Title: Amaranth (Edit: 10/27/08)
Rating: Pg-15 to R (I'm not quite sure which would fit the best.)
Pairing: SS/HG with SS/LP and some mentions of RW/HG
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the chracters and the world of Harry Potter. Vladimir Nabokov owns the fantastic novel that I twisted and made fit with Jo's series. I own nothing, Sadly. Oh, and the band Nightwish owns the title, in a way.
Warning: If you've read Lolita, then you'll understand what I'm talking about. Adult/child pairing. Mentions of self mutilation in later chapters (you will not be warned when they pop up.), but nothing very detailed. (Send any complaints straight to my message box. I swear I'll promptly ignore you.). No sex, no strong language. There will be some graphic violence in later chapters, namely graphic torture and murder.
Notes: I did not age Hermione. This chronicles the years she attended Hogwarts. She is indeed underage and the potential victim. This focuses mostly on Severus' time with Lily, but Hermione is also a prominent force. It would destroy the story if I had aged Hermione. If you haven't read Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, and you like this fanfic, I'd suggest you pick up a copy as soon as possible. While the bones of novel itself is morally wrong, there is a great deal poetry in Nabokov's prose.

I did remove the Italian text, past readers, as I am nowhere near fluent enough to feel comfortable using the language. I'm sorry if you liked it (I did too, honestly) but I'd rather not chance screwing up such a beautiful language.

If you're interested, it does follow the plot of Deathly Hallows very faithfully. I was tempted to take it out of context, but I decided against it, as I think it adds a touch of realism. It about killed me to delete the AU aspects, as they were very good (and I'm an insane critic of my work), but I did for the sake of realism. Yeah, screw you, people who say this fic is impossible!

Last, but certainly not least, if you like this, tell me.

---

Her pale pink parted lips against that delectable honey colored skin was too difficult for me to avoid glancing at. I could hardly avoid staring. The temptation to seize them in the middle of class... Oh, the little nymphet! How dare she taunt me in my own class!

Golden brown eyes, hers, flickered across the page, quill rapping against the wooden desk (annoying her peers, who were sending her positively nasty looks. I think it's charming.). It was clear that something was bothering her. Her naturally golden brown hair stubbornly fell into her slender face, thus hindering her concentration. She attempted to curl it behind her ear, it of course falling into her face again, and looked around desperately. Hoping for the answer she craved to magically appear, perhaps?

Would I humiliate her again, just to watch her squirm? The thought sends a shudder through my body. Not a shudder due to my own cruelty (and it truly is cruelty), but due to her reaction. There's a glint of fear in her eyes, but a miniscule smile on her lips. A slight intake of breath, followed by an increased heart rate. Due to my skilled Legillimency, I can hear her heart pound in her head. I think I will point her out.

"Miss Granger," Every head turned at my voice, and some jumped at the sound. Ah, control... "I'd advise you to keep your eyes on your paper; no doubt you know every answer. Or, are you stumped on an answer; in which case, I shall need to be informed of immediately, as it would need to be added to the annonated version of Hogwarts, A History."

And, there it is. A quick jolt of sadistic pleasure. It always leaves too soon.

I can honestly say that I don't do it to hurt her; I'd never intentionally harm my precious little nymphet. Although, it is completely selfish. She likes it. I know she does. It is certainly not a delusion of mine.

How I know may violate the morals of, well, the majority of the population; muggles and all. But, it does not matter, as they are all morally corrupt anyhow. They could never take this away from me. Oh, that pesky little hair is bothering her again. Mmmm... I could never tire of this game.

It seems I am not alone in my observation; the atrocious young Mr. Weasley has decided to look at her. Oh, no, I am mistaken; He's looking at her paper. The idiot, of course, is too ignorant or mentally impaired to notice her beauty. Ignorant fool! Her hypnotic grace... For ignoring her sheer brilliance, I shall have to give him a psychological slap.

"Mr. Weasley, keep your eyes on your own paper. No doubt Miss Granger has tried to prepare you for this quiz. It's not her fault you're so psychologically ill-equipped that you can't retain any useful information." Another round of gasps and twitches as I spoke. Weasley and Potter stare daggers at me, as always. I glared right back. Immature, yes, but more fun than pretending not to see their wretched faces. But, Hermione... My darling Hermione couldn't be deterred from her work. She was entranced with the parchment, oblivious to her surroundings. I'll miss watching her, come summer. Perhaps I could concoct a new class, of which she'll have to stay after term for...?

No. Too suspicious. Damn.

Oh, what's this? Potter seems to be watching me as I glance at the girl-child. I suppose I'll have to keep myself in check a bit better, since the oblivious boy wonder noticed. I wonder if any other students have noticed? If the school board found out... No, no. You're careful, Severus, you're not enough of an idiot to be messy. You've got the fact that you can't stand Potter and his friends, nor could you tolerate his father and his, behind you. Not that I can't stand Hermione, I obviously quite like her, but she is connected to Potter by her own free will. I must not forget that. She's not my biggest fan. Damn unrequited love.

Or, is it infatuation? Obsession? A mere crush? ...If it were a mere crush, It'd be an exact replica of my horrible situation with Lily (of which, there are similarities, but I'm not an adolescent. This is more than a crush. It is an upgraded, more adult, more in depth than any of its predecessors.). Darling Lily... so innocent. Although she made horrible life decisions, she didn't deserve what I gave to her... Which is exactly why I shall never lay a finger on Hermione. Both, too closely connected with both Potters Sr. and Jr. (and, therefore, The Dark Lord) for me to feel. But, I touched Lily. I touched her, and felt her deeply. Now, she's gone.

So, sour old Severus is stuck in his daydreams and erotic nightmares of his girl-child lovers. Hermione, of whom I shall never ever touch, and Lily whom I touched and lost for eternity. (Oh, sweet nostalgia, I am indeed your slave.) Yet, completely unaware, you nymphets taunt me so.

The final bell of the school year sang, penetrating my previously silent classroom, and causing each and every child to jump. I told them to gather their belongings and leave their test on my desk. A moment passed as they made sure they had everything, benches cried as they were forced against the stone floor, and they began their journey to my desk. I glowered at each and every one of them, for it was my way of saying goodbye (how I adored this day, before she came along.) until Hermione was standing before me. She was unusually late getting to my desk, but it was no matter. The girl set her parchment upon my desk, looked me in the eye cautiously, and smiled.

"Goodbye Professor Snape." She said softly. Readers, had I been able to speak, I'd have spouted the sweetest poetry. Being the coward that I am, I merely nodded. Her eyes fell, and she turned heel and walked away sadly. As if she was a puppy and I'd just kicked her.

I cannot verbally express how horrible I felt the moment she walked away. But, I shall try, as the reader will not understand otherwise. It was almost as if I had stolen Lily from myself all over again. That kind of profound agony, ripping the perverbial scab from the two day old wound, rubbing salt in it and sealing it with molten tar.

I'd have to wait until the next term to see that girlagain.

---

August 6th, seven years later; 06.51 hours

I should have run. I should have run into the Forbidden Forest and never returned to Hogwarts. Instead, I apparated home when I was finished with my business and drank myself into oblivion. I was drunk on firewhisky and vodka, (my firewhisky supply ran dry around the end of July, and I couldn't risk going anywhere near the wizarding population) all summer. But, now I'm getting too far ahead of myself, and for that, I apologize.

I'm assuming you haven't followed the news of the Wizarding World, as it gives me more to talk about and who knows how much time will pass before someone reads this. You could be reading this in 2980, or later, so I've got no reason not to give you the details.

In her sixth year, I was put into play on Albus Dumbledore's orders. By 'put into play,' I mean that I had to be used to do something far larger than anything I'd done before, which, subsequently, led to his death at my all too capable hand.

Everybody wanted my blood, namely the Potter boy, who (even if vaguely capable of complex thought) had no chance of succeeding. Even my nymphet was sure of my guilt, of which infuriated me. I couldn't tell her my side of the story, even if I had the opportunity. I couldn't risk the Dark Lord finding out, and with her on the run with Potter, their meeting was inevitable. I somehow doubt she would have believed me if I were to tell her. Looking back, that may have worked in my favor. I could easily have used the old fool to my advantage, to further the Dark Lord's place in the wizarding world. I could be lying to you right now, though, by the time this is printed, the truth will be well known. I hope it is, at least, but I won't hold my breath.

Now, you must understand that I absolutely cannot explicitly reveal who my true master was. I am currently preparing for what, potentially, could be the death of me, whilst having no idea when it may happen. Facing inevitable death, why, you ask, can't I utter the divine truth? I chuckle at the thought. I am not here to convince anyone of my guilt or innocence, for neither will matter by the new year. No, I'm here to speak the gospel of nymphet lore and my experience with girls of the nymphetic nature.

I, still, am getting a bit ahead of myself... perhaps I should start from the beginning? If I begin, the end isn't far away. I fear the end. I dread the end. Never let this end; I beg of you.