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The Quickening	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 32428 -:- Recommendations : 4 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
Chapter 10
Severus Snape lay motionless, a thin blanket covering him only to the waist. Each pale wrist was secured by an enchanted strap to bracing poles along the sides of his bed. It had taken Hermione an hour to convince Poppy Pomfrey, and then Professor McGonagall, to let her see him. And another half an hour of assurances to let her see him alone. Both looked as if they had been sucking lemons when she left them in Poppy’s office.
She slowly emerged from the shadows, the bed bathed in the golden glow cast by a ring of flickering candles. Expecting to see his eyes closed, she gave a small gasp when she found that his dark focus was on her. Neither of them spoke, even as she closed the final distance to his bedside. All the while she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was approaching a wild animal, a panther perhaps and, despite her best efforts, she was unable to resist the urge to cross her arms protectively before her. After all, the last time she saw him, she had been as vulnerable as a trapped mouse in the paws of a hungry cat.
He remained impassive, neither appraising nor dismissing her. Just watching. She hadn’t known how she would feel being this close to him again. Would she hate him? Pity him? Or simply shut down, rendering herself bereft of any emotion whatsoever? Strangely . . . she felt none of those things. Instead, she was consumed by a desperate desire to understand. She had questions and wanted them answered, but she also feared what he would have to say to her or, worse, that he would choose to say nothing at all. She stood perfectly still, unable to break the silence. He needed to do it. To give her that. His chest rose and fell in slow, rhythmic waves, a large swathe of it exposed by an ill-fitting gown. Luminous skin stretched over taut muscle. It seemed out of place. Unreal.
“You breached my wards.”
She stiffened at the deep richness of his voice. It easily filled the room although he made no effort to project. She hardened her gaze. It was an oblique reference to her presence in his chambers. Seeing him at his lowest, preparing to leave the world. She had stopped him. Was he angry with her for that?
“Your potion is . . . full of surprises.” His eyebrow jumped slightly in trademark Snape polysemy.
She knew he wasn’t talking about the potion. He was talking about her. Asking why she was here. It was going to be like this. For him at least. Cat and mouse. Cat and mouse. Too much had gone between them for the conversation to be straight forward.
“Why do you think he gave it to you?”
She could see that she had hurt him. As soon as she’d said it, his head jerked away, facing the dark window panes, alive with torrents of silvery rain. Her stomach lurched at her boldness but she needed to cut through the charade. There simply wasn’t time for this semantic dance. His life depended on it.
“Why did Professor Dumbledore give you the Galvanismus curse?” she knew she didn’t have to reiterate or clarify but she also knew that exposing the difficult words was the only way they could be dealt with properly. He continued to stare at the window but his chest muscles tightened, rippling in the shadow of the flimsy cloth.
“How should I know?”
She was surprised that he answered at all. But it was the voice of the inner child, telling her that he had, in fact, formed an opinion. He and Dumbledore had had a complex relationship. She had been at the meetings of the Order when Dumbledore had seemed cold, even callous about Snape’s role as a spy. He had appeared content to push the younger man to sacrifice himself, using Snape’s traumatic past to compel him to act for the good of the Order—of the Wizarding World as a whole. Some saw Dumbledore’s behaviour toward Snape as a type of pragmatic detachment. Others thought he was more conniving, using Snape as a pawn. However, the revelations about the Galvanismus curse suggested otherwise. It seemed that Dumbledore had sacrificed his own life that Snape should live. Even if it meant carrying the burden of a curse that would ultimately overwhelm him. Causing him to wish himself dead.
“I smashed the bottle of poison because I, too, wanted you to live,” she said.
She needed him to know. But she didn’t anticipate the pain that welled in her when his silent tears began to fall. His hand jerked up as if to brush them away but the bonds meant that his arm simply rattled ineffectually by his side. It was cruel. All of it. Hermione snatched up a cloth from a pile nearby and leaned over him, gently wiping his face. Snape closed his eyes, the corner of his mouth twisting in anguish. It must have felt like the final humiliation. To have her, of all people, wiping his eyes like a mother caring for her child. But she remained, tending to him, while the tears flowed freely. He didn’t sob but drew deep shuddering breaths through his nose. It was as if he had never been allowed to weep and his body could accommodate no more than this. His tears streamed like untapped springs from beneath his closed lids, their flow mirroring the runnels of rain down the window panes.
Despite the urgency of their situation, Hermione did nothing to stem the tide. She realised that there was likely nearly forty years of pain behind this release and she knew better than to try to placate him. It was only after several candles guttered and died, that he finally drew breath and opened his eyes, red rimmed and swollen.
She withdrew the cloth and stood, stretching her tired back.
“You shouldn’t be here.” He muttered.
It was a bit late for that. She’d been there nearly two hours and was unlikely to be granted much more time with him.
“Professor, officials from Azkaban will be arriving tomorrow,” she said. “You’re aware that they intend to take you?”
His pale face was tired and drawn, dark shadows hollowing his eyes.
“It is not unexpected.”
Hermione grasped the bar on the side of his bed. “I’ve spoken at length with Professor McGonagall,” she said, looking at him earnestly. “She agrees that the charge against you is inappropriate. After all, I’m not a minor.”
Snape lifted his eyes to hers and blinked with weary resignation.
“So we’re just left with rape then?”
Hermione’s shoulders sank, she understood how futile it sounded. But she had a plan.
“I . . . I also told her that it wasn’t rape.”
His expression changed to one of scepticism.
“So what was it?”
Hermione twisted her hands nervously around the bar. “I told her it was consensual.”
“What?” his shoulders jerked, pulling the bonds tight around his wrists.
Hermione took a deep breath. “I told her it was . . . role play.” She winced, knowing how ridiculous it sounded. But it was all she had been able to come up with under Professor McGonagall’s earlier interrogation.
Professor Snape snorted, shaking his head. “What ignoramus is going to believe that?” he said.
“Professor McGonagall and an Azkaban official are both going to have to believe it,” she said. “We are to meet with them tomorrow.”
He continued to stare at her. “Why would you say such a thing?” he finally asked.
Hermione felt herself flushing under his gaze. “You don’t deserve to go to jail. You were under the influence of the Galvanismus curse which should surely be considered extenuating circumstances and . . . the truth is . . . I drove you to do it. I did the same to you. Twice.”
Snape regarded her warily. He had no memory of what had happened in the alcove but the aftermath was sufficient for him to be unconvinced of concocting such an explanation.
Hermione could see that he was dubious.
“It is your only chance Professor. If the court has access to your pensieve, they will see everything. If I can convince them tomorrow that I was a willing participant, we may simply be reprimanded for having sex in a public place.”
Snape leant back against his pillow and closed his eyes. She could tell that he would be pinching the bridge of his nose if his hands were freely available.
After a few moments he looked at her soberly. “Tell me what they will see?”
Hermione tapped her fingers on the bar. This wasn’t something she had anticipated having to do. A blow by blow account of the assault would be bad enough in front of a stranger but having to tell it to the perpetrator was both bizarre and gut-wrenching.
“Do you not remember anything?” she asked.
He returned her gaze. “Only the aftermath.”
She desperately wished she didn’t have to talk about it. “Professor McGonagall must already know that you don’t remember anything. Madam Pomfrey said they had spoken to you about it. They are not going to expect you to give an account of your actions.”
He sighed impatiently. “I need to know what they will see to determine the validity of the explanation you plan to give,” he said.
Hermione chewed on her lip as she stared at the tarry windows. It did make sense. Fuck it.
She crossed her arms and stared down at her warped reflection in the metal bar.
“You threw me into the alcove,” she began. “My books were scattered on the ground and my knees were scraped and bloody.”
She spoke in a monotone, her face expressionless.
“We discussed what I had done to you in oblique terms. No details. You said you would make me understand what it feels to be humiliated. That you would teach me a lesson.”
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“You backed me against the wall and tore my shirt open. Then you touched my stomach and sucked on my . . . nipple.” It was getting harder for her to speak. She cleared her throat.
“You tore off my bra and knickers and asked if I liked making you come. I didn’t answer so you put your fingers inside me and tasted my . . . my juices.”
Now it was Snape’s turn to clear his throat. Her eyes flickered to him momentarily before returning to stare intently at the bar.
“You spoke about the potion and me giving you a blow job.” She cringed at the words. “Then you turned me around, pushed my legs apart and entered me from behind. I screamed. It was . . . bigger than I’m used to.”
She looked at him and he waved his fingers impatiently to indicate that she should continue, clearly uncomfortable with dwelling on the details.
“You said some things about my . . . vagina and what you wanted to do to it. Then you started rubbing my clitoris and pinching my nipples. And you told me to come for you.”
“Did you?”
“What?” She frowned.
“Did you come?” he repeated.
“As a matter of fact I did,” she snapped. “Why do you ask? Making sure you haven’t lost your touch?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “This is actually just as uncomfortable for me as it is for you,” he said. “The reason I ask is that it is probably the best argument for it being consensual. Not unequivocal but certainly something.”
Hermione realised that he was speaking the truth and she believed him when he said that he wasn’t enjoying her retelling of the tale.
“Well this part is less convincing,” she said. “You pulled out, pushed me onto my knees and . . . ejaculated all over my face and in my mouth.”
She looked at him accusingly. Unable to forgive him for that particularly sordid moment. He gave a brief nod, staring at the blanket across his waist as if remembering the moment when his memory returned.
“It’s going to be difficult. For you in particular,” he mused, his lips drawn together in a thoughtful pout. “I can play my part. Describe how we developed feelings for one another during the period of detention. Perhaps explaining how this particular incident was a fantasy of mine.”
Hermione noticed his cheeks turning uncharacteristically pink and wondered if he were actually telling the truth.
“But you are going to have to make it sound like you . . . enjoyed it. Are you going to be able to do that?”
Hermione sighed. “I’m going to have to. I don’t want them looking at any more of your memories. Otherwise it could be me that ends up in court.”
Professor Snape narrowed his eyes at her. “And here I was thinking that you were doing this for me.”
“You did rape me.” she glared at him. “Don’t ever forget that.”
She turned and walked out of the room.
- 9
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- 11
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The Quickening