’s not a pleasure for the virtuous to try alone.” His meaning was clear, and she looked away, her face inflamed.
“I’m not going to try it!” She half shouted, appalled at the images he’d had in mind, of her by herself, tightening her school tie around her neck.
“Good. It’s dangerous. Especially alone.” He sharply pronounced. Hermione huffed, and turned a glare on him.
“If it’s so dangerous, why do you think about it?” She couldn’t help it. He got her so provoked, the words slipped from her tongue before she’d really thought about them. He didn’t seem upset by the angry question, instead he grinned, a predatory, carnal smile.
“I like it because I know how to do it. Because it’s unimaginably exciting to watch a woman writhe beneath me, climaxing because it’s dangerous. I push the limits of comfort because that’s where the most pleasure is.” his grin didn’t slip, and she could feel a vicious burning inside him, as though he were going to pounce at her, and tear her apart. “You may not be able to logically comprehend the why but I can see how you’re trying not to think about it. You don’t need to understand it, because your response says that some part of you, deep down, that you never think about, does understand.”
She turned her crimson face away, refusing to let him see the lie in her eyes. “Nothing in me understands something so weird. I don’t want it, and I don’t appreciate you implying I do.”
“Look me in the eye and say it.” He dared, his voice low again. She shook her head, trying not to shift guiltily as her thighs squeezed together, and her blood seemed to all flow to her underwear.
“No. I don’t want to see any more of your fetishes.” She shot back at him, managing a believable lie for why she wouldn’t face him. He let her sit in silence for a few minutes, before he let out a deep chuckle.
“You’re so damn… Wholesome.” he said it like an insult, and Hermione huffed, indicating that she wouldn’t rise to his bait. “Is it painful being so uptight, girl?”
She turned on him then, glaring death, biting her lip, and her arms squeezing at her chest all in an effort to stay silent.
“I am not uptight!” She finally spat, focusing on her own displeasure, instead of the inside of his mind. “You’re just depraved! How do you even get so perverted, anyway!?” She shot across at him, her anger ebbing as she lashed out.
“In my experience it’s usually someone older or more experienced that starts the corruption.” He mused, his smirk indicating the he was older and more experienced, and she was falling to depravity. She glared, making sure her anger was the only thing he’d be able to feel without a more powerful Legilimens spell.
“Mm, good. Using an expected emotion to mask all others. You’re getting better at your Occlumency.” he purred, making her pull back with surprise. He changed disposition faster than most could change cloaks, one minute offensive, the next praising. She let herself see deeper than the surface, fighting through layers of feigned nonchalance and bragging, getting almost to the fluttery pink feeling, and being deterred by an overpowering surge of irritation.
“I’m going to make dinner. Practice your tree-climbing, or whatever it is you call that fumbling mess of limbs.” He dismissed, standing, and waving his wand to gather wood, light it afire, summon the cauldron and ingredients from her purse, and begin preparing them. Hermione glared at him a few moments before she stalked off, finding a tree with lower hanging branches, and beginning to ascend it. She fought with her hair nearly as much as where to grab the tree without falling, and grumbled to herself, sliding to the ground, and pointed her wand toward Snape’s back.
“Accio hairband.” she muttered, holding her hand out for the tie to fall into as it soared to her from the backpack. She pulled her hair into a quick bun and started back up the tree, not wanting to give Snape any more reasons to taunt her that evening.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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