Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Scattered	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25013 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I don't make any money from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
The Unfiltered Truth

Hermione wandered down the darkening Diagon Alley, her hood up, and eyes darting back and forth nervously. She had glamoured her face to look entirely different, but was still nervous that someone would see through the magic and the waning dusk light. She fought her terror as she passed a black-clad witch, and made her way into Flourish and Blotts.
Snape had stayed behind to guard the campsite, and she’d left him his wand, feeling after three weeks of him being cooperative, and non-violent, that she might actually be able to trust him. She’d been practicing her Legilimency every day, every time they spoke, trying to see if he lied, or gave anything away. She’d learned that his Occlumency was better than she’d even thought possible. He was able to let her see into his mind, and feed her information as she perused, making her whole venture useless, as she learned nothing he didn’t allow. It’d been a trying few weeks, attempting to accurately interpret the mind of such a skilled Occlumens, but she felt as though she was at least getting the hang of sifting through thoughts, while holding a conversation normally.
Along with her errands today, she was practicing on other people, and as she took a few books, and inkwells to the counter, she met the sales wizard’s eyes with a small smile. She could see her own face briefly, and feel his revulsion as he turned his eyes quickly away. ‘Good.’ She thought, smiling a little brighter. She’d added a giant mole to just under her eye, and opened the pores in her nose wider, in addition to her disguising changes. It kept people from looking at her too hard, or staring too long.
“Will this be all for you today, miss?” He asked, his fingers ringing her up on the register.
“Actually, do you have a copy of today’s Daily Prophet? I’ve been on holiday a few weeks.” She said, setting her purse on the counter, and pulling out a the amount she owed, careful to keep her guilt from showing. She’d had to steal the money, and couldn’t let on that it wasn’t rightfully hers to spend.
“Here you are. I’ve already finished with it, so you can keep it.” He said, barely glancing at her, as he tossed a newspaper on top of her meager supplies.
“Thank you so much.” She said, reading apprehension in his eyes in that brief glance. She quickly gathered her things and left, deciding not to push her luck too much. Perhaps the pores were a bit much…
“Hey there, missy! Care for a dragon amulet? It’ll repel curses, and heat up when you’re in danger. Only seven sickles! Quite a deal!” A man had shoved himself in front of her, blocking her path, and she stopped dead in her tracks, looking into his eyes, and seeing the drab metal necklaces being dunked into a nasty looking potion. The potion would slowly wear off of the amulet as you wore it, and soak into the wearer’s skin, leaving them unconscious, and helpless.
“No thank you.” She managed, and searched deeper. There was something else…
A tracking charm on each amulet. The faces of several women, and a nasty string of thoughts from the man himself as he looked over Hermione. He didn’t seem too turned off by her charmed face, and instead leered at her hips and breasts, until she pulled her cloak tighter, feeling a wash of fury at what he was doing, with his eyes, and his merchandise.
“I’ll lower the price for ya, miss! Three sickles! That’s a steal! You can’t find protection like this nowhere else!” The man pushed, jangling a handful of the necklaces at her. He would offer to give her one for free if she were prettier. She glared at him, torn by her desire to stop him from endangering future women, and to stay unnoticed. She couldn’t be caught. She’d end up in Azkaban, with Ron. The last Prophet she’d read had told her he’d been locked away, without a trial.
“I said no thank you.” Hermione insisted, trying to step around the man, her hand slipping into her pocket, latching onto her wand, as the man blocked her again.
“Alright, for a dove as charming as yourself, I’ll give it to ya for one single sickle. Whaddya say ta that?” He asked, his eyebrows lifting hopefully. She could hear words in his mind, insulting her, calling her a cow, insisting she’d get what she deserved for being so stingy.
“I still say no. Let me pass.” Hermione said, glaring, her voice lowering dangerously. She tried her best to copy Snape’s most intimidating tone.
“Alright, alright. No need to get yourself in knots.” The man said, backing into the shade of a shop’s awning, glaring at her for a moment, before turning to look for another victim. Hermione looked around, and pointed her wand at the amulets in the man’s hand, casting a nonverbal spell, and hurried along down the street before he could realize what she’d done.
“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL!?” His voice rang through the street, and she kept her head down, disappearing into an alley as the man’s screams of indignation and fury continued. His merchandise had just melted onto his boots, leaving him without wares, and as the metal cooled, stuck to the cobblestones.
Hermione hurried down the alley, and spun, disapparating, and sighing with relief as the Forest of Dean lay out around her, providing protection, and familiarity. She walked back to their campsite, and felt her stomach twist with a strange relief as she saw Snape standing by the table, waving his wand at a cauldron over the fire.
“It went well?” He didn’t bother turning as she approached, his wand moving in a circular motion.
“It did.” Hermione said, not bothering to mention the peddler she’d muzzled.
“Good. Find the page in ‘Magical Maps and Atlases’ with Wales, and leave it open on the table. I’ll have a look when I’m done here.” He said, waving his hand to the table. Hermione sat, letting her purchases slide to the wooden surface, and grabbed the book she needed, finding the page quickly, and sliding it toward him, before pulling the Daily Prophet over, and reading through it.
“Anything interesting?” Snape asked, his eyes sweeping over her as he looked back, tucking his wand into his belt, and sitting across from her, the book of maps in his hand.
“The Malfoys went on trial.” She said, her eyes moving at lightning speed, soaking up the information printed on the pages. “Lucius Malfoy allowed a probationary pardon, Narcissa Malfoy sentenced to death, and their son, Draco, sentenced to ten years in Azkaban Prison.” She read aloud, feeling nauseous at the thought. That was two of her classmates locked up that she knew of.
“Criminals Hermione Granger, Neville Longbottom, and Ginny Weasley still at large, wanted for warmongering, wanton destruction, and aiding known ministry opposer, the late Harry Potter.”
“Well, they’re not wrong, I suppose. Though they’re hardly any better…” Snape mused, his eyes roving the maps of Wales, his finger trailing along the page.
“Oh, listen to this: ‘Headmaster Severus Snape declared dead, after a month missing. Officials state a new Headmaster for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry has already been selected, and will be announced at the end of May, when the school year officially ends. Until that time, Deputy Headmaster Amycus Carrow will continue as a stand-in for the to-be-announced Headmaster.”
“Dead, am I? I must’ve missed the notice.” Snape’s cool sarcasm was unexpected, and made Hermione laugh out loud. She clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggle, and raisedthe newspaper to block his lifting gaze.
He’d seemed a bit more lax since he’d begun teaching her Legilimency, and he’d let slip humorous quips on a few rare occasions, each time taking her completely by surprise. She hadn’t even realized he had the capacity for humor in any form. To find him nearly making jokes was as strange as it was humanizing. It made her see him differently, and she had no desire to let him know that he was no longer the fearsome evil gargoyle she’d been terrified of in school. He still sometimes tried to affect that demeanor, and she did her best to play the part of a frightened school child, for no other reason that to make him feel as though things were normal. She’d found that he only pulled his nastiness out when he felt things were getting too friendly. She sometimes wondered if he was actually afraid of letting someone actually see him for who he was, and had searched his mind countless times, looking, but had only run into what he’d let her.
“Granger, if you’re going to choke, please do so quietly. I’ve no wish for your demise to distract me from this search.” He said with a nasty tone, and she grinned at the paper, seeing his spite for the barrier it was. She hid her amusement with a paper, he hid his with bitterness. She’d almost gotten used to it, but chose to reply in kind, letting him barricade himself behind walls of scorn.
“I’ll try to die quietly, then, Professor.” She snapped back, keeping her smile from her voice, and focusing again on the words of the paper. The rest of it seemed to be useless, and she set it aside, her face finally calm, and relaxed as she peered over at Snape’s trailing finger.
“I’ve found a few places for us to look into, we can begin our search tomorrow.” Snape said, tapping his black wand against the page, to mark his place before snapping the book closed. Hermione let him see her small smile then, glad that he’d agreed to help her find a more suitable location for them to hide than a tent in the forest. It was pure luck that they hadn’t been spotted by snatchers yet.
“Alright. What’re you making then?” She asked, looking at the cauldron that simmered over their campfire. It was a small pewter cauldron, and inside was a thick brown substance with orange lumps.
“Stew. I wasn’t sure I could stomach another can of mystery food, so I took it upon myself to make dinner tonight.” He said, standing, and waving his wand at it, so it slowly stirred itself, releasing a delicious aroma of cooking vegetables, and meat. Hermione’s mouth watered, and she moved closer, feeling her stomach twist with hunger. She needed to do some food shopping, she admitted. Especially if she could convince Snape to cook more frequently.
“I never was much good at cooking…” Hermione admitted with a blush, sniffing the air as the stew circled the pot. It smelled absolutely amazing.
“Why am I not surprised?” Snape drawled, giving her a provoking look. She made a face back at him, and stuck her hands on her hips, keeping eye contact, trying to decode what she found in his thoughts. There were instant memories of hundreds of potions, and students, and herself in his classroom. There was a prickly feeling, which she took for his animosity, and general distemper. There was something else beyond that, that she couldn’t quite get to, as though there was a chasm between these thoughts, and something deeper. She’d found herself cut off in such a fashion before, his Occlumency keeping her far from what he wanted to remain hidden. She felt a twinge of surprise that she’d realized there was anything more there at all. Usually, she could only feel what he presented to her. She smirked, realizing she was getting better at searching his mind.
“You’d say the same thing, even if I could cook. Only then, you’d add a comment about me being a know-it-all on top.” She snarked, having heard the word drift on the images.
“Ah, Miss Granger, but it would be true, either way.” Snape said, giving her an unimpressed stare, and she could tell he was doing the exact same thing to her own thoughts. Only he was much better, and she was still pants at Occlumency. “I would fail to be surprised to find you suddenly with an extra head. Perhaps I’m just too seasoned at experiencing the unexpected.” He shrugged, and waved his wand, summoning bowls from the tent. With another wave, the stew was ladled, and the bowls on the table. Hermione sat eagerly, glad for Snape’s efforts, even if she couldn’t tell him. She dug right in, enjoying the flavors after a month of canned soups, and dinners. She didn’t ask where he’d gotten the ingredients, deciding she’d rather not know exactly what meat was in the stew, or summon any more sarcastic comments from him.
“Thank you for making this. It’s delicious.” She said after a few bites, glancing at his face only briefly, before he could meet her eyes.
“You’re welcome.” He said, no venom in his tone, making her look back up in shock. She wasn’t sure he’d ever been quite so polite. She knew he was looking through her mind, but didn’t mind in that moment, as she searched his, trying desperately to get past his barriers, and finally understand which side of him was real.
“Are you sure you’re Severus Snape?” She asked with feigned suspicion. She knew from his thoughts, and the fact that she couldn’t get very far in them, that it was the real him. He broke eye contact, ending her investigation, and his own.
“Perhaps not. Would you like me to prove it?” He asked, his voice back to its regular mocking, waspish tone. It was more rhetorical than an actual offer, but she replied anyway.
“Sure. Prove you’re Snape.” She took another bite of stew, proving that she didn’t need the verification, but stared into his black glare, daring him to refuse.
“Last time I had to clarify that, I belief wolfsbane was a key factor. It is also what I spoke on when I began teaching you Legilimency. Satisfied?” He asked derisively, giving a roll of his eyes as he lowered his head. Hermione smirked to herself, and took another bite, letting the conversation fall away.
Her spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl, and she sat back, feeling well-fed, and content. She pulled out her wand and cleaned her bowl and spoon, standing to put them back in the tent.
“Are you ready for this evening’s practice?” Snape asked from the table, as Hermione straightened up, stretching her back slightly.
“As ready as ever.” Hermione allowed, sitting opposite him once again. He pulled out his wand, and held it comfortably, waiting for her signal. She took a deep breath, and gave a slight nod, trying to clear her mind, and leave it totally blank.
“Legilimens.” Snape uttered, making the table and forest disappear, leaving a calm blackness in its place as Severus entered her thoughts completely. She managed to hold the thoughtless state for a few minutes, as he poked around, trying to pierce the box of calm. Finally, Hermione made a mistake, hearing a branch crunch somewhere in the forest, her mind instantly going to the possible dangers. It gave him all the opening he needed to peer deeper, following her trail of thought, and memory.
She was pulled away from the worry of Death Eaters, right into the Battle of Hogwarts, the witches and wizards clashing all around as she, Harry, and Ron tried to find the last horcrux. Hermione tried valiantly to pull away from the terror-filled memory, but it held fast, and she watched as the scenes replayed, one by one. She saw Lavender being ravaged, Harry ducking a curse, Death Eaters swarming all over the corridors, and the shrieking shack. She saw with renewed horror as Nagini tore open Snape’s neck, and left him bleeding on the floor, for Harry to gather the memories from. Hermione saw the silvery white strands, and pushed back, whispering her own spell, and breaking into Snape’s unsuspecting mind.
He was thinking about what he’d shown Harry with those memories, and Hermione saw and felt the flashes of emotion. Some were familiar, the young Lily from his childhood, James Potter sneering at him. Others he hadn’t allowed her to before, Dumbledore was there, and a feeling of absolute despair washed over her. Lily was in danger. Dumbledore could save her. He had to. Lily was dead. The Dark Lord had been defeated, and Severus Snape sat curled in on himself in Dumbledore’s office, full of heart-wrenching misery. The only person he’d ever cared for was gone. Dumbledore was speaking to him, but he could barely hear him, until something he said caught Snape’s attention.
Harry Potter had survived. Voldemort had failed to kill him. He needed protection.
“No one can know.” Snape demanded, and Dumbledore nodded, allowing him his spite, and secrets. No one could ever know. Years between memories, Harry attending school, Snape’s efforts to help him, protect him. Harry’s apparent lack of concern for his own well-being. He had Lily’s eyes. It was stunning. Snape speaking with Dumbledore again. Malfoy had been given a mission by the Dark Lord. He was ordered to kill Dumbledore. Albus was pleading with him to take the burden from the boy. The curse would kill him anyway, and Snape would be doing him a favor. Snape agreed. He would take Dumbledore’s life, and spare Malfoy’s soul.
There was the Sword of Gryffindor, hidden in a pond, a doe patronus, the battle, Voldemort, Harry’s eyes as Snape inched toward death. Small snippets of pain, potions, brown eyes, bushy hair. A savior, laying him on a soft bed, forcing pills down his throat. Soft skin under his lips, and a quiet moan. Legs tangled together, and fierce kisses, the real indiscernible from the dream. He remembered lifting her onto the counter, grinding into her, biting at her neck. Suddenly, the memories jerked in the opposite direction, and Hermione could feel Snape’s current, and very real fear. He didn’t want her to see this. He was trying to shut his thoughts down, but she was already seeing the memories, the dreams he’d been hiding, trying to forget.
Hermione’s hair was frizzy as she bent over a cauldron, her sharp eyes following Neville’s progress as well as her own, Harry’s and Ron’s. Snape felt a grudging appreciation for her talent at multitasking. Hermione’s eyes blazing with passion as she fought for house elf rights. Her wand waving as she completed spells effortlessly, charming things, cursing Death Eaters, and helping her friends. She reminded him of Lily, her fierceness, her intelligence, her loyalty. Her bravery. She wasn’t bad to look at either, and she found herself drawn to the very memories he was trying to avoid, dreams that plagued him as soon as he cursed himself with the thought of her as a woman. He dreamt wonderful things, kissing her, holding her, and telling her his secrets. The awful things seemed almost as nice, the biting, hair-pulling, and near violence of some of his passions. Snape’s horror at what she was witnessing was like a blanket over his mind, his terror of what was to come pulling them instantly to it. A dark room, quick, labored breaths, and a sublime feeling. His arm was moving swiftly, and Hermione realized what she was experiencing with a shock. His hand was wrapped around an erection, thinking something awful. She saw snippets of his fantasy, and felt a rush of lust, as his own was made obvious. She pulled away, reeling, thinking back to how he’d said the dreams were always so vivid. He’d thought he was in a normal dream, and if she hadn’t stopped him, he wouldn’t have just been kissing her. She barely realized she was still staring into his black eyes until he stood, breaking the connection, and storming away.
He was furious, and Hermione was after him in an instant calling him back.
“Wait! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”
“Didn’t mean to what, exactly, Granger? What have you done that warrants an apology?” He snapped, not turning around, but stalking farther into the night-filled forest, his long strides forcing her to jog to keep up.
“I shouldn’t have read your mind! It was wrong, I’m sorry! I didn’t think… I just wanted to know what you showed Harry!” Hermione tried to excuse her actions, but felt the guilt anyway. She’d seen much more than she’d hoped, and could understand his anger with her.
“And now you HAVE seen, Granger. You’ve seen everything you could ever possibly want to see about me.” He spun on her, his face furious, his hands balled into fists, and Hermione was brought up short by the look on his face. “So? What’s your verdict?”
“Sorry, what?” She asked, confused, staring into his black, bitter eyes.
“You’ve been on the fence about where I stand from day one, Granger. Now that you know everything, with Lily, and Albus, and the war, what’s your decision? Are you going to put your trust in me? Or has that been destroyed by the other memories?” His face twisted as he said it, sneering at his own thoughts as though they left a bad taste in his mouth. Hermione felt her face heat bright red at the mention of what she’d pulled away from.
“I… Dumbledore trusted you, so why shouldn’t I?” She asked, lowering her eyes. She didn’t want him to see her own memories, or read her apprehension. He might have fantasized about her, but he’d never acted on it. Well, without the fever, but she was still trying to pretend that had never happened.
“Why shouldn’t you trust me?” He echoed derisively, taking a step closer to her. She watched his feet, as he brought himself right up to her. Hermione tried to tiptoe away, and felt the tree in her way, pressing her back into it as Snape’s hand reached out and grabbed her face roughly, lifting her gaze to his. “You saw, Granger. Can you really put your faith in a man that thinks that way about his students? Can you truly trust me not to hurt you? I know you’ve been trying to hide it from me, but I saw the truth just then, too. I’ve already forced myself on you once, what makes you think I won’t do it again?” He threatened, his voice low, and dangerous.
Hermione stared into inky pools of anger, habitually seeing past them as he spoke, noticing how his guards were up, but they seemed lacking, as though he was distracted, and worn down. He was angrier than he was even showing. He wanted to hit, and curse, and scream. She could practically see the redirection, where his thoughts cut off abruptly, and shot at her meanly, shouting awful insults in his head. But they weren’t directed at her. They were coming at her, to keep her from seeing what was underneath. She didn’t have to see it to know that he was angry with himself.
“Professor, you were fevered, it doesn’t count.” She tried to argue, hoping she could assuage his guilt. She hadn’t minded it so much, besides feeling guilty about Ron. If he did attack her again, would she really mind so much? It certainly wasn’t a reason for her to fear him.
“Granger, stop that this instant. You will NOT lie to me, just to make me feel better.” He sneered, grabbing her shoulders and giving her a single shake.
“Lie to you? You were fevered, professor!” She argued, her own hands balling into fists at his blindness. She felt her own anger rising, and tried desperately to calm her mind. He was staring into her eyes, he could see her emotions, and thoughts. She had to get control before he saw-
“Not that, Granger, the other. You didn’t mind? I nearly assaulted you, and you try to make it seem as though it was enjoyable!?” He spat at her, dropping her shoulders, and fixing her with a nasty glare.
“That wasn’t a lie!” Hermione shot back angrily, equal parts upset that he’d heard it at all, and that he thought it was her way of sparing him.
His hands were on her again in an instant, lifting her against the tree, and pushing himself between her legs. He pinned her back to the bark, and captured her lips in his, kissing her viciously, as his fingers dug into her thighs. She gripped his shoulders in fear that she’d fall, wrapping her legs around him for stability, but found her arms twining around his neck, her head tilting to the side as he nipped at her lip, and slid his tongue against hers. She was lost in the feel of him again, enjoying the way he pressed into her, trapping her against the tree, and taking her breath away with his onslaught.
“Is this what you want, Granger? An old man to force his disgusting desires on you?” His lips were against hers as he spoke, leaving her no room to think, or reply until he pulled away, looking into her face, and searching her eyes with a piercing stare. She took deep gulping breaths, trying to form a response to his question.
“You’re not ‘old’. You can’t be more than forty.” She said, feeling slightly silly that that was her first argument. Shouldn’t she be agreeing with him, telling him to get away?
“I’m more than twice your age, Granger. Old enough to be your father. You saw the things I fantasize about. Is that what you crave?” He ground his hips into hers for emphasis, staring into her eyes with triumph, and antagonism, expecting her to pull away any moment, to push at him, or scream. She stared back into his eyes, still wrapped around him, her face flushed, and her lips swollen from his violent snogging.
She couldn’t say no, but neither could she bring herself to say yes. She couldn’t deny she wanted this, it was obvious in the way her heart hammered, and her lungs refused to hold air. She could easily recall what she’d seen of his fantasies, and it made her want to squirm with embarrassment, and curiosity. She could also recall her kiss with Ron. Her determination to save him from Azkaban. She remembered that Snape really WAS old enough to be her father. And with him inches from her, but not kissing her mind into oblivion, she could feel her very real fear. The fear of her first time. No matter how much she liked this, she was still a virgin, and that brought up it’s own entire category or arguments.
Snape’s fingers slipped from her thighs, and she found herself sliding back to the ground, her legs shaky as she watched him pull away from her, his face twisting with guilt.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to steal your innocence here, against a bloody tree.” He muttered, turning away to stalk back toward the camp in darkness. Hermione leaned against the tree for support, her breath finally filling her lungs, but her heart refusing to slow as she stared into the darkness of the forest, the blood rushing through her making the warm night uncomfortable.
She slid to the ground, her hair catching painfully on the bark as she went. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and tried to process the evening, and everything she’d experienced. Everything kept swirling around in her mind, revolving around one confusing question. Could she trust Snape? She just wasn’t sure. It seemed for a moment as though she could, and then he seemed intent on making it impossible for her to do so. Was it another barrier he was building, to keep himself hidden from those around him? She was certain it was, at least in part, that.
She needed to speak to him to put the question to rest, but she was in no fit state to speak to anyone, especially him. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to converse in a level-headed manner after what had just happened. The burning between her legs was no help either; it begged for release, for the return of his rubbing body, and crushing lips. Regardless of her feelings for Ron, Snape seemed to be evoking a very passionate, and primitive response in her. Could she handle being around him, when her body seemed intent on betraying her?
She leaned her head back against the tree in frustration, getting nowhere with her thoughts. It was much too hard to think through the memory of him pressed into her, the insistent and heated desire that pulsed through her blood. She slid her hand between her legs, cupping her jeans, and trying desperately to relieve the pressure that seemed to be growing, rather than dissipating. The relief was instant, and her eyes fluttered closed, as she pressed a little harder, tilting her hips into the feeling. She found her hand rubbing slightly up and down, and snapped her eyes open with a growl, realizing what she was doing.
She stood, and glanced around, wary for anyone watching. She’d be mortified if anyone caught her touching herself so openly. Especially Snape. She sighed, shaking her head, and began heading back toward their campsite. She would have plenty of time to sort out her sexual frustrations, and sudden cravings after she sorted out the puzzle of which Snape she’d experienced was the real one, if any, and after they found a more secure hideaway.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Scattered