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The Fantasy Book	By : CryingCinderella Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 44516 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 6
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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A/N: This song was based loosely on the notion that in order to make one's fantasies come true one has to put one's fantasies out there first. Please leave a review. I'm currently working on ideas for the other fantasies. I have several laid out but would like a few more before we reach a conclusion. Cheers.

In all her time at Hogwarts she had never seen a private room in the hospital wing look so comfortable. And that wasn’t even the proper word for its description. It was almost cozy and homey. Hermione was awestruck at the furnishings and she felt as if she might have been in his personal chambers instead of the hospital wing, though she’d never actually visited his personal chambers so she hadn’t the foggiest idea as to whether or not the decorum was accurate. But it was lavish to say the least; a four poster bed large enough to comfortable rest several though only one person was occupying it.

            He had been there for weeks. The final battle had left Severus Snape presumed dead. Albus Dumbledore, however, had seen to the necessary precautions to ensure his survival. It hadn’t gone as planned, and the older wizard felt much like the helpless faeries in the muggle fairytale sleeping beauty; he’d been able to save the man from death but a coma so deep that he might never rouse from it had been the only alternative. And he was certain that this coma would not be awakened by the kiss of true love.

            At first Poppy Pomphrey had tended to him every waking moment of the day she had to spare, checking his vitals and administering various concoctions in an attempt to stir him from what seemed to be eternal slumber. But as the days wore on into weeks she’d mostly given up hope, despite the portrait of Albus Dumbledore in her office reprimanding her for doing so.

            And that was how Hermione Granger had found her way into the situation. After she’d taken a few days to mourn the loss of loved ones, check in with her family, and set things straight between her and her two best friends she had done the only sensible thing she could think of and returned to Hogwarts. Her assistance to care for the injured was welcomed and Poppy had taken her under her wing.

            Hermione was an apt student who learned many of the medical techniques quickly. But it wasn’t until nearly six weeks after the war that she was handed the assignment of Severus Snape. She’d spent hours in the library, mostly sorting through the restricted section, attempting to create solutions that hadn’t yet been attempted.

            The man in question lay in the rather luxurious bed as if he were only sleeping and a simple touch to his hand or shoulder would wake him. But she knew better. Many times she had placed her hand over his or touched his arm to administer various attempts to draw him forth into the land of the living and many times had he remained asleep.

            She had taken a fond interest in the case because she firmly believed that she as well as Harry and the rest of the wizarding world owed her life to the man. And she intended to tell him exactly that if he ever awoke from his endless slumber.

            It had taken her nearly a week to formulate her current plan and she had found it in a simple medical hand-guide that wasn’t even in the restricted section. She had almost kicked herself for not thinking of it before, but the idea was there and she was ready to act upon it. She had spent another few days perfecting her approach to the method.

            In her hands was a thick black tome bound in leather with an emerald green dusting on the edge of the pages. It was late in the evening and the hospital wing and been cleared of all visitors. She was alone as she took her place in the squishy high-backed armchair near his bedside.

            “Hermione?” Poppy Pomphrey poked her head into Severus’s room.

            “Yes?”

            “I’m turning in for the night…” she shook her head. “Well, actually for the weekend, I’m off to visit my sister. No current pressing injuries to keep an eye on and I’ve got a mediwitch from Mungo’s dropping by in the early afternoon to administer a few more potions and whatnot.”

            “Alright,” she smiled and nodded, arms wrapped tightly around the bound book.

            “Don’t stay up too late, dear. You won’t do the man any good if you exhaust yourself with your research.” Her words were kind as she pulled the door shut with a soft goodnight.

            Hermione waited until she could no longer hear the Mediwitch’s footsteps in the corridor before she moved from her chair to lock the door. She did climb back into the armchair but rather climbed up into the big bed and shifted herself about until she was seated right next to him. The tome rested on the nightstand at the head of the bed as she leaned back against the headboard. It was padded and covered in leather. Dumbledore had spared no expense in attempting to create comfort for the man.

            Her fingers trembled as slowly undid the buttons on her blouse and then slipped her arms out of the sleeves. She hadn’t worn a bra for the specific purpose of not having to remove it. With delicate motions she managed to lift the man’s body up until his head rested gently against her chest. She settled back into the headboard, angled so she appeared to be cradling him against her body.

            The book had said that skin contact while hearing a heartbeat would help. She’d found a small section in the medical guide about recovering coma patients. Vocal-touch therapy was what the book had called it. Reading or speaking on a subject that would peak the senses, stimulate the brain, draw interest to the comatose person whilst having them resting flesh on flesh with the rhythm of a heartbeat or gentle breathing had been proven in cases to awaken coma patients.

            “I don’t think there’s anything more stimulating than this…” she whispered and ran a hand through his hair. She’d always wondered what his hair felt like. Poppy Pomphrey had been bathing him daily, scourgifying and cleansing him to be sure that no bed sores or other illnesses would present. His hair was silky and fine, tickling her fingers as she tried to steady her breathing.

            The tome she held had been no small feat either. Magical pages bound with intimate thoughts brought together with the use of blood ink and bits of a crushed pensieve. It had been complicated to create and some of the notions she poured into its creation had nearly frightened her, but if it woke him, it would be worth it.

            “This is a fantasy book, Sir…” Hermione swallowed. Despite his comatose state and being completely alone with him, naked from the waist up while his head rested against her chest; she still found it difficult to address him by his first name.

            It wasn’t public knowledge or even private knowledge that Hermione Granger harboured a strange and curious set of feelings toward the man. It was more along the lines of deepest darkest tell-no-one-not-even-on-your-deathbed secrets. The word best used to describe it was admiration, though she was kidding herself if the simplest way to phrase it weren’t a crush.

            She closed her eyes and opened the tome. “These are all the fantasies I’ve had about you…”
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The Fantasy Book