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Saved By Grace	By : knappshari Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 8878 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from the Harry Potter Universe, they are gifts from J.K.Rowling. Only the plot is mine. I will not accept any money from this story, it is intended for entertainment purposes only

Chapter List
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Chapter One


The Great War was over, at least that’s what everyone in both the magical and muggle world insisted on believing. Yet Azkaban was still working at full capacity under Prime Minister Kingsley’s care, it was run so efficiently in fact, that the muggles began modeling certain produres in their prisons, minus the Dementors. Kingsley himself would rather have cast those foul creatures out with all the rest of Voldemort’s rats that had abandoned ship upon his demise, but they still, regretfully, had a job to do. In the darkest places, the coldest of deep places, from subterranean caverns to the highest mountains’ peak there lived enough obscene, unnatural things that would keep Harry, Ginny, and the other Aurorers busy for years. Making his obligatory rounds with the Warden, Kingsley shivered at the howls of fear, horror and abandonment. Each individual cell was now cursed with a spell that brought about total isolation, a never-ending darkness, that covered the spiace from the floor to the ceiling above and from corner to corner, that kept the prisoner with complete sensory deprivation as deep a blackness as Hades itself. The tortured souls couldn't see out, but they were completely seen by the Warden. Dementors flew in and out of each cell, spreading nightmares, horror, and misery. The violence of memories, the hideousness of that which haunted the mind was not only brought to life but was also larger, more menacing, and more terrifying than anything imaginable

Hermione Granger pushed up her sunglasses, again, all the while struggling to hold her cauldron, books and notes and trying to keep up with the completely exasperating man striding briskly ahead, his heels clicking furiously, robes billowing out as he called back with heavy sarcasm “Do kindly keep up, Granger. Even Neville moved quicker than you.” Muttering about “a true gentleman would offer a lady help”, she ground her teeth together so hard that she unintentionally made the persistent pounding in her head turn to a sharp stab. Gasping for breath, she swayed for a moment until the pain passed into rhythm again. She’d woken with the intense migraine again, and nearly debillatating nausea, facts that she didn’t want to think about right now for she was petrified that it meant what it did in the past. “No…please no. I can’t bear going through this again alone.” She also didn’t have time to brew a soother as, for the first time in her life, she’d slept through her alarm. She did not want to lose her apprenticeship with Snape. The fact of the matter was, she was fortunate that the grumpy, arrogant, stubborn, and thoroughly infuriating man ahead of her even allowed her to plead her case as to why she’d wanted to, not only return to her studies after Hogwarts was put to rights and classes resumed, but to become his apprentice upon graduation. She was exceptionally good at potions, even Snape was overheard saying it. Yet the man had looked positively dumbstruck at her request before demanding to know what she was up to and who else was behind this prank. It took her most persistent power of persuasion as well as a toe to toe shouting match, which caused her to break into giggles (and she thought she saw him genuinely grin) for him to accept that she was indeed in earnest.
As she hurried to try to keep up with the Professor- her bad leg gave way, and her papers dropped and spread all over the floor. “Bollocks…” she moaned, contemplating bending over and the agony in her skull that the action would bring. “GRANGER!” his echoing bellow plowed through her thoughts and was the catalyst that finally knocked her to her knees. Swaying, she fought the sudden rise of nausea and excruciating pain stabbed behind her left eye as the world turned white, and she passed mercifully, briefly, into oblivion.
Merlin be merciful, where was chit? He thought. Grumbling about females, whining, sniveling dolts the lot of them, he turned, retracing his route, footsteps ringing on the stone floor. Truthfully, he hadn’t much experience with women, in fact he’d never had the patience for any female company…except Lily. And yet…he’d been flattered when Hermione had begged him incessantly about continuing her potions studies after the war, and insisted on being his apprentice of all things. The fact that her persistence had sent a warm tingle straight through his body had pissed him off. However, to be honest he couldn’t help but begin to grudgingly admire the tenacious way she worked while trying to hold together a disastrous marriage with the lying, cheating,abusive waste of a human being Weasley, and now after graduating from both school and the unhappy union, he found himself with an intelligent, lovely, incredible apprentice.
Truth be told, the more time they’d spent together alone the more holes she poked in the wall he’d put around himself and somehow, someway she had wriggled her way into his heart. While he genuinely liked her, he still refused to admit any deeper feelings, other than he did not find her company as annoying as that of most people, and that her keen, sharp mind was so incredibly refreshing compared to the imbeciles he was forced to daily teach.
Turning the corner where he’d last seen her and saw the tableau before him, he recognized fear as it squeezed his heart. She lay sprawled on the cold stone floor, notes and other detritus surrounding her. She was unconscious, and so still...so very still. It was the motionlessness that brought his heart to his throat. In the early days of their partnership, she was always moving, and dancing to music at appallingly loud levels, singing her heart out as she cataloged every new potion that was created, charming him completely against his will. At that time her marriage with Weasley was, at the time, very settled. They gave and took strength from one another. It was not long before, little by little he observed trouble in paradise and watched as sadness and emptiness replaced the warm glow in Hermione’s eyes, and she didn’t dance anymore.
The first-time Snape noticed marks on her she had rolled up the sleeves of the baggy sweaters she wore. It was a glorious Indian Summer where the colors shown like fireworks and the temperatures were unseasonably warm, so she didn’t wear tee shirts underneath. He quietly walked to where she was sitting, cataloging his newest acquisitions, and bent over her left shoulder. What he saw took his breath away. She was thin to the point that he could visibly count the vertebra on her back. But most appalling were the bruises upon bruises all in different states of healing, and cigarette burns here and there on her arms.
Once, he caught Weasley, in the corridor squeezing her arm and shouting so hard that spittle was hitting her tear-stricken face. The surrounding mob was chanting Ron’s name rhythmically. Snape came down the group like a bat out of hades. After grabbing the neck of Ron’s robes and pulling him up onto his tiptoes, Snape told him what exactly what would happen to him should this happen again. Everyone, including Hermione, flinched at each threat that spewed from the Potions Master’s mouth.

Reaching her, he quickly knelt and felt her limbs to see the extent of any injuries. The reason behind her collapse baffled him, there were no impediments to trip over, perhaps he was working her too hard. He remembered that a couple months back, there had been that horrifying incident that landed Ron a stint in Azkaban and she spent a couple of weeks in Madam Pomfrey's Wizards hospital in critical condition. As soon as he’d found out, he dropped everything to be by her side. He never once stopped to wonder why he cared so much for one small mud blood.
               Softly he called her by name, gently tapping her cheek, trying to rouse her. She gave a faint moan, her head lolling toward the warm timbre of his voice and she tried to open her sleep swollen, hollow eyes but the light stabbed through making her cry out in pain and gingerly cup her head, moving her face away from the light. Snape cursed softly at the sight of the ugly bruises that ringed her neck. Merlin’s beard! Why had she not told him Weasley had been coming around again? He removed the crooked sunglasses, and murmuring softly to calm her he effortlessly lifted her slight form into his arms. She was skin and bone, she must’ve lost at least a good ten to fifteen pounds over the last months’ time, pounds she couldn’t afford to lose. Damn it, where had his renowned observation skills been? “Ronald Weasley”, the name was a curse upon Snape’s lips. He had a few choice curses he’d like to employ on the young Master Weasel. Walking briskly, he carried his small burden with care, surprised at the way that her head fit perfectly between his chin and shoulder, a light brown curl tickling his cheek…and he caught himself enjoying the sensation entirely too much for his own good.

Hermione woke what felt like hours later, feeling much better. The migraine had disappeared, and she’d slept mercifully deep and nightmare free for the first time in years. Hesitantly, she opened her eyes and looked around, frowning at the unfamiliar décor. Where the hell was she? Sitting up, she cursed softly when the room spun. Damn, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten. Ron had shown up at 5:00am that morning, drunker than usual, wearing a dirty sweater and jeans that might’ve fit him ten years ago. Stinking of body odor and cheap sex his behavior and words were erratic, shouting first, then bursting into tears. He had this wild look about him, a strangeness that followed him from Azkaban, but what terrified Hermione the most were the times he seemed to “go away’. Slumping against a corner, a chair, any surface strong enough to hold his weight his eyes would glaze over and he would mutter to himself. During one of these spells she took the opportunity to get closer to the door. Hesitating to break his strange conduct, but needing desperately to be rid of him she said, “Um, Ron?” Realizing that her voice was shaking, she stood straighter and forced herself back to her former confident self. Remembering the way, she’d bossed him around in their youth, she felt a sudden rush of emotion at the memory of their comradery when it was just the three of them against the world. She used the strength of that emotion now.
“Ronald Weasley, you need to leave right now! I will not tolerate this behavior! We are not getting back together, so save yourself this humiliation.” His head lowered and his long greasy hair covered most of his face, but with just the slightest turn of his head, his eyes looked up at her and they shone with an unholy light. The voice that came out of him was guttural and raw. “You’re my wife, whore, harlot,” he began to stalk her around her tiny kitchen, the words, stinging like hornets. “Slut. Who is he, who’s the man you’re fucking? Draco, or wait…is the little Mrs. involved to? A threesome is fun!” Hermione acting out of pure instinct, hauled off and punched him in the face. Blood and spittle flew onto her face causing her to briefly close her eyes, and that was a mistake. Ron back-handed her across the face briefly knocking her senseless, when she regained them, his big hand surrounded her neck and he held her on her tiptoes against the wall cutting off her air with strength that was inhuman. All she could think was “I’m going to die today”.

Hermione wondered when she’d lost herself. The abuse produced the predictable shame. She was still called the “brightest witch of the age” and yet she’d endured a year and a half of physical, mental and emotional abuse from what was once the love of her life. She couldn’t blame him, much. After the death of his brother in the War, Ron was never again the same. They had a good first year before he took to drink, indiscriminate sex, and spousal abuse to fill the void left behind. It was while they were on one of their infrequent girls shopping trip that Ginny first spotted the deep purple, green and sour yellow bruises. Hermione tried her best to explain it away as clumsiness, which no one believed for one second. Ron’s family along with Harry and Ginny rallied around Hermione and attempted to get Ron help, but it only lasted a short time.
Eventually the siren song of his old habits called to him and he’d become sullen and secretive again staying out late, or not bothering to come home for weeks at a time. She put on a brave front, lying about what was keeping Ron from a family dinner, making light of the fact he’d told her she needed to stop eating for a while because he worked for the Ministry, and it was unseemly to have a fat wife when ask to hob nob with the elite. And she never told anyone that he’d asked her to meet him for a special wedding Anniversary dinner, an expensive one too, as she found out. He’d reserved the finest table, a rare bottle of muggle wine and ordered their most costly dishes. She was to wait for him because he had to “stay late” at the ministry, but he’d join her shortly. She waited excitedly at this treat sipping the wine slowly to savor the privilege. She waited longer, picking at the food set before her, looking up every time the doors opened. She waited still, watching the other diners dwindle out and the wait staff cleaning. And she waited with all hope gone until the Maître de asked how the bill was to be paid. He did feel a pang of guilt at her stricken face as she counted out bills and desperately counted change, but…well the workers needed paid, and he had a hot date to catch. The night was still young.
Not knowing when she’d wake up, Severus decided to catch up on some of the newest ingredients and potions. He’d had a subscription to Medicinal Potions and Concoctions. Hermione wanted to be a Mediwitch one day, so he was studying material along with her. He kept the door of his bedchamber open in case she needed him. Her head began to thrash back and forth and she let out a soft moan.
It was after one of Ron’s benders, when he ended up in the hospital with several broken ribs from a fight with a couple of men who were 200 lbs. of sheer muscle, that he finally tottered home with kisses and promises to have changed for good. “I’m through with it ‘Mione, you have my word. I want you to realize how much you mean to me.” For a while all was at peace. Ron got a beginner job at the ministry, which was all his father could get him after all the shit he’d done. He was in a snit for a while, but soon settled in and it felt different, more like their first year.
They had become intimate again, and Hermione began watching her cycles carefully.
In the early days, just after the War ended, while they were still lovingly intimate he’d told her that he didn’t want children. It was a blow to Hermione, who craved a large family with many children and grandchildren. No amount of gentle hints from Mom Weasley would change his mind. “Leave it bloody well alone Ma. You have enough grandkids, what with Fleur and Ginny preggars all the time!’ The day she knew for sure, her excitement could scarcely be contained. She had some important news to tell him, news that would hopefully give him a reason and a desire to live again. He’d come home from his job at the Ministry of Magic in a jovial mood. He gave her a bouquet of roses and a kiss that reminded her of why she’d agreed to marry him. Her heart soared as she watched the young, handsome man she remembered give Crookshanks a pat and went whistling a merry tune to their room to change.
               That night she'd fixed his favorite dinner and dessert. It was after the wonderful meal, when he was nice and relaxed that she told him the news, waiting anxiously for his response and relief flooded through her when he kept smiling. That was her first mistake. “What the ‘ell did you just say?” His smile disappeared and the quiet, even tone wiped the look of glowing anticipation off her face and a heavy dread consumed her.
“I’m pregnant, and it’s a boy.” She smiled tremulously, hoping for a miracle…but it was dread that quickly overcame the excitement she felt upon coming home from the mediwitch. She held out a photo of very small fetus moving around and a tiny small heart beating. Suddenly Ron exploded out of the chair, knocking it over and struck the picture from her hand, then viciously cracking the right side of her cheek with the back of his hand. Crying out in pain, she fell to the floor, “Ron, stop! Please!”. He was out of control ranting and raving, blaming her for her disrespect of his wishes, calling her a stupid fucking whore, and shouting that he would get rid of the parasite in her belly. He hooked his foot behind her legs and she tumbled to the floor. He now had her where he wanted, he pulled off his belt and she knew what he had planned.    “Ron, no, no, no, no, NO!!!!”
Her pleading seemed to release the animal that he’d fought so hard to hold back, he used his belt, fists, and a hammer to inflict the bruises, and tseeing the carnage sexually excited him. Straddling her, he tore her clothes apart and, looking at the wounds he’d already inflicted seemed to work him into an animalistic frenzy. Hermione pleaded with him to stop, tried to call her wand to her, but the scent of her fear only encouraged him. He yanked on her panties until they ripped, then drove the end of his wand into her, tearing delicate tissue until she bled. He laughed, a course sound without humor, before mounting her bruised and beaten body driving into her. Pain exploded everywhere. He grabbed at her breasts and leaned down to bite one breast, then the other all the while savagely raping her.
The mind has a threshold of what it can take before breaking into pieces, and it has a mechanism to shut in down before madness sets in. During the rape Hermione left herself and it felt as though she were watching this happening on the telly or in a movie, not in reality. She felt a measure of pity looking at the girl, and thought she looked vaguely familiar, just as though if she concentrated long enough, a name would come to her, however the longer she focused, she began to feel pain all over, so she floated away again.
When Ron was finished, he cleaned himself up, whistling a merry tune as though nothing happened, then left, shutting the door with a quiet finality. She was alone and in severe shock when the first flood of fluid and blood began to spill faster from between her legs. No one could hear her when she moaned in denial and grief. Her baby boy had been born…eight months too soon.
Call it fortune, or grace, Harry had the day off and decided to visit and have a chat. By the time he discovered her, she was nearly dead. Practically naked, clothes torn, crumpled on the floor, with a broken hip and arm with deep bruising on her belly, back and everywhere else and… a deep puddle of dark blood between her thighs. He apparated with her at once to Madam Pomfrey's. Her recovery was lengthy; the internal injuries were so extensive it took all of Madam Pomfrey’s knowledge and magic to knit together blood vessels and to heal organs damaged during the rape.
As soon as she could, she filed for divorce and it was granted. She used a small loan from Harry, (which she fully intended to repay, although she knew he would refuse) and found a small, quaint cottage on the beach where she could continue to heal in the comfort of the waves and sea air. Her best friends Draco and his wife, Luna, stayed with her both for comfort, and care. For several days after she refused to eat, she merely rocked in the rocking chair near an open window, and would not speak. Out of increasing concern for their charge, Draco summoned Snape. He came by floo immediately. Shocked by her ashen skin and gaunt face, he did what he could to help tempt her appetite, and every evening he’d sit with her by her window and quietly read aloud. Poetry, the Classics, or the latest who-dun-it, gradually the deep, lovely timbre of his voice became her anchor to the world.

               Snape heard her stirring in his room and, pouring a cup of tea, he carried it in to her. She was sitting up, her knees drawn up and her face hidden, sobbing quietly. He put down the tea and sat on the edge of the bed, reaching out with a hesitant hand to touch her hair. Gently he pushed her curls back from her eyes and asked softly what was wrong and then was incredibly surprised when she fell into his arms. Acting by sheer instinct he drew her onto his lap and held her tight as she cried her heart out surrounded by the arms of the man who’d once been public enemy number one.
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Saved By Grace