Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Madrigal	By : Rotisserie_Cassowary Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 7982 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Damn it all to hell. How do I always get myself into this bullshit? I was sprawled in one of the flamboyant armchairs in Dumbledore’s office, recovering from nearly 6 hours of alternately nursing and fighting that bloody cursed hand of his. And he was just sitting there with this smugly benign little smile on his face. Can’t he show just a little bit of fucking gratitude? Or empathy? Merlin’s beard, I could be mistaken for a man twenty years my elder because of him! Next thing I know, he’s INFORMED me that I am to take on an apprentice, due to the “potential imminence” of my demise! MY demise! He’s the one with the curse that’s going to inexorably devour his body and soul!
And who else could it be but Hermione Fucking Granger? The brightest in her year, The Boy Who Lived’s best friend, and so efficient at potion-making that she’s able to simultaneously supervise three indolent boys while executing near-flawless concoctions. Yes, of course I had no arguments to save myself. The girl is ingratiating, eager to please, quick-tongued, and frightfully clever. For some reason, none of these phrases registered as insults to Dumbledore’s ear.
So next thing I knew I was in my office, asking Miss Granger if she would pretty please like to give up hours of her life every week to hang out with her greasy potions master. I couldn’t help but smirk at how nervous she seemed. The slight, pale girl sat so far on the edge of her seat that I feared she was on the verge of tumbling to the floor. Her ridiculous hair seemed to vibrate with anxiety, and I could see her pupils had dilated from the adrenaline coursing through her system.
“You must be wondering why I’ve asked you to meet me here. I’m not one for bullshitting, so here it is: Dumbledore has reason to believe that I may cease being able to serve the Order of the Phoenix in the near future. I provide the Order with a myriad of things: powerful healing draughts, potions for subterfuge and poisons for interrogation, methods for mitigating the effects of dark magic, etcetera,” I shrugged nonchalantly while she continued to simply stare at me, uncharacteristically silent.
“The Headmaster believes the Order would be best served by my ‘training a replacement should anything untoward happen,’” I spat Dumbledore’s words with all the disdain I was able to summon. I stared at the girl, waiting for her to voice her inevitable opinions. And she continued to simply look at me solemnly and expectantly! Did she have a personality transplant?! Was she drugged?!
“As I’m sure you have surmised by this point, I’m inquiring if you would be interested in accepting a potions apprenticeship... It would be extremely difficult, exhausting, frightening, depressing, and painful…” Still the little brat stared at me!
“You would sleep a mere handful of hours every night. You’d always smell like herbs, burned hair, and dead things. I will doubtlessly yell, berate, and intimidate you daily. You WILL cry many times. You will only address me as Sir, Professor, or Master Snape and you’d be expected to maintain perfect decorum and respectful speech at all times. I’ve been tasked with the impossible: transferring the knowledge I’ve accrued in the last three decades of my life into the 17-year old brain of a Gryffindor know-it-all. However, as always, I will do as I’ve been commanded. I will attempt to provide you with all the tools you’ll need to help The Order, but most importantly, assist Potter fulfill his destiny. What say you, girl?”
“Yes.”
“That’s it? No flurry of questions? No appalled responses?”
She took a deep breath. “Just three questions, Professor.”
“Go on then,” I sighed resignedly.
With a small quirk at the corner of her mouth, she asked, “What time? Where do I meet you? What should I wear?”
Quickly stifling my face’s sudden mutinous attempt to smile back at the cheeky girl, I replied crisply, “Tuesday evening. 8 pm. Top of the dungeon stairs. Covered legs and arms. Closed-toe shoes. Don’t be late. Not that you’re capable of such a thing.”
“Yes, Sir. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow, then. Thank you, Sir.” And she just got up, straightened her robes, and left! Just like that! No nattering. Not a single follow-up question from the Fucking Queen of the Socratic Method!
She just cheerfully agreed to being a virtual slave to her surly potions professor? Maybe I didn’t terrify her properly? And that’s usually my strong suit!
Clearly, she’s lost her goddamn mind.
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Just a little FYI: my vision of Snape is that he looks pretty much exactly like Adam Driver plus ten years of aging. I had always found the actor to be rather Snape-like in Girls, with that indefinable gawky sexiness. But when I saw him as Kylo Ren, I was like, "Holy shit! He is LITERALLY a young Severus Snape!"
And my version of Hermione is that she's essentially just Emma Watson (who is a radiant goddess), but with Hermione's actual hair texture.
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