A mission of mercy
by Katta (KET)
katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. They all belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, without whose books this would not be possible. Please don't sue. I stand to make no financial gain from this.
This is a short story written in response to the WIKTT Seducing Severus Snape challenge. But by the time I'd flaffed around and finished it, the challenge had been closed. I decide to post it elsewhere, since it is the first thing I've managed to write for ages. At least that saves me from having to work edible body paint into the story line. By the way, that challenge has produced some really great stories, so if you haven't looked at it yet, and you like a bit of HG/SS smut, I can really recommend it!
On rereading this story, I see that it manages to combine being far too dark with being far too fluffy at the same time. So apologies. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. Rated R for adult themes.
***********
It was strange. He should be so pleased. It was the success of everything he had worked for, since that day he had walked into Dumbledore's study and offered his services to the resistance. The final climax of Voldemort's downfall had been cataclysmic and there remained only to celebrate. The students, reeling with the double joy of this deliverance and the end of exams were euphoric. And the feast thrown by Dumbledore was truly magnificinent.
But Snape could not enter into the spirit of things. To him it all seemed like an anti-climax. For over twenty years, he had had a purpose to his life. A dangerous and painful purpose, but a purpose nevertheless. The Dark Lord's downfall had left him adrift. This should be his final redemption, the day when he finally paid the debt for the sin's of his youth, but it did not feel like that. He surveyed the ecstatic crowds in the Great Hall. Suddenly he knew he could it stand it no longer, and swept out of the door in search of the peace and quiet of the dungeons.
********
An hour later found Snape sitting in his office, considering his many sins and finding no solace. Despite all he had done for Dumbledore, he could not find it in his heart to forgive himself. He had sat in dark contemplation like this many times over the years, but he had always been able to tell himself that Dumbledore needed him to defeat Voldemort. Paradoxically, with the final victory, that prop was gone.
He had lined up a several vials containing lethal potions in a row on his desk and he sat looking at them as the sands of his life were running out. A letter - should he write a letter? To whom, though? There was no one who would want to know why he had chosen to take his own life, no one who would care. Well, Dumbledore maybe, but he would know the reason anyway. And in any case, Albus would be so busy now rebuilding things that he would hardly notice. So - no letter.
What about a will? Snape looked about himself. He had not accumulated many possessions in his life, mainly just his books. Most of his salary as Potions Master had gone untouched into his vault at Gringott's. Well, the tax man could have that, he did not care. But what of the books? They really should go to Hogwart's library. He pulled out a parchment and began to write a will.
When he had finished the short note, he reread it, but it occurred to him that it was probably not valid unless his signature was witnessed by two others. That was a problem. Who could he get to do it? He pondered for a while and then called Dobby. The house elf appeared almost instantly in a puff of smoke. 'Dobby, can house elves read and write?' he asked, slightly embarrassed that he did not know this. 'I's can,' said Dobby, ears flapping. 'Master Harry and Miss Hermione have been teaching me.' Snape snorted. 'But the others can't.' Well, it was something. 'Dobby, please listen carefully. I'm going to sign my name and I want you to sign to say you saw me do it.' Dobby nodded willingly.
Snape unrolled the parchment and placed a heavy book on the upper part to hide the text. Then he signed. Dobby watched with his big, green eyes and then came round the desk and signed where Snape pointed. 'Thank you, Dobby. That will be all.' The house elf vanished instantly. Snape sighed. One down and one to go.
******** 'Where is Snape?'said Hermione suddenly. Harry looked round the feast vaguely and shrugged. Ron also looked and, on seeing him nowhere, merely said, 'Good riddance'. 'But he's got my potions project! 'said Hermione. 'And I want to bring it with me when we leave tomorrow. I'm hoping to get it published.' 'Get it off him tomorrow, then.' 'But what if he doesn't show up to breakfast? I might miss him'. But the two boys were much too caught up in the euphoria of the end of Voldemort, the end of exams, the end of their schooldays, and the heady party to take any notice. Hermione sat still for several minutes considering and then she rose to go in search of Snape.
Hermione stood outside Snape's office door for a long while before, she summoned up the courage to knock. After all that, it was almost an anti- climax when there was no reply. No reason why he should be in his office. He was probably stalking the corridors somewhere in search of students breaking school rules. Then a small thought entered her brain. If he was not there, she could just peep in and see if her potions project was lying around. It was hers, after all. It was not as if she was stealing.
*******
Snape heard the knock and decided to ignore it. If it was Dumbledore, he did not want to see him at this moment. If it was anyone else, he did not want to see them at any time. He leant back and closed his eyes - and almost had the shock of his life when Hermione walked in.
The draught from the door blew the will down onto the floor. Hermione, thoroughly flustered by finding herself face to face with Snape, bent down to pick it up, mouthing apologies. The parchment unfurled in her hand and she read the words 'This is the last will and testament of Severus Snape'. 'Give it to me,' snarled Snape. But Hermione stood frozen with the will in her hand. He was making a will. Why? If he had made a will three months ago, when the fight against Voldemort was finally reaching its climax, that would have made sense. But now? When everything was over?
Hermione's glance took in Snape's pale face and the line of bottles on the desk. Her quick mind identified them immediately and her jaw dropped open as the implication sunk in. Snape knew that she had understood, but tried to ignore it. Instead he snarled, 'Since you have barged into my office you may as well make yourself useful and witness my signature.' She approached his desk, the will still in her hand. For a moment he thought that she was going to do as he had asked. But instead she stopped and said, slowly and very deliberately, 'No, I'm going to make love to you instead.'
If she had said that the moon had fallen from the sky, he could not have been more surprised. His mouth fell open and all he managed to say was, 'Why?'. 'Because I've been where you are now, and that is what someone did for me.' He stared at her, his mouth still open. She drew nearer and pulled up her left sleeve. For a bizarre moment he thought she was going to show him a Dark Mark, but instead she pointed to two parallel lines of scar tissue running across her wrist. 'I didn't cut deep enough, the first time,' she said. 'The second time ...' And so she told him what she had told no other living soul.
*********
The second time, she was not going to make the same mistake. She had soaked for a long time in a hot bath and drunk the best part of a bottle of red wine that she had smuggled in from Hogsmeade. She was ready now.
She never did find out why Draco had come to her room that night. Perhaps he had intended to steal something, or copy her homework, or something. He had knocked on the door, but she had not responded. So he had assumed that the room was empty and walked in - to find her in the bath tub.
Draco was arrogant, but he was by no means stupid. He had taken in the hot bath, the wine, the razor - and deduced what was about to happen. And he had responded in the only way he knew. He had bent forward and kissed her. And taken her by the hand and raised her from the bath. And made mad, passionate love to her.
He was a good lover for a boy of 17. At any other time she would have hated him for his easy assumption that he was God's gift to womankind. But that night he was just what she needed. A reassurance that other people liked her. That she really was a human being not an automaton and that there was more to her than a boring know-it-all. They had never repeated the experience, had hardly even spoken to each other since. But he had saved her life that night.
And now, perhaps, she could do the same for Snape. She had never before thought of him as attractive, but as she bent to kiss him, she was surprised that she was not overcome with revulsion. Not at all, in fact. Quite the opposite. Her body started to respond to the kiss in ways she had not anticipated. And when he began to kiss her back, she felt her own desire building. Suddenly, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a deep, deep kiss. She ran her fingers along the inside of his shirt collar and opened the top button. He groaned deeply into her mouth. She sat down across his lap and started undoing more buttons, while feeling his erection rubbing against her. It was as if he had no will of his own and simply let her do what she wanted. She ran her finger around his nipple and felt his back stiffen. Suddenly, he stood up, lifting her with him, and moved over to the couch in the corner of the office.
The situation was surreal. One moment he was ready to take his life. The next a young woman was kissing him in a way that no one had kissed him in years and years. It was if the Fates had decided to play with him, and nothing he could do would stand in their way. As if in a dream he went with the flow, acting only to move them onto the couch. In fact, he rather thought it was a dream.
To her surprise, he was a gentle and considerate lover. Knowing his personality, she had not expected him to be like that. Hermione was not to know it, but there was, in fact, a reason for him behaving like that. Only half an hour earlier, he had been sitting there surveying a lifetime of sin. And the worst of it, the thing he felt most guilty about and could never forgive himself for, were the times he had taken part in gang rapes with the Death Eaters. He had not done it as much as some, but enough. And now, he was determined that nothing this evening would be sullied by those memories - that there would simply be no comparison. So he kissed her gently, and stroked her, and rubbed her clit until she moaned and begged for him to enter her. And when he finally did, she was wet to the core.
In the split second that Hermione had made her decision to make the extraordinary offer to Snape, she had looked at him and reassured herself that she would not flinch when he touched her. She had expected to be able to raise enough enthusiasm for sex with him to be able to fake a reasonable degree of passion, as Draco had done for her. But the experience took her by surprise. However out of practice he was, Snape was a man and a far cry from a schoolboy. In Hermione's experience, schoolboys were universally disappointing - with the one exception of Draco. As Snape began to work on her, she discovered a desire and an attraction that she had not suspected. When the climax came, she was surprised to discover that it was totally genuine.
And so they lay in each others arms, hot and sticky and sleepy. Snape gingerly ran his hands through her hair and she nuzzled into his cheek and snoozed.
********
Snape woke first. He was stiff from lying too still in an uncomfortable position. The fire had died and, even in June, the dungeon was rather cold. But even so he did not shift. He lay quite still watching the sleeping woman in his arms. He did not want to wake her for fear of what her face would show. Fear? Disgust? Loathing? Whatever reason she had had for making love to him last night - drunkenness? a bet? - it would surely be gone now. He had not realised how lonely he had become until this glimpse of something else had been offered to him. And it broke his heart to think that he would have to go back to the way he was.
Finally Hermione stirred of her own accord as the cold grey dawn began to creep in through the window. She opened her eyes, momentarily confused not to be in her room. Then her gaze fell on Snape. She shifted slightly to move out from underneath him. He said 'Are you going now?' in a strangled voice that sounded as if he had suppressed a sob. She smiled. 'No, but I'm stiff. And thirsty. Would you like a cup of tea?' Snape did not actually like tea, but, at that moment in time, if she had suggested they should run the London marathon dressed as Teletubbies, he would have agreed.
Hermione threw her cloak around her shoulders against the morning cold and shuffled over to light the fire. Snape watched this half-naked woman making tea at his grate and reflected that wonders would never cease. She brought back two steaming mugs. He thought it tasted heavenly. Hermione sat curled up on the floor gazing into her eyes. He never wanted to break that moment but there was something he needed to ask. He did not know how to do it, though, so he came at it from a round about way. 'Was this what it was like with Draco?' She studied him for a long moment, reading the hidden subtext in the statement. Then she said, 'I wasn't drinking tea with Draco the next morning - he was long gone by then.' Snape took a second to absorb the implication and suddenly he grinned. Hermione was startled and pleased that his reservoir of facial expressions ran to a grin. She suddenly felt very comfortable here and slowly trailed her hand down his nose. Snape swallowed and decided to take the plunge with a direct question. 'Do you really have to leave on the Hogwarts' Express today?' Hermione shook her head. Leave? No, she never wanted to leave.
The End
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters. They all belong to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, without whose books this would not be possible. Please don't sue. I stand to make no financial gain from this.
This is a short story written in response to the WIKTT Seducing Severus Snape challenge. But by the time I'd flaffed around and finished it, the challenge had been closed. I decide to post it elsewhere, since it is the first thing I've managed to write for ages. At least that saves me from having to work edible body paint into the story line. By the way, that challenge has produced some really great stories, so if you haven't looked at it yet, and you like a bit of HG/SS smut, I can really recommend it!
On rereading this story, I see that it manages to combine being far too dark with being far too fluffy at the same time. So apologies. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless. Rated R for adult themes.
***********
It was strange. He should be so pleased. It was the success of everything he had worked for, since that day he had walked into Dumbledore's study and offered his services to the resistance. The final climax of Voldemort's downfall had been cataclysmic and there remained only to celebrate. The students, reeling with the double joy of this deliverance and the end of exams were euphoric. And the feast thrown by Dumbledore was truly magnificinent.
But Snape could not enter into the spirit of things. To him it all seemed like an anti-climax. For over twenty years, he had had a purpose to his life. A dangerous and painful purpose, but a purpose nevertheless. The Dark Lord's downfall had left him adrift. This should be his final redemption, the day when he finally paid the debt for the sin's of his youth, but it did not feel like that. He surveyed the ecstatic crowds in the Great Hall. Suddenly he knew he could it stand it no longer, and swept out of the door in search of the peace and quiet of the dungeons.
********
An hour later found Snape sitting in his office, considering his many sins and finding no solace. Despite all he had done for Dumbledore, he could not find it in his heart to forgive himself. He had sat in dark contemplation like this many times over the years, but he had always been able to tell himself that Dumbledore needed him to defeat Voldemort. Paradoxically, with the final victory, that prop was gone.
He had lined up a several vials containing lethal potions in a row on his desk and he sat looking at them as the sands of his life were running out. A letter - should he write a letter? To whom, though? There was no one who would want to know why he had chosen to take his own life, no one who would care. Well, Dumbledore maybe, but he would know the reason anyway. And in any case, Albus would be so busy now rebuilding things that he would hardly notice. So - no letter.
What about a will? Snape looked about himself. He had not accumulated many possessions in his life, mainly just his books. Most of his salary as Potions Master had gone untouched into his vault at Gringott's. Well, the tax man could have that, he did not care. But what of the books? They really should go to Hogwart's library. He pulled out a parchment and began to write a will.
When he had finished the short note, he reread it, but it occurred to him that it was probably not valid unless his signature was witnessed by two others. That was a problem. Who could he get to do it? He pondered for a while and then called Dobby. The house elf appeared almost instantly in a puff of smoke. 'Dobby, can house elves read and write?' he asked, slightly embarrassed that he did not know this. 'I's can,' said Dobby, ears flapping. 'Master Harry and Miss Hermione have been teaching me.' Snape snorted. 'But the others can't.' Well, it was something. 'Dobby, please listen carefully. I'm going to sign my name and I want you to sign to say you saw me do it.' Dobby nodded willingly.
Snape unrolled the parchment and placed a heavy book on the upper part to hide the text. Then he signed. Dobby watched with his big, green eyes and then came round the desk and signed where Snape pointed. 'Thank you, Dobby. That will be all.' The house elf vanished instantly. Snape sighed. One down and one to go.
******** 'Where is Snape?'said Hermione suddenly. Harry looked round the feast vaguely and shrugged. Ron also looked and, on seeing him nowhere, merely said, 'Good riddance'. 'But he's got my potions project! 'said Hermione. 'And I want to bring it with me when we leave tomorrow. I'm hoping to get it published.' 'Get it off him tomorrow, then.' 'But what if he doesn't show up to breakfast? I might miss him'. But the two boys were much too caught up in the euphoria of the end of Voldemort, the end of exams, the end of their schooldays, and the heady party to take any notice. Hermione sat still for several minutes considering and then she rose to go in search of Snape.
Hermione stood outside Snape's office door for a long while before, she summoned up the courage to knock. After all that, it was almost an anti- climax when there was no reply. No reason why he should be in his office. He was probably stalking the corridors somewhere in search of students breaking school rules. Then a small thought entered her brain. If he was not there, she could just peep in and see if her potions project was lying around. It was hers, after all. It was not as if she was stealing.
*******
Snape heard the knock and decided to ignore it. If it was Dumbledore, he did not want to see him at this moment. If it was anyone else, he did not want to see them at any time. He leant back and closed his eyes - and almost had the shock of his life when Hermione walked in.
The draught from the door blew the will down onto the floor. Hermione, thoroughly flustered by finding herself face to face with Snape, bent down to pick it up, mouthing apologies. The parchment unfurled in her hand and she read the words 'This is the last will and testament of Severus Snape'. 'Give it to me,' snarled Snape. But Hermione stood frozen with the will in her hand. He was making a will. Why? If he had made a will three months ago, when the fight against Voldemort was finally reaching its climax, that would have made sense. But now? When everything was over?
Hermione's glance took in Snape's pale face and the line of bottles on the desk. Her quick mind identified them immediately and her jaw dropped open as the implication sunk in. Snape knew that she had understood, but tried to ignore it. Instead he snarled, 'Since you have barged into my office you may as well make yourself useful and witness my signature.' She approached his desk, the will still in her hand. For a moment he thought that she was going to do as he had asked. But instead she stopped and said, slowly and very deliberately, 'No, I'm going to make love to you instead.'
If she had said that the moon had fallen from the sky, he could not have been more surprised. His mouth fell open and all he managed to say was, 'Why?'. 'Because I've been where you are now, and that is what someone did for me.' He stared at her, his mouth still open. She drew nearer and pulled up her left sleeve. For a bizarre moment he thought she was going to show him a Dark Mark, but instead she pointed to two parallel lines of scar tissue running across her wrist. 'I didn't cut deep enough, the first time,' she said. 'The second time ...' And so she told him what she had told no other living soul.
*********
The second time, she was not going to make the same mistake. She had soaked for a long time in a hot bath and drunk the best part of a bottle of red wine that she had smuggled in from Hogsmeade. She was ready now.
She never did find out why Draco had come to her room that night. Perhaps he had intended to steal something, or copy her homework, or something. He had knocked on the door, but she had not responded. So he had assumed that the room was empty and walked in - to find her in the bath tub.
Draco was arrogant, but he was by no means stupid. He had taken in the hot bath, the wine, the razor - and deduced what was about to happen. And he had responded in the only way he knew. He had bent forward and kissed her. And taken her by the hand and raised her from the bath. And made mad, passionate love to her.
He was a good lover for a boy of 17. At any other time she would have hated him for his easy assumption that he was God's gift to womankind. But that night he was just what she needed. A reassurance that other people liked her. That she really was a human being not an automaton and that there was more to her than a boring know-it-all. They had never repeated the experience, had hardly even spoken to each other since. But he had saved her life that night.
And now, perhaps, she could do the same for Snape. She had never before thought of him as attractive, but as she bent to kiss him, she was surprised that she was not overcome with revulsion. Not at all, in fact. Quite the opposite. Her body started to respond to the kiss in ways she had not anticipated. And when he began to kiss her back, she felt her own desire building. Suddenly, he grabbed the back of her head and pulled her into a deep, deep kiss. She ran her fingers along the inside of his shirt collar and opened the top button. He groaned deeply into her mouth. She sat down across his lap and started undoing more buttons, while feeling his erection rubbing against her. It was as if he had no will of his own and simply let her do what she wanted. She ran her finger around his nipple and felt his back stiffen. Suddenly, he stood up, lifting her with him, and moved over to the couch in the corner of the office.
The situation was surreal. One moment he was ready to take his life. The next a young woman was kissing him in a way that no one had kissed him in years and years. It was if the Fates had decided to play with him, and nothing he could do would stand in their way. As if in a dream he went with the flow, acting only to move them onto the couch. In fact, he rather thought it was a dream.
To her surprise, he was a gentle and considerate lover. Knowing his personality, she had not expected him to be like that. Hermione was not to know it, but there was, in fact, a reason for him behaving like that. Only half an hour earlier, he had been sitting there surveying a lifetime of sin. And the worst of it, the thing he felt most guilty about and could never forgive himself for, were the times he had taken part in gang rapes with the Death Eaters. He had not done it as much as some, but enough. And now, he was determined that nothing this evening would be sullied by those memories - that there would simply be no comparison. So he kissed her gently, and stroked her, and rubbed her clit until she moaned and begged for him to enter her. And when he finally did, she was wet to the core.
In the split second that Hermione had made her decision to make the extraordinary offer to Snape, she had looked at him and reassured herself that she would not flinch when he touched her. She had expected to be able to raise enough enthusiasm for sex with him to be able to fake a reasonable degree of passion, as Draco had done for her. But the experience took her by surprise. However out of practice he was, Snape was a man and a far cry from a schoolboy. In Hermione's experience, schoolboys were universally disappointing - with the one exception of Draco. As Snape began to work on her, she discovered a desire and an attraction that she had not suspected. When the climax came, she was surprised to discover that it was totally genuine.
And so they lay in each others arms, hot and sticky and sleepy. Snape gingerly ran his hands through her hair and she nuzzled into his cheek and snoozed.
********
Snape woke first. He was stiff from lying too still in an uncomfortable position. The fire had died and, even in June, the dungeon was rather cold. But even so he did not shift. He lay quite still watching the sleeping woman in his arms. He did not want to wake her for fear of what her face would show. Fear? Disgust? Loathing? Whatever reason she had had for making love to him last night - drunkenness? a bet? - it would surely be gone now. He had not realised how lonely he had become until this glimpse of something else had been offered to him. And it broke his heart to think that he would have to go back to the way he was.
Finally Hermione stirred of her own accord as the cold grey dawn began to creep in through the window. She opened her eyes, momentarily confused not to be in her room. Then her gaze fell on Snape. She shifted slightly to move out from underneath him. He said 'Are you going now?' in a strangled voice that sounded as if he had suppressed a sob. She smiled. 'No, but I'm stiff. And thirsty. Would you like a cup of tea?' Snape did not actually like tea, but, at that moment in time, if she had suggested they should run the London marathon dressed as Teletubbies, he would have agreed.
Hermione threw her cloak around her shoulders against the morning cold and shuffled over to light the fire. Snape watched this half-naked woman making tea at his grate and reflected that wonders would never cease. She brought back two steaming mugs. He thought it tasted heavenly. Hermione sat curled up on the floor gazing into her eyes. He never wanted to break that moment but there was something he needed to ask. He did not know how to do it, though, so he came at it from a round about way. 'Was this what it was like with Draco?' She studied him for a long moment, reading the hidden subtext in the statement. Then she said, 'I wasn't drinking tea with Draco the next morning - he was long gone by then.' Snape took a second to absorb the implication and suddenly he grinned. Hermione was startled and pleased that his reservoir of facial expressions ran to a grin. She suddenly felt very comfortable here and slowly trailed her hand down his nose. Snape swallowed and decided to take the plunge with a direct question. 'Do you really have to leave on the Hogwarts' Express today?' Hermione shook her head. Leave? No, she never wanted to leave.
The End