Of Purest Blood, Chapter Four
Title:Of Purest Blood (Chapter Four)
Fandoms: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 (for bloodletting)
Characters/Pairings: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape has survived Nagini's attack by sustaining himself on a potion called Inversitoxin. Now, he needs Hermione's help to make a potion that will save his life.
Disclaimer: Please do not sue me, J.K. Rowling. All the characters are yours. I just brought them out to play. (I had to, because you killed my favorite one.)
Note: This story takes place in an AU in which Harry had to die to destroy Voldemort.
Note, the second: Hermione is well and truly of-age in this story. Go away, pedos.
I'm proud of this chapter. It's short, but my inner Severus and I really bonded over this one. I hope you enjoy this peek into his mind. It's pretty much just stream-of-consciousness from Snape's POV. (And, please forgive my slight foray into Mary Suedom. I've made a cameo appearance. You'll know it when you see it. :P)
CHAPTER FOUR
Severus sat in his private chambers with a bottle, a book, and a blanket. Reclining in his favourite armchair, he attempted to read, but found he could not stop replaying Hermione's words in his mind.
"It makes her 'sort of... happy'?" Severus mimicked bitterly. What the hell was that supposed to mean?, he thought, filling his goblet for the third time. Perhaps the girl was simply glad to know he didn't hate her. He certainly tried his best to act as if he did, but the truth was, she possessed many qualities he found appealing, including her 'insipid curiosity.' And, though Hermione bore no physical resemblance to Harry's mother, she reminded him of Lily. Bright, studious, resourceful... Muggle-born. Like Lily, she was fiercely kind, standing up for what she believed was right even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. No, she didn't take anything lying down-- Oh dear... wrong choice of words.
The worst-case scenario, of course, would be if Hermione actually returned his ... what was it, anyway? Admiration? Affection? Lust? It certainly wasn't love. Severus had been incapable of love after Lily's rejection. He'd seen to it. His greatest strength was in being untouchable, unmoved by physical desire or need of companionship. Never interested in marriage, he'd courted no one, and found the practise of casual "dating" detestable. If any witch had fancied him in all those years since Lily, he'd been blind to their ardour, and content to remain so. (Bellatrix didn't count; she'd shag anything with a wand, and he'd flatly rejected her on numerous occasions before she'd given up and gone after Barty Junior.)
Severus preferred to channel his passion into the precise and unforgiving science-magic of potions. The laboratory was his sanctuary, the cauldron his solace. Every anxiety, doubt and taunting fear, every dream and every dashed hope, every drop of blood and every tear he'd ever shed were distilled, bottled, stoppered and shelved. Now, the Granger girl threatened to topple this fortress of orderly repression in a single breath. He'd scoffed at her, but truthfully, nothing had suggested she'd been anything but sincere. She would not, could not toy with him; it simply wasn't in her nature. Honest to a fault, just like Lily, except that Lily had never cared for him as he had for her.
He forced himself to turn his mind to other, less unnerving matters. It was good to no longer be loitering obnoxiously at death's door. It had been twenty-four hours, and he'd taken four more doses of Inversitoxin. It had worked. For everyone else, the war had been over for a year and a half; perhaps it was finally over for him, too.
Now that his every waking moment wasn't dedicated to keeping his body from dying, he would be able to get back to the business of teaching. He enjoyed being Professor Snape far more than he appeared to, and now looked forward to the sheer absurdity of concerning himself with matters like Quidditch and House points and O.W.L.s instead of conspiracy and spying and bloodletting. Though unsentimental about his vocation, he did take satisfaction in aspects other than being able to assault sub-par essays with red ink. He had, in fact, gotten through to a number of students over his teaching career, most of whom had already made names for themselves in the field.
Years before the Potter Triumverate had come to Hogwarts, there'd been a particular Ravenclaw who'd always hung on his every word. Since day one, she had taken his class very seriously, though she'd never gone out of her way to gain his favour. In fact, she would only answer a question in lecture if it was clear that no one else knew, and he'd given her the nod. Knowledgable, but respectful of his authority. He liked that about her. She'd graduated with stellar marks, and at his insistence, she was now teaching Potions in his stead.
Yes, Professor Janvier would be disappointed that her stint as Hogwarts Potions Mistress was coming to an end, but she'd be happy he'd recovered. She seemed to worry about him far too much... Bloody hell. Could it be? Not another one! Janvier didn't think of him that way... did she? Ridiuclous. She couldn't have had eyes for him.. Wait... Oh, Merlin, is that why she'd worn that lewdly-corsetted frock under her robes on her last day of class? ... Bollocks!
A finger more of Firemead easily chased Janvier's voluptuous image from his mind, but his thoughts quickly returned to Hermione Granger. He wondered if she'd slept. He hadn't. No need to risk accidentally entering her dreams through the blood-bond. He supposed she'd also kept awake, and that her misfit entourage were probably becoming concerned. Severus trusted Hermione to expertly deflect their curiosity as she'd done so often in the past.
At least, he hoped she would. No one needed to find out about this. McGonagall would have him out on his ear. Minerva had never quite forgiven him for killing Albus. True, she'd helped to exonerate him, but she still believed he'd taken some measure of delight in the deed. While "delight" wasn't the word he'd have used, he hadn't exactly been inconsolable at the demise of his puppet-master, Albus Dumbledore, whom everyone adored, with his gibberish and sherbet lemons and cursed mask of cheerful eccentricity...
Rambling thoughts, the precursor to reverie. Finally defeated by drink and exhaustion, Severus succumbed to sleep, chin dropping to his chest. As he drifted into dreams, he thought he felt his wards being gently breeched ...
Thanks again for reading!
Fandoms: Harry Potter
Rating: PG-13 (for bloodletting)
Characters/Pairings: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Summary: Severus Snape has survived Nagini's attack by sustaining himself on a potion called Inversitoxin. Now, he needs Hermione's help to make a potion that will save his life.
Disclaimer: Please do not sue me, J.K. Rowling. All the characters are yours. I just brought them out to play. (I had to, because you killed my favorite one.)
Note: This story takes place in an AU in which Harry had to die to destroy Voldemort.
Note, the second: Hermione is well and truly of-age in this story. Go away, pedos.
I'm proud of this chapter. It's short, but my inner Severus and I really bonded over this one. I hope you enjoy this peek into his mind. It's pretty much just stream-of-consciousness from Snape's POV. (And, please forgive my slight foray into Mary Suedom. I've made a cameo appearance. You'll know it when you see it. :P)
CHAPTER FOUR
Severus sat in his private chambers with a bottle, a book, and a blanket. Reclining in his favourite armchair, he attempted to read, but found he could not stop replaying Hermione's words in his mind.
"It makes her 'sort of... happy'?" Severus mimicked bitterly. What the hell was that supposed to mean?, he thought, filling his goblet for the third time. Perhaps the girl was simply glad to know he didn't hate her. He certainly tried his best to act as if he did, but the truth was, she possessed many qualities he found appealing, including her 'insipid curiosity.' And, though Hermione bore no physical resemblance to Harry's mother, she reminded him of Lily. Bright, studious, resourceful... Muggle-born. Like Lily, she was fiercely kind, standing up for what she believed was right even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds. No, she didn't take anything lying down-- Oh dear... wrong choice of words.
The worst-case scenario, of course, would be if Hermione actually returned his ... what was it, anyway? Admiration? Affection? Lust? It certainly wasn't love. Severus had been incapable of love after Lily's rejection. He'd seen to it. His greatest strength was in being untouchable, unmoved by physical desire or need of companionship. Never interested in marriage, he'd courted no one, and found the practise of casual "dating" detestable. If any witch had fancied him in all those years since Lily, he'd been blind to their ardour, and content to remain so. (Bellatrix didn't count; she'd shag anything with a wand, and he'd flatly rejected her on numerous occasions before she'd given up and gone after Barty Junior.)
Severus preferred to channel his passion into the precise and unforgiving science-magic of potions. The laboratory was his sanctuary, the cauldron his solace. Every anxiety, doubt and taunting fear, every dream and every dashed hope, every drop of blood and every tear he'd ever shed were distilled, bottled, stoppered and shelved. Now, the Granger girl threatened to topple this fortress of orderly repression in a single breath. He'd scoffed at her, but truthfully, nothing had suggested she'd been anything but sincere. She would not, could not toy with him; it simply wasn't in her nature. Honest to a fault, just like Lily, except that Lily had never cared for him as he had for her.
He forced himself to turn his mind to other, less unnerving matters. It was good to no longer be loitering obnoxiously at death's door. It had been twenty-four hours, and he'd taken four more doses of Inversitoxin. It had worked. For everyone else, the war had been over for a year and a half; perhaps it was finally over for him, too.
Now that his every waking moment wasn't dedicated to keeping his body from dying, he would be able to get back to the business of teaching. He enjoyed being Professor Snape far more than he appeared to, and now looked forward to the sheer absurdity of concerning himself with matters like Quidditch and House points and O.W.L.s instead of conspiracy and spying and bloodletting. Though unsentimental about his vocation, he did take satisfaction in aspects other than being able to assault sub-par essays with red ink. He had, in fact, gotten through to a number of students over his teaching career, most of whom had already made names for themselves in the field.
Years before the Potter Triumverate had come to Hogwarts, there'd been a particular Ravenclaw who'd always hung on his every word. Since day one, she had taken his class very seriously, though she'd never gone out of her way to gain his favour. In fact, she would only answer a question in lecture if it was clear that no one else knew, and he'd given her the nod. Knowledgable, but respectful of his authority. He liked that about her. She'd graduated with stellar marks, and at his insistence, she was now teaching Potions in his stead.
Yes, Professor Janvier would be disappointed that her stint as Hogwarts Potions Mistress was coming to an end, but she'd be happy he'd recovered. She seemed to worry about him far too much... Bloody hell. Could it be? Not another one! Janvier didn't think of him that way... did she? Ridiuclous. She couldn't have had eyes for him.. Wait... Oh, Merlin, is that why she'd worn that lewdly-corsetted frock under her robes on her last day of class? ... Bollocks!
A finger more of Firemead easily chased Janvier's voluptuous image from his mind, but his thoughts quickly returned to Hermione Granger. He wondered if she'd slept. He hadn't. No need to risk accidentally entering her dreams through the blood-bond. He supposed she'd also kept awake, and that her misfit entourage were probably becoming concerned. Severus trusted Hermione to expertly deflect their curiosity as she'd done so often in the past.
At least, he hoped she would. No one needed to find out about this. McGonagall would have him out on his ear. Minerva had never quite forgiven him for killing Albus. True, she'd helped to exonerate him, but she still believed he'd taken some measure of delight in the deed. While "delight" wasn't the word he'd have used, he hadn't exactly been inconsolable at the demise of his puppet-master, Albus Dumbledore, whom everyone adored, with his gibberish and sherbet lemons and cursed mask of cheerful eccentricity...
Rambling thoughts, the precursor to reverie. Finally defeated by drink and exhaustion, Severus succumbed to sleep, chin dropping to his chest. As he drifted into dreams, he thought he felt his wards being gently breeched ...
Thanks again for reading!