The Room of Requirement.
Broaden Your Horizons: Angst Stories — unrequited love
Hogwarts (Challenges and Assignments).
Writing Club — Sophie's Shelf — word set #11 — blood, vein, shudder, writhe, rigid, luscious
Writing Club — Disney Challenge — The Little Mermaid — themes — giving up something important to you — write about someone sacrificing something precious to them
Hermione couldn't remember when, exactly, she had fallen in love with her Potions professor.
He just had that air about him — the one that made the 'dunderheads' shut up whenever he strode into the room. (The billowing of his robes made the action even more impressive.)
He wasn't the typical schoolgirl crush that her dorm mates had. He wasn't rich or cute; he wasn't soppy and sweet. He didn't pretend to be something he wasn't.
He was just Severus Snape, the greasy git of the dungeons.
At least to 99.9% of the student population.
To Hermione Granger, he was her first love.
She knew that her crush was unreasonable. He would never look at a student like that.
So she tried to maintain a low profile, not give him any reason to stand rigid over her, watching whilst she worked. He smelled good — luscious, even — like wood smoke and parchment and the pungent scent of Potion herbs.
It distracted her.
Each time he brushed past her, each time he stood close enough that she could smell his signature scent, she shuddered. It was intoxicating.
She was drunk on him.
She learned that he was a spy in her fifth year. He was good at that, with his scowling demeanor and the personality that seemed to fit in neither here nor there. His black hair and premature stress lines around his eyes.
She thought about him too much.
She needed to stop.
He made a good Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.
It scared her, though — knowing that he only knew the counter-curses because he knew and used the curses. She was certain that he was on their side, no matter what Harry and Ron said.
Just because he'd made a wrong choice when he was a scared teenaged boy, she thought, didn't mean that he was evil. It was just that — a wrong choice.
And he had paid for it for the rest of his life.
Wasn't that enough?
The snake writhed on the ground, coiling and uncoiling. She crouched outside the door to the Shrieking Shack along with Ron and Harry.
She couldn't watch. She could only listen.
"— the wand, and I master Potter at last."
There was a yell from inside, a hissing sound, a scream that she would never be able to get out of her head.
A thud as a body landed against the glass, shaking the wood wall.
"I regret it," came the voice from inside — that cold, high, cruel voice that had uttered so many curses, so many spells aimed to kill. One at her very best friend.
Another at the unrequited love that would never love her in return.
How many more?
The three entered the Shack. The door squeaked as it was pushed open. Harry knelt by the dying man on the floor.
He put a hand to Snape's neck, pressing against the wound in vain. Blood poured from the snake bite. The venom ran black through the Potion master's veins. Hermione took a shuddering breath at the sight.
"Take it...take...it," he whispered. Silver liquid trickled from the corner of his eye and ran down his cheek. It left a path of shining silver in its wake. Hermione silently handed over a small conjured vial, and Harry caught the droplets in it before capping the tiny bottle and placing it in his pocket.
"Look...at...me..." managed Snape. Severus, her mind corrected. Harry stared into his former enemy's eyes. Those black, unfathomable pools that Hermione found so entrancing met her best friend's emerald green ones.
He took one last rattling breath and then let it out as his gaze fell sideways.
And Severus Snape breathed no more.
His chest was still.
Hermione watched as the open casket was paraded through Hogsmeade. Her nose wrinkled at the spectacle. He wouldn't have approved of his funeral at all — the roses, the carnations, the luscious lilies of the valley that were led the way through the streets.
He was a hero.
But she knew that he would have preferred to be hated than adored.
She was selfish; many woman wept at his funeral, and she didn't like that. She had no claim to him, that was true, but he didn't belong to anyone the way they pretended he did. She had known him longer; loved him longer. She had watched him die right before her eyes. Watched him bleed out, watched him sacrifice his most precious memories to the son of his most hated childhood rival.
Which were public now, thanks to her idiotic friends.
Eventually, she agreed to marry Ron. She almost felt bullied into it: Molly gave her winks and teased her over the wedding date, and Ginny kept telling her what an amazing couple they made and how cute their babies would be. Even Arthur nudged them together.
It was expected of her. It was expected that she liked Ron — nay, that she adored Ron.
So she allowed the ginger boy — for he was still a boy — to place a tarnished, silver, second-hand ring on her finger. Ginny would be her bridesmaid; Luna, her maid of honor. Ginny yelled at Hermione for hours and then sulked for days.
As she made her way down the aisle on Hogwarts' grounds, Hermione couldn't help but glance towards the war memorials for the fallen. Severus Snape's collection of flowers and other small gifts was considerably larger than the others.
Even as she pledged her heart and undying affections for Ronald Bilius Weasley, she kept one eye on that memorial.
Ron slipped the wedding ring on her finger at the same time that she glanced away, towards him.
And as he tugged her into his arms and gave her a sloppy kiss, Hermione closed her eyes and gave up. She allowed herself to reciprocate the kiss, pushing down the terror that Severus might find out.
He was dead, she reminded herself. When they pulled apart, she looked once more to the memorial.
"Goodbye, professor," she whispered.
The words were heavy on her tongue and left a bitter taste in her mouth.
For she knew that it was the end.
Years later, she watched the sun rise over the horizon from a small hill at Hogwarts. She was a professor now — Defense.
She turned to the memorial. It was covered in fresh flowers. She brushed some of them away and stared at the inscription.
Severus Tobias Snape
9 January, 1960 — 2 May 1996
Always
Below it was a picture of a deer — a doe.
She ran her fingers along the last word. "Always," she murmured.
word count: 1013