Disclaimer: all the main characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm merely
borrowing them. Without JK Rowling's wonderful imagination none of this
would be possible. I'm not writing this for commercial purposes and I will
make no money from it.
A/N: This is another Snape/Hermione story. If you don't like that pairing, please don't ready it. The story is rated R for discussion of adult themes like rape. Also bereavement (don't worry - I'm not going to kill off Hermione or Snape!) Put like that it sounds awfully depressing, but isn't really that bad.
Also - this is now rather well trodden ground in fanfiction circles and it is beginning to get difficult to write stories that aren't derivative of something written by someone. So I hope that other authors won't object too much if certain story lines have been written before. I do have a particular idea I want to explore, which I don't think has been dealt with before - at least not in quite this way. This will become apparent once you get a few chapters into the story.
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)
When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way, but now these days are gone I'm not so self assured, now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you being around help me get my feet back on the ground, won't you please please help me?
Chapter 1: Prologue
Hermione often thought that she had her most inspired thoughts in her dreams. Sometimes she would wake up with whole stories in her head. If she ever wrote a novel it would be based on one of those stories. Perhaps one day she would do just that, but at the moment she was far too busy studying for her NEWTS.
It was perhaps because her dreams were usually so damn GOOD that this one came as such a surprise. She woke dripping with sweat in the middle of the night and sat up in a fright. Gradually the realisation dawned on her that the dampness wasn't just sweat - she had had a WET dream. Oh Gods, but it had felt so good, so much better than any real sexual experience she had ever had. But, but . the man in the dream had been . Snape. At that point she nearly gagged. Not Snape! Not the hated Potions Master. But yes - it really had been him. And his eyes had burned with desire instead of that dead hatred that usually filled them.
Hermione shook her head. Clearly she had been studying too hard or something. She must be going mad. A glass of water helped clear her head, but as she slipped off back to sleep Snape seemed to creep back in.
****
That morning, Snape had a headache. He had a headache nearly all the time now. Sometimes he wondered whether he had a brain tumour. But, no, that would be too easy. No such luck for him. He was doomed to stay hale and hearty enough to carry on this spying that would no doubt lead to a very protracted and painful death in due course. He sighed. Another cup of coffee, then, and he would have to face the day. It was Friday, so the first lesson would be double Potions with the Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years. Oh joy! The famous Harry Potter and acolytes. Coffee dispatched, he rose and descended to the dungeons. If they thought he usually had a bad temper, they had another thing coming today.
The lesson started quietly enough. Snape set them their task and they got on with it. They were seventh years after all and within a month of their NEWTs. If they didn't know how to get on with it now, they never would. He would mark some third year essays, he decided.
A slight disturbance made him look up. The Granger girl was glaring a Draco who had obviously done something to one of her darling Gryffindors, probably Longbottom, who deserved it more than most. My she looks beautiful when she is angry - the thought came unbidden into his head. A wave of desire washed over him. Snape was horrified. He couldn't remember ever having felt desire for a pupil before. He was well aware that it was entirely inappropriate - not to mention entirely futile. My God, it's too long since I had a woman, he thought. Perhaps he should go down to Knockturn Alley this weekend. He could do that - there was nothing to stop him. His money was as good as anyone else's, wasn't it? Snape shifted uneasily in his chair.
A sudden bang brought his attention back to the classroom. Someone's cauldron had exploded. 'Whoever's cauldron that was can kiss your evening goodbye - detention at 8 o'clock', he hissed. Then he saw a slow smile spread across Draco's face as he and the other Slytherin's pointed at a very red looking Hermione. Snape was only too well aware that the exploding cauldron had most probably been the result of some Slytherin sabotage, but he could hardly retract his words now. And with grim determination he kept his mind on whores in Knockturn Alley to avoid noticing how beautiful the Granger girl looked when she was embarrassed as well as angry.
***
When she'd woken up that morning, Hermione had immediately remembered her dream. She had wondered what would happen when she actually met Snape in the flesh. Would the desire intensify or would it evaporate with one sight of his greasy hair and sneering mouth. He wasn't at breakfast, so she didn't get a chance to find out until the first lesson. She was deeply disturbed to discover that the desire didn't simply flee in the face of reality, as she had rather hoped it would. During the lesson, she couldn't help watching him as he bent his head over all that marking he was doing. Perhaps she was unwittingly emitting a surfeit of pheromones causing Snape's reaction to her. In any case, the vision of Snape distracted her attention and contributed in no small measure to the her missing the Slytherin hand that surreptitiously dropped 15 fig leaves in her potion, causing the subsequent fireworks. She thought briefly about arguing with Snape when he handed out the detention, but she didn't know who it was who had done it. And even if she had known, she disliked snitching. So she swallowed her pride and prepared for detention.
*** The day went from bad to worse. When Snape got to his last lesson of the afternoon, he was actually forced to evacuate the classroom and carry a first year Hufflepuff to the infirmary after a particularly nasty escape of fumes, occasioned by the idiocy of the students, as usual. As a result, he actually managed to forget all about the detention he had handed out that morning. Come 8 o'clock, he was seated at his desk reading a Potions journal. Then he heard a strange double knock on the door - as if someone had knocked once with the knuckles of one hand and then immediately with the knuckles of the other hand. This was, in fact, a special little knock that Hermione had perfected specifically to annoy people and which she always used almost without thinking about it.
Even the knock on the door didn't jog Snape's memory and it wasn't until Hermione walked in that he suddenly remembered - with a vengeance. Oh, damn, he didn't have any suitable task ready - he would have to think on his feet, all while his blood was rapidly deserting his brain.
Snape looked desperately around the classroom in search of inspiration. Then his eyes fell on a note from Poppy Pomfrey. Aha, that would do the trick. 'You will brew a batch of Skele-grow potion for Madam Pomfrey', he said. Hermione let out a sigh of relief and he realised he had been too lenient. A nasty smile spread across his face. 'Using fresh slugs which you will first collect from the grounds. Without a wand.' At that moment a gust of wind blew a sheet of rain against the window. Hermione looked as if she was about to say something, but clamped her mouth firmly shut. Snape held out his hand. 'Your wand, please.' It was a totally unreasonable request, but she had no option but to hand it over.
Hermione stood for a moment contemplating the rain outside. Then her mind got back into gear. Skele-grow - think! What do I need? And she started planning the brewing process carefully in her mind. 'May I start the base potion, first?' she asked. 'It needs to brew for quite a while and I can collect the snails while it is simmering.' 'And what if it boils over while you're out?' asked Snape. 'I thought perhaps .' She was going to ask him to keep an eye on it but realised that was useless. She sighed and continued, 'I'll adjust the flame very carefully'. 'I'll let you know if it boiled over, so you can start afresh,' said Snape nastily. Nevertheless, he was impressed. She was thinking clearly and methodically under considerable strain and pressure. He watched as she went over to the bookcase in the corner and pulled out a standard reference work to check the quantities and with a deft hand prepared the ingredients. She would certainly make a good Potions Mistress. And by God was she beautiful when she was working. You fool! Keep your mind on the journal. Or on your trip to Knockturn Alley. Have you taken leave of your senses?
Hermione finished the base potion, selected a cauldron to hold the slugs and left the classroom. She was well aware that the potion was much more powerful if prepared with fresh slugs. But to make her collect them in the pouring rain without a wand? She hadn't brought a coat since she hadn't anticipated going outside. She thought about going up to her rooms to fetch one, but the Gryffindor tower was a long way away and this was going to take all night as it was. So she decided to brave the rain. It was late May and not very cold, but very, very wet.
Half an hour later, she returned with the cauldron full of slugs, but herself soaked to the bone. Snape was not in the classroom, so she simply set about preparing the slugs. When he returned a few minutes later from the store room, he had a shock. The wet had made her blouse clingy and see- through. In a moment, all his desire welled up in him again. Desperate, he sought to cover his discomfort with anger. 'Why haven't you performed a drying spell?' he hissed. 'The rain water will drip in the potion and ruin it!' She simply stared at him and said, 'You have my wand, sir.'
It was true, of course. He did have her wand - he had forgotten. Damn! Not taking his eyes off her, he reached into the drawer and pulled out the wand. Her eyes were locked with his in some kind of power struggle as she reached out for the wand, waved it and pronounced the drying spell. But instead of a gentle waft of hot air, the wand seemed to cough and let out a cloud of dark smoke. They both stared at it for a second. The Hermione said, 'This is not my wand' and Snape snatched it back. Triple damn! In his lack of concentration he had given her his own wand. He scowled and hastily gave her the right wand.
Hermione retreated to her cauldron, pretending to give it 100% of her attention. But in the meanwhile her mind raced. A cloud of black smoke? How had that happened. It was never a good idea to use someone else's wand, but it didn't usually have that effect. She had never seen this before, but she had read about it (of course). When a wand was too deeply steeped in dark magic it sometimes began to regurgitate dark spells at will. Suddenly she was frightened. What was Snape up to? She knew he was spying for Dumbledore, of course. She had been there in the hospital wing on that evening of the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when Snape had shown his dark mark and had gone off at Dumbledore's request, but she had never really considered what that might mean. Now her mind filled with possibilities, each worse than the one before and every one dangerous.
Snape was furious with himself. How much did she know? How much had she guessed? Would she tell anyone? He didn't want to ask her to keep it secret - that would only draw her attention to the incident if she hadn't realised its significance. He had to get rid of her out of his dungeon. The potion seemed to have reached the final stage where it just needed to simmer for another hour. 'That's enough, Miss Granger. I will bottle the potion. You may go!' Hermione knew better than to argue with a Snape who was releasing her early from detention and almost ran from the room. Despite his worry over the wand incident, Snape smiled to himself as he checked the cauldron. Good girl - a perfect potion! Perhaps she didn't know what the black cloud meant. And tomorrow he could go to Knockturn Alley and drive her lithe, young body out of his mind.
A/N: This is another Snape/Hermione story. If you don't like that pairing, please don't ready it. The story is rated R for discussion of adult themes like rape. Also bereavement (don't worry - I'm not going to kill off Hermione or Snape!) Put like that it sounds awfully depressing, but isn't really that bad.
Also - this is now rather well trodden ground in fanfiction circles and it is beginning to get difficult to write stories that aren't derivative of something written by someone. So I hope that other authors won't object too much if certain story lines have been written before. I do have a particular idea I want to explore, which I don't think has been dealt with before - at least not in quite this way. This will become apparent once you get a few chapters into the story.
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)
When I was younger, so much younger than today, I never needed anybody's help in any way, but now these days are gone I'm not so self assured, now I find I've changed my mind I've opened up the doors. Help me if you can, I'm feeling down, and I do appreciate you being around help me get my feet back on the ground, won't you please please help me?
Chapter 1: Prologue
Hermione often thought that she had her most inspired thoughts in her dreams. Sometimes she would wake up with whole stories in her head. If she ever wrote a novel it would be based on one of those stories. Perhaps one day she would do just that, but at the moment she was far too busy studying for her NEWTS.
It was perhaps because her dreams were usually so damn GOOD that this one came as such a surprise. She woke dripping with sweat in the middle of the night and sat up in a fright. Gradually the realisation dawned on her that the dampness wasn't just sweat - she had had a WET dream. Oh Gods, but it had felt so good, so much better than any real sexual experience she had ever had. But, but . the man in the dream had been . Snape. At that point she nearly gagged. Not Snape! Not the hated Potions Master. But yes - it really had been him. And his eyes had burned with desire instead of that dead hatred that usually filled them.
Hermione shook her head. Clearly she had been studying too hard or something. She must be going mad. A glass of water helped clear her head, but as she slipped off back to sleep Snape seemed to creep back in.
****
That morning, Snape had a headache. He had a headache nearly all the time now. Sometimes he wondered whether he had a brain tumour. But, no, that would be too easy. No such luck for him. He was doomed to stay hale and hearty enough to carry on this spying that would no doubt lead to a very protracted and painful death in due course. He sighed. Another cup of coffee, then, and he would have to face the day. It was Friday, so the first lesson would be double Potions with the Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years. Oh joy! The famous Harry Potter and acolytes. Coffee dispatched, he rose and descended to the dungeons. If they thought he usually had a bad temper, they had another thing coming today.
The lesson started quietly enough. Snape set them their task and they got on with it. They were seventh years after all and within a month of their NEWTs. If they didn't know how to get on with it now, they never would. He would mark some third year essays, he decided.
A slight disturbance made him look up. The Granger girl was glaring a Draco who had obviously done something to one of her darling Gryffindors, probably Longbottom, who deserved it more than most. My she looks beautiful when she is angry - the thought came unbidden into his head. A wave of desire washed over him. Snape was horrified. He couldn't remember ever having felt desire for a pupil before. He was well aware that it was entirely inappropriate - not to mention entirely futile. My God, it's too long since I had a woman, he thought. Perhaps he should go down to Knockturn Alley this weekend. He could do that - there was nothing to stop him. His money was as good as anyone else's, wasn't it? Snape shifted uneasily in his chair.
A sudden bang brought his attention back to the classroom. Someone's cauldron had exploded. 'Whoever's cauldron that was can kiss your evening goodbye - detention at 8 o'clock', he hissed. Then he saw a slow smile spread across Draco's face as he and the other Slytherin's pointed at a very red looking Hermione. Snape was only too well aware that the exploding cauldron had most probably been the result of some Slytherin sabotage, but he could hardly retract his words now. And with grim determination he kept his mind on whores in Knockturn Alley to avoid noticing how beautiful the Granger girl looked when she was embarrassed as well as angry.
***
When she'd woken up that morning, Hermione had immediately remembered her dream. She had wondered what would happen when she actually met Snape in the flesh. Would the desire intensify or would it evaporate with one sight of his greasy hair and sneering mouth. He wasn't at breakfast, so she didn't get a chance to find out until the first lesson. She was deeply disturbed to discover that the desire didn't simply flee in the face of reality, as she had rather hoped it would. During the lesson, she couldn't help watching him as he bent his head over all that marking he was doing. Perhaps she was unwittingly emitting a surfeit of pheromones causing Snape's reaction to her. In any case, the vision of Snape distracted her attention and contributed in no small measure to the her missing the Slytherin hand that surreptitiously dropped 15 fig leaves in her potion, causing the subsequent fireworks. She thought briefly about arguing with Snape when he handed out the detention, but she didn't know who it was who had done it. And even if she had known, she disliked snitching. So she swallowed her pride and prepared for detention.
*** The day went from bad to worse. When Snape got to his last lesson of the afternoon, he was actually forced to evacuate the classroom and carry a first year Hufflepuff to the infirmary after a particularly nasty escape of fumes, occasioned by the idiocy of the students, as usual. As a result, he actually managed to forget all about the detention he had handed out that morning. Come 8 o'clock, he was seated at his desk reading a Potions journal. Then he heard a strange double knock on the door - as if someone had knocked once with the knuckles of one hand and then immediately with the knuckles of the other hand. This was, in fact, a special little knock that Hermione had perfected specifically to annoy people and which she always used almost without thinking about it.
Even the knock on the door didn't jog Snape's memory and it wasn't until Hermione walked in that he suddenly remembered - with a vengeance. Oh, damn, he didn't have any suitable task ready - he would have to think on his feet, all while his blood was rapidly deserting his brain.
Snape looked desperately around the classroom in search of inspiration. Then his eyes fell on a note from Poppy Pomfrey. Aha, that would do the trick. 'You will brew a batch of Skele-grow potion for Madam Pomfrey', he said. Hermione let out a sigh of relief and he realised he had been too lenient. A nasty smile spread across his face. 'Using fresh slugs which you will first collect from the grounds. Without a wand.' At that moment a gust of wind blew a sheet of rain against the window. Hermione looked as if she was about to say something, but clamped her mouth firmly shut. Snape held out his hand. 'Your wand, please.' It was a totally unreasonable request, but she had no option but to hand it over.
Hermione stood for a moment contemplating the rain outside. Then her mind got back into gear. Skele-grow - think! What do I need? And she started planning the brewing process carefully in her mind. 'May I start the base potion, first?' she asked. 'It needs to brew for quite a while and I can collect the snails while it is simmering.' 'And what if it boils over while you're out?' asked Snape. 'I thought perhaps .' She was going to ask him to keep an eye on it but realised that was useless. She sighed and continued, 'I'll adjust the flame very carefully'. 'I'll let you know if it boiled over, so you can start afresh,' said Snape nastily. Nevertheless, he was impressed. She was thinking clearly and methodically under considerable strain and pressure. He watched as she went over to the bookcase in the corner and pulled out a standard reference work to check the quantities and with a deft hand prepared the ingredients. She would certainly make a good Potions Mistress. And by God was she beautiful when she was working. You fool! Keep your mind on the journal. Or on your trip to Knockturn Alley. Have you taken leave of your senses?
Hermione finished the base potion, selected a cauldron to hold the slugs and left the classroom. She was well aware that the potion was much more powerful if prepared with fresh slugs. But to make her collect them in the pouring rain without a wand? She hadn't brought a coat since she hadn't anticipated going outside. She thought about going up to her rooms to fetch one, but the Gryffindor tower was a long way away and this was going to take all night as it was. So she decided to brave the rain. It was late May and not very cold, but very, very wet.
Half an hour later, she returned with the cauldron full of slugs, but herself soaked to the bone. Snape was not in the classroom, so she simply set about preparing the slugs. When he returned a few minutes later from the store room, he had a shock. The wet had made her blouse clingy and see- through. In a moment, all his desire welled up in him again. Desperate, he sought to cover his discomfort with anger. 'Why haven't you performed a drying spell?' he hissed. 'The rain water will drip in the potion and ruin it!' She simply stared at him and said, 'You have my wand, sir.'
It was true, of course. He did have her wand - he had forgotten. Damn! Not taking his eyes off her, he reached into the drawer and pulled out the wand. Her eyes were locked with his in some kind of power struggle as she reached out for the wand, waved it and pronounced the drying spell. But instead of a gentle waft of hot air, the wand seemed to cough and let out a cloud of dark smoke. They both stared at it for a second. The Hermione said, 'This is not my wand' and Snape snatched it back. Triple damn! In his lack of concentration he had given her his own wand. He scowled and hastily gave her the right wand.
Hermione retreated to her cauldron, pretending to give it 100% of her attention. But in the meanwhile her mind raced. A cloud of black smoke? How had that happened. It was never a good idea to use someone else's wand, but it didn't usually have that effect. She had never seen this before, but she had read about it (of course). When a wand was too deeply steeped in dark magic it sometimes began to regurgitate dark spells at will. Suddenly she was frightened. What was Snape up to? She knew he was spying for Dumbledore, of course. She had been there in the hospital wing on that evening of the end of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, when Snape had shown his dark mark and had gone off at Dumbledore's request, but she had never really considered what that might mean. Now her mind filled with possibilities, each worse than the one before and every one dangerous.
Snape was furious with himself. How much did she know? How much had she guessed? Would she tell anyone? He didn't want to ask her to keep it secret - that would only draw her attention to the incident if she hadn't realised its significance. He had to get rid of her out of his dungeon. The potion seemed to have reached the final stage where it just needed to simmer for another hour. 'That's enough, Miss Granger. I will bottle the potion. You may go!' Hermione knew better than to argue with a Snape who was releasing her early from detention and almost ran from the room. Despite his worry over the wand incident, Snape smiled to himself as he checked the cauldron. Good girl - a perfect potion! Perhaps she didn't know what the black cloud meant. And tomorrow he could go to Knockturn Alley and drive her lithe, young body out of his mind.