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: I apologise that this chapter is particularly short. And I'm ready for the war-zone that's about to hit the review boards. I'm warning you now, readers, it's about to get pretty...well...pretty dark. But stick with it to the end. Please. Thanks.

“Albus!” she slammed her fist down against his desk, causing her tea to slosh over the edge of her cup. “Damnnit, it’s been over a month!” The eyes of Minerva McGonagall were red-rimmed and slightly puffy. She made no effort to hide the fact that she had been crying.

            The old wizard looked somber, the twinkle in his eyes dull and lifeless as he gazed across the desk at her. He did not smile and could not bring himself to offer her a muggle sweet. His hands rested in his lap but he was unable to find words with which to calm his colleague. Albus Dumbledore nodded his head slowly. “I know, Minerva.”

            She sniffled and cupped her hand to her mouth, unable to stop the tears as they slipped behind her spectacles. A soft pop caught their attentions and both witch and wizard turned their heads to a spot near the fireplace. “Winky does hates travel by floo,” she muttered and smacked at her tea cloth dress to shake loose the soot. “Masters Dumbledore, and Mistresses McGonagall,” she squeaked in her tiny house elf voice. “Theres be a visitor approaching the gates with an urgent message most urgent.” She bowed low and then ducked back into the fireplace. Green flames consumed the tiny elf and she had vanished as quickly as she had arrived.

            They were both on their feet and moving quickly to the office door before either could speak a word to the other. McGonagall led the charge down the spiral staircase, moving much quicker than a woman her age should have. But Dumbledore did not trail behind as he kept pace and took the lead as they turned into the main corridor and headed down several flights of shifting staircases before arriving in the entrance hallway of Hogwarts. The large main doors had creaked as they were flung inward and both Albus and Minerva halted their rushing, standing frozen to the stone floor as he strode in through the doorway.

            “Severus,” Minerva’s ghostly whisper echoed against the vaulted ceiling as her eyes grew wide at his approach.

            Albus gazed on with curious eyes, hinted with flecks of concern as the younger wizard approached. In his hands he held an envelope. Thrusting the envelope forward into Dumbledore’s hand he stalked past the older wizard and rushed his descent to the dungeons; leaving the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress standing dumbstruck alone in the entrance hall.

            He’d nearly reached the bottom of the bottle of Old Ogden’s when the knock finally echoed against his chamber door. The remnants of his sober mind contemplated rising from his chair to answer the knock but he thought better of it and swallowed the last remaining drops of the firewhiskey. He heard the knock again and groaned. It was the last thing he wanted; a visitor. Especially if the visitor was a meddling old wizard who hadn’t yet learned the lesson, “the path to hell is paved with good intentions.” Severus rolled his eyes and tossed the bottle into the fire. It hissed and pops and the flames lapped at the glass. But his liquored mind was unable to enjoy the pleasurable sounds because the visitor knocked harder and louder.

            “Fine,” he muttered and pulled himself up from the chair. The alcohol rushed thick through his mind. He wasn’t quite drunk but fast on his way to getting there. With heavy steps he approached his chamber door and pulled it back slightly. Albus Dumbledore stood in the corridor with his hands folded neatly in front of him, his head tilted slightly downward and his eyes lackluster. Severus narrowed his eyes and contemplated slamming the door shut in the old wizard’s face. He was not ready for the interrogation. “Go away,” he spat and made to close the door but the old wizard pressed a toe in the door and then slid past the dour man, entering the darkened chambers.

            “You have returned to us,” he said.

            “That’s bleeding obvious, isn’t it?” he sneered and crossed his sitting room to retrieve a fresh bottle of firewhiskey.

            “With the information,” he added.

            “Get to the point, Albus, or get out,” he snapped and twisted the top from the bottle before taking a long swallow.

            Albus paused. He bowed his head and held his tongue for a moment. “And Miss Granger?”

            Severus felt his fingers quiver. The bottle slipped from his grasp and clattered against the floor. It didn’t break but whiskey began to flow over the stones, running in several directions of the bottle’s contents poured out of its open mouth. He closed his eyes; his chest tightening. Without turning to face the man he retrieved the bottle from the floor, placing it against his lips. He downed another long swallow and gripped the bottle tighter. “Dead,” he said.

            “How did—”

            Severus spun around quickly and glared at the older wizard. “I will not do this. Not here. And not with you.” He spat. Too long the man had played priest to his abhorrent confessions; too long had Severus suffered his guilt retold to the man before him. No longer. He gripped the bottle so tightly it was certain to break in his fist. Another swallow of whiskey and he pointed a shaking hand toward the door. “Get out,” he hissed. “You’ll have your answers come the morning.”

            And to everyone’s surprise, Albus slowly nodded turned around and exited Severus’s chambers. Severus could not breathe the sigh of relief he longed to feel fill his lungs. He could not allow his heart to calm, and no amount of whiskey would set his nerves to rights. As he sank down into the chair and swallowed another long quaff of the whiskey he closed his eyes and felt them. The warm, fluid sensation of tears, leaking down his skin from the loss of Hermione Granger.

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Mission Impossible