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Memories of Deception	By : professorflo Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 20868 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters within. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Memories of Deception
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- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
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- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9.
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Disclaimer: See Chapter 1
Well, someone wants me to continue posting... thanks for the review
I'd love to hear from others too, good or bad, what do you think?
Since we are now approaching the Battle of Hogwarts I thought I'd give you all fair warning that I'm going to go more by the film version than the books, as I don't actually have a copy at the moment, and it suits my plans for the story better. Saying that, you may well see a few things from the book that were not in the film, plus of course my own take on it all.
It had been eight days since Snape had woken her up early and started her on her new regime of brewing and learning the Dark Arts. Eight days since she had woken with the unexplainable sadness that seemed to permeate her very bones, and a strange clarity of thought that she had not experienced for several days previously. It had been nine since he had last touched her.
She still felt the need to please him, still had to please him, the longing for his touch only increasing over the passing days. But somehow, over that night just over a week ago, she had lost the urgent, almost painful desire for him, her desperate need for him evaporating, leaving behind only a slow, burning melancholy that she couldn't seem to shake, and which deepened every time he shunned and rejected her.
He had been so careful not to touch her, fastidiously keeping himself out of arms reach unless necessary, and when it was, flinching whenever he realised how close her was to her, recoiling quickly if their hands reached for the cauldron, or a knife simultaneously. The first few times he had done so, she had looked up at him in surprise and hurt, searching for a reason behind the strange behaviour in his face. But his expression had been as closed and inscrutable as she had ever seen it, and before long her only reaction was a slight pause before she would resume whatever she had been doing.
She refused to let herself look at him in those moments, unwilling to let him see the pain that coursed through her every time he shied away from her touch, the pain she knew he would be able to see on her face, no matter how hard she tried to hide it. She told herself constantly that he had never pretended to actually care for her, that he had used and manipulated her until he got what he had needed. He had taken her promises and given none in return. He had never lied and told her he cared for her, yet somehow she felt betrayed, as if he had confessed feelings she knew he didn't have, and then discarded her.
She wished for the pain to ease, that she could stop caring, or that she could hate him for rejecting her so easily, but it just wasn't that easy. She'd taken to watching his hands as he worked opposite her on the long tables in the lab, or the almost delicate way he held his wand as he taught her new and horrific ways to hurt and maim. She could almost feel his fingers on her skin, and she would blush as she remembered writhing and crying out with pleasure in his arms, or how good his weight felt on top of her. Despite the fact that she'd shared his bed only a handful of times before he'd started avoiding her, she seemed to miss him most at night, when his side of the bed lay cold and empty.
He would wait until she was asleep, or nearly so, before climbing under the sheets and lying down as far away as the giant bed would allow him from her. He was always late to sleep, but no matter how early she woke up, he would always be gone. Some mornings she wouldn't have known he had even been to bed if it were not for the impression of his head on his pillow and the rumpled sheets on his side of the mattress. When he hadn't come to bed the night they'd been to Malfoy Manor she'd thought nothing of it. It had only taken the next day and one more night for her to realise what was going on.
Something inside her seemed to harden a little every time he spurned her, and the only way she seemed to be able to cope was the throw herself into the training Snape was giving her, grateful to have so little time to herself, and to be so exhausted at the end of the day that she spent barely a few minutes wallowing in self-pity before falling asleep.
Curses and potions that had at first seemed too horrible to contemplate, let alone use, she now performed without a moment's hesitation and always to the best of her abilities. It was not, she told herself firmly, because she wanted to gain his approval and a return to the way things had been, but because she found what she was learning interesting. The fact that it was dark and dangerous magic seemed to matter less and less each day.
Despite Snape's unwillingness to touch her, he was reserved, but willing to discuss the finer points of brewing, or helping her to better understand the theory behind the dark spells she'd been learning. Their evenings, to an outside, might have seemed cosy, the two of them sat either side of the fire, a book on each lap, and occasional breaks in the silence to ask or answer a question.
The quiet, however felt awkward to Hermione, and if her own eyes were not studying the cold, indifferent mask of the man sat opposite her, she would often feel his own gaze upon her face. In those moments she would wonder what she had done wrong, or whether he had only ever been using her for his own amusement. Most likely the latter, she would usually decide, and quickly try and lose herself in the words of the book before her to keep the tears from creeping into her eyes again.
Snape had set a strict schedule for her time. She was no longer expected to cook meals, but she still started every day by cleaning for a couple of hours. How the rooms still managed to stay as clean as before when she was doing less than half the work she had been she was not sure. Then she was expected either to study whatever Snape gave her or to brew as he watched over her, never speaking one word more than was necessary for her to understand what she was meant to do.
The few hours before dinner were spent learning hexes and curses, as well as defences against the same. He had been merciless with her, always pushing her to work harder, constantly throwing spells at her faster and stronger than before, and expecting her not only to deflect them, but to throw them back at him. They had duelled for hours in what had been her bedroom, now magically transformed into a room specifically for the purpose.
The first two days he had been intense, some fierce emotion flowing almost tangibly from him, his mood changing constantly, and without warning. He was continually watching the time, as if waiting for something to happen, tense one minute and as relaxed as he got the next, on occasion suddenly announcing that she was not to leave the practice room, library, or whichever room they were in at the time until he returned. And he would disappear with a swirl of his robes, leaving her to continue whatever they'd been doing for a short while until he returned.
But today was different. It had started the same as usual, but soon after lunch Snape had suddenly grabbed his arm, hissing. He had thrown stasis charms over two of the more difficult potions they had been brewing, as well as the one he'd been making that he'd refused to discuss, and had left her to tend the others. He'd left quickly with instructions for her to stay in his lab until he returned, although she wasn't to touch anything that wasn't necessary for her brewing.
That had been four hours ago and she had long since finished and bottled the last of the potions. She'd read the tome they'd been using to brew from cover to cover twice, and had tidied up and cleaned the shelves in the cupboards, although she hadn't dared touch the top one where the rarer and more dangerous ingredients were kept, knowing that Snape would had been furious had she done so without permission. The floor and benches were spick and span, excepting the 3 cauldrons that had been frozen in mid-bubble, and the waiting piles and jars of ingredients set neatly to one side of each.
Once more she checked though the items for each brew, making sure there was nothing further she could prepare for either. There wasn't. Involuntarily her gaze landed on the potion that Snape had been brewing by himself. Had she not been so completely bored she would have remembered his secretive manner and displeasure whenever she expressed an interest in the brew. Judging by the many variations of the potion she had seen him make, and the careful notes he had been making she guessed he was creating something new. Surely it wouldn't hurt to take a look.
As soon as he'd been called away, he'd placed the notebook into a drawer under the workbench that she knew was warded against anyone except himself, but you could always tell something by the colour and consistency of a potion, and there were a few ingredients laid out on the bench for later use. She took one last look at the door, but it remained closed, and so she walked around the bench and peered in nosily at the potion.
It was a deep orange colour, although it had a strange translucent quality to it. She eyed the ingredients still on the bench. There were several there that she had used before, many of them used in potions that would counter the effects of different poisons and toxins. There was one she didn't recognise at all.
Curious, she grabbed a small set of tongs, and was just about to lift a piece to take a better look, when the door opened, and Snape walked in. The tightly controlled mask slipped the moment he saw her hovering over the cauldron, and a look of absolute fury crossed his face. He strode across the room and plucked the tongs from her hand, looming over her intimidatingly. She stood gaping up at him, unable to move.
"Get… Out!" he spat.
She ran for the door almost before the words were out of his mouth. As she passed through the archway she risked a glance over her shoulder. Snape was slumped over the cauldron, his palms either side of it on the bench. The anger had left his face, and the last thing she saw as he disappeared from view was the look of terror that had replaced it.
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Memories of Deception