The Deatheater of the Dungeons
CHAPTER 1
Hermione turned in her sleep. She was having those dreams again. He was touching her, rolling his hands over her body and she was enjoying it. He pulled her in for a deep kiss before tossing her onto the bed with a...
THUMP!
Hermione opened her eyes to see herself lying on the floor to her new room. She gave a groan and sat up. It appeared that in her sleep she had fallen off the bed. She sighed as she realized something else. The sheets were tangled around her again, as if she had been tossing and turning and rolling over vigorously.
He had been in her dreams again.
Bugger.
This is unhealthy, to be thinking and dreaming of someone so much, She thought to herself. She stood up, straightened her nightgown, and looked at the clock on her mantle. She'd have to get up in a few minutes anyway. She quickly got her things ready for her classes and thought back on what had happened the previous summer.
The final battle had been anything but quick. It lasted several hours until it came down to a matter of whoever was most physically fit, could point their wand in the right direction, and could duck and cover most adequately.
He had crawled away, barely making it alive. He was scarred for life. He already had been damaged goods, being a deatheater and all, and now it was much worse. He had fought on the opposite side from the other deatheaters and the result was that he, aside from Dumbledore and Potter, got the worst part of the curses.
There were now scars where there weren't before. He had a particularly painful one running diagonally from underneath his right eye to the tip of his left ear. He was lucky to just have a scar, he supposed. The only things that kept the Weasley twins from staying identical were Fred's missing ear and the red mark running up George's arm.
Whether it was a body part or a part of their souls, everyone involved had lost something in that battle. He only had had one thing to begin with in the first place. The drive to defeat the dark lord and to rid himself of that bloody mark. That was completed. He had no reason to return. Especially since he had rid himself of the only thing he had.
You're forgetting something, a voice in his head added. You're forgetting her. You had her.
I never had her. He reminded himself. I wanted to have her. There's a difference.
Wanted, Severus? Or is it want?
He scowled at this, because he was annoyed that he had this stupid voice resting at the back of his head, always popping up at the wrong times.
And because it was true.
But he never went back. He never went back because he already knew that that was the only reason he would ever want to go back to Hogwarts. He also knew he was torturing himself.
She would never accept him because she didn't know him. She would never want to know him because she hadn't accepted him. And this is why he was torturing himself. He had come back, just not to anyone's knowledge, not even her's.
She thought of everyone they had lost that day, and what had happened as a result.
Severus Snape was dead. He had been blown apart by Bellatrix Lastrange (AN: who seems to kill off everyone we like) and his body was never discovered. Which had all seemed pretty peculiar to Hermione and even more peculiar when the Hogwarts staff was told of the situation and everyone looked at least a little bit grim except for Dumbledore. He had just muttered, 'Is that so,' when he heard that the body was never discovered and seemed to go off in his own little world.
It also seemed stranger still when she was assigned the post of potions professor (Head of Slytherin was given to Professor Sinistra) and Professor McGonnagall was unable to undo the wards on Snape's quarters. When Dumbledore was told about this he said and did exactly the same thing as before and got a stern yelling out from his colleague.
Hermione never exactly brought the matter up again because everyone said that they prefered to 'let past stay past'.
She had missed him. She was still upset about it. It seemed that about the middle of her seventh year she had developed not a crush, but a fond sense of admiration for him. Which could have been expected, I suppose.
What was not expected was that she started having strange dreams ever since she moved into the other part of the dungeons. Sure she had had strange dreams before, the kind of dreams that could be explained by the quantities of spicy food eaten the night before, but never like this.
She dreamt that she had conversations with him in her dreams. Some nights she had other things with him. And she had no idea why. It was as if he was haunting her purposefully, keeping her thoughts tuned to him. She in turn had no idea that the same thoughts and dreams were currently haunting him and he was alive enough to feel what she was feeling and to want what she was wanting. They wanted the same thing.
Each other.