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Twenty-Four Little Hours	By : andihooper Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 10749 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Thank you for all your encouraging reviews. Don't worry, I won't leave you high and dry on the explainations about why they're there etc. It'll all come out during the course of the story. Love and kissesveruverusgirl. (ps. check out my other story 'Tonight's The Night' - a Draco/Hermione romance. lol)

Chapter Two
1pm-2pm

She looked at him, concerned.
"Professor, it's Hermione Granger...try to focus on me, Sir. Do you know who I am?"
He nodded and opened his eyes.
"Yes, Miss Granger, I know who you are. Help me to sit, would you..."
She helped him up so that his back leaned against a wall, holding the handkerchief to his head all the time.
"What happened to you?"
"I was returning to the castle. I could see frantic activity through a few of the windows." He relieved her hold on the handkerchief and brought it down to glance at it - it was quite red with blood. "Unfortunately, I under-estimated how many of his followers there would be."
"I don't know exactly how many followers there were, but at least eight Death Eaters and Voldemort..."
"Miss Granger!" He grimaced. "Do you mind? I am in enough discomfort without you adding to it by speaking that name."
"I'm sorry...I forgot. Someone hit you with a Caducus stunning spell, I think."
"Why do you say that?"
"The Caducus can cause temporary confusion as it wears off and you didn't seem to know who I was for a moment..."
He certainly hadn't, she thought. Who the hell had he confused her with, to have such an obvious...and embarrassing...physical reaction? All she'd been doing was going through his pockets, trying to find a handkerchief or something to stem the flow of blood on his head. It had been unnerving enough to see her normally imperturbable Potions Master lying helpless on the ground, without witnessing that particular bodily reaction.
She felt her cheeks go warm. It had just accentuated her recent awakening to the fact he wasn't just a teacher - he was also...a man.
She knew when it had happened, but not why.
Two months ago, during the first Potions class after the Easter break, Snape had been doing the rounds, inspecting the steaming cauldrons of each class member. When he reached hers, he had leaned over her shoulder to peer into her cauldron and her hair had somehow caught on a button on his tunic. As he turned to go, she gave a yelp of pain as her hair was wrenched at the roots. Then followed the most excruciatingly embarrassing fifteen seconds or so, while he released the hair from the button, with scathing advice to 'tie it back or get it cut'.
She hadn't thought much else about it - apart from the embarrassment - until a couple of nights later when Ginny had started up that ridiculous conversation:
"If you HAD to sleep with one, which Slytherin would you choose?"
Around the group, Ginny, Parvati, Lavender, had all in one voice and without hesitation said,
"Malfoy!'
Hermione had stared at them in amazement.
"Malfoy? You can't be serious?"
"Well, who else is there? Goyle?" said Lavender.
"Ewwww!" screamed Parvati and Ginny, drumming their feet on the floor.
"Imagine having that puffing and panting on top of you!" said Ginny.
"Well, come on, Hermione - who else is there apart from Malfoy?"
"None. I wouldn't touch any of them with a ten-foot wand."
"Nooo...that's not the game. If you HAD to, which one would it be?"
Hermione's mind had all of a sudden locked onto that moment when her hair had caught on Snape's button. How, in the task of untangling it, she had been pulled closer to him, so that her head was near to his chest and her shoulder had for a moment leaned against him. She remembered feeling the solidness of his body; noticing the sleeve of his gown fluttering as his arm moved, enclosing her, momentarily within its folds; and - really, really obscurely - noticing the deep white cuff of his shirt slipping further and further down his wrist as his hand twisted the hair from the button.
The memory seemed to bring a heat to her being. She'd been so close to him, connected to him. It had almost felt as though that shared moment in time had been an intimate experience. She'd been shocked, then, to realise the thought of sharing a real intimate experience with him quite excited her.
"Oh, look, she's blushing. Come on, Hermione...who's the lucky Slytherin?"
She looked up at them.
"OK, I suppose you're right - it would have to be Malfoy."

2pm-3pm The blood seemed to be stopping; at least the pain in his head had lessened, and he was breathing easier now.
He had to agree with Granger, the stunning spell could easily have been a Caducus, he had certainly been very confused; but he was very much afraid it had been one of Malfoy's favourites - Imus Viritas.
Lucius often added to his pleasure of harming people by striking them with this particular curse. In the process of regaining consciousness, the victim would often reveal their innermost secrets. This not only amused Malfoy, but could sometimes prove very useful - for blackmail and other purposes.
She didn't need to be put right about that though. The fewer details she knew about his recovery, and his innermost secrets the better. Let her continue to believe it was a Caducus.
He looked over at her. She appeared to be unharmed. She'd brought him water to drink, rinsed out the blood from the handkerchief, and brought the pillow from the bed and pushed it in the hollow of his back, making sitting a little more comfortable.
All this care and attention from a pupil? This was a unique experience. From the way he treated every single one of them, he'd expect no more than to be left lying on the ground to be walked around and stepped over. Granger however, he had realised, had a strong sense of morality and ethics. She wouldn't have left him to suffer. There was a feeling of decency about her...
...hell, listen to yourself, championing the know-it-all Gryffindor.
He continued to look at her, standing by the table as she took a drink of water. He took in all the curves, covered and uncovered; the well-formed and yet still feminine muscles moving her smooth, fresh skin as she lifted the cup to her lips...
You have to stop this adolescent nonsense! You have to stop looking at her in that way.
This had all started that night, a couple of months ago - during the Easter holiday, when he had accidentally caught sight of her coming out of the bathroom on the third floor.
She had been wearing a thin white dressing-gown that brushed the ground. Her skin looked pink and clean from her bath and her hair was pinned up, giving her a very Grecian look. He was reminded, quite forcibly, of a statue of Aphrodite he had once seen at Lucius Malfoy's house.
The sight of her had stopped him in his tracks.
It had been late, the school fairly empty for the holidays, no one was around and he was quite positive she hadn't seen him in the shadows as he'd done a double-take and stared, fascinated. He really had in all innocence been comparing her to the statue, when she had begun walking slowly down the corridor towards him, her hand going to her hair and releasing it from its clips. She had shaken the mane free, but the movement had caused the sponge-bag to slip from her grasp. The act of bending to retrieve it had evidently loosened the dressing-gown, and without batting an eye, she had pulled the robe wide open, giving him a full-frontal view of her naked body, before wrapping the fabric tight around her again and continuing along the corridor.
He'd sunk further into the shadows, holding his breath, knowing how it would appear if she'd discovered him there, but she'd walked on.
Never before had he reacted to a pupil in that way. In fact, it had been a long time since any female had caused such a reaction in him. He'd had to wait a good few minutes, all the while reciting potion ingredients, before he was able to step out of the shadows and make his way back to his chambers without embarrassment.
That night, in the privacy of his bed, he'd thought of her standing in the corridor. He wasn't given to fantasies, but on this occasion, he allowed one to develop in his mind. She had opened her robe, but before fastening it, had looked up and seen him standing at the end of the corridor. Instead of screaming her fright and disgust, she smiled and left the robe open as she walked towards him, stepping into the shadows with him, pressing her naked body against him. His own hand for the moment, was her hand, stroking him and working him with an expertise way beyond her years and experience.
Afterwards, he'd been disgusted with himself. She was a pupil, barely eighteen. Just a few months earlier she'd been jail-bait. He couldn't believe he'd given in to such a puerile fantasy - such a...sleezy...fantasy. Young, nubile pupil and middle-aged, horny teacher. He felt ashamed to have imagined such a pathetic cliché. He was better than that. Stronger than that.
Now here they were, locked up in a cell together. His mind must focus on the battle being fought outside, the consequences...and both their fates...if the wrong side won.
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Twenty-Four Little Hours