Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Mission Impossible	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 11774 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor do I make any money from writing these stories.

Chapter List
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A/N: Probably not the best chapter for those weak in the stomach or squeemish. Nothing terribly graphic, but be cautious if you don't care for knives and needles.

The books were strewn about the study and she could feel herself teetering on the verge of delirium. She hadn’t been able to sleep; she was afraid to close her eyes and nod off in the chair. She feared that he would find her defenseless and be unable to stop himself. She supposed she could have taken the books up to her room and locked the door, though the door to the bathroom had been locked and he’d managed to invade there as well. And she had never been a fan of bringing work to bed; the more you did in bed other than sleep the harder it was to find true restful sleep in bed.

            She sighed, her eyes weary with sleep. She rubbed them fiercely trying to sting out the sensations of slumber. The pages were beginning to look the same; different color bindings but the same black ink. The words began to fuse together and she growled in frustration. It was getting her nowhere. She needed coffee, or pepper-up potion, though she doubted he was likely to have either. With another heavy sigh she stood from the chair and groaned; feeling the protest of her limbs as she stretched her arms high above her head. Her fingers tingled as she reached them toward the ceiling; fingertips brushing against the old stained tile.

            Hermione collapsed back into the chair and squinted in pain. She’d landed on one of the larger, harder tomes. Pulling it from beneath her thigh she sighed. She was pretty sure she’d read through it, or perhaps she’d read through another like it, she couldn’t be sure. And with little hope for sleep despite her exhaustion she began to flip through the pages. It was a tome of eccentric restoratives; cures throughout the ages that involved rather unsavory and unconventional practices. There was little mentioned about restoring blood once lost. She flipped to the index and began to skim through its contents, her finger moving like a guide over each of the words. And then she saw it. Sight. Page 294.

            With curiosity and hope renewed she flipped to the page and began to read its contents. Her eyes grew wider and wider the further down the page she read. She came to the end of the page and started at the top again, rereading the contests over and over. It seemed so simple if a bit unorthodox, and a bit unsavory. But she was nearly giddy as she read the simple instructions for the tenth time. In her haste she nearly ripped the page from the book trying to dog-ear the corner. She took the stairs two a time and did not bother to knock on the door of his room. But he was not in residence. A frown graced her lips and she turned slowly around in the corridor. Her bedroom door was slightly ajar. It was a better bed and she had instructed him to rest and she supposed that the worn, threadbare mattress in his own room would hardly provide an adequate place to rest.

            Her fingers trembled for a moment but she shook her head and closed her eyes; allowing the words from the page in the tome downstairs to flit through her mind before she stepped into the room he had given her. She stepped through the door and stood still for a moment. He was resting on the bed; asleep, chest rising slow and steady. It pained her to wake him as she imagined he did not get much solid rest in his condition. She crept carefully forward and waited at the side of the bed. Hermione couldn’t help the shiver that was coursing through her as she leaned forward and placed her hand gently on his shoulder. “Severus,” she whispered, and nudged him.

            “Hmm,” was his response. His eyelids were closed and he remained still; slowly breathing, nearly sleeping.

            “Severus,” she whispered again, a little louder than before. “Wake up.”

            His eyes shot open and Hermione jumped back. She should have been expecting the black voids but they still startled her when he appeared to be gazing right through her with them. She shuffled forward and leaned against one of the bedposts, gazing up the bed as he slowly pulled himself up into a seated position. He appeared to be naked; at least from the waist up as he lower half was covered beneath the sheets. She bit her lower lip. His scars seemed more pronounced; the thick tuft of manly chest hair that had once smattered his chest was dwindled to nothing more than a few scraggly wiry curls. His shoulders were sunken as if his skin were fighting to cling to his bones. He looked worse than he had when she’d helped him bathe.

            “I think I have found something useful,” she said and before he had a chance to interrupt or dismiss her, she continued. “You must have a lab or instrumentations for brewing somewhere here in this cabin and although I could search it out myself; I imagine it would go faster if you would just tell me.” She said.

            He drew in a shaky breath. “Behind the bookcase in the study.” He said. It was straining him to talk, and she watched as his chest heaved and shuttered. It took all she had not to throw herself upon him and hold him tight.

            “Do you need water, or tea?” she asked.

            He shook his head slowly.

            “Alright then, rest, I’m sorry to have woken you,” she muttered and then fled quickly from the room; leaving him sitting upright gazing at nothing.

            Hermione was surprised that she was able to find the space so quickly. It did not take long to deduce that it was most likely behind the bookcase on the far wall, backed up against the staircase. And with a few waves of her wand and several tugged books, she’d found her way into the crawlspace beneath the staircase, which led to a doorway that was locked. But with another flick of her wand she’d gained entry to a set of stairs and a rather cavernous dungeon. It was freezing in the room; though she knew that it was often better to brew potions in a chilled environment because of the extremely high temperatures various potions could reach.

            A vaulted ceiling arched above her; made of solid stone, the room was elongated. There was a table, made of pewter that rested in the center of the room, elegantly fashioned but simplistic without any marking or carvings. Against the wall opposite the door was a long wooden workbench, and a cabinet that contained nearly every instrument needed in potion brewing; from stirring rods made of onyx and silver to brass cauldrons and various knives and spoons. She frowned, however, when she found no ingredients with which to begin her potion until the door at the far side of the room caught her eye.

            It was a heavy wooden door; aged and weathered as she gazed upon it. The handle was iron, and locked in place. She tapped her wand against it several times before it managed to fall free from its lock and swing slowly open. The room inside was far larger than it should have been; walls lined from floor to ceiling with shelves; shelves covered with jars and canisters. Each jar and canister had a tiny white label covered in spidery black scrawl identifying its contents and she couldn’t help but smile. So very organized; each side of the room categorized by type of ingredient; the shelving on her left containing harmless and common ingredients, then arranged alphabetically. The shelving at the center contained more combustive, slightly volatile and harder to find ingredients, again arranged alphabetically. The shelving to her right contained dangerous ingredients; poisons, rarities, and other deadly goodies, but were still arranged alphabetically. She stood there in awe marveling at the collection he’d managed to obtain; possibly more impressive than his stores that he kept at Hogwarts.

            Hermione shook her head and stepped back from the storeroom. She needed the tome before she could start anything, and so with a bit of frown to be leaving such an exquisite workspace, she ducked back out of the laboratory, climbed up the stairs, crawled back through the tiny space under the staircase and emerged once more in the study. It was still empty, save for her mess of books strewn here and there. She felt a sigh escape her lips; grateful to be alone. Taking the tome under her arm, she began the tedious process of making her way back down to the hidden lab.

            It hadn’t taken her long to gather the simple utensils and ingredients she would need; she had found everything between the cabinet and the ingredient closet. Everything except the two key ingredients. Hermione sat on a stool that she had found tucked away in a corner and stared at the tome before her. Aqueous humor. Human blood. She stared at the page so long that the words were practically blending together. She rubbed her eyes and then sighed. The blood part wasn’t terribly difficult though she didn’t fancy the idea of slicing herself open, even if it only had to be a tiny cut and a minimal amount of blood. It was the notion of stabbing her eye with a syringe to draw a few drops of the gel from between the lens and cornea that made her shudder.

            She drew in a deep breath; it was for the greater good, after all. He would be useless if he couldn’t see, though she supposed her hard work would be for naught if he died before she could find a cure for his blood loss. One step at a time, she reminded herself. If he could see again, he could help the research progress; perhaps find a cure quicker.

            The mortar was already filled with fine powdered carrot root that she’d spent nearly an hour mashing and the cauldron was simmering low with a base made from geltwax and stingletter honey. It smelled horrendous, like sweet meat that had set on the counter in the sun too long. But she did not let the smell distract her as she added the fine crystalline orange powder. It was a pewter cauldron and a set of glass stirring rods; as the book had instructed. Slow gentle stirring motions, clockwise then counterclockwise; she was careful not to let the heat get too hot. Then she placed the lid on the cauldron and reduced the flame as low as it would go. It needed to simmer an hour before she added the blood and the aqueous fluid.

            With trembling hands she found a tiny sharp knife pegged to the inside of the cabinet door. It looked almost like a scalpel; the blade shimmering in the light of the laboratory, bright silver as if it had never been used. It was sharp enough that if she held it the wrong way it would slide straight through her skin. And then she found a syringe. Her heart was thumping in her chest; self-mutilation for the greater good. She shook her head. It wasn’t self-mutilation. Cuts would heal and aqueous humor was replenishing, even if it would take a while. She’d read once in an anatomy book that the pressure in the eye fluid was great and that a syringe inserted would allow the liquid to flow freely; having this flashing through her mind did little to quell her trembling nerves. She didn’t intend to blind herself, but it was a risk she would run. She bit her lower lip.

            Nearly an hour had passed and she found herself standing before the bubbling cauldron, the rods stirring themselves under an enchantment. It was the right shade of darkened orange and she bit her lower lip once more. The potion had called for fresh blood; that much was simple. It would require only one slice across her skin with the sharp blade and that would be that. Seven drops, she pondered for a moment, wondering if it would be better to prick her finger and squeeze the drops from there. With her left hand trembling, she held it palm up over the cauldron. The heat was enough to sting her flesh but she kept her hand there; knife gripped firmly in her right hand. She pressed the tip of the blade against her thumb; pushing harder until the sharp sting shot up her hand and she could see the crimson bubbling against the knife’s surface. She let the blade clatter against the table and titled her thumb over the cauldron. One…two…three… but her blood seemed to pool against the pad of her thumb rather than continue to drip. Wincing; she squeeze her thumb, pressing against the wound until it dripped once more; forcing four more droplets of blood to fall from her cut and into the cauldron. Her finger stung and she could feel tears pricking at her eyes. It wasn’t the most painful thing she’d ever endured but it still hurt.

            Out of habit she sucked her thumb into her mouth; the coppery taste meeting her tongue and she felt herself shudder. His image flashed behind her eyes. How he needed the blood. But she shook her mind free and quickly found a tiny roll of gauze to wrap around her bleeding wound. With her thumb secured she watched the potion simmering in the pot. It would be another few moments before she would need to add the aqueous humor. She still wasn’t certain she could go through with it. It involved stabbing her eye at just the right angle to suck up just a few drops of the gel-like fluid that floated between her lens and cornea; to not hit her cornea or lens, and to not accidentally draw from her vitreous humor, which was non-replenishing and held the current shape of her eyeball.

            Hermione set the syringe down on the table and turned to the cabinet of utensils. It took her only a moment to find two tiny clamps; perhaps used to hold open arteries of tiny creatures during dissection, and a mirror. With two simple spells she had the mirror levitating before her face, close enough to get a clear image of her eye; and the clamps tugging on her eyelids holding them open. She could feel the tears beginning to swell once more; her heart racing, blood pulsing hard through her ears. But she scolded herself; it would do no good to cry and ruin the entire potion. Hermione did not blink but rather tried to calm her mind to fight back the tears and in a moment her vision was once again clear.

            Her hand trembled as she picked up the syringe, but she held it steady as she drew the needle tip close to her eye. “Steady…” she whispered aloud, needing to reassure herself. “Steady…don’t poke your lens…careful…” Tears began to leak from her right eye as the sharp point of the needle pressed against the soft cells of her eye. She gazed straight ahead, her eyelids forced open by the clamps; and with a quick tug on the syringe end she withdrew the fluid. At once she felt dizzy and nearly fell forward into the cauldron. Darkness swam in front of her left eye and then flashes of colors and more darkness. She tugged the clamps from her eyelids and allowed her eye to fall closed. It stung, as if she’d been hit in the eye with dirt or sand. And she felt nauseous. She squinted, trying to force her eye closed as she squirted the syringe’s contents into the cauldron. The stirring rods began to stir once more and the potion began to bubble; but Hermione fell back, and found herself unable to stop the bile that had risen up in her throat.

            She retched onto the floor; her throat stinging; her eye stinging, like a great pressure swelling behind it. It hurt to open it. It hurt to keep it closed; and again she felt a wave of nausea sweeping through her. She choked back the bile; crying, as a stabbing pain shot through her head. The roll of gauze was in her hand and she was packing it tight against her eye; anything to relieve the pain even if it was the sensation of pressure. She grabbed a cleaning towel and tied it tight around her head, angling it over her wounded eye. After a few moments the pain was dulling and at best was a minor throbbing sensation. But she would survive and her eye would heal.

            Hermione slowly pulled herself back off the floor and gazed at the potion. It was settling; no bubbles and it had turned clear as if it had been water all along. She breathed a sigh of relief and then grabbed a ladle and began to bottle it. In a few moments she’d cleared the workspace, scourgified the vomit from the floor and tucked the potion vial away in her robes; the laboratory was empty and clean as if she’d never used it. She retrieved an eyedropper from the cabinet and then crawled back into the study. She was exhausted and in pain and her vision was blurry as she now viewed the house with only one eye. But she needed to him out to administer the potion she’d worked so hard for; to see if it would help. Five drops in each eye; every six hours; for several days, the book had said. The sooner she could start it, the sooner six days would pass; so despite her pain and exhaustion, she climbed the stairs to seek him out.

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Mission Impossible