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
- 13
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A/N: Thanks for being patient!

His warms lips caressing her skin; his frantic kisses as he moved within her; the material of her dress bunching against her stomach. The images flashed in her mind as she climbed the stairs. She allowed her mind to rove over the delicious memories in attempts to block out the throbbing pain in her eye which had radiated through her head into a pounding headache. She intended to return to the laboratory and brew herself a calming drought once she’d administered the first round of the eye drops. The fluid in the tiny vial was certainly more than enough than he would need, she hoped. The tome had failed to state how many days ‘several’ would be, but she hoped that the effects would be quickly seen. Five drops every six hours. She made a mental note to search her belongings for a time piece to make sure that she got to him every six hours with the drops.

            Hermione hesitated outside the door to her room. She knew he was resting inside. The notion of him in her bed sent a shiver up her spine; half in excitement the other half cautious fear. Severus Snape, the man she’d made her lover; was not the man resting in her bed. The man whose hands had roamed her body on those handful of occasions as if he’d been her sordid affair for many years; the hands that could bring her to a squealing peak of pleasure; they no longer belonged to the man resting in her bed. She felt a bead of sweat drip from temple. It was the headache, and the self-mutilation, she was running a fever and nothing more. She would not be afraid of what he had become for she was determined that it was only to be temporary.

            The man resting on the other side of the door was something to be feared. That man; whose hands had gripped her firm around the middle and refused to let her go when she begged; whose lips sought her out only for blood, he was dangerous and she could feel her pulse quicken in her chest as she thought of him. “Stop it,” she hissed aloud, trying to calm her thoughts. She’d let her imagination run away with her; or perhaps she was being painfully honest, and he was a danger. She could not ignore the tiny cut that was scabbing over on the side of her neck. He had forced himself upon her and broken her flesh to fulfill his bloodlust. She mentally scolded herself. It wasn’t a bloodlust, it was a need. He needed the blood and could no longer control himself. He had warned her.

            Her body tingled as she curled her fingers around the door knob. A wave of nausea swept through her as she slowly turned the knob and opened the door. It was almost like a panic attack; the tightening in her chest, the tingling in her fingers, the racing of her heart, the pulsing of her blood; Hermione stood still in the doorway for a moment trying to catch her breath as the panic stole it from her. She could not be ruled by fear. She’d faced worse. She’d stood in the face of Lord Voldemort and survived; she’d been tortured by Bellatrix LeStrange and survived. Why did this man frighten her so? She bit her lower lip and stepped forward.

            Again he was slumbering; his chest rising and falling in deep even breaths. She wasn’t sure that she had expected to find him any other way. She felt a stinging sigh escape her lips. She’d been holding her breath; perhaps frightened that upon opening the door he would be nowhere to be seen; lying in wait to spring up and attack her. Hermione shook her head; again she felt as if she were letting her imagination run rampant. It was difficult to see him fully in the darkness of the room though she was only seeing him with one eye. She was certain that with a little rest and perhaps some more tea and a heavy dose of something to calm her nerves that she would feel fine and soon be able to see out of her eye.

            Her footsteps were soft as she approached the side of the bed. It was ghastly how similar he was to a corpse; though corpses didn’t often breathe. His skin was so pale she could see the veins clearly pronounced on his arms; which were draped over top of the blanket. She wondered if he were naked, as he had appeared to be before. The thoughts of the naked man slipped through her mind. She’d never been with him completely naked; the night of the ministry ball withstanding; though she’d seen him in the shower and that had been enough to set her blood boiling with desire. But now he was a ghost of the man he had once been. She had helped him bath; guiding his frail trembling form into the bath water, doing her best not to cry as she did.

            “Severus,” she whispered, her voice cracked. The fear and the pity were overwhelming her. She couldn’t fear a man who was hardly able to lift himself into a bathtub. His shoulders shivered as she leaned toward him. “Severus,” she repeated his name louder than before and found herself jerking her head to the side, looking away. It was the black voids of his eyes that frightened her. She couldn’t see his brown shining eyes through the enchantment and it somehow made him appear soulless, as if he would actually harm her to appease his baser needs. She squeezed her fist tight at her side, the vial still clutched in her hand and slowly she turned to look at him.

            He was gazing in her direction with his blackened voids; face passive. “Yes?” he whispered.

            “I have…” she swallowed and then stepped closer. “I have eye drops that I’ve been working on in the laboratory. They must be administered every six hours. Five drops to each eye. For several days.” She said. She sounded clinical; like a nurse trying to give care instructions to her charge; only it seemed silly as she would be the one administering the drops every time.

            “Eye drops?” he questioned, and she watched almost in amusement as one of his eyebrows quirked upward.

            “Something I found in one of the tomes in your study,” she said.

            “I thank you kindly, but you’ll not be mucking about with experiments, I’m no guinea pig, just let me die in peace,” he muttered and then closed his eyes.

            Hermione frowned. She placed the vial carefully on the table beside the head of his bed before crawling slowly onto the bed beside him. “I did not just stab myself in the eye to try and cure your affliction to have you treat me like some blithering idiot third year student,” she snapped. Her fingers were laced tightly together and she wrung her hands wishing she hadn’t raised her voice as it echoed through her already throbbing head.

            “I didn’t ask for you to—”

            “I’m well aware of that, you stubborn man,” she said. “At least in your condition that much of you has not changed,” she muttered and then carefully reached over to the nightstand and grasped the vial in her hands. “Now, I need you to remove your enchantment so that I can place these drops in your eyes,” she said firmly.

            She froze as she felt his hand groping against her shoulder, touching her, gripping at her neck, and then he cupped her jaw. Hermione closed her eyes and held her breath; heart racing, lungs stinging. His fingers, trembling and weak moved slowly up her jaw line and over her cheek until he could feel the towel tied in place. He pressed against the side of her head where the towel was knotted and then traced his finger down to her eye; pressing against it a bit harshly for such a bony finger.

            “Ow,” she whimpered and recoiled her head slightly.

            He said nothing but slowly shook his head. He allowed his trembling hand to fall slowly back to his chest, resting atop the sheet once more. “I wish you had not done this,” he said.

            She sighed. Perhaps stating that she’d stabbed herself in the eye had been a bit melodramatic, although she had actually punctured her eyeball with the syringe tip. “It’s fine, it will heal up in no time, aqueous humor is replenishing and my vision will be hardly effected if at all…” she let her voice trail off. “It just hurt, so I bound it; as would with any stinging wound,” she said as if trying to sound medically professional once more. “Now,” she shifted her weight to lean over his face a bit more. “Please remove the enchantment.”

            His fingers were still shaking as he swiped them slowly across his eyelids and when he opened his eyes she could see the glossy brown irises that she had so long missed. She felt her breath catch in her chest as she stared into his eyes. These were the eyes of her driven lover; the man who had teased her mercilessly in the basement of the Order’s safe house; the eyes that she had caught staring on more than one occasion at Order meetings. But they looked weak; frail as he did. Hermione plucked the dropper from the cap of the vial and squeezed its tip, filling it with the drops before she placed it over his left pupil. “Now hold still,” she said.

            Hermione squeezed the dropper precisely; five drops falling from the tip, splattering against his iris, running into his pupil. She shrieked and gasped as his hand shot forward and gripped her wrist tightly. A strangled cry escaped his throat and she tried to pull back from his deathly tight grip as his body began to seize. “Oh gods,” she muttered. “Let go, let me help you,” she urged.

            Severus growled, a howl of agony filling the room as his back arched up from the bed and his body began to shake. “Blasted— burning—” he grunted through gasped breaths. After a moment the trembling subsided and he fell back against the mattress, his grip slackening against her wrist.

            She felt herself panting slightly; he’d more than startled her. “I’m sorry, it failed to mention side effects,” she whispered.

            He said nothing, but simply nodded his head as if giving her the go-ahead to induce more pain. She hesitated for a moment. The poor man was already suffering and it pained her to inflict more pain upon him. But if it would cure his sight; she held the dropper steady over his right eyeball but before she released the drops she gripped his hands with her free hand. “It’s ok,” she whispered and then quickly dripped five drops into his eye.

            Again his body seized; though this time she expected it. His bony fingers felt as if they were melding into hers as he squeezed her hand; hard enough to snap his bones as the wave of pain roiled through him. He did not cry out but rather gasped his pains; grunting and straining to keep his voice silent. When again his back fell back against the mattress Hermione reached for a cloth that had been resting on the nightstand. “Aguemente,” she muttered and damped the cloth before wiping it gently across his forehead. “I’m sorry,” she whispered and stayed there, gently stroking the cool rag against his skin.

            “Go…” he whispered.

            “I want to make sure that you’re alright,” she said, slowing her strokes on his forehead.

            “There was blood in those drops, and blood on you. Fresh blood. I can smell it. Go.” He hissed, clasping both of his hands together, to keep them from gripping at her.

            “Right,” she said and hung her head. “I’ll be back in six hours time to administer another round,” she said. “And maybe we’ll get you another bath,”

            “Go!” he repeated, his hiss more urgent then before; startling her to jump from the bed. Hermione quickly stepped backward until she’d back into the doorway. He tilted his head away from where she stood and she found herself once more outside of the bedroom. With a heavy resigned sigh she slowly descended the stairs. It was going to be a long six hours.

            She found herself once more in the hidden laboratory, standing this time in front of the mirror. It was the only place she felt truly safe, though she supposed he knew how to access it, but she felt comfortable, knowing that it would be quite a strain for him to get through to the laboratory if he were to seek her out. She sighed. The notion of distrusting the man disturbed her. There was no man more deserving of trust and faith; and yet he had devolved. She reminded herself that it was a curse, an affliction and that she should not fear the man but rather be cautious.

            Hermione gently tugged at the makeshift bandage that was wrapped around her eye. She could still feel the throbbing pulsing behind her eyelid and wondered if it was wise to remove the cloth. But she needed to see that she hadn’t blinded herself. With trembling fingers she managed to undo the knot and pulled away the cloth. Her eye appeared normal, flat eyelid gently closed over it and she felt a tightness in her chest loosen. Slowly she lifted her eyelid. The stinging sensation throbbed only a little as she blinked; watching her iris shift left and right as she carefully glanced around with the wounded eye. She closed her good eye and frowned. Her vision was slightly blurry. She blinked again as if trying to clear the blur from her vision but it did not help. She bit her lower lip and then closed her eye once more before wrapping the cloth back around it. She hoped the damage was not permanent.

            Sleep was calling to her; the longing pain for rest stretching through all of her limbs; muscles aching, bones yearning to feel a period of down time. It was then that Hermione noticed her overall state of unkemptness. Her hair was tangled; she couldn’t recall the last time she’d managed to run a brush through it, and her skin felt sticky; a thin layer of grime growing across its surface. Her face was oily and her lips felt chapped. How long had it been since she’d bathed properly? She’d soaked in the tub; but that had been nights ago. Or had it been only a few hours ago? The sense of time loss in the cottage was beginning to distort her senses. But days or hours she felt disgusting and was certain that she would be unable to rest while feeling so filthy.

            In her traverses of the house the only bathroom she had noted was the one across the hall from where he rested. The same one he’d managed to break into after she had locked the door. A simple scourgifying charm would do, she supposed, though they never left as satisfying a clean feel as a proper shower and scrub did. She couldn’t even recall if the bathroom had a proper shower or if it had only been equipped with the bathtub. After a moment’s thought she recalled having made use of the shower on her first night there; and that she had placed the bathtub and vanity into the bathroom from his tiny chest of wonders. It still begged the question of whether or not it was safe to venture up to the bathroom for a shower. He had after all managed to break in the first night she’d sought out the bath.

            After many moments of debating the benefits and consequences of the situation Hermione decided to ascend the stairs in hopes of finding a proper shower. The hallway was quiet as it had been when she’d left it last. And the door to the bedroom was closed. She felt foolish pressing her ear against the wood; straining to hear him inside. If he was asleep or resting he would scarcely make a sound. She waited; holding her breath but heard only the sound of her heart thumping inside her chest, anxious for oxygen. She sighed slowly and then shook her head. He was just a man; and weakened at that, so should something happen it wouldn’t be hard to overcome it.

            With that notion in mind she slipped into the bathroom. With the grainy wood of the door pressed against her back she surveyed the room. It hadn’t changed since she’d played interior decorator. The tub was still resting as the centerpiece, the vanity and chair against the wall with the shower in the corner on the opposite wall. The green towels which she’d used the first night hung on a rack mounted under what she assumed had once been a window though it was boarded up with nails and plywood. She muttered a simple locking spell and clicked the manual lock into place on the door as well before she began to divest of her clothing.

            The water was hot as it sprayed against her skin and she tried her best to keep her thoughts from turning to him. She dared not think of him; she dared not let her mind wander to the place it so desperately longed to go. She yearned to replay the memory of him taking her at the burrow, or taking her on the counter top; and she longed to imagine his tight corded thighs trembling as he released himself in the shower none the wiser that she had been watching. Hermione opened her eyes and grabbed a bar of soap. It would do no good to think of him that way. The thoughts were frustrating and she could feel her body betraying the logic of it all.

            The hot spray of water washed over her body and she did her best to concentrate on scrubbing the grime from her skin. She was rough as she passed the bar of soap over her arms, around her stomach and down her legs. Gentle touches would only make her think of his caresses. Soap slipped between her fingers; bubbles appearing in its wake and she didn’t notice the soft clunk as the bar hit the floor of the shower. She closed her eyes. It was maddening. She needed to wash her hair; to focus on something other than him.

            A simple transfiguration with the soap and water allowed her the luxury of conditioning shampoo. Lathering her tresses she dragged her nails across her scalp as she worked the shampoo through her hair. It was something she’d often fantasized about letting him do should the situation ever present itself. She growled and then yelped as a glob of the lather leaked down her face and into her bad eye. It stung and Hermione hissed, turning her face frantically into the spray trying to wash away the sensation. Several minutes passed before she slowly blinked her eye and moved her face back out of the water’s path. Her vision was still slightly blurry as she swiped water droplets from her eyelids and she sighed. At least she felt cleaner.

            The water dripped to a halt as she turned the nozzle and reached for the green towel. Hermione flipped her hair forward and wrapped one towel around her head and then wrapped the other around her body before stepping out of the shower. She screamed but quickly cupper her hand against her mouth. “What are you— how did you—”

            He was leaning almost casually against the back of the door; his weight supported against the wood. His arms were crossed over his chest, black voids staring forward in her direction. A frown creased his lips. “It has been six hours.”

            “What?” she asked and shook her head, drawing the towel tighter around her. “Oh, the eye drops…” she muttered. “Right, I…” she cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I felt dreadfully dirty, you just surprised me, that’s all.” With the towel drawn tightly around her figure she stepped toward him carefully. “I’ve left them in the laboratory— oh.” She said watching as he held the bottle in his hands.

            “You left them on the nightstand,” he corrected. “Much as I detest owning up to needing assistance, wasting these with my blind aim would be…a waste.” He said.

            Hermione nodded. She could feel her heart thundering a fierce tattoo inside her chest. She wasn’t vulnerable. It would be fine; she kept reassuring herself. “Well— er, have a seat there, at the vanity chair so I can apply these.”

            He seemed to move with fluidity that he had not possessed before. Perhaps the rest was helping. Although he still trembled as he bent and took a seat; feeling along the vanity to guide him. She noticed that he’d donned a shirt and the soft black sleeping pants she’d helped him into after the night she’d bathed him. “Tilt your head back,” she said carefully taking the vial from his hands.

            This time he did not grip her hand but rather the edge of the vanity as she removed the enchantment covering his eyes. She did her best not gasp. His liquid brown irises were tinted with flecks of red; a bright crimson swimming among his natural rich hue and it startled her but only for a moment. Five drops into the left eye and she waited; allowing his muscles to seize and spasm as the drops course through him. His knuckles were white as he continued to grip the edge of the vanity but she waited only another moment before dropping five drops into his right eye. After a moment she watched his fingers go slack against the wooden surface and he slumped gently back into the chair.

            “Are you— are you alright?” she asked cautiously placing her hand against his shoulder.

            He blinked his eyes for a moment and then rubbed his palm across them, sealing them with the void enchantment once more. “Go,” he muttered.

            “I’ll be fine— you won’t attack me,” she said though her voice had wavered as she spoke.

            “The tempting teasing with these infernal eye drops is maddening enough,” he spat. She noticed that his voice seemed somewhat stronger, not quite as raspy as before. Although it wasn’t returning his sight, perhaps it was helping sustain him, however torturously so. “Please, leave me…”

            She frowned. “I should get dressed at any rate.” She said. “Listen, take a moment to let those drops settle, and then meet me in the study, I want your help interpreting some things— I’ll read them aloud,” she said. “The sooner we can move on this the better.”

            He said nothing and she took his silence to be an agreement. She stepped quickly to the door and slipped out into the hallway leaving Severus alone in the bathroom.

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Mission Impossible