TWENTY-FOUR LITTLE HOURS

9am-11am - Hermione groaned. Every part of her body ached and her head was spinning. What on earth had happened?

She opened her eyes and found herself staring up at a ceiling that was far too high. There was a shaft of milky sunlight shining across the ceiling from a barred window way, way up.

She screwed up her eyes, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

Tentatively she pulled herself up to a sitting position and opened her eyes again.

A narrow iron bed; One pillow; One blanket, so moth-eaten she wouldn't give it to a dog; A table; large jug and bowl; a wooden goblet. That was it. Otherwise the room was bare...oh, what was that she'd missed in the corner?

She peered at it.

Oh, lovely. A piss-pot.

It dawned on her.

She was a prisoner.

And now things began to come back in to her memory.

The battle between light and dark, good and evil, Harry and Voldemort raged somewhere outside.

She'd been caught. A spell fired from behind. Now where was she?

She at still and listened, but heard nothing. The silence was so complete, she was either alone or a silencing spell was on the room.

She shivered. It was so cold in here.

Voldemort had caught them off guard. Struck in the middle of the night. She'd had no time to change out of her night things. She wore just a dark green singlet with matching shorts. Not very practical for battle, but changing her clothes hadn't been a priority as Voldemort and his Death Eaters had stormed Hogwarts.

She wondered what had happened to everyone else. Harry, Ron, Ginny...everyone. Were they all still alive?

The question, and its possible answers, sent bile rising to her mouth. She stood, unsteady, and walked to the table. The jug at least held water. She poured some into the wooden goblet and drank.

She let out a scream and dropped the goblet as the door to her cell crashed against the wall. Instantly the air was filled with screams and cries from outside. Obviously, she was not alone.

Unseen hands hurled a body at her.

She ran to the door, but it was slammed shut before she even reached it, the lock clanking back forcefully, leaving her in silence again.

Exasperated, she leaned her head against it, taking deep breaths to calm her frustration and turmoil. Here she was trapped while her friends were fighting the most important battle in wizard history. She felt so helpless, so inadequate.

Slowly she turned to look at the heap of rags that now lay sprawled on the floor of her cell.

She couldn't see a face, but she would recognise that hair anywhere.

"Professor Snape!" she gasped.

11am-1pm - There was pain, he knew that. His head in particular felt split and surely there was blood. There was also a pain in his ribs, on the left side, whenever he breathed. He tried to temper the breathing, make it as shallow as possible in an attempt to lessen the pain.

Then he opened his eyes.

Then opened them wider.

A vision before him!

A rather attractive female with a gorgeous mane of corkscrew curls, was bending over him, running her hands over his body. Gravity had pulled her green top away from her body, giving him a fantastic view of a wonderful cleavage and equally wonderful breasts.

Despite his pain, he felt a stirring in his groin and saw no reason not to let it develop - she was, after all, ravaging him.

He moaned with arousal.

She looked up.

Lovely hazel eyes, long dark eyelashes, pink apple cheeks smeared with dirt, and a very sexy full bottom lip. What was this exquisite creature doing, fondling his body?

She was speaking.

"...essor, do you have a handkerchief?"

Mmmmmm, she was more upright now and her top had returned to her body. He could see her nipples sticking out in hard peaks under the cloth.

"My...pocket," he managed a guttural stutter.

"Which one - in your cloak?"

"No...trousers."

Ye gods! Her hand was inside his trouser pocket, travelling towards his erection. It twitched in anticipation.

She gave a little yelp and removed her hand, complete with white handkerchief.

"I'll...I'll just get some water." She turned away without looking at him, but he could see she was red to the roots.

It hurt his chest to turn and watch her, but it was worth it. Just look at that tight bottom, barely covered in those shorts, and her legs....they went up to heaven.

He groaned again, his hand moving to his aching groin, wishing she'd come back and start ministering him again.

In answer to his prayers, she did.

"This might hurt a bit."

Mmmmm, go ahead...why would he worry about that..?

He hissed violently as the cold wet handkerchief was placed gently on his head, sending a stinging pain through his scull.

Well, that had killed the excitement.

"Sorry, Professor. I had to stem the flow of blood. You've got a nasty cut on the side of your head."

'Professor'?

He frowned.

Oh! Yes, of course.

And this was..?

He looked up at her, as reality came back to him.

...um? Granger. Hermione Granger.

He closed his eyes again and sighed with relief.

That had been close.

Very close.