FicWad

Word Count: approximately 5,005 this section
Warnings: humiliation, angst, dub-con moment (not rape)
Authors notes: underscores _ denote thoughts


DISCLAIMER: The HP sandbox belongs to JK Rowling. Some of us just like to play in it from time to time.


It was the music that woke him up, that, and the worrisome sensation of warm, damp softness dragging over his bare chest.

He opened his eyes and was astonished to find himself in his own bed, in his own home, on Spinner's End. One of the neighbours was playing their damnable radio far too loud. He was less than pleased to see the barely-tamed tangle of bushy brown haired bossiness that personified Hermione Granger.

He closed his eyes again and struggled to remember... oh, yes. The tower... he'd left Hermione and that Lovegood girl tending the stupefied Flitwick... wait... no, he'd been on the floor and she'd bent over him? He thought he remembered that. Or was that Minerva? He could not remember it clearly.

Apparently, he'd been caught and injured. But why was he at home being tended by the little know-it-all? He should be at St. Mungo's or in Azkaban.

He tried to say he should be in Azkaban, but all that came out was a muzzy growl.

"Are you in pain, Professor Snape?"

He opened his eyes again to meet Hermione's gaze and tried to swallow past his dry throat, grimacing.

"Here."

A straw was placed in his mouth and he frowned at her.

"It's water, but suit yourself."

He sipped, wincing at the pain.

"You've a badly bruised jaw. Try not to move it too much."

"Why can't I move?"

He was suddenly very concerned about this, remembering vaguely the fact that Bellatrix had kicked him in the back. Bellatrix? When had that been?

Hermione spoke as if she had told him this already at least a hundred times. "You're heavily splinted at the moment. You were hit with several concussive curses. Both your legs, your right arm, left wrist, most of your fingers are broken. Two of your ribs on the left are cracked, if not broken, and your left shoulder is dislocated. They've all been set and you shouldn't move if you want them to work right once they heal."

"Why?"

"Well, one would assume you care that your limbs work properly and aren't bent and left maim, but your considerations have always been a bit off-plumb to many of us."

He frowned, winced again, and murmured, "Why are you taking care of me? Why--"

"--aren't you dead? Believe me, I've asked myself the same thing a thousand times over. Truth is... Minerva trusts you, and I trust her. I'm the only one she trusts to keep you alive and confined. That's why I was sent."

"Minerva..."

"Yes. She found some documents Professor Dumbledore left behind. Apparently he charmed them to not appear until after Voldemort's death."

His eyes closed and he swallowed. Damn, Albus!

His eyes snapped open. Voldemort's death?

Hermione continued without stopping. "His portrait is also quite adamant that you are not truly guilty of his death. He insisted on testifying to the Wizengamot."

He said nothing, trying to remember, trying to apply this knowledge to what he must know, but unable to get his fuzzy brain to cooperate. The attempt was starting to make his head hurt very badly.

She jostled his uninjured shoulder slightly, startling him. "You didn't answer my question."

"Forgive me, Miss Granger, if I don't recall what you are referring to."

"Are you in pain, you--" she grit her teeth and the rest of her sentence remained unuttered.

"It's tolerable."

"I've given you Nurofen for the pain, but the last one you had was nearly four hours ago."

"Nurofen?"

"Try to remember -- I've only Muggle medicines." She spoke now by rote. "Minerva does not trust any other mediwitch or healer with your care, and I'm afraid I never covered bone-knitting spells and even if I had that's no help now, so you're just going to have to tough it out as your bones heal naturally. Now, do you want another Nurofen?"

She held out a tablet.

He frowned at it. "How did you get me to swallow a tablet?"

"I crushed it and put it in some yoghurt. You were rather hungry earlier."

"I don't remember."

"The charm of a concussive curse, Professor Snape. You have a concussion."

He considered this and sighed. "I gather that explains the headache... although, your presence often inspires that reaction in me."

She scowled, and to his surprise, slapped his bare chest with the wet end of a damp flannel.

"Have a care, Professor. I'm the one in charge of your safety and welfare."

"Then I am in hell."



As it turned out, the true hell was the fact he'd woken up as she was washing him. He could not move his arms or legs, although they were broken and he shouldn't move them anyway. He ached, despite the Nurofen. He could not get away. Moreover, he was naked and Hermione Granger was getting rather familiar with his bits.

"Miss Granger..."

"Just be quiet. I'll be done soon."

"I..."

He shut his mouth and grit his teeth, then winced at the pain that shot through his jaw. Bruised, she'd said. He could feel the hot swelling and swore he could see the purple lump out of the corner of his eye.

Maybe if he focused on that pain, the other sensation wouldn't feel so intense.

That warm, wet, soapy flannel swirled over his scrotum and put paid to that hope. To his horror, he could feel himself hardening.

"Miss Granger..."

"Oh, stop being missish. I've seen it all before. Besides, you need a bath. You're starting to pong a bit. It's a beastly hot summer and you can't do this yourself, so... just lie there and think of England."

Severus Snape considered all this in his pain-addled, drug-soused and concussed mind and decided sod-all to England. Those slippery fingers and slightly rough flannel were doing dangerous things to his libido.

"Miss Granger..."

"I'm nearly done. You... well, you had a little accident earlier. I need to clean you."

That said and before he could ask questions or protest, he felt her gently stroke down on his now-hard prick, peeling back his foreskin. Should he tell her?

Before he could say anything, he felt the flannel swirling over and beneath his trigger-happy glans.

"Gah!"

With the splints strapped to his legs, he could not thrust, which was the only reason he did not ejaculate instantly, but he could feel himself trickling. So close to the edge...

"So sensitive. Who would have thought that word could describe Severus Snape in any way?"

"Bloody witch!" he muttered resentfully, too annoyed to feel the humiliation that was simmering underneath.

"Do you really think it's wise for you to be cursing out the woman who is holding your pride and joy?"

"I... I won't be responsible for the consequences if you do that again," he managed to mutter, fighting the waves of mixed shame and arousal. For some reason that particular mix was incendiary. It always had been, he realized now.

"Fine. It's not like I haven't seen that already, either."

This brought him up short and he stared at her, horrified. Just how long had he been here, insensible and under her none-too-gentle care?

She eyed him archly. "I was referring to the 'little accident' I noted earlier. Apparently, you had a wet dream; that being one of the things that was contributing to the also aforementioned 'pong'."

Oh. He cleared his throat. "Drugs will do that. I mean, they can cause--"

"I'm well aware of that, Professor. It doesn't really bother me. I'm neither a virgin, nor a nun."

"Miss Granger--"

She inhaled sharply, shut her eyes briefly, then looked at him in combined fury and a pain he recognized.

"Look. I know you can't remember, even though it's been a week since you came to, but I'm not Miss Granger anymore, either. If you like, you can call me the Widow Weasley. That seems to be the most popular title of late," she muttered resentfully. "But really, I just prefer Hermione."



The rest of the bath was completed without incident, if not without embarrassment. Her news and what it meant had rapidly deflated his erection and she had focused on finishing him up with a rapidity he appreciated.

What he did not appreciate was the fact she kept him nude, if draped with a towel to protect what precious little modesty remained to him. Still, it was warm enough for him not to protest much. He wasn't sure how she could dress him anyway with so many injuries.

He was nearly asleep when another thought occurred to him. The fact it hadn't earlier did not cross his mind, but might have alerted him to the fact he still was not thinking entirely clearly.

"Mi-- Hermione?"

She looked up from the book she was reading. "Yes."

"Why did you not use a scourgify charm to clean me?"

"I have been, Professor. Until you caused me to break my wand a week ago."

He considered this. "I don't remember that."

"I've no doubt. But it hardly matters. Until the Headmistress contacts me again and I can ask her for a replacement--"

"You have my permission to use my wand."

"You broke that yourself."

He frowned. "I'm quite positive I'd remember that. Whyever would I do such a thing?"

Hermione sighed, picking up her book again before answering.

"You had impaled Bellatrix Lestrange with it at the time. It broke in her throat when you tried to remove it."





"Mi-- Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"I... I need the toilet."

"Right."

Without preamble, she set her book down and picked up a newspaper from the stack by the bed. She shifted the towel off of him and gently turned him onto the side without the broken ribs, and he could feel her placing newspaper behind and under him, then she shifted him back a bit.

To his horror, she then picked up a clean, but empty milk bottle and knelt before him, gently placing the head of his penis inside it.

"I'm ready when you are."

He closed his eyes as a wave of humiliation seemed to crawl over him. Goose pimples dotted his flesh and he felt his genitals shrink. She merely readjusted the bottle he noted.

"I-- I could do with a bit of privacy," he managed to croak out of a dry throat.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"There's no bedpan and even if there was, when you go, you also have a tendency to piss. It was murder trying to change the bed the last time you went and there was piss all over the floor. I am not going through that again."

He stared at her, aghast. He wasn't certain what horrified him more, the fact that she intended to remain in the room whilst he did his business, the fact that she was going to hold his cock so he'd piss into a milk-bottle as he did, the fact he'd apparently already pissed the bed and floor before, or the fact that she'd used the vernacular 'piss'.

"Good lord..."

"Just get on with it, won't you? I have to go downstairs and make dinner soon."

Quailing a bit inside, he got on with it.





"Where did you learn to cook?"

"My parents wanted to ensure I was well-rounded. One summer, my mother enrolled me in a cooking & baking class."

"This is really very good."

"It's the simplest thing in the world."

"Roast chicken is the simplest thing in the world?"

"It can be if you know how to cook."

He considered this.

"Well, my jaw deeply appreciates the tenderness of the food."

"My pleasure, I'm sure, Professor," she said in that formal manner he was beginning to hate.

He paused, and she waited with the fork full of food to be placed in his mouth. He could not look at her, but had to speak. His voice was low as he did.

"Hermione. I... I think you should call me Severus. I'm not your professor anymore. And the circumstances we're in are rather... intimate."

She put the food in his mouth.

"You haven't been anyone's professor for quite some time, Severus, but I appreciate the offer." She sighed, then added earnestly, "I only hope you remember it this time."





The dream was delicious.

The woman was above him, riding him, meeting his every thrust. He gripped the turf with his hands as she spread hers across his chest. They were hot and the sensation seared him.

"Oh!"

He reached for her, but could not. For some reason he could not reach for her and as he watched she changed. Brown hair became black. Curls transmuted to thick, silken locks. A look of ecstasy became a look of hatred.

"No!" he cried out in horror.

Somehow, in some way, he pushed deeper into her and he could feel it, feel himself sliding impossibly deep. Then he could see it, the head of his cock was in the back of her throat and she was gagging with it.

He wrenched free and began to come, a sudden sharp pain and sound waking him and Severus cried out, terrified that his prick had broken off inside that horrible woman of his dreams.

"Easy."

He shuddered, afraid to look down, but then he felt warm, familiar fingers gently stroking him, his cock, and he nearly wept with gratitude. Then he remembered his circumstances and looked down.

"What?"

"You called out and I saw you were having a dream. It looked like you were, well, close, and I didn't want you to make a mess of yourself or the bed again, so..." Hermione shrugged, one hand still on his half-hard cock, the other holding a tissue at the tip where she had apparently caught his emission. "I'm sorry about the hair. My ring caught it and it got pulled out."

He let his head fall back, wishing the floor would open up and take him and his humiliation with it. A shaky breath escaped him, adding to his ignominy.

"Severus?"

She let him go, slipping the towel back over him and stepped up to the head of the bed.

He turned his head away.

"Leave me," he said thickly.

She sighed.

"Very well."

He heard her footsteps receding from the room and let go of the breath he'd been holding. As he'd expected, it was shaky and shuddery and when he closed his eyes he could feel the tears slipping free.

It took a great deal of energy for him to cry quietly, but he refused to make a sound. He could not let her know.

It wasn't until he'd gotten himself under a bit more control that he realized he could neither wipe his face nor blow his nose on his own.


Neither said anything when Hermione quietly returned into the room and helped him blow his nose, then gently wiped his face with a wet flannel. It had nearly made him weep again, but he held himself together.

He lay in the dark for a very long time, listening to her deep, even breathing.

He could still feel her lips from the gentle kiss she'd placed on his forehead before she'd turned and lain down atop the sleeping bag she had by his bed.





"You should really take a Nurofen."

"I'm fine!"

"You're as testy as a mule."

"Then leave me be."

"How can I take care of you from the other room? You can't even blow your nose without my help!"

"I'll be fine!" He cursed then, and closed his eyes tight against the band of pain that tightened around his head and made the bunched muscles of his neck and shoulder feel like hot coals were sitting there. "Blast!"

"Look. Why not just admit you're in pain and you need help?"

"Dammit! I don't want to have another dream!" He glared at her then, feeling himself flush, but holding her gaze.

She stared at him, and then sighed.

"How about aspirin then, if you don't want a narcotic? I can tell you need something for pain."

"Fine."

She gave him two aspirin and a sip of water and he swallowed them gratefully. The pain was pretty bad and he tried to relax, knowing if he tensed it would get worse, but he couldn't even rub his own damn head. He pressed it back hard against his pillow and sighed.

"Would you--"

"What?" he snapped.

She drew in a breath and released it slowly. "Would you like me to rub your head for you? Or something else? I know how bad headaches can be."

He lay there staring straight ahead, then finally nodded.

He closed his eyes as her fingers began to press gently along his forehead and stroke outward to the temples.

"Harder."

She complied, and kept rubbing over and over, then slipped her fingers along the side of his head, sliding through his hair. The sensation made his scalp itch.

He had not had his hair washed in quite some time.

"When was the last time you washed my hair?" he murmured.

The fingers paused, and then continued their massage.

"Just before my wand got broken. I've managed to shave you, but washing has been decidedly difficult. I think you might be able to sit up soon, though. When you can do that, we can try to wash your hair. Unless the Headmistress contacts me, in which case I might be able to get a wand and use it for bathing purposes."

"Small hope. How long has it been since she contacted you?"

"Twelve days. You were awake when she came, but I don't know if you remember. You drifted in and out until recently."

Nearly two weeks. He'd lost nearly a week of time then. Or...

"How long have we been here?"

"Eighteen days."

"Son of a--"

"Language," she interrupted, rubbing his head harder. The interruption irritated him, but the fingers felt wonderful, so he said nothing.

"I don't remember. I can only remember the last few days."

"I'm not surprised. You had-- You have a concussion, Severus. You were unconscious for almost a week. Memory loss is not uncommon, especially short-term memory loss. It's also the likely cause of these headaches."

"How would you know?"

The fingers stopped and her voice got that tone he hated; the one that said she'd told him this a hundred times before.

"I was studying medicine. I was apprenticed under Healer Perwithy in Diseases and Diagnoses until he was killed by the Death Eater attack at St. Mungo's. I have over three years apprenticeship under my belt, nearly a qualified mediwitch."

Severus was aghast. Had he lost that much time?

"I find that hard to believe. You're what-- eighteen?"

The hands withdrew and Hermione glared at him.

"For goodness sake, Severus! We didn't just stop aging when you went into deep cover with You Know Who! It's been almost four years. We've been at war and Harry and I, we've been training and working non-stop and just trying to stay alive. Please do try and remember. I know it's hard with your concussion, but--"

"When did Mr. Weasley die?"

Hermione sighed now. "Two years ago. He and Harry had a lead on the horcrux that Mundungus Fletcher sold in Knockturn Alley. The man who had it, had it well guarded. When a silent alarm was tripped, Ron was caught. When the aurors were able to get in, he was dead already."

"I'm sorry."

"So was I," she said tersely, then stared at her fingers. "Look. Do you want me to go on, or would you like me to try and wash your hair? I think I might have figured out a way, but it might be a bit uncomfortable."

He considered this and sighed. "I'd like my hair washed, please."

She stared at him until he glared at her. "What?"

"I never thought I'd hear you say 'please', Severus Snape."



It was awkward, but worth it, he thought.

She'd manoeuvred him onto his side, then hung his head over the side of the bed and put a large cooking pot atop a towel on the floor below his head. Using a cup and a bucket of warm water, she managed to wet, shampoo and rinse his hair.

It felt so good, he did not complain about the soap and water all over his face and in his ears or about the pain from his stressed shoulder.

Soon, she had him propped up on pillows, gently toweling his hair dry.

"You're a good mediwitch."

"I'm better with a wand," she muttered.

"No doubt. However, I doubt any other mediwitch would have known how to care for me without a wand or the use of magic in such circumstances."

"Then count your lucky stars."

"Believe me, I am."

She stopped toweling him, put the damp towel behind his neck, and stood up.

She stepped out of the room and he wondered what he'd said, but then she came back with a heavy, wood-handled brush. Snape's blood felt as if it was turning to ice. Hermione did not notice his expression.

"Now. Let's see if we can't get those tangles ou--"

"Get away from me!"

She stopped, frowning as he lurched backward, trying to get off the bed despite not being able to use his limbs.

"Get it away! Get that thing away! Get it away! GET IT AWAY!!!"

He had paled, his eyes wide and fearful in a way she'd never seen before, staring at the brush in her hands. Without a word, she turned and left the room.

She returned after a few moments, this time holding her own thick blue plastic comb. He looked from it to her and released a shaky breath.

"Is this all right then?"

He trembled all over, closed his eyes, but managed to nod.

"All right." She spoke carefully, "Now I'm going to sit next to you and comb your hair. All right?"

"I don't need to be spoken to like a child!"

"Well, how the hell am I supposed to speak to you when you go mental at the sight of a hairbrush?"

/"GET OUT!"/

Hermione was quite sure a radius of at least four blocks must have heard him. Eyes filling with frustrated tears, she stomped out of the room, cursing softly under her breath.



She was still sitting, fuming, in the front room when there was a soft coded knock at the door.

It was Minerva McGonagall in a crisp Muggle jacket and skirt. She hugged her warmly as she let her in.

"My dear. I can tell by your face that he's been a trial. How is he?"

"A trial." Hermione smiled a bit brokenly and Minerva was reminded that she hadn't seen any other kind of smile on her once-favourite student's face in years. "He's recovering well, but Headmistress -- my wand was broken. I've not had use of one for over a week."

"Oh, dear."

"Can you get me a replacement, please? And a copy of Advanced Healing Spells by Gosford? I know I can't leave here, but..."

"No problem at all, my dear. I know of a reputable shoppe that sells wands purchased from estate sales. They check them with the Ministry for dark arts or the like and don't sell questionable ones. I'll see to it you're sent one as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Headmistress."

"You can thank me, Hermione, by finally calling me Minerva. It's been far too long since you've been a student, and we've known each other more than long enough to warrant it."

"It will be difficult, but I'll concede, Minerva."

"That's the spirit. Now I've not much time, so heed me. Nymphadora found Draco Malfoy's body in Corsica and her partner found Narcissa's in Mauritania."

"Their identities were confirmed?"

"Beyond a shadow of a doubt. Can he be moved?"

Hermione hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't think that would be wise. You think they know about this place?"

"I don't like to think so. Per Severus' reports to Albus, only Peter Pettigrew, Narcissa Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange knew, and with Pettigrew and Lestrange being dead--"

"But you think Narcissa might have told her husband." Hermione had a terrible prickling feeling at the back of her neck.

"Actually no. She absconded off-Isle with Draco. Narcissa had no love for Lucius and would not have told him. Draco never came here, so never knew about this house."

"So you think Narcissa might have told Draco. They were close, Draco and Severus."

"Not so much that last year at the school, but yes, it's a concern. While there's no love lost between Narcissa and Lucius, Draco worshipped his father."

"How astute."

Both women turned to face Malfoy, Sr., as he emerged from the long hallway that led, Hermione knew, to the kitchen. He stopped there, holding them at wand-point. He looked unkempt and dirty.

"Malfoy!" she said loudly, hoping her voice would carry. "What are you doing here?"

"Impudent little shrew, aren't you? The real question is what are you doing here?"

"Obviously I'm doing better than you, by the state of your clothes... not to mention your smell. I'm surprised I didn't catch your odor when you apparated in," she exclaimed. "Haven't bathed for three weeks now is it? On the run since your precious Dark Lord was turned into dust?"

"Clever little witch, but not clever enough. I didn't apparate. My dear son was kind enough to loan me his portkey to his favourite teacher. It was a gift from his mother. She apparently thought dear Severus might be able to help our cowardly son," he sneered. "Stupid boy. Hiding like a mouse from the owls whilst our Lord has been murdered, instead of trying to wreak vengeance. Trying to find help from any quarter except his true family. Well, dear Draco no longer needs help of any sort from anyone."

Hermione gasped at his nonchalant attitude toward murdering his own flesh and blood.

"Trouble you, dear?" he asked superciliously. "Believe me, Draco is better off dead. As will Severus be. He is here, is he not? The traitor? Hiding in this Muggle cesspit." His voice got louder. "You are here, aren't you, Severus old boy?!"

"Why the devil would he be here?" McGonagall demanded loudly now, moving forward and slightly in front of the wandless Hermione. "We've no love for the murderer of Albus Dumbledore. This house was taken in trust by his estate in reparation for his crimes. I am here to inspect the place and assess its suitability as a residence for one of our teachers."

Malfoy's eyes narrowed, then he looked at Hermione.

"And you, Miss Granger? Are you Assistant Headmistress now?"

"Miss Granger is the teacher who was considering residing here," Minerva asserted rapidly; she had no desire to inform Malfoy of anything, much less that Hermione was no longer a miss, but a widow of two years. The Death Eaters had been kept on the run for years, and Malfoy had been in prison more than once during that time, so his ignorance served them well at the moment.

She glared at Lucius who sneered back, then turned to Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger? Is the house ... suitable?"

Before she could answer a very loud crash sounded from upstairs. It was just enough distraction to allow Minerva to whip her wand out and shout "Necto!".

Before he could even turn back, glimmering ropes of pure energy trussed Malfoy up like a cocoon. Only his eyes remained clear. His wand fell from nerveless fingers.

Minerva smiled, picking it up while keeping her wand on Lucius.

"Why thank you, Mr. Malfoy. Hermione here was in need. My dear?" she handed Hermione the wand.

She took it, surprised that it didn't sting her or hex her, and briefly studied the ostentatious thing. _It has sodding silver inlay!_ She rolled her eyes.

"Hermione?!"

"I'll be up in a moment, Severus!"

She sighed, then rushed to the fireplace and threw a pinch of floo powder in and put her face in the green flames.

"Tonks! Moody! Are either of you available?"

A whirl of images passed before the grizzled face of Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody peered back.

"What is it, lass?"

"Minerva's caught Lucius Malfoy. We need an auror."

"Nothing would give me more pleasure," he growled, stepping up and then gesturing, "Step back if you please, Ms. Weasley."

Hermione pulled back to let him through and soon, the auror had taken Malfoy into custody, levitating him preparatory to taking him through the floo to the Ministry. She gingerly handed him the wand.

"This is his. I need one, but I won't use that thing."

"Nor will he," Moody smirked, dropping it on the floor and snapping it in two. Malfoy's eyes widened with outrage and horror, but Moody merely grinned. "Smarts, don't it, boy? But I promised I'd do it next time I saw you, you murdering cutthroat, and I keep my promises."

With that, and a curt, "You might be getting a summons for his trial," he swiftly levitated the Death Eater out of the house, and McGonagall issued a sigh of relief.

"Well, after all that I think I need a cup of tea." She headed toward the kitchen, but was stopped by a bellowing voice from above.

"/Would someone tell me what the blazes is going on?! Or come/ avada/ me out of this miserable place?! Bloody Merlin's Balls!!!/"

Minerva shook her head, smiled fondly and turned back to the downtrodden-looking Hermione.

"I think I'll leave him to you, dear."



2b cont'd