In Other Alternate Universes

Youthful Perception


Professor Hermione Granger returned from her nightly rounds of the castle in a terrible mood. It was a Saturday night and she’d caught no one shagging in the castle other than two of her own Slytherins, who she told to use a Silencing spell for the noise as well as a Containment spell to quell the scent of sex in the air next time, then let go. Both young men were very happy about that.

Now she was on her way back to her rooms, miffed for another reason . . . she had been looking forward to seeing young Mr. Snape on his rounds. The boy had grown on her during his last year, losing his irritating habit of trying to answer every blasted question and showing off his knowledge. He had become rather quiet and intense and had grown amazingly fast as well. It seemed as if he’d grown a full two feet when he returned from vacation. He had broadened too, although he was still rather slender. Only his shoulders gained any width.

Mr. Snape was slow to speak now and looked as if he thought everything over carefully before he opened his mouth . . . sometime it seemed like insolence, but he would always respond just before getting points taken.

And when he spoke, good gods. His adult voice was in full force . . . soft, silken near purrs, as if every syllable were purposely pronounced to seduce. Combined with those dark, intense and seeming old eyes, the irritating little know-it-all of Gryffindor had become a rather yummy Age-of-Consent Gryffindor.

Not that Hermione Granger would ever do anything with the wizard. She knew how she was perceived. Cold, dark, without feeling, without any passion other than anger, hatred, disdain. Yes, she was perverse, but years of serving as a spy for the Order would do that to you. Especially when you bore the marks of your service.

Scars on a man were like a badge of honor, but scars on a woman were just plain ugly. Professor Granger hadn’t engaged anyone in years because of this. She was too badly torn, the scars on her back forming a kind of tree with a thick trunk that ran half the length of her spine and branches that spread across her upper back and shoulders. Voldemort purposely had the pattern made. It was easy to see it was done artistically . . . yet scars were scars and Hermione found nothing beautiful about the markings on her back. They were a deterrent to intimacy and a constant source of sorrow.

Poppy had done all she could to treat her over the years when she returned from the despot, torn and shuddering because she had displeased him in some way, but could do nothing for the scarring. The Dark Lord had no mercy for anyone, witch or wizard who failed him. And Hermione always seemed to fail him, although she could have provided more information than she did, if she hadn’t hated him so much.

He tried to kill her with Nagini at the Final Battle, but Hermione had been using the snake’s venom for years, building up an immunity to it while brewing the Dark Lord’s elixir. Peter Pettigrew had taken over, but not before the anti-venom took hold. She lost a lot of blood that night and very nearly died . . . but her will to live was strong, and she was still alive when Severus, Harry and Ron returned to the shack after Harry reviewed her memories and learned of her love for his father and what she sacrificed for that love.

But despite her rescue, Hermione still harbored hatred for the boy-who-lived. It wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair, she knew this, but every time she looked at him and saw Lily Evan’s green eyes looking back at her, hatred boiled up inside her like magma. A part of Lily still lived through her son, a son that rightfully should have been her son, and it was as if a knife were twisted in Hermione’s chest anytime she was around him.

Some wounds never heal.

But she had moved past James Potter’s death with the death of the Dark Lord, and now sequestered herself in the dungeons, despite efforts to draw her out, make her part of the celebrations continuously going on. She was a hero now, highly sought after. But she didn’t want to be paraded about like a curiosity, listening to the lip-service now given her after years of being suspected as a traitor and utterly despised. She did what she did and it was over now. All she had left was existence. Even her hatred of the Dark Lord was no longer here to give her purpose. But the desire to live, even if that life was less than stellar, was strong. She lurked in her dark world and taught the thick students that passed through the halls of Hogwarts with grim dedication.

At least she could browbeat them and make their charmed lives a bit less charmed.

Ah, but young Severus Snape. He had always been a source of pleasure for the dark witch, even though she never showed it. He was a Gryffindor, more the pity, but his mind was sharp and inquisitive and he hungered for knowledge, absorbing all he was taught and retaining it securely. She had to pad his marks in order to keep him struggling to do better although he always did very well. Too well. Well enough to breeze through Hogwarts without a hitch.

Fuck that. As long as Hermione was around she wouldn’t let him develop the swollen head and prideful manner of those who know they are the best. Out of all the teachers at Hogwarts, she was the weight that kept him grounded. He wasn’t her charge, but . . . in her way she was still protecting him. He was going to make a fine Potions master one day.

Hermione walked down the dungeon corridor, lost in thought concerning the Gryffindor. He was the subject of many of her fantasies, although in her mind he was quite . . . un-Gryffindor-like. She was a Slytherin after all, and had always liked her men strong, dominating and demanding between the sheets. She conveniently pushed his youth to the back of her mind, preferring to visualize him as a natural. Silken black hair that brushed his shoulders, skin the shade of fine bone porcelain, a petulant mouth, dark intense eyes, a large aquiline nose, slightly hawkish but doing nothing to take away from his attractiveness, long, sure fingers . . .

Yes, Severus Snape was young, but could fit into the fantasies of a woman of any age. As Hermione began to open the door to her office she idly decided to break out her dildo and take the edge off, most likely sighing the young wizard’s name as she did so. Suddenly, she was grabbed from behind, the wrist of her wand hand held tightly. Whoever had her was strong and a hand smelling of spices clamped over her mouth and she was pulled back against a strong, lean body. She was forced into the office and the door closed behind her and her abductor.

“Don’t resist me,” a silken voice breathed quietly, “I know what’s in your head, professor. I’ve known since I returned to Hogwarts. It’s obvious to me you’ll never make the first move, so I took it upon myself to do so. I’ll never breathe a word about it to anyone. I can keep secrets as well as you can.”

Magical swirled in the air as an Oath took hold.

Hermione knew that voice, that beautiful seductive young voice.

”Nod your head if you are willing,” the voice said, warm breath tickling the shell of her ear.

Slowly, Hermione nodded.

The pale hand slowly slid from her mouth.

”I have scars,” she said softly, not turning her head to look at young Snape, but feeling him in her very core as she rested against him.

”We all have scars,” came the quiet response, “it doesn’t make you any less desirable to me. I don’t see you just with my eyes . . . it goes deeper than that. Sacrifice has its price . . . there should be reward as well. If anyone in this world deserves reward and appreciation, it’s you professor. Far beyond the lip-service they pay you. I may not be much of a reward, but I am here wanting you without any pretense.”

Hermione closed her eyes as she felt her hair swept back, and soft warm lips press against the skin of her throat, sending pulses of pleasure through her body. It quivered at the unaccustomed sensation of another’s intimate touch.

”Take me to your rooms,” Severus breathed. “I don’t know if I will be what you need me to be, professor, but I will do my very best.”

Hermione smiled slightly.

If there was one thing she had learned about young Severus Snape over the years, it was that his best was always good enough.

****************************************
A/N: Well, I added another, hoping to spark some interest. These aren’t technically new stories. I’m just putting out a few possible scenarios, without the lemons. Hopefully someone else will squeeze the lemonade. ;) Right now it is a rather LONELY pursuit.