Dear Readers: Thank you so, so much for hanging in there! (Sorry—lots of studies that, unfortunately, take precedence over my stories…) Here's a new one, obviously…Oh, and it's a bit on the mature side. So any queasy stomachs out there, brace yourselves. (It's really not that bad, though…)
Update: To answer a question someone posed: Yes, "is" in the poem was crossed out. However, unless anyone knows how to re-cross out words in the document editor, the poem remains a little awkward...Use your imaginations, and I apologize!
At Severus' primary muggle school, horrid teachers forced his class to delve into the complicated realms of poetry. As a 9 year old boy, he hadn't much a care for it. However, several, several years later, he acquired a silent respect, rearing upon adoration, for the art of poetry. The poem of 9 year old Severus, he was not so fond of. Hastily vandalizing his own history, Severus held the paper crumpled in his hand. Viciously, he marked away at it.
There Is Was A Girl
Severus Snape. 10-30-1969
There is was a girl,
With gold, orange hair,
And when she's around,
There's lavender in the air.
There is was a girl,
Who is was my best friend,
And when she's around,
My smiles never end.
There is was a girl,
With laughter like spring,
And when she's around,
…I wish I could sing.
There is was a girl,
Who's warm when it's cold,
And when she's around,
I'd rather be bold…
There is was a girl,
Who I think I might love,
And when she's around,
I float from above.
There was a woman,
I loved dearly and true,
But now she is gone;
My heart and soul are askew.
He dropped his quill. A quiet thud sounded on the wooden floor. Shaking, he took in a deep, hollow, sour breath. The salty tears, which caressed his face so lovingly, dripped off his nose, onto young Severus' poem, onto the floor.
"It's been so many years, Lil…Since you…you--" Severus whispered, more silent and more cold than the stone on his hearth.
"Once," he addressed the crackling fire as if it were her, "you told me anniversaries were funny things…It was my birthday," he picked up a glass standing next to him, and took a large swig of whiskey.
"My thirteenth birthday. You put a paper crown on my head and told me that. I had a black eye, remember?" Another swig.
"That was my birthday present. Father to son. And you told me 'anniversaries do funny things to people who love you,'" Another swig.
"Happy birthday, you said. And kissed me on the cheek." he whispered. He threw the crystal glass against the wall; it shattered into a million pieces.
"I see the color of your hair in sunsets," he threw another glass from the tray at the side of his chair.
"I hear your laugh in running water," Another glass. "The wind," The final glass. "In silence," the grasped the crystal container of whiskey and hurled it towards the crackling flames.
"I feel your eyes on me, when the night is dead. Lily, I feel you inside of me, when I want to stop my heart. Lily, I feel you in the cold, when I want to ROT! LILY, I FEEL YOU IN MY SOUL, WHEN ALL I WANT TO DO IS WITHER IT AWAY!"
He fell to the ground and pulled at his hair. Sinking farther into the wood, he curled into a ball. "I'm sorry—I'm sorry—I'm—I'm—I hurt, Lil—I still hurt--I'm--sorry--"
SS
Sitting at her flimsy kitchen table, Hermione held an old, brass key at arms length. Beyond her hand, her window overlooked a bustling residential street, lit by dusk. Dry leaves flooded the walkway; pedestrians' breath rose crisply into the sky. "Happy Hallow'een!" she heard someone call form afar. A bang rattled her door. She dropped the key to the table and hastily pocketed it.
"Um, Hello?" she called, wand at the ready.
"Dove, it's me. I was worried about you, and it's--" Hermione opened the door, "It's Hallow'een." The strapping lad smiled down at her.
Hermione sighed, "Oh, for Merlin's sake, if you think you're going to take me out partying or something--"
"A few butter beers never hurt anyone," he winked.
"Maybe some other time, if that's alright? Plus, I took the late shift at the bookshop tonight--"
"Why're you still working at that wonky muggle shop?" he inquired, sitting himself at her table.
"Well, you see," she approached him, "I quite like the muggle world. It might be nice for a change of scenery--"
"Nonsense!"
"What?" Hermione laughed, despite her opinion being shot down.
"The wizarding world has all you'd ever need--"
"Oh, gods, you're sounding like one of those pretentious, stiff purebloods--"
"What's wrong with purebloods?"
"Nothing, I just--"
"I'm a pureblood--" the young man stood up.
"Well, yes. I didn't mean anything wrong. I just meant--"
"You're just some, some twitchy little mudblood--" he started backing her towards the living room.
"Hey, what's gotten into you?!"
"You threw the first punch--"
"I did not! I didn't mean--"
With a flick of his wrist, he young man locked the doors of Hermione's flat. She drew her wand quickly. "Expelli--"
"Expelliarmus!" The young man cried, a pinch faster than Hermione. Her wand whizzed across the room.
"Why are you doing this--"
The young man chuckled. "Hermione…Hermione Jean Granger…You're a Hogwarts alum. Top of you class, eh? A good witch. Good for a mudblood, at least," he spat his last words in her face. Backing her to the couch, he pointed his wand at her.
"Sit!"
"No—Why are you--!"
"Imperio!" Hermione's mouth leaked a high-pitched squeal. Her demeanor shrunk, her shoulders twisted, and her body began to descend upon the couch. "I—said—sit--"
"Now," the young man said, seating himself next to her, "I was going to answer all your silly little questions…" he stroked her face gently, caressing her cheek, "If you would just—do—what—I—say--" He pulled at the back of her head and shook her.
"Do you want to do what I say, dove?" The young man inquired sweetly. Hermione nodded, tears tumbling down her cheeks.
"Tut, tut, tut—But there's a toll for information, you see," the young man winked. Hermione's eyes widened. "It won't be too bad, dove--" he moved his face close to hers; she could smell his minty breath. In a flash, Hermione slammed her forehead against his. He fell backwards. Running toward her door, Hermione grabbed her wand.
"NO!" he shouted, and with a flick of his own wrist, her wand went flying again. "Now," he said, standing up shakily, "come—here--" with one more flick of his wand, Hermione slammed against the floor and appeared being pulled backwards by an invisible wire.
"Couch--"
Hermione sat up like a puppet.
"Now, dove," he kissed her neck, "let me fill you in on all this naughty business--"
Thick tears streaked her face. He pulled at her blouse; the buttons ripped off easily. "I am not who you think I am," he cackled.
HG
On the floor, behind his couch, Severus sat. His head weakly bobbed in front of him. The clock on the mantelpiece sounded, giving him a start. He rubbed his leg. Stumbling forward, he tried to aid the burning sensation threatening to take over his entire limb. Ripping at his pocket, he found his brass house key. Severus dropped the flaming red key on the ground. After swallowing a drunken heave, Severus realized what he must do. Grabbing his cloak, he flung himself out the door.
SS
Cupping a white breast, he dug his nails hard into it. Hermione let out a yelp. "How's that dove?" Hermione's body shook.
"I asked you a question," he bent down and bit her collar bone, "I asked you--" he slapped her face; she cut her brow, "how's that?"
Hermione nodded, shakily gasping for air. The young man pulled her close. "So, you see, cousin Draco didn't know what he wanted--" he slipped a hand into her jeans. Finding the warm, pulsing softness he wanted, he stroked the erect bead, "But I know exactly what I want." Hermione gasped, trying to pull away from his hand. "P-p-please—Please--" Her eyes were swollen and red. All clothing disappeared in what seemed like a flash. "No--" she begged, her voice nearly a whisper. Working in small circles, he massaged her. Unwillingly, she started to relax. He slapped her, hard; she throbbed, she whimpered. Taking her tensely, he pushed his entirety into her until she ripped. "A virgin? Little, itty, bitty mudblood's going to bleed…!" She screamed.
The door flew off its hinges and landed in a corner. "Hermione?" a hoarse called hastily. "Hermione!" The young man flew off her. "DON'T TOUCH HER!" a voice bellowed. Before she could open her eyes, someone covered her in a blanket. "Get to your room Hermione—lock your door—do not come out--" She ran. She stumbled and flung herself onto her bed. Sobbing and gasping, she writhed and coughed.
"CRUCIO!" a voice bellowed. Another voice whined and moaned.
"You…are…scum—You…deserve…less…than…nothing--" A body slammed against something hard, a slap sounded. Before she knew it, Hermione's eyes felt heavy. She did not want to sleep, not now. But she had no choice…
HG
Letting out a soft groan, Hermione realized she was not moving of her own accord. Opening her eyes a little wider, she realized she was being carried in warm arms. They were ascending to somewhere; a stair creaked.
"He--" she whispered hoarsely.
"Sh--" Severus looked down and hushed her. "Don't speak; shut your mind--"
"I c—ca—can't--" She started shaking in his arms. Quickly, it seemed, he laid her on a bed.
"Sh—" he stroked her hair. She grasped his collar and sobbed into his chest. "Sh--" He rubbed her back gently.
"I—I—He--How did you--" She smelled whiskey, "Are you drunk--?"
"Not anymore…Hermione, no questions now. You are safe--"
"But I--"
Severus sat next to her on the bed. "Lay down, close your eyes for now. Rest." He stood and went toward the door, "I'll get you a Sleepless--"
"P-pl—please don't leave…Severus--"
He turned back to face her, "I won't, Hermione," he whispered softly.