Nothing you recognise in this story is mine; it all belongs to JKR and various other people who still most definitely aren't me. No lawsuits.

xxx

Out of control of a history untold
It begins with the father of sin
I walk alone in the garden of stones
I turn into the monster within
Life is too long for me
Life is too wrong for me

Cause there's something that
I realise
That I miss being human
I realise
That I miss being human

Awakening by Damning Well

xxx

Draycott Hotel, London

Their dessert bowls almost licked clean and clutching a large glass of wine each, the two girls clambered back onto the king-sized bed and slid under the warm covers.

"Now I feel sick," Hermione commented, leaning back against her pillows and not sounding overly bothered by the fact.

"That's the sign of a really good dessert," Ginny observed contentedly. "So, you and Snape got together because he slept with you to help you get the blood and… what? You liked it so much you kept going back for more?" The revulsion and disbelief on Ginny's face made Hermione wince.

"No, nothing like that," Hermione replied firmly. "In the end Severus agreed to take my blood with Harry involved. Severus would have barely had to touch me."

"How on earth did you get him to agree to that?" Ginny asked. She screwed her nose up and took a tentative sip of the wine. For the price Hermione was paying for it, Ginny supposed gulping it down in an effort to make the night go more quickly was almost sacrilege. Still, it was tempting. She arched her back to relieve the aching from sitting still for too long and snuggled back against the pillows again. She put her glass onto the bedside table to distance herself from the temptation.

Hermione gave her a half smile and flicked through the pages of the diary, explaining while she searched the diary for the relevant entry.

"I irritated him every day for nearly two weeks," she said with a wry smile. "He finally gave in, just as I was storming down to the dungeons to tell him he'd won and I'd given up."

xxx

Diary of Severus Snape, 1997-1998

Wednesday, November 19th 1997

It has been five days since I was last summoned to the Dark Lord's side and my hands have only just become steady enough to once again hold my quill. The Dark Lord, it seems, is growing impatient with my lack of information – the titbits Albus has been supplying me with are insignificant when what he really wants to know is the location in which Potter and his friends will be residing this summer.

I can only assume the Dark Lord means to confront Potter for the final time once he has left the protection of Hogwarts, which at least gives Albus more time to prepare the idiot boy for what I sincerely hope is not the boy's doom. Although, if he does manage to defeat the Dark Lord against the appalling odds that are certainly stacked against him, I may even consider not bludgeoning him to death in the aftermath and making it look like a tragic accident.

The answer to the question the Dark Lord put to me five days ago is that, really, I haven't a fucking clue. This was not exactly what He-Who-Gets-Annoyed-Very-Easily wanted to hear, and even put across in a much more polite and apologetic way, the information did not go down well. Further grovelling and vows to do better also didn't make a difference, and I hardly expected it to; anything less than Harry Potter's head on a plate would not have saved me from the bout of torture the Dark Lord was even more than usually eager to give me.

As I fell to the floor, unwilling screams forcing their way from my throat, my eyes fell on the incredibly amused and mocking face of Lucius Malfoy. In the seconds before my eyes were finally forced shut in an effort to combat the pain, I remember being very certain that what was happening to me was in good part due to something Lucius had been telling the Dark Lord about me.

This was not the first time I have doubted my chance of survival during an audience with the Dark Lord, but it was the first time I have ever let myself be found by a student in the hours afterwards. Usually when I am incapable of making my way to my quarters alone, I send my Patronus to the nearest Order member, more often than not, Hagrid.

They usually take my broken and frequently bleeding body straight to Poppy, who mutters about what a bastard Albus is for sending me to this fate time and time again. Then when I open my mouth to agree, she tells me to be quiet and that I am a fool. It is only because she keeps me in one piece that I haven't poisoned her yet.

This time I had neither the wand in my possession nor the grip in my hand with which to hold it. I was going to bleed to death on the cold stone of the castle floors before the morning came.

I can only assume that, in my pain-induced delirium that I thought it would be a good idea to crawl through the hallways of Hogwarts in an attempt to get back to my quarters to die there. Or perhaps I had some idea that if I got to my quarters I would find enough medicinal potions to at least make my death a painless one. I do know that I had no thoughts of surviving this time.

When I woke up less than a day later, not only alive but able to breathe without the usual stabbing pain and tremors, the hazy memories of a student being in my quarters could have easily been put down to confusion, due to the severe blood loss I had experienced. I thought of leaving the blurry memories as they were and not attempting to retrieve them, but as I was more than a little sure that the student who saved my life that night was none other than Hermione Granger, I felt it necessary that I find out how much I had stupidly allowed myself to reveal to her and exactly how indebted I am to her.

Dishearteningly, the debt I owe and the current state of my weakened body is all for very little. The only useful piece of information I managed to glean from the meeting that was almost my last was the fact that the Dark Lord is definitely not going to make a move until Potter leaves this school. This fact had already been deduced at an Order meeting weeks earlier.

I would put this decision of the Dark Lord's down to a sense of honour and fair play if he were anyone else, but of course I and everyone else knows better. The Dark Lord has some idea of the protection that living with his Muggle relatives affords, and that while Potter is at Hogwarts, Albus has his own wards shielding him. The Dark Lord is determined that there will be no mistakes or miraculous escapes this time and is obsessive in his pursuit of the boy.

Admittedly, I, too, would be more than a little bit irked if a baby managed to almost defeat me, and then again managed to escape my clutches relatively unscathed as a child. If Potter weren't such a prat, I'd raise my glass to him.

Unfortunately, the rotten apple did not fall far from the even more rotten tree, and the boy really is his father's son. Potters have been the bane of my life for far too many years, and now, due to a brief absence of sanity on my part, he is going to be a further part of my life. Who knew Miss Granger would have the lack of scruples needed to pray on the weak? She should have been sorted into Slytherin – maybe the time spent in my company while working on that infernal potion of hers has had a marked influence on her. Could her current ruthlessness be my fault? It would be typical.

I only fully realise the situation I find myself in after sitting for hours at my Pensieve the morning after the event. I watch myself crawl on hands and knees in what is vaguely the direction of the dungeons; the various small broken bones from my physical beatings make it excruciating for me to watch myself, steeled as I am for it. Apparently my Pensieve-self agrees completely, as he loses consciousness some distance from the door to my quarters, and the Pensieve world around me fades to black.

Moments later, the sound of footsteps are echoing around the empty hall that I am lying in, a rapidly spreading pool of blood forming around my body, framing it grotesquely. Miss Granger comes into view, walking quickly and purposefully, and I assume I am no longer unconscious, which is not a good thing considering the pain I will have been forced to endure at the time. She is nearly upon me before she notices I am there – vigilant, she is not.

She pales in shock and bends over me, brushing the hair away from my neck with her fingers and checking my neck for a pulse in the Muggle way. She appears to find a beat and then moves her wand over my body, scanning, attempting to find where the bleeding is stemming from. A full five minutes of healing charms later and she has managed to curb the flow of blood, and only then does she dare lift her wand to conjure a Patronus to send for help.

The speed and unexpectedness of my hand shooting out to grasp her wand arm at the wrist makes even me flinch as I watch; Miss Granger, who looks more than a little terrified at the situation she has stumbled into, screams loudly.

"No," I croak. "No."

She looks confused and panicked for a long moment, and then her gaze falls on her wand. The expression of confusion clears only to make way for one of complete exasperation. She is thoroughly annoyed with me.

"You need medical attention, Professor," she informs me curtly, stating the obvious and making the watching-me want to throw something heavy and solid at her. "I have managed to stop the bleeding, but Heaven knows what else is wrong with you."

"Not here," I manage to push out through my dried and tortured throat. "My rooms."

"And I'm sure Madam Pomfrey will take you there," she tells me soothingly, lying through her teeth.

"After about a month in the Infirmary," she then mutters under her breath.

"You."

Apparently I am not overly eloquent when cursed and beaten to near death. I am tempted to find Miss Granger now and erase her entire memory of the night without even watching the rest of this first.

"I might kill you if I try to move you," she tells me, exasperated.

"Try." Even now I don't know what possessed me.

"Oh, for Heaven… right, fine. But if you die, on your own head be it. Don't you dare become a ghost and haunt Gryffindor Common room for all eternity or something."

I am assuming that the broken me in the Pensieve is just as horrified by the thought of spending all eternity in the Gryffindor Common room as I am, as a choked noise that could have been an incredulous snort coming from the floor confirms that.

"Good point," she says, apparently understanding me despite myself.

She sighs and casts a Petrificus Totalus on my body, explaining to me as she does so that it's for my own good, and I can't take points away for it in the morning, assuming I live that long – I do hope she doesn't have aspirations of going into the Healing Profession with that utterly charming bedside manner of hers.

She floats my body along the hallway and towards my quarters, a look of concentration on her face, until the look again turns to one of vexation as she reaches the door.

"Why can't you have a portrait like everyone else?" she asks as she casts a number of revealing spells and spies the complex warding that makes my chambers safe from intruders and students alike.

My quarters are close to being as secure as Gringotts itself. Portraits are unreliable and unsafe, not to mention the fact that anyone could hear you speaking your password to it on a daily basis. I had my portrait removed and replaced by a door within my first week of teaching at the castle. Anyone attempting to get through my wards without the utmost care would be in the Infirmary for weeks. Dangerous? Yes. Satisfying? Undeniably.

She tries to lower the wards for a minute or two before she lets out yet another frustrated sigh, lowers me to the ground and takes the Petrificus Totalus off me too. I groan immediately and she winces in sympathy.

"You're going to have to do it," she says shortly, but I detect a faint trace of envy and admiration in her expression. "It would take me hours to get through all that. Possibly days."

"No wand," I tell her, lifting my arm to reach for hers and biting back a scream that is fighting to the surface as broken bones and torn muscles all over my body protest at my attempt at movement.

Moments later, moments which I hazily remember being some of the most excruciating of my life, the door swings open and Miss Granger attempts to get me safely inside. When she knocks my arm against the doorframe as she tries to manoeuvre my body through the door, I cannot cry out in my inert state, but for the second time that night I mercifully pass out. I say mercifully not because of the pain I was undoubtedly in, but because when I do finally come to, and the Pensive is again colour-filled, Miss Granger has managed to undress me and place me on my own bed, with nothing but a thin sheet covering me from the waist down.

I can only hope to God (who I'm only believing in right now in my own complete desperation) that she covered me before using a spell to remove my clothes. The last thing I need is for her to be telling her vile friends that she has seen the dreaded Potions Master's cock. I would never live that down and would be forced to resign. Then kill her.

I concentrate on the scene before me. She is sitting on my bed, staring at me, so intent on scrutinizing my body with her eyes that she isn't even aware that I am again aware. She is fixated on the scars that traverse my chest. They are usually hidden completely by several layers of clothing, and the only people to have seen them other than the Mediwitch upstairs are Albus and Lucius, and it was Lucius himself who put a good percentage of them there.

She seems revolted and intrigued at the same time and is completely unaware that I have opened my eyes and am silently watching her from the bed.

"Enjoying yourself?" my past self asks hoarsely.

The witch perched on the edge of my bed jumps visibly at the sound of my voice. Almost immediately a glass of water is pressed to my lips and she tries to help me drink. This is probably an attempt at stopping me from speaking again.

"I healed what I could," she says, still sounding somewhat terrified, but still somehow irritatingly domineering. "But you don't have the potions to hand that can help with the rest. I have to get Madam Pomfrey for you."

"She isn't here."

"Isn't…?" She thinks for a moment. "I'm sure someone will know where to find her."

"Order work," I gasp out. Both of my selves know that the Mediwitch is currently with Lupin in an undisclosed location healing the injured Werewolves in the pack that Lupin is attempting to befriend. Anyone going in and interrupting her could disturb the tentative bond of trust they have finally managed to establish with a good percentage of the pack.

"Then there's St. Mungo's," she says, not giving up. "Someone will come from there."

"Fine."

I wince at the sulkiness in my own voice and she sighs impatiently, as if dealing with an ill-tempered child.

"You need Skele-Gro, a blood replenishing potion and a handful of other things. If you're really so against me getting you someone who could help you, someone who would actually have some idea of what they're doing, then you're going to have to give me permission to steal from the Infirmary. None of the things I need to heal you are in your stores."

"I brew them for the Infirmary," I tell her. Then I gasp. The pain seems to be becoming distracting and I watch as my Pensieve self writhes on the bed, trying to fend off the spasms of pain, only succeeding in jolting the broken bones and torn ligaments that are the source of a good part of that pain.

"I know," she tells me quickly, looking at the state I am in, in obvious horror. "Which is why I need you to not expel me for stealing from the stores in the Infirmary."

"Miss Granger," I speak through gritted teeth, both annoyance and pain visible on my face. "I am currently more concerned with not passing out from the pain. Find the potions before I…"

Before I what? Bleed to death on her? Pass out again? Terrifying.

"I'll go, sir." She pauses for a second and regards me thoughtfully.

"What?" I snap again.

The thoughtful look is replaced by a look of extreme exasperation, which once more makes me feel like I am an errant child.

"I hope you realise that your stubbornness could kill you – I'm no healer."

My mouth opens to snap back at her, probably to tell her that I am well aware she is no healer and she can bugger off if she doesn't want to help, but she is gone before I can get the first word out.

The world around me once more fades to black as I must have fallen into a pain-induced sleep, or perhaps lost consciousness yet again. When the world fades in again she is bending over my prone form in the bed. Her usually unruly hair has been hastily scraped back into a tight ponytail, which curiously suits her, as it makes her eyes seem much larger and reveals the pointiness of her chin. She looks vaguely elf-like in the dim lighting of my room.

An arm slips around the back of my shoulders and she gently lifts my head and shoulders with strength I would not have suspected in her, despite the fact that she has long outgrown her childish figure.

"Come on, Professor," she mutters to herself, obviously of the opinion that I am still unconscious. "If I don't get this down you the damage will be irreversible by the time any Healers get to look at you. Just open your mouth. It'll all be okay. Just drink and the pain will go away. Come on."

I never knew someone could sound both tender and irritated at the same time.

A thumb on my bottom lip parts my mouth and it strikes me that I remember this happening. I remember her soft voice soothing me, although the words were indecipherable at that point. I remember her thumb against my mouth and the cool glass against my lips. I remember the spicy, coppery taste of the blood-replenishing potion as it slides past my tongue and down my throat. I remember feeling safe for the first time in a very long time.

A mixture of potions follows that one, each of them taking effect quickly and attempting to mend my shattered body. She casts yet more spells on me, so quickly and deftly I can barely register what each of them are before she moves onto the next. No, she isn't a healer, but she would make an exceptional one, despite her appalling lack of manners and good grace.

I watch my past self lying there. My eyes are shut and the bare hint of colour that is usually barely detectable in my cheeks is finally returning. I look less shockingly lifeless now, and evidently Miss Granger sees that too, because she sighs softly in relief and buries her head in her hands.

She sits on the side of my bed, her shoulders shaking and her entire body trembling. I watch her in my useless, ghost-like form in the Pensieve and move closer. She is sobbing quietly. I kneel on the floor by her feet and rack my brains for something to say, at the same time knowing it is a complete waste of time. This is a memory and is several hours in the past; I cannot comfort the girl, and my other self in the bed was in no position to at the time.

She tries to steady her breathing and I hear a choked, scornful laugh; she is irritated with herself for being so emotional. She reaches back to pull the band from her hair and the riot of curls once again obscures half of her features. It is wild, untamed and curiously alluring. I get to my feet and take a step away from her, joining her in being thoroughly annoyed with myself.

She swipes the tears away from her eyes and cheeks and she checks my pulse again with her wand, moving it over my body and looking further relieved. She has done marvellously, which of course I can never tell her, as I will never be mentioning this night to her or anyone else ever again in my life time.

I am just starting to relax, thinking that this would probably be when the girl would be leaving my room to let me rest, and the night I could barely remember would be over with. Then she does something that makes my mind reel in shock and my hands clench uselessly by my sides.

I watch as she leans forward and gently pulls the sheet down from my torso, so it barely keeping me decent. She stares at the scars on my chest and I can see her eyes following the lines.

A finger traces the scar that starts just under my left nipple, not quite touching my skin. She follows its curve all the way from my nipple to where it disappears under the sheet. I hold my breath, and she appears to as well. She swallows visibly and flicks her wand to cover me up with the sheet again, her expression unreadable. After checking my temperature to make sure I am not burning up from the cocktail of potions she has given me, she summons blankets to cover me, too.

But the damage is done – I am shaken and severely displeased with the way I am feeling. If I had known she had done this before visiting my Pensieve, there is no way I would have ever agreed to help her get her ingredient. I am already making plans to get out of the promise I vaguely remember making to her.

I start as my own choked voice comes to my ears.

"You shouldn't be here," I choke out, my eyes bloodshot but open and searching hers.

"I know," she whispers. She presses a soothing hand to my forehead and brushes the hair away. "Just rest for now."

Her familiarity astounds and galls me, while part of me is desperate to remember the touch of her fingers on my skin. I am in no way attracted to the girl, but a part of me that hasn't been allowed to surface in a long time craves the tender touch of someone's, anyone's hand. I hate myself for feeling this, while craving it still more.

"I stopped the bleeding," she tells me, tucking the blanket around me in like I am a small child. I haven't been treated like this since I was a small child, as I recall, ill at home with the Measles, a tediously Muggle disease. "Nothing serious is broken, and I've given you a muscle relaxant for the spasms. I don't know what Madam Pomfrey usually does for the after effects of the Cruciatus Curse."

She looks at me with a questioning look on her face, her mouth opens to ask a question, and then she seems to think better of it. Her eyes are on me, and either the intensity of her stare or the bruising from my broken ribs is restricting my breathing. What my excuse is as I watch this interaction, I'm not entirely sure.

"What?" I force out.

"Those scars," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "Where… where did they come from?"

Sudden revulsion hits me and I am struck with the overwhelming urge to add more scars to my body, to find my very sharpest of scalpels and slice into my arms and chest until this sudden bout of self hatred is overwhelmed with pain and disappears.

Instead, I snap at her to get out. The effort of the sharply spoken words seems to send a painful spasm of pain wracking through my body, burning its path through me until I want to scream.

"Here, drink this." Her arm is supporting my head again and a vial of something is being pressed to my lips. "Dreamless sleep," she explains at the question in my eyes.

She gives me a faltering smile, which betrays just how out of her depth she is here with me. A thousand protests go through my mind – I must report to Albus, I have to make sure he knows about what happened with at the Halloween Revel that I didn't attend. I have to get up and teach in less than a handful of hours. I have to work on the potion to help get Albus back to full strength – he's been looking so unwell lately. I can't just sleep.

"Drink," she urges again. Her voice is soft, and with the hand that is holding the vial of potion, her thumb moves to caress my cheek. I fight the urge to turn my face into her hand – that would be suicide. Instead I open my mouth and swallow down the thick Dreamless Sleep potion.

My eyes are already feeling heavy when I force them open to meet her gaze. "I'll do it," I murmur, barely having the energy to move my lips.

"What?" Her brow furrows and her teeth gnaw at her lip.

"First Blood," I clarify, using as few words as possible.

The look of utter shock on her face is the last thing I see, before surrendering to the potion and the soothing hand that had moved to softly stroke the hair back from my forehead. Later, I remember waking to be utterly horrified to have let my guard down in front of a student, enough to fall asleep with her hand in my hair. Typically, that I remember.

She had done more than she needed to, and more than I could have ever expected of her. She is a girl who is known for breaking the rules along with her idiot friends, but only when her judgement tells her that the benefits are worth the rule breaking involved. Her judgment should have overruled my pleas; she should have ignored me and gone to get help.

At the time I have a hazy memory of being surprised she had listened to me, and thinking that it was really quite stupid of her. Of course, half an hour later when I woke up to find a St Mungo's Mediwitch by my side, along with a reproving Minerva glaring at me from the end of my bed, I was furious with her for ignoring my wishes.

xxx

Draycott Hotel, London

"He was so broken. When I snuck back the next night I was sure the wards and password would have been changed, but I had to try to see how he was."

"How was he?"

Hermione grinned. "Grumpy as hell, and furious that I dared come back. But he didn't back out of what he had agreed to, although he tried to make it sound like I had conned him into agreeing to do it. He was going to make Harry swear a Wand Oath never to mention his part in it to anyone."

"Not you too?" Ginny asked.

Hermione shook her head. "He pointed out that I'd be sharing a cosy cell with him in Azkaban if anyone ever found out."

"So that's how you and Harry first slept together?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her wine. "For the potion? Not a very romantic first time."

"It didn't happen."

"What do you mean it didn't happen?" Ginny asked, sounding irritated. "You made the potion – we all used it."

"Eventually, yes. Severus told me to give him a week to recover from being cursed – you need a huge amount of power to collect the Blood. So many incantations. He asked me about my menstrual cycle, which made me want to sink into the ground and disappear, and he gave me a long list of potions to prepare.

Ginny nodded, indicating to Hermione to continue.

"We agreed to do it in a room in the East Tower, away from prying eyes," Hermione carried on. "And prying ears. You can't cast charms anywhere near the person giving the Blood, so silencing charms are impossible; I think Severus was expecting me to scream the place down. The room was set up, and I spent the afternoon with you, if you remember? I had a bath and you did my makeup and hair."

Ginny nodded, remembering. "For Harry, I thought. For a date with him. No wonder he looked so terrified, not many people have Professor Snape present to witness them losing their virginity.' She smirked.

"It was really lovely of you to help me. I know you still half-fancied Harry then, and if there could have been anyone else to help me… you know Harry and I weren't together then?"

"He slept in your room every night," Ginny said, remembering clearly her burning jealousy as she watched him come out of Hermione's Head Girls room every morning, smiling affectionately at Hermione.

"He used to have really awful nightmares. That's how it all started – the first time he came into my room and slept on my floor. He said it helped to have someone there who he could talk to when he woke up. Then he started coming to be held after them."

"Can't see Ron being the cuddling sort if Harry woke up in the middle of the night needing comfort," Ginny said with a grin.

Hermione grimaced. "I really don't need those images."

"So you and Harry weren't together when you asked him to sleep with you? Did you tell him it was all in the name of research?"

"I did. He was reluctant at first – he told me then that he found me attractive, but thought that sleeping together would ruin our friendship."

"Oh come on, Hermione," Ginny said, laughing. "What bloke would say no to no strings sex? I know Harry has always been the big hero, but that's going a bit far."

"Oh he agreed to do it in the end – you know how Harry is; if the potion would give our side an edge in the battle, then he would do anything to help. I got all dressed up and got Harry to meet me in the room. We were both nervous as hell, and Harry was late, which didn't help. Even Severus looked a little apprehensive. He had to perform spells that were so exact that if they were even slightly off, he could have killed me. All without Professor Dumbledore's permission, although I'm sure he knew at the time – he always knows everything, doesn't he?"

Hermione climbed off the bed and padded over to the large window. Darkness had fallen quickly, and Hermione pressed her nose to the window as she watched the people in the street below. This was the reason she didn't care much for London – all the people below were on their way somewhere, in a rush, and it always seemed that way here. She had always wanted to live in the country or by the sea, but she'd never thought she'd be living somewhere so completely different to that.

Ginny joined Hermione at the window, putting a hand on her shoulder.

"Isn't it gorgeous?" she asked softly, wiping the condensation away with her sleeve to look out. "After living in the Burrow all my life, I'd give anything to be moving into your new house with you next month. Sure you don't want a roommate?"

"You're assuming I'll still be with Harry, and that I'll still be moving," Hermione said, resting her forehead against the cold glass.

"You're letting a few diaries screw with your mind, Hermione," Ginny said. She squeezed Hermione's shoulder, attempting to be comforting. "I'm not going to tell Harry you were unfaithful, nothing has to change."

"Harry knows I slept with someone else."

Hermione's expression was hidden behind a bush of tangled hair and as she kept her forehead pressed against the glass of the window, but Ginny knew she was absolutely serious.

"What're you on about?" Ginny asked, letting go of Hermione's shoulder and recoiling in shock. "Harry never said, and you two have been so happy together."

"It will be in the diaries," Hermione answered, moving back from the window and lifting her hands to massage her temples. She rubbed her cold forehead and pulled the curtains closed behind her.

"We're never going to get any sleep tonight." Ginny's voice was resigned as she took hold of Hermione's hand and dragged her back to the bed. "Fill our glasses and let's get on with it."

"I love him, Ginny."

The voice was so desperate and full of pain that Ginny had to close her eyes for a moment before she responded.

"Harry?" she asked hopefully, her eyes still closed.

When she opened her eyes and looked at Hermione, she was standing by the side of the bed, looking more lost than Ginny had ever seen her. Despite this, she was still managing to direct an annoyed and scornful look at Ginny.

"Then why aren't you with him?" Ginny asked, exasperated. For an intelligent girl, Hermione had made some awful decisions over the past few years and solving all her problems in one night was going to be impossible.

"He doesn't want me."

Oh.

Ginny sighed deeply and climbed onto the bed, holding her hand out to pull Hermione onto it too. She placed the diary in her friend's lap and pushed a glass of wine into her hand.

"I didn't do much more than flick through those diaries, Hermione," she told her, "but I can safely say that Snape, or Severus or whatever you want to call him does want you."

"How…?"

"As you keep saying to me," Ginny interrupted, "Read the diaries and you'll see. Where were we?"

"Harry and I trying to have sex," Hermione supplied with a grimace that didn't go unnoticed by her friend. "It didn't go all that well. Harry didn't want to be there and I nothing I did could get him into the right sort of mood."

"Understandable," Ginny commented, cringing. "Snape could have taken points away if Harry performed inadequately."

Hermione glared at Ginny, who grinned back.

"At least I've stopped wanting to curse you," Ginny pointed out, cheerfully.

Hermione stuck her tongue out and finished off the last drop of wine in her glass and then filled it up again. If she was going to cope with this, she was going to need to order more wine. Severus had definitely passed on his unhealthy drinking habits.

"I got as far as removing my top and bra in the hopes of enticing him with the promise of breasts, when Harry just bolted. He left me there, lying on the bed, half-dressed and utterly humiliated."

"Fuck."

"Yes. And when Severus saw me on the bed, he pretty much bolted too."

xxx

Author's Notes: A big thank you to my beta, Sophi, who is fantastic and nowhere near as scary as she threatened to be ;o) Any mistakes you find are completely my own.

There was recently a discussion on WIKTT about clichés and which ones are hated the most. I like clichés and I should probably warn you that this story is probably going to be full of them (Hermione working on a potion to counteract the Cruciatus spell, Snape being full of self hatred and Hermione fixing him up after a meeting with Voldemort are only the first three). At the same time, I like the unexpected and the different. I thought I'd warn you anyway. x

Thank you to everyone who's read and thank you even more to everyone who has taken the time to review :o)