All characters, names and places that you recognise in this story belong to JKR and most definitely not me. The story line, however, is completely my own (though the clichés' origins are debatable), and I want no part of this story posted anywhere else without my prior knowledge and permission.
xxx
If I could heal myself
Where would I begin?
I really wish I'd had a shoulder
I'd try and climb from this hole I'm in
This is easy
This is easier
Locked in all alone here
Fate is in my fingertips
There isn't anyone that can hold me here
Do you think this is courage?
Does this make me brave?
It's just a consequence of the easiest choice that I've made
-Fingertips by Tapping The Vein
xxx
Diary of Severus Snape
Tuesday 25th of November, 1997
With every passing day Miss Granger has come to look paler and more drawn. She throws herself into her work, in my classes at least, with even more determination than usual, while still picking at her food in the Great Hall. She appeared at the Prefect Meeting and played the perfect Head Girl; no one else noticed that her notebook was void of text, even after she spent most of the meeting scratching in it with her quill. The Miss Granger I have come to know and abhor is still there, but it is more of an act now than it ever was before.
If Albus or Minerva has noticed me watching her, they haven't commented, which leads me to believe they have yet to notice – it is in their very nature to remark on everything they see. Nor do they seem to have noticed the girl's decline this past week; while Miss Granger's acting skills are to be applauded, her teachers should be damned for being so blind to it.
Every day I have expected the girl to make excuses to stay behind to talk to me, to approach me once the lesson has ended to tell me she has changed her mind, that she has done further research in her much coveted Restricted Section and no longer wants to risk the danger and the pain involved in the process of extracting the First Blood. The risk of haemorrhage is still there, however adept the witch or wizard undertaking the operation is, and there is a chance that Miss Granger will not live to make her precious potion if she goes through with this. It is very unlikely she is unaware of this fact.
I don't dare to think of what reason I will have to give to Albus if she bleeds to death in my presence. "There is a dead student in my quarters, Headmaster. Yes, I am aware that she is only half-dressed and the circumstances appear suspicious, but you see, she made me do it." Yes. That would be about as believable as the Dark Lord suddenly telling us that this war was all a big misunderstanding, that he actually adored the Muggleborn population and he'd like to invite them all around for tea and biscuits to make it up to them.
Miss Granger is only ever so slightly less trouble alive than she would be if found dead in my quarters. Today, she adeptly brews a perfect Blood-Replenishing Potion in record time, bringing it to my desk without raising her eyes to look at me. She doesn't flinch when her fingers touch mine as I take the vial from her, although she does briefly trap her bottom lip between her sharp white teeth in a now-familiar gesture of nervousness. Then she walks quickly back to her desk and begins the process of salvaging spare pieces of ingredients, something the rest of her classmates continuously have to be prompted to do.
She keeps herself busy, cleaning the instruments on her table by hand, sensibly not risking spell-work in a classroom full of potentially volatile potions. When she has finished and there is nothing left for her to do, she attempts to help Potter by clearing away his spare, used and mangled ingredients. The distracted rebuff is unexpected, as is the complete lack of reaction from the Gryffindor Head Girl, who instead of helping her idiot friend, decides to sit at her desk, staring into space for the remainder of the lesson.
The bell rings to signal the end of class, putting an end to my appraisal.
"Miss Granger?"
She pauses for a second, half way out of her seat, her eyes still firmly fixed on her desk. It seems to take her a moment to decide, before finally raising them to look at me.
"Yes, Professor?" she asks politely, sounding far too subdued for my liking. I don't know what I'm going to do until I find my hand already delving into my pocket and closing around the small vial hiding there.
"You mistakenly left this in my classroom yesterday," I inform her, pulling the single dose of the newly brewed Draught of Peace from my robes and holding it out to her. I had been planning on delivering this to Poppy at the end of the day, a favour she had called in, in return for giving me my space when I was recuperating last week. In the Mediwitch's case, bribery works far better than threats. Now I was going to have to take the time to bottle some more for the infernal woman upstairs, and it was entirely my own fault.
Miss Granger's eyes narrow and she lets her eyes search my face.
"I'm sure I didn't," she says, speaking slowly as if dealing with a fool, while not even glancing at the potion I am holding out to her.
My own eyes hold hers for a moment more and she frowns before taking hold of my outstretched hand, tipping it slightly to check the consistency of the liquid in the vial. Opaque, thin, watery and mottled with silver, it was immediately recognisable to the know-it-all of my seventh-year class.
She holds my hand containing the potion in hers for a moment more and looks at me from under thick lashes. From the angle I am looking at her, those lashes almost hide the dark shadows under her eyes, due completely to night after night of fretting and not sleeping. Illegal as it is for me to be giving her even this small dose without medical supervision, I know that the potion will relax her enough for her to have at least a handful of hours of uninterrupted sleep. This sized dose will also have the added benefit of being completely out of her system by the morning, well in time for it not to contaminate the First Blood I will be taking from her that evening.
"I recommend consuming the entire vial before you go to bed tonight," I murmur, highly aware that my godson, Potter and Weasley are all straining their ears to hear what I am saying to the girl.
She nods slowly. Apparently the worry and the lack of sleep haven't done much towards sharpening her wits. The hand that is still touching mine finally moves to grasp the offered potion and she silently pockets it.
"And do refrain from making the same ridiculous mistake again," I snap, just loud enough for it to reach the other students' ears as they file out of the classroom.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she responds uncharacteristically meekly, flashing me the first smile I have seen on her lips in days.
When she turns, her face is once again schooled into the tired, sad expression that she has worn all day. She is at least aware that discretion is needed without my having to explain it to her. I will give her that. And if she ever tells anyone I was kind to her, I can at least be reassured of the fact that she'd be a resident at St. Mungo's only very shortly after.
xxx
Diary of Severus Snape
Wednesday 26th of November, 1997
In less than three hours the Blood will be collected, Miss Granger will be lying in her bed, dosed up to the teeth with pain killing potions, which I have ready for her in my robes, and I will finally be able to relax in the knowledge that I shall not be fired for murdering a student. If I ever was to be fired for such a deed, Potter would be the student I would like to sacrifice my freedom for murdering. The satisfaction would get me through those long, lonely nights in Azkaban quite easily.
I am less than happy with the task I shall be undertaking this evening. The fact that it is illegal is neither here nor there to me; I know that Granger will keep her mouth shut, and Potter is already magically bound to do the same. Neither am I overly worried that I will kill her – I have performed this process under far less controlled circumstances and I am exceptional at what I do, whether it is brewing a faultless Wolfsbane Potion or extracting ingredients from an infuriated, highly maternal Graphorn. My mind along with the steadiness and exactness of my hands are all I have that I truly value. Therefore, my doubts lie almost entirely in the fact that the girl is obviously not sure that this is what she wants to be doing.
This morning, watching her sitting in my class, I could almost see the Draught of Peace slowly leave her system. She walked into my class quietly with a small smile on her face and Potter predictably sat next to her, scowling slightly more than usual. Slowly but surely, as the lesson went on, her shoulders tensed, the dreamy smile left her face and her eyes once more became clouded with worry. This was not the confident girl who practically begged me to do this for her weeks earlier.
"Stay after class," I snap at her as I walk past her desk, not bothering to look at her as I speak.
"I have Herbology immediately after this class, sir," she tells my retreating back.
"Then you will be late."
I can practically feel the annoyance coming from her in waves; it cheers me up somewhat.
After the bell rings to signal the end of class, she stuffs her belongings into her bag, hands it to Potter and tells him to explain to Pomona. He nods curtly, and then she walks to the front of the class with small, controlled, exact steps.
"Professor?" she enquires calmly. My, she is getting better at hiding her irritation.
"You have five minutes to prove to me that this is what you want to do, or tonight I will not be helping you acquire your ingredient."
"You said you would do it!" she gasps, looking horrified. It apparently hasn't occurred to her that I might go back on my word. It seems that I should be working harder on my façade as a scheming, unscrupulous bastard. Well, it is occasionally a façade.
"That was before you started walking around this castle looking like you are spending your nights letting vampires feed from your veins," I tell her. "Your face is pale, your eyes are shadowed, and even last night's sleep cannot hide the fact that your concentration is shattered. For weeks this was all you wanted; is the prospect not so attractive once you come close to finally having what you want?"
"I am fully prepared for the extraction," she says firmly and formally. I believe her. Then what can possibly be worrying her more than going through a potentially fatal, unbelievably painful, unfamiliar magical process?
"Please believe me."
"Your eyes tell a different tale, Miss Granger."
She looks despairing for a moment, and then forces her face into its calm mask once more. When she speaks, she forces herself to speak calmly.
"I am less worried about you taking the blood from me and more worried about the actual act of sex itself."
Oh for fuck's sake.
"Your priorities are more than a little warped," I inform her. This is why I dislike teenagers – their priorities are never in order. She might die, but who cares about that when Potter will have to see her naked? That's the important issue here.
"I am aware of that," she tells me, exasperatedly. "But the reason behind my stress is none of your concern. It's no reason to break your promise to me."
"You forget your place, Miss Granger," I say, my voice tight. I am even more than characteristically ill-tempered today, and she should recognise this and be ducking for cover about now. Yet, there she stands, fury blatant in her eyes, even while her face forms a persuasive smile. That alone is proof that she still wants this.
"Professor, I appreciate that you never wanted to do this in the first place, but it will all be over tonight, and I will do my best to keep out of your way and not even speak to you again afterwards."
"Is this while you will once again be practically living in my laboratory the instant you again have something to work with?" I ask snidely.
She winces. "Well, yes. Apart from that, I'll keep out of your way."
I take a deep breath. "Do you love him?" I ask, fully aware that there is a nauseated look on my face as the words leave my mouth.
"What?"
"Potter," I repeat, through gritted teeth. "Do you love him?"
Her eyes widen at the question and after a moment's contemplation she nods her head slowly.
"Very much," she adds, in case I have been struck blind and didn't manage to see her head bobbing up and down.
"Then what, may I ask, is the problem?" I shouldn't be asking – it is not my concern whether or not she is comfortable with everything that will happen this evening. Not only that, but I fully understand the girl's reluctance to touch Potter – I would sooner have sexual relations with Albus while he is clad in his utterly delightful lime green underwear than ever even contemplate Potter's naked body.
"It really is none of your concern," she sighs, echoing at least some of my thoughts. She takes two steps back from me to tiredly lean on the desk behind her. "You can't possibly be interested in what's bothering me."
"No, you have me there."
Her glare is rewarding and I smirk back.
"I have been preoccupied lately because Harry has been avoiding being alone with me at all costs," the girl volunteers just as I was about to throw her out of my class room and start some of my third year marking. "He is being snappy, miserable and even quite rude to me. I had to practically emotionally blackmail him into agreeing to sleep with me tonight, and I doubt very much he is even vaguely attracted to me, which makes the thought of having to actually have sex with him that much worse."
"I thought…" I start my sentence, and then stop abruptly. I really have no wish for Miss Granger to think that I am in the remotest bit interested in any aspect of the lives of my students. I doubt very much that she would believe that Minerva has on the odd occasion had to literally curse me into submission so I will listen to her natter on about the students during our evenings together. Personally, I think Minerva, determined and in a temper, could be our secret weapon in this war – the Dark Lord would be cowering at her feet in seconds minutes after we let her loose on him.
"That Harry and I are a couple?" she asks, pulling a face and correctly assuming what I had been about to say. "Everyone has that idea."
Well, if you will keep the boy practically chained to your bed… I really must stop spending time with Minerva.
"Harry has nightmares," she explains, thankfully unaware of my inner commentary. "We've never even kissed, and after his reaction to the prospect of sleeping with me, I doubt he's ever wanted to kiss me."
I sigh and consider knocking the girl out and leaving her to sleep soundly in the corner of my classroom while I get on with the rest of my day in peace. This is all my own fault – I should never have made her stay after class.
"Is Potter gay?" Now isn't that a magnificent idea? Wouldn't that be terribly amusing? Minerva, open-minded though she thinks she is, would faint at the very thought. It's a rumour I am tempted, even now, to spread and ensure it gets back to her.
"No." She then screws her nose up in contemplation. "At least, I don't think so. If he is, then he really won't be of much use to me tonight."
"If Potter is interested in women," I say, choosing to ignore her ramblings. "Then he will want to sleep with you. He is a hormonal teenaged male; you are a passably attractive female. You would have to be either Minerva McGonagall or a very close female relative for him to pass up the opportunity to have sex with you." Possibly. Who knows what he's into if his father was anything to go by?
She opens her mouth to speak.
"It is likely that he is merely anxious," I say before she can get her words out. "If it helps at all, tell him I won't be taking any points from Gryffindor for poor performance and will not be awarding him a grade at the end. Not to his knowledge, anyway."
It's a peculiar look on someone's face when they are incredibly embarrassed, infuriated and very amused all at the same time.
"You will be in another room," she states firmly, finally deciding to settle on being vaguely annoyed.
I nod. "As discussed."
"So you will still do it?"
She looks like she is holding her breath as she waits for my answer, as if I hold her happiness in my hands. Why isn't she out getting drunk with the rest of her class as they celebrate their new-found freedom of being in their seventh year at Hogwarts? Why does she insist on hassling me instead? The words death wish, spring to mind.
"If I must."
"Thank you." Her voice is soft, and her hand is trembling as she moves it towards my face. This time I am ready for her and catch her wrist in my hand before her fingers touch my skin.
"Despite the fact that I have been forced to endure your presence outside the classroom," I all but snarl at her, anger rising to the surface quickly, "I am still your Professor, and as such will be treated with respect."
"Yes, sir," she says quietly, her eyes flashing in a sudden fury that mirrors my own. She attempts to pull her wrist from my grasp and I let my fingers tighten around it almost imperceptibly.
"What game are you playing?" I ask, voicing the question that has been bothering me for far too long. First there was the completely unexplained and inappropriate caress on Halloween night, followed by the almost, but not quite tracing of the scars on my chest. Now she is reaching to touch my face yet again. Is it gratitude? A crude and naïve attempt at bribery? Or, has all the time brewing in my laboratory produced fumes that have finally addled her brain?
"Not everything is a game," she tells me.
"Yes, Miss Granger, it is," I tell her, softly. She has a lot to learn if she is not yet aware of this very fundamental fact of life. "A painful game with sometimes fatal consequences, but a game none the less."
I let go of her wrist abruptly, an action that would have sent her stumbling back if she wasn't already inches away from against a solid, wooden desk that effectively stopped her fall.
"Eight o'clock," I say shortly. "Do not be late."
She runs from the classroom.
xxx
Diary of Severus Snape
Wednesday 26th of November, 1997
My life has been riddled with mistakes, taking the Dark Mark being irrefutably the largest. This is quite closely followed by both informing the Dark Lord of the Prophecy that led him to kill the Potters, and for ever being naïve enough to consider Lucius Malfoy an ally, if not a friend. I'm not sure where today's mistake ranks – one would assume it can only be below taking the Mark, but today I have my doubts.
At five minutes to eight this evening I am still setting up the large amount of paraphernalia and equipment that will be needed to ensure tonight's endeavour is a success. I am patiently waiting in the room adjoining the one where Granger and Potter will be spending the thirty seconds I am assuming it will take for him to take her, spend himself and run away from the scene of the crime.
She, of course, is early. She is standing in the doorway and watching me for a good minute before she deigns to speak.
"Hello," she greets me shyly.
I dip my head in acknowledgement of her greeting, and then carry on scanning the text of the book I have brought to assist me in this. When I have read to the end of the page, I look back up to find she is still watching me.
"I hope Potter appreciates the effort you have gone to," I murmur, taking in her physical appearance. She has scraped her unruly hair back, leaving only small tendrils to frame her face, which is accentuated with much more subtle makeup than I had the misfortune to see her blathered in on that Halloween night. Her clothes are Muggle, understated and suit her.
She pulls a face and replies, "That's if he even turns up." She checks her watch and rolls her eyes in impatience.
Some brave saviour of the Wizarding World the wonderful Mr. Potter will turn out to be if he can't even face this.
"It is still not too late to back out." Now where did those words come from? Of course it's too late to back out, I have spent the last hour charming test tubes to be unbreakable and putting together healing potions for her, not to mention the days of worry that this is the right thing to do. If she backs out now, I will throttle the chit.
"No."
"I thought not," I say regretfully. It would have been most satisfying throttling the newfound bane of my existence. If someone had told me that someone would come to irritate me more than a Potter, I would have laughed at him or her before cursing them for their stupidity.
"Hermione?" A familiar male voice drifts through to the room Miss Granger and I are occupying, and I am reminded that the boy is not very far behind his friend when competing to see who irks me the most.
"You're late, Potter," I snap, irritable at the mere presence of him in the room.
"Must be killing you that you can't take points from me," he quips, grinning at Miss Granger as if he has just said something incredibly amusing and she should be unbelievably impressed by his wit.
"Now, why do you think I won't be taking points from you?" I muse, directing a nasty smile at him. "Technique, duration…"
"Professor!" Hermione interrupts swiftly, giving me a warning look that only serves to amuse me. Upon closer inspection of her face, it would seem that she is a little amused herself, although she is attempting to hide it and almost succeeding.
"Miss Granger?" I question politely.
"If you would stay here until Harry comes to get you?"
"Certainly. If you would cast a silencing charm at your side, I would appreciate it. The mere idea of this is enough to give me nightmares for the rest of my natural life as it is."
"Then let's hope it will be a short one," Potter spits at me venomously.
"Thirty points from…"
"Harry!"
She glares reproachfully at each of us in turn, and then forcibly pushes Potter from the room I am in to the bedroom next door. As the door clicks shut, I sense another silencing spell being added to my already thick layers. You can never be too safe when it comes to your future mental health. Mine is hanging by a thread as it is.
Half an hour passes and I start to wish I had not been so thorough and prepared so I would at least have something to do while I wait. Flashes of what is happening in the room next to me persist in entering into my mind, whatever I do to keep the thoughts out.
My eyes are on the script of the book in front of me and suddenly I see her on the four poster bed, lying on her back, her mane of hair out of it's captivity and spread over the white pillow that is cushioning her head. Her body is bare, writhing and begging to be seduced.
I force the image from my mind through sheer force of will, but after a few minutes another image appears to replace it, and she is sliding her own hand between her legs and…
Enough. Enough, before I go and hand myself in to the Aurors and tell them to lock me away for my own good. Or better yet, I could hand myself over to the Healers at St. Mungo's – I could go on the ward for the incurably insane. I need a holiday.
Another ten minutes tick past slowly and I busy myself with pacing the room from end to end. Who would have thought Potter would have this kind of self-control?
There are times when I have the patience to rival a saint. I can lie in wait for my prey in the most rigid and uncomfortable position for hours; I can even go as far as to pretend to be interested in whatever Narcissa Malfoy's hideous friends are prattling on about, if I really must. Today my patience seems to be in very short supply.
It takes one single wave of my wand for me to lower her silencing charm, and all of mine and I listen intently.
Silence.
My hand reaches for the door and I am sure I can hear a sniff. I contemplate climbing out of the window instead of entering the room that obviously contains a crying girl. The effort it would take and the risk of being seen sways me. Maybe I can get past her without her even noticing me…
No, I still have to take the Blood from her and make this entire farce somehow worth it. Instead, I cling to the quite realistic hope that it might be Potter who is sitting in the next room crying, and I can use this information to blackmail him into keeping out of my way until the end of his days, or mine – which ever comes first.
As I push the door open, my eyes are immediately drawn to the bed against their will. Miss Granger is indeed alone, sitting with her knees drawn up to her chest and her head buried in her arms. She looks incredibly small and lost sitting in the middle of the enormous four poster bed that takes up much of the room, and I am once again reminded of how much of an imbecile Potter really is.
The black t-shirt she was wearing now lays discarded on the floor, but it seems that this is the only piece of clothing that has been removed. I lay the vials quietly on the bureau by the door – it appears that I will not need these tonight.
"What did he do?" I ask. The sound of my voice makes her jump and she looks up at me miserably, but doesn't answer.
"What did Potter do?" I ask again, moving closer to the bed.
Her hair and makeup that had been meticulously done less than an hour earlier are now completely ruined. Streaks of black outline the tear tracks that run down her cheeks, while escaped curls stick to the wet. All in all, she looks like the last forty minutes have been much more torturous than my own.
I bend to pick her clothing from the floor but quickly decide against handing it to her to put on. Those red-rimmed eyes are looking at me with a look of pure self-hatred that even still dare me to comment on the situation. What on earth could Potter have done to her in the time they were left alone together?
I try not to look directly at her, for it is now plain to see that her breasts are bared for the world to observe. The arms folded defensively over her chest barely cover her, and if I am to assess what went wrong, I am going to need to cover her up. I refuse to have this conversation with her left ear.
Instead of attempting to order her to dress, I summon a blanket with my wand and it automatically wraps around her shoulders, warming her in the rapidly cooling bedroom and covering her so my eyes can once again roam free.
"What did Potter do?" I ask again, this time more gently.
A bitter laugh escapes from her lips.
"Nothing," she says, shaking her head. "Absolutely nothing."
"I see."
The boy is far more pathetic than even I could have imagined. I can only hope the Dark Lord doesn't hear of this current weakness of his and think to send half a dozen nubile females to terrify Potter into retreating. The war would be over in seconds.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "All this preparation…"
"It doesn't matter," I answer tersely.
"He didn't even explain," she speaks into her hands. "He just backed out of the door as if I was suddenly infectious. Now what am I going to do? I can't ask Ron, and I don't know how well I could trust any of the other boys in my year with what I'm doing. It's not like any of them see me in that way anyway."
She groans into her hands and for once I am at a loss as to what to say. I could attempt to get hold of the ingredient myself, but I would be risking my freedom and life in doing so. This potion has a chance of working, but the chance is not so good that it would make such a risk worth it.
"Professor?" she asks softly, her eyes suddenly trained on me, regarding me with blazing intensity.
"Do not even consider voicing those thoughts," I warn. Fuck.
She scrambles to her knees and shuffles towards the side of the bed that I have mistakenly chosen to sit on. I should definitely have opted to climb out of the window instead.
"It wouldn't take long," she murmurs. Oh yes, that's going to get me to bed her.
"Such flattery could turn a man's head, Miss Granger," I say mockingly.
She colours deeply, but still climbs off the bed to stand in front of me, letting the blanket fall to the floor. Her arms uncrossed, her breasts on display for me to see and the first truly improper thoughts of her enter my mind and refuse to leave, no matter what I do. She is perfect.
She reaches out her hand.
"Do not touch me!" I snap.
Obviously I have lost my touch, or she is oblivious to the venom in my voice, for the hand that should have shot back to her side at my words is suddenly resting lightly on my shoulder. Her fingers move tentatively to slide from there to the back of my neck and into my hair. Her nails scrape lightly over my scalp and I sincerely hope she doesn't notice the shiver that runs through my entire body.
"Have you completely lost your mind, Granger?" I grind out. "The blood cannot be this important to you."
"Please." The word is husky, pleading, and is almost my undoing.
I shoot to my feet, almost knocking the girl off her own. I am out of the door before she has chance to utter another word and I effectively squash the small modicum of guilt I am feeling. I have to get out of this castle, away from her and away from my life, if only for a few hours. Unfortunately, I doubt Albus would pay for me to have a nice little holiday half way through the term, so instead I settle for walking straight out of the Castle and towards Hogsmede in search of drink.
xxx
Draycott Hotel, London
"So, when you say that Snape took one look at you and ran, what really happened was…?"
Hermione cringed visibly. "If you keep interrupting we'll never get to the end of these diaries."
"Nevermind that!" Ginny exclaimed, her eyes wide. "Sweet and innocent Hermione Granger; sweet, innocent and rule abiding Hermione Granger, propositioned a teacher while she was still a student? You practically sexually harassed the bloke! Oh, this is fantastic…"
"I'm glad you find my life so amusing," Hermione said sourly. "And you wonder why I never confided in you about it all?"
Ginny sobered quickly and put her hand on Hermione's arm. "Look, Hermione, I'm sorry," she said soothingly. "I know I'm being a bit of a cow, but I really am trying to understand. You have to see how much of a shock this is to me, it's like there's a whole new you now and I have to work out how to talk to you again."
"I'm the same person I always was," Hermione said. "That's what no one ever understood. I haven't been sweet and innocent since I first started Hogwarts. The safe haven it was meant to represent protected none of us from the real world, Ginny, not one of us."
She pushed the diary away to turn to Ginny.
"Most schools protect you in some way from the world outside, while preparing you for the real world. Well, our school prepared us – it prepared us for war. We were soldiers from the moment a wand was placed in our hands, when we first realised that there was evil in the world. No one stays innocent in a war – you of all people should know that."
Ginny nodded slowly. "But you were always the level-headed one. You weren't innocent, but you have to admit you followed the rules to a fault."
"What choice did I have? Everyone else around me was wild, and they all just assumed I would be the responsible one, picking up the pieces, doing their homework, getting them out of the fixes they'd got themselves into. I don't mean you, Ginny, don't give me that look."
"So you rebelled? Went off the rails in the biggest way you could?" Ginny asked. "And for you, what bigger way was there than the ultimate taboo of fucking a teacher?"
"No, it wasn't like that at all," Hermione sighed. "There's a part of this diary that I was going to skip over, but I think if you're going to understand how I am now, you probably need to know. It was never simple between Severus and I – it was never just a case of one of us fancying the other and we immediately threw our ethics out of the window and leapt into bed together. Things happened, Ginny."
"The attack on your family, you mean?" Ginny asked. "Made you want to cling to someone?"
"No," Hermione denied, shaking her head. "Well, I suppose that added to everything. But it all started long before that."
"What are you talking about?"
xxx
Author's Notes: I just wanted to take a moment to thank my fantastic beta, Sophi, for being incredibly patient, and I want to thank all the people who have been leaving such lovely reviews – I've been checking for them obsessively.
I am aware that I'm making Harry out to be incredibly irritating, but the chapter is mostly written from Snape's point of view, so it can't be helped.
This chapter has been spilt into two because I couldn't subject either Sophi or the readers to a 12,000-word chapter without offering some intense counselling after. The huge mistake Snape makes is not explained until the next half is posted, which will be soon. Reviews aplenty may make it appear even faster ;o)