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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.

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“H—how— how long have you…” Hermione couldn’t bring herself to fully ask the question. The blanket was real; wrapped around her figure quite snugly. But surely it had all been a dream—the Order, the rain, the sex upstairs on the bed—but the blanket made her face flush. “Did you hear—”

            Severus said nothing. He remained seated on the armchair across from her. It wasn’t the silence that bothered her, but his eyes. The deep voids of black where puddles of deep brown should have been, it was worse than if he were staring her down intently. In their brief encounters she’d memorized those eyes; so dark and so deep they frightened her at times. But now there was nothingness, and that frightened her more.

            She bit her lower lip and was grateful that he could not see her flush.

            “You were tossing and turning,” he said. It was the first words he’d spoken since she’d noticed him in the room. “And muttering about clothes.” He said.

            Hermione’s breath caught in her chest. Had she vocalized the entire dream? But it had felt so real. His touch, once again on her; his eyes gazing into hers; his breath against her skin. Her mind was reeling. It had obviously been a dream, but she hadn’t remembered falling asleep; the last thing she could recall was leafing through the pages of information. Panic sank in as she glanced back in forth not seeing the papers anywhere.

            “They’re back in the wall safe, you stupid girl,” he said. Severus rose from the chair with difficulty. It wasn’t his blinded eyes that caused him trouble, but it seemed as if his leg was trembling. Hermione had not noticed this the night before, though truth be told, she hadn’t really been looking. “I thought I told you to leave.” He said.

            Hermione stood up. She was still wearing her clothes from the previous day, much to her relief, though her legs were aching from having been cramped up beneath her in the chair all night. “You did,” she said. “But I got caught up in reading over the information, I must have fallen asleep.”

            “Even a blind man can see that.” He spat. “Get the information and go.”

            She hesitated for a moment. “I can’t go. I’m afraid I lied.” Hermione crossed her fingers behind her back; though she knew the man before her could not see this gesture so there was no real need to hide it. “The Order sent me here because things have gotten a lot worse, you see.” She let her words settle for a moment and when there arose no protest she continued. Perhaps she was better at lying on her feet than she thought. “I was sent to take refuge here, a place where they can’t find me.” She paused again. “I’m supposed to formulate a plan with you— we’re all that isn’t captured…or dead…”

            Severus remained silent. The girl— whoever she was— spoke either deadly truth or was as skilled in the tongue of lies as he was. She was not an enemy of that much he was certain— no enemy of The Order or in particular of Severus Snape would have been so careless in their arrival and continued stay. But could she really be all that was left? She would have to be someone extremely important to have evaded capture and remain alive with his whereabouts. His location was under guard with his most trusted secret keeper, Albus Dumbledore, and even then he had taken precautions against being found—but for the man to entrust such a mission to her, then surely it was so bad.

            Hermione bit her lower lip. “Dumbledore sent me, once we’d created a plan we’re to do our best to enact it. We’re the only hope.”

            Severus slowly drew his hand across his face, as if burying his eyes against his palm. “This does not sound promising.”

            Hermione was wracked with guilt as she stood there silently facing him, though she imagined in her head that if things kept going the way they were going, without some sort of plan, her story was most likely not that far from what would become the truth. “This is why I have to help you.” She said. “Your eyes wouldn’t be a bad place to start. You’ll be useless blind.”

            Severus growled, but curbed his response and merely turned his back to her. He stalked, with a bit of a limp in his right leg, back out of the sitting room and down the dark corridor he’d disappeared through the night before. Hermione was quick to follow. She was surprised that he’d managed to get all the way up the top of the stairs by the time she’d caught up with him; perhaps even more so surprised that the tiny cottage contained stairs. Magical things really never did cease to amaze her.

            He’d pushed his way into a darkened room but she was quick to follow once more. The light that flooded the room was hardly light at all but rather a dingy glow casting creepy shadows against the wall. It came from a candelabra mounted on a shelf just above his bed, if you could call it that. A broken down frame with a busted mattress and a threadbare blanket occupied most of the room. Confusion swept over her as he sat on the bed and gazed blankly forward. The kitchen and sitting room were so neatly kempt, and yet his bedchamber was little more than squalor.

            Did he think so little of himself that he deserved no comfort in his rest? Truly he was a tortured man. “So that’s your answer? Growl and walk away? What about The Order?” she asked, trying not to let tears claim her voice. She felt so awful for him. It was pity, which was a terrible thing to feel, but so much more. After all he’d done. Given his life time and again, only to be cast off in the remote middle of nowhere with no one for company and his body failing him, it made her long to cry.

            “Obviously, Miss Last Hope, The Order is far beyond help if they expect me to save them and you— an auror who would make Tonks look stealthy—to assist me.”

            It astounded her that her voice was lost on him. How could he not recognize her? It hurt her, to say the least, because it confirmed that their awkward run ins—however pleasurable—had been nothing more than that. Perhaps she had undertaken this mission with the wrong intentions. Yes, someone had to do it; she was the only one Dumbledore trusted to give it a final go, and yes it was important that she returned with the information, but if she were honest with herself none of those reasons seemed to matter at present.

            “I see.” She said and took a step out of the doorway. One more shot. “Then Dumbledore died in vain. Twice.”

            Never in her life had she expected to be spinning lies like a Slytherin against the former head of said house. And not in a million years would she have imagined that they would have held their ground as truths to his ears. She watched as he stood once more from the bed, in increasing pain, his legs barely able to support his weight, and he turned his head to where she stood. “Then you must take the plans and flee.”

            “I can’t do it without—”

            “I am clearly of no use to you, you stupid girl, or are you as blind as I am?” he snarled. “I can hardly stand. I have no eyes, I’d be more burden than help and won’t last long beyond the regenerative spells of this binding hellacious inferno.” He spat.

            Truth. And not from her lips. She had worried that the magic used to revive him during what would later be known as the pen-ultimate battle with Voldemort had finally taken its toll. It had been forewarned that even if it did work, the price paid might be higher than the life saved.

            “I’m a healer.” She said. It was only half a lie. She had never completed mediwitch training but knew a far greater deal than those employed through the ministry. She kept current on with Mediwitch Weekly and Magical Maladies Quarterly Review. Hermione honed her skills at healing as best she could; combing them with her love of potions and transfigurations. “I can help.”

            He was hesitant. Severus doubted he would last long enough for the girl to muddle around with his theories. It wasn’t worth the effort, but a nagging voice somewhere in the back of his head that sounded suspiciously like Albus Dumbledore told him that giving her a chance was the only option. Damn him for having a conscience.

            “I doubt you’ll be of any help. Standard spells have done little to improve my condition.”

            “And what exactly is your condition?” she asked. She was gaining ground, even if it was baby steps at a time.

            Severus sighed. She imagined that if he had had eyes he would have rolled them. “You ask too many questions.”

            “To be fair, S—” she clamped her hand over her mouth. She’d almost called him Sir. Despite becoming a full fledged member of The Order Hermione had never quite come to terms with accepting him as Severus. Even in her mind during their encounters, he had always been Professor Snape. Or Sir, which she had almost just called him. “Severus Snape, to be fair, I’ve not asked many questions. Though you certainly haven’t provided many answers.”

            There was something about the girl he just couldn’t shake. He’d gone mad, of that he was certain, alone for so long, the mind could play tricks on itself. Her voice was familiar, like someone he’d known a lifetime ago, but he knew that could be little more than the effects of the curse driving his brain to a melted puddle of mush.

            He drew a ragged breath, and leaned against the wall, slowly sliding himself down to the makeshift mattress. “Down the corridor is a study. I need to rest.” He said and waved his hand dismissively at her.

            Hermione’s mouth flew open to protest but no words came out. She thought for a moment that she’d gone deaf and just couldn’t hear her outburst until she realized that her jaw was still. It would do no good to fight with him. If she was going to help him it was obviously going to be on his terms. And if all he was willing to share at the moment was the location of his study; at least he wasn’t kicking her out.

            “Is there a place where I can—”

            “An empty room across from the toilet should do. I’m certain if you’re well trusted amongst The Order that you can find sufficient things to transfigure.” He said.

            It wasn’t exactly what she was looking for, but freshening up and settling in wouldn’t be a bad idea. She left his room and wandered down the hall, not knowing what she was going to find inside his study.



A/N: Thank you for reading! PLEASE leave a review! Let me know what's on your mind, what you liked/didn't like, and how you're feeling about the story. Again, my apologies for not updating sooner!
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Mission Impossible