Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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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Hermione bit her lower lip. He had walked out of the room and she had not found the words to halt him. Presumably he’d gone upstairs. She made her way to the kitchen and pulled out the copper kettle from its cabinet. Tea would help the situation. For a moment she was once more overwhelmed with his private collection of tea. He had taken no care in creating a suitable living space for himself inside his sleeping chambers, but managed to keep a fully stocked cabinet of tea. It baffled her, but her thoughts were currently preoccupied with his dismissal of her.

            She sighed, and sat down at the table over a steaming mug of orange flower tea. It wasn’t going at all how she had planned. Of course she hadn’t exactly planned for him to be as bad as he was, and she certainly hadn’t planned for him not to recognize her. And then for him to dismiss her once she’d finally proven who she was. Another heavy sigh. Her mind was screaming about the purpose of the mission as she sipped on the tea. She’d been sent to retrieve him, and the information. She’d nearly forgotten about the information. She’d read it over the first night she’d arrived. How long had she been there? Two days? Perhaps just a day and a half? She’d failed to keep proper track of time. Though it hardly seemed to matter with him being in his current state.

            Hermione closed her eyes and leaned her head forward into arms. She would not cry. But her cheeks were damp with tears before she could help herself. He had been the bravest man she had known; the man who risked everything to save them; the man she had managed to see an entirely different side of after the second fall of the Dark Lord. But to see him reduced to this, she could not help but cry. She felt foolish for crying and kept her head buried her arms; for a moment wishing she hadn’t even bothered to undertake the mission.

            It wasn’t his frail body or broken spirit that had upset her so, but his eyes. His beautiful rich deep eyes that now saw nothing and appeared as little more than dark voids; it tore at her heart. He was a man who had been willing to die for them, only to live another day and then be forced to suffer this existence. Her tears flowed freely, she was no longer able to stop them as the thoughts drifted through her mind. How long had it been this way? He’d disappeared some months ago; of that much she was sure. Hermione slowly lifted her head from her arms and took a long swallow of her tea. It would do no good to sit crying over his condition. If he could be helped, and she was damned and determined to try, it wouldn’t be because she sat at the kitchen table moping.

            Hermione sighed again and took another swallow of tea. It wasn’t going to be easy. Dumbledore hadn’t given her much to go on; in regards to what was ailing him. An ancient dark magic that involved blood and sacrifice; not much was known of it. She frowned, her brow creasing in consternation as she gazed across the table at nothing in particular. Tricking him would do no good, even in his weakened state he was far too clever to fall for such nonsense. And finding it herself would take too long; he would likely die before she could find suitable information on the curse in his study.

            She finished her tea and rinsed the mug in the sink. She would have to brew some more later. But as she stepped back from the sink she was struck by an idea. Her lips curled into a grin and she almost laughed. Drawing in a deep breath she reached into the cupboard and withdrew a second mug. Remus Lupin had once taught her that tea could solve anything. She only hoped that he was right.

            With two steaming mugs in hand she headed out of the kitchen and up the tiny staircase. It was the most logical place to start as he’d most likely gone up to the tiny bedroom in which he slept. Hermione stood in the corridor. The door to his room was ajar. She leaned against it with her shoulder and allowed the door to swing in. But the room was empty. She frowned for a moment and then turned around. The door to the room that she was occupying was also ajar. Hermione leaned her shoulder against the door to her room and it swung slowly inward with a loud creak.

            “Leave me…” he said, hardly more than a whisper.

            Hermione bit her lower lip and closed her eyes for a moment. He was on his knees trembling; his back facing her, leaning against the side of the lavish bed. She took slow steady steps toward him and sat both of the mugs on the nightstand before kneeling down beside him.

            “Though I may be blind, I know you are not deaf,” he hissed.

            She scooped his trembling hands up into her own and squeezed them gently. Severus did not tug hard as he tried to pull away from her, but she held firm to his hands. “I will help you.” She said.

            “There is no helping me,” he rasped. “Take your information and go, haven’t you done enough?”

            She let her head fall forward for a moment; his blank eyes staring in her direction. But she tilted her head up once more and leaned slowly forward. “You deserve better…” she whispered and steeled herself against the tears that were threatening to trickle down her cheeks. “Please, tell me what— I can’t help you if I don’t know where to start looking.”

            Severus did not speak. He did not pull his hands from hers. His body was trembling; as if he were cold. Hermione could not help it as a single tear trickled down from her eye. A long silence passed between them for quite some time as she sat on the floor crouched close to him, holding his hands. Finally he parted his cracked lips to speak. “Why did you come here?”

            “I told you we needed—”

            “Do not lie to me, Hermione Granger,” his words were choked out, as if it pained him to speak. “I know what the order needs, but they could have easily sent anyone. Why send you? Why did you come here?”

            Hermione slowly released his hands and brought her hand up to cup his cheek. His skin was cold to the touch, so thin and frail. “Because I believe in you, and I believe you deserve better, and I…” her voice caught in her throat and she coughed for a moment. “I couldn’t…” she shook her head. For a moment her eyes fell closed and all she could see in her mind was the photograph from the night at the hero’s ball. And then flashes of him, pinning her to the bed, pinning her against the counter in Grimmauld Place, his lips on her flesh, his eyes raking over her. Her eyes fluttered open and she gazed into the empty voids of his eyes.

            “The truth is…I couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I became concerned when you’d disappeared. I wanted to seek you out because I knew I could, but mostly because I needed to know you were still alive because, you see, I missed you,” her words came out in a tumbled garbled mess.

            He remained silent, but she swore for the briefest of moments that he leaned his cheek into her touch. Hermione curled her free hand around his fingers. “I’m going to help you. You deserve better,” she repeated.

            “And so do you,” he muttered, pulling his cheek back from her palm. “This is not a child’s game, Hermione,” he said, but was in no position to stand. He leaned a bit more against the bed. “I am not a man who begs anything of anyone, and I seldom ask…” his voice trailed off. “But if you missed me, miss me as I was not as I am, and leave me…”

            “No,” she said simply.

            “Hermione Granger…you are Gryffindor even now. Foolhardy and blindly courageous,” he said with almost a hint of mirth.

            “Then let me help you,” she said.

            Severus parted his lips once more to speak but then slowly closed his mouth. He reached his hand forward and tightly gripped her wrist. “You tempt me,” he muttered, and then slackened his grip; all of his fingers trembling as if his nerves had given way to a sea of spasms. “I am no longer the man I was.”

            “You are the man I—” she halted her words. “You are still the same Severus Snape that I knew before this curse was afflicted upon you,” she said. “And nothing can change that,” slowly she reached behind her for the mug of tea. “Drink this, you’ll need your strength.” She said and held the cups to his lips.

            At first he was resistant; but after a moment he tilted his lips forward as she pressed the cup against his mouth and he drank the tea. He swallowed hard, his fingers trembling as he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. “Now,” she said, placing the cup back on the nightstand. “Let’s start with your eyes…” she said.

            “Sight is only sight,” he said. As his hands shook he raked them gently across his eyelids. Hermione gasped as slowly the blackness peeled away from his sockets. Shining brown orbs glistened back at her. “I am still as blind as before,” he muttered, his eyes unfocused. “But the concealment prevents my irises from deteriorating…” again his words were forced. The milky film of blind eyes was nowhere to be seen, but in a moment the blackness concealed his eyes once more.

            Hermione frowned. “It’s a glamour then?”

            Severus slowly shook his head. “A concealment of sorts,” he muttered. “Should there be hope…”

            “There is hope,” she said.

            Had he the strength he would have scoffed. “I need to rest,” he muttered.

            “Let me help you up,” she said. Hermione stood slowly and then balanced herself against the side of the bed. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his chest. With a heavy sigh he leaned into her and allowed her to pull him to his feet. He was so light, a frail feather, as his body leaned against hers and for a moment she longed to weep. Though he was fragile he was still taller than her and as she righted him to his feet she found her head resting against his chest. “Rest here…” she said, and gently helped him back against the mattress.

            “This is your bed,” he said.

            Hermione hiccupped to hold back a tiny sob. “It’s not as if we haven’t shared a bed before,” she muttered. With a few guided movements she had turned down the doona and helped him under the sheets. “Rest,” she said as she moved to slide back off the bed.

            His fingers gripped her wrist once more, tighter than before; as tight as he had gripped her the night he’d been in the room after her shower. Hermione’s breath hitched in her chest. He held her firm for a moment before he spoke. “You should rest,” he said.

            She couldn’t help the flush that crept into her cheek. “I…” her voice trailed off, and before she could help herself she had sat on the edge of the bed, closer to him than perhaps she had intended. “Oh,” she tried not to blush though she knew he couldn’t see her. “I do need to rest,” she said softly.

            His fingers slackened once more, trembling as before as he released her grip. He turned his head to the side. “You’ve…” he coughed and cleared his throat. “I cannot be any more broken and humiliated,” he admitted and then closed his eyelids. “But as I’m liable to expire before you can magically do what a more skilled wizard than yourself was unable to do…” his eyes remained closed as he drew in a shallow breath. “I should find myself requesting that you…”

            “Ok,” she said, not waiting for him to finish his sentence. Hermione bit her lower lip as she gently crawled onto the bed, sliding under the doona next to him. His body was so frail she was hesitant to touch him, but after a moment she laid her head on the pillow beside him and placed a hand against his chest. The cotton of his shirt was thin enough that she could feel his chilled skin against her palm. She frowned, but kept her hand on him.

            He said nothing, but tilted his head toward her slightly, his nose resting against her hair.

            “So it is alright in your bed, then?” she tried her best not to smirk, as she inched her body as close to his as she dared.

            “No, Granger, it is not,” he muttered. “But as this is your bed…” his voice trailed off as he inhaled the scent of her hair. “Let me rest,” he muttered.

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Mission Impossible