Chapter Two: Rise To Meet My End
While Severus was just pouring his first glass of scotch, on the
other side of the castle a figure in Gryffindor Tower was twisting
frantically in bed. Hermione awoke with a strangled yelp, her
nightshirt damp with sweat, and catapulted out of bed into her ensuite
bathroom, a Head Girl's privilege she had never quite been so thankful
for. She'd barely managed to wrench open the door and hit her knees
in front of the toilet basin before she lost what little dinner she'd
managed between her studies that evening. Her retching finally subsided
to dry heaves and then to wracking coughs. Slowly, she straightened up
and pressed trembling palms to her eyelids. Some time later she stumbled
to her feet and wove unsteadily to the sink. The icy shock of water
hitting her cheeks was grounding, but the face that peered back at
her from the mirror didn't look calmed. Thank Merlin the looking glass
was asleep, she thought irreverently, its commentary would not have
been welcomed.
She steadied herself by gripping the edge of the basin with both hands
and studied her reflection. Her skin was unnaturally pale with bright
splotches of colour high on either cheek. The tangled matts of her hair
escaped their plaited confine in damp curls around her face, framing
a gaze that was abnormally wide and slightly vacant. She closed her
eyes again, tightened her grip on the porcelain sink and tried to tell
her self it was only a dream. A vicious, horrible dream brought on by
too much worrying about her upcoming O.W.L.'s and a disturbing shift
towards lechery in Malfoy Jr.'s latest jibes. But even as she thought
it, she knew she was kidding herself. With her eyes closed she could
almost feel the cool metal of the manacles circling her wrists, taste
the heavy copper tang from biting through her tongue as her schoolmate's
father inflicted her with wave after seemingly endless wave of suffering.
She remembered being almost relieved when Professor Snape demanded his
'turn' with her. Not relief that it was Snape as such, there was no
recognition of him her dream partner's mind; but for the change -
no-one could be worse than the blond bastard who'd had her kidnapped
less than ten feet from her front door. There was confusion at the alien
nature of that thought: "I don't live in London" a rational voice at
the back of her mind seemed to be saying, but then that and everything
else was lost, pulled into the vortex of this memory.
By the time the Professor had called Malfoy off her the emerald silk
of her gown was stained reddish brown with her blood and pulp from the
iris bulbs he blamed her for destroying. As he worked her over with knife
and wand, he'd ground the juice into every open wound and the resulting
agony was worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She'd been unable
to do more than hang there limply in relief for the break when Professor
Snape stepped up to her. He jabbed his wand at her with a decisive
"Finite incantatem!" The part of her that was a witch realised he'd just
deactivated the spell that kept her from fighting back, but the girl
in her dream just stared at him uncomprehendingly. He moved closer and
bent to whisper in her ear, "You're free to scream now, little muggle..."
Her head jerked in surprise, her knuckles tightening on the rim of the
sink, as the girl in her dream and her mind finally realised she was
free to move. In the dream, she had opened her mouth to scream, but
was too slow. He had already pressed himself against her and slid his
mouth across her bloody cheek to cover her lips with his. For a
moment she froze in shock, but when she felt something nudge past her
lips she bit down in outrage, hoping to catch his tongue. The taste of
black liquorice filled her mouth as the capsule he'd slipped her exploded,
a hint of copper beneath it, mixed with something exotic and unknown.
For a moment there was a tingling of energy that radiated through her,
before a strange feeling of numbness stole over her, and this time even
though it was his tongue that pushed into her mouth she didn't react.
Couldn't react. That liquorice taste mixed with blood from his mouth
and her cheek and that biting tang that she could only assume was iris
pulp was all she could register; the only thing that was important.
Everything was becoming increasingly indistinct and the last thing she
remembered clearly was him laughing as he pulled away from her. The
silky purr of his voice lamenting the unacceptability of using that
particular tactic to stop her doppelganger's wagging tongue during
potions class followed her down into the abyss.
Shaking, Hermione dropped to her knees once more. Wrapping her arms
around herself, she fought down another wave of nausea. She had vague
recollections, uneasy inklings, of the events that transpired after he
pulled away, but quite frankly she was glad to let those memories remain
unclear. Eventually those fleeting images ended in a flash of green tinged
darkness. A sliver of ice moved down her spine when she realized what
that meant. "He killed me." she whispered, and the sound of those words
aloud finally served to end the thrall the memory held over her.
"No," she said as she shook her head to clear it. "He killed her. It was
real, and he killed her." Even as she said it she knew it was true, but
her rational mind balked. She'd never shown any aptitude for precognition,
how could it have been anything but a dream?
Suddenly, she had to know. Had to have some confirmation that she hadn't
gone completely mad, that it really was more than just a nightmare. Nausea
forgotten, she sprang to her feet and was on her way out the Fat Lady's
portrait before she could reconsider, or even clothe herself more fully.
The rough stones of the passageways were cold under her toes as she
practically flew to the dungeons. It wasn't until she found herself
pounding on an unremarkable section of wall that she wondered how the
hell she knew where the hidden entrance to Severus Snape's personal
quarters was.
And then the wall became a door, and that door abruptly sprang open to
reveal an irate and drunken Potions Master. A surge of despair and
self-loathing washed over her like a wave. Her head spun under the force
of foreign emotion and, without explanation, she knew it originated from
the man in front of her. He was opening his mouth to speak and the action
drew her attention to his lips. With a strange feeling of disassociation
she reached up to touch his bottom lip, remembering suddenly the sensation
of that mouth sliding over hers. "You taste like liquorice..." she whispered
dizzily as the spinning sensation dragged her down into unconsciousness.
***
"She beckons me,
Shall I give in?
Upon my end shall I begin?
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet my end..."
Whisper, Origin album, Evanescence
***
*CHAPTER NOTES*
1. Chapters are a little short so far, hope to make later ones much
longer. Chapter 3 should be out next week at the latest.
2. Thank you to everyone who left feedback! A few quick personal notes:
Aine Deande: lol - I'm glad you enjoyed the story and wish I had the
aptitude to write a better summary. As lack-luster as that one is, it
was WORLDS better than the three or four I went through before it. I
am happily open to suggestions though, as my summary writing ability
is non-existent!
CynthiaWeasley: I love your writing! Please update And So It Goes soon!
jezzie: Your story Recognition actually started my mind working on the
bond concept. Brilliant work!
3. And as always, much heartfelt thanks to Caroline for her outstanding
Beta work!
While Severus was just pouring his first glass of scotch, on the
other side of the castle a figure in Gryffindor Tower was twisting
frantically in bed. Hermione awoke with a strangled yelp, her
nightshirt damp with sweat, and catapulted out of bed into her ensuite
bathroom, a Head Girl's privilege she had never quite been so thankful
for. She'd barely managed to wrench open the door and hit her knees
in front of the toilet basin before she lost what little dinner she'd
managed between her studies that evening. Her retching finally subsided
to dry heaves and then to wracking coughs. Slowly, she straightened up
and pressed trembling palms to her eyelids. Some time later she stumbled
to her feet and wove unsteadily to the sink. The icy shock of water
hitting her cheeks was grounding, but the face that peered back at
her from the mirror didn't look calmed. Thank Merlin the looking glass
was asleep, she thought irreverently, its commentary would not have
been welcomed.
She steadied herself by gripping the edge of the basin with both hands
and studied her reflection. Her skin was unnaturally pale with bright
splotches of colour high on either cheek. The tangled matts of her hair
escaped their plaited confine in damp curls around her face, framing
a gaze that was abnormally wide and slightly vacant. She closed her
eyes again, tightened her grip on the porcelain sink and tried to tell
her self it was only a dream. A vicious, horrible dream brought on by
too much worrying about her upcoming O.W.L.'s and a disturbing shift
towards lechery in Malfoy Jr.'s latest jibes. But even as she thought
it, she knew she was kidding herself. With her eyes closed she could
almost feel the cool metal of the manacles circling her wrists, taste
the heavy copper tang from biting through her tongue as her schoolmate's
father inflicted her with wave after seemingly endless wave of suffering.
She remembered being almost relieved when Professor Snape demanded his
'turn' with her. Not relief that it was Snape as such, there was no
recognition of him her dream partner's mind; but for the change -
no-one could be worse than the blond bastard who'd had her kidnapped
less than ten feet from her front door. There was confusion at the alien
nature of that thought: "I don't live in London" a rational voice at
the back of her mind seemed to be saying, but then that and everything
else was lost, pulled into the vortex of this memory.
By the time the Professor had called Malfoy off her the emerald silk
of her gown was stained reddish brown with her blood and pulp from the
iris bulbs he blamed her for destroying. As he worked her over with knife
and wand, he'd ground the juice into every open wound and the resulting
agony was worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She'd been unable
to do more than hang there limply in relief for the break when Professor
Snape stepped up to her. He jabbed his wand at her with a decisive
"Finite incantatem!" The part of her that was a witch realised he'd just
deactivated the spell that kept her from fighting back, but the girl
in her dream just stared at him uncomprehendingly. He moved closer and
bent to whisper in her ear, "You're free to scream now, little muggle..."
Her head jerked in surprise, her knuckles tightening on the rim of the
sink, as the girl in her dream and her mind finally realised she was
free to move. In the dream, she had opened her mouth to scream, but
was too slow. He had already pressed himself against her and slid his
mouth across her bloody cheek to cover her lips with his. For a
moment she froze in shock, but when she felt something nudge past her
lips she bit down in outrage, hoping to catch his tongue. The taste of
black liquorice filled her mouth as the capsule he'd slipped her exploded,
a hint of copper beneath it, mixed with something exotic and unknown.
For a moment there was a tingling of energy that radiated through her,
before a strange feeling of numbness stole over her, and this time even
though it was his tongue that pushed into her mouth she didn't react.
Couldn't react. That liquorice taste mixed with blood from his mouth
and her cheek and that biting tang that she could only assume was iris
pulp was all she could register; the only thing that was important.
Everything was becoming increasingly indistinct and the last thing she
remembered clearly was him laughing as he pulled away from her. The
silky purr of his voice lamenting the unacceptability of using that
particular tactic to stop her doppelganger's wagging tongue during
potions class followed her down into the abyss.
Shaking, Hermione dropped to her knees once more. Wrapping her arms
around herself, she fought down another wave of nausea. She had vague
recollections, uneasy inklings, of the events that transpired after he
pulled away, but quite frankly she was glad to let those memories remain
unclear. Eventually those fleeting images ended in a flash of green tinged
darkness. A sliver of ice moved down her spine when she realized what
that meant. "He killed me." she whispered, and the sound of those words
aloud finally served to end the thrall the memory held over her.
"No," she said as she shook her head to clear it. "He killed her. It was
real, and he killed her." Even as she said it she knew it was true, but
her rational mind balked. She'd never shown any aptitude for precognition,
how could it have been anything but a dream?
Suddenly, she had to know. Had to have some confirmation that she hadn't
gone completely mad, that it really was more than just a nightmare. Nausea
forgotten, she sprang to her feet and was on her way out the Fat Lady's
portrait before she could reconsider, or even clothe herself more fully.
The rough stones of the passageways were cold under her toes as she
practically flew to the dungeons. It wasn't until she found herself
pounding on an unremarkable section of wall that she wondered how the
hell she knew where the hidden entrance to Severus Snape's personal
quarters was.
And then the wall became a door, and that door abruptly sprang open to
reveal an irate and drunken Potions Master. A surge of despair and
self-loathing washed over her like a wave. Her head spun under the force
of foreign emotion and, without explanation, she knew it originated from
the man in front of her. He was opening his mouth to speak and the action
drew her attention to his lips. With a strange feeling of disassociation
she reached up to touch his bottom lip, remembering suddenly the sensation
of that mouth sliding over hers. "You taste like liquorice..." she whispered
dizzily as the spinning sensation dragged her down into unconsciousness.
***
"She beckons me,
Shall I give in?
Upon my end shall I begin?
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet my end..."
Whisper, Origin album, Evanescence
***
*CHAPTER NOTES*
1. Chapters are a little short so far, hope to make later ones much
longer. Chapter 3 should be out next week at the latest.
2. Thank you to everyone who left feedback! A few quick personal notes:
Aine Deande: lol - I'm glad you enjoyed the story and wish I had the
aptitude to write a better summary. As lack-luster as that one is, it
was WORLDS better than the three or four I went through before it. I
am happily open to suggestions though, as my summary writing ability
is non-existent!
CynthiaWeasley: I love your writing! Please update And So It Goes soon!
jezzie: Your story Recognition actually started my mind working on the
bond concept. Brilliant work!
3. And as always, much heartfelt thanks to Caroline for her outstanding
Beta work!