Antilitigation Charm:
All cannon characters, places, and concepts are the property of the divine J.K. Rowling.
I'm just borrowing them for a bit of a romp, and I promise to give them back when I'm done.
I'm not making any money off of this. Please don't sue me, because it really wouldn't be
worth your time.
FYI, Hermione is 18 in this story (time turners, late birthday, whatever); I am NOT into
lemons.
Once Upon A Dream
....................
Chpt. 3
Hermione swiftly began a standard medical diagnosis, trying to find any wounds. She knew
that Snape had been a spy for Dumbledore, and that he had returned to work after Voldemort's
return. However, she hadn't considered exactly what that might entail. Suddenly, his
ill temper and sickly appearance began to make a lot more sense.
Her hands were busily checking his aura for damage. His skin was soft and warm, but his
clothing was almost drenched with blood. His aura was undamaged, but terribly dark and
almost...drained?
Hermione felt her gorge rise; if she had to picture a situation that could have led to the
professor's current condition, then she would have to choose Blood Magic -- lots of it, with
somebody skimming the extra power out of his aura, afterward. For a moment, she started
to wonder if his victims had been human. She quickly stopped that thought, though; that way
lay hysteria. Dumbledore knew that Snape was working with Voldemort, and assumably would
soon know what had happened. Now that she knew that he was..injured..the best that she
could do would be to help keep this mess from the curious eyes of the school.
Looking down at his still form, Hermione felt like crying; however, the muted whistle of
a prefect could be heard in the school above. She probably had only a few minutes before
the assigned Night Monitor would reach the head of the stairs. If Snape was taken to the
infirmary, it would take Madam Pomfrey about fifty seconds to realize what Snape
had been doing, tonight. If she wasn't already in the know, that could lead to all sorts
of nasty complications.
Cleaning spells were also hampered by the dungeon's enchantments (Snape loved to make
students clean up after their potions exploded - the fouler, the better), but levitation
spells were not. A whispered restraining spell (just in case he awoke still in shock),
a heating spell (to combat the shock), and a levitation spell were issued in short order.
Hermione had never been inside the professor's private quarters, but she had, in the time
when Harry had the Marauders' Map, figured out where they were. Very cleverly, Snape had
set a subtle 'fright' spell on the hallway immediately around where she thought the entrance
might be located. With the extra stress of an unconscious teacher floating behind her, it
took all of her remaining concentration to ignore it.
Hermione studied the wall carefully, aware of the importance of getting Snape out of his
blood-drenched clothing before he regained consciousness. Her fingers felt bare stone, but
a trap spell told a different story. The door was warded. Hermione concentrated, trying
to 'speak' to the door.
In her mind's eye, an elaborate knocker slowly took shape. It appeared to be made out
of old, tarnished silver. Ignoring the cold sweat that had begun to slide down her back,
she seized the knocker's handle and gave a single, polite knock.
The silver screws at the top of the knocker blinked, revealing themselves to be eyes.
'Professor Snape is injured,' she told it, 'I am Hermione Granger, a student. I would like
to help him into his quarters.'
Although it lacked a face, the knocker managed to convey its doubt of the appropriateness
of a female student entering its professor's domain. Knowing that time was limited,
Hermione silently tried to communicate the urgency of the situation to the rooms' warden.
The knocker's eyes turned concerned as its attention turned to the floated professor.
A crack of light appeared along the wall - the door was opening, and not a moment too soon!
Even as Hermione hurried to guide her burden through the door, she could hear the clumping
steps of the Night Monitor coming down the steps behind her.
All cannon characters, places, and concepts are the property of the divine J.K. Rowling.
I'm just borrowing them for a bit of a romp, and I promise to give them back when I'm done.
I'm not making any money off of this. Please don't sue me, because it really wouldn't be
worth your time.
FYI, Hermione is 18 in this story (time turners, late birthday, whatever); I am NOT into
lemons.
Once Upon A Dream
....................
Chpt. 3
Hermione swiftly began a standard medical diagnosis, trying to find any wounds. She knew
that Snape had been a spy for Dumbledore, and that he had returned to work after Voldemort's
return. However, she hadn't considered exactly what that might entail. Suddenly, his
ill temper and sickly appearance began to make a lot more sense.
Her hands were busily checking his aura for damage. His skin was soft and warm, but his
clothing was almost drenched with blood. His aura was undamaged, but terribly dark and
almost...drained?
Hermione felt her gorge rise; if she had to picture a situation that could have led to the
professor's current condition, then she would have to choose Blood Magic -- lots of it, with
somebody skimming the extra power out of his aura, afterward. For a moment, she started
to wonder if his victims had been human. She quickly stopped that thought, though; that way
lay hysteria. Dumbledore knew that Snape was working with Voldemort, and assumably would
soon know what had happened. Now that she knew that he was..injured..the best that she
could do would be to help keep this mess from the curious eyes of the school.
Looking down at his still form, Hermione felt like crying; however, the muted whistle of
a prefect could be heard in the school above. She probably had only a few minutes before
the assigned Night Monitor would reach the head of the stairs. If Snape was taken to the
infirmary, it would take Madam Pomfrey about fifty seconds to realize what Snape
had been doing, tonight. If she wasn't already in the know, that could lead to all sorts
of nasty complications.
Cleaning spells were also hampered by the dungeon's enchantments (Snape loved to make
students clean up after their potions exploded - the fouler, the better), but levitation
spells were not. A whispered restraining spell (just in case he awoke still in shock),
a heating spell (to combat the shock), and a levitation spell were issued in short order.
Hermione had never been inside the professor's private quarters, but she had, in the time
when Harry had the Marauders' Map, figured out where they were. Very cleverly, Snape had
set a subtle 'fright' spell on the hallway immediately around where she thought the entrance
might be located. With the extra stress of an unconscious teacher floating behind her, it
took all of her remaining concentration to ignore it.
Hermione studied the wall carefully, aware of the importance of getting Snape out of his
blood-drenched clothing before he regained consciousness. Her fingers felt bare stone, but
a trap spell told a different story. The door was warded. Hermione concentrated, trying
to 'speak' to the door.
In her mind's eye, an elaborate knocker slowly took shape. It appeared to be made out
of old, tarnished silver. Ignoring the cold sweat that had begun to slide down her back,
she seized the knocker's handle and gave a single, polite knock.
The silver screws at the top of the knocker blinked, revealing themselves to be eyes.
'Professor Snape is injured,' she told it, 'I am Hermione Granger, a student. I would like
to help him into his quarters.'
Although it lacked a face, the knocker managed to convey its doubt of the appropriateness
of a female student entering its professor's domain. Knowing that time was limited,
Hermione silently tried to communicate the urgency of the situation to the rooms' warden.
The knocker's eyes turned concerned as its attention turned to the floated professor.
A crack of light appeared along the wall - the door was opening, and not a moment too soon!
Even as Hermione hurried to guide her burden through the door, she could hear the clumping
steps of the Night Monitor coming down the steps behind her.
