A/N Epilogue? There's an epilogue at the end of the Deathly Hallows? I've got no idea what you're talking about, so let's pretend it doesn't exist. this story will contain mature things but I'll warn you in advance (the smut starts in the next chapter ;)
Hermione Granger was sitting at one of the round tables that sat in the library of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Her hair was loosely bound by a hair tie, curly strands escaping their bondage, her neck tie crooked to the right and her finger tips blackened by the ink of her quill. The sight of her would not necessarily be all that noteworthy, especially if you took in account of Miss Granger's bookish personality, if she was not in fact 19 years old.
After the war, the wizarding world was left with many problems. There were Death Eaters who needed capturing, the dead and injured to be tended to, innocent prisoners to be freed, and many other wrongs to be righted. It wasn't until the fog had cleared somewhat that the ministry and Hogwarts found themselves with another big issue on their hands. In the previous year, Voldemort had stopped many muggleborn children from attending Hogwarts or from even receiving their first letter. Then the Dark Lord had instituted an... interesting curriculum into the school. Lastly, due to the Final Battle, none of the older students who had actually been able to attend Hogwarts had been able to sit for their NEWTs.
In the end, it was decided that all students would, for the time being, not be sorted by age groups. All students had to be looked at, assessed on their magical level, and assigned a year which they would then work from. So, in the case of a twelve year old muggleborn who had never been to Hogwarts, they would now be in first year. A fifth year who had been at school during Voldemort's reign would have to be assessed to see whether they continued on to sixth, or repeated fifth, unlike a muggleborn fifth who would simply start from fifth having never started. All of which had been very confusing at first.
The final and biggest hurdle had been the students who should have already graduated and left into the big wild world after finishing their schooling. How do you entice an adult back into education when they were promised to be free? The solution? - Eighth years. A new status was set up for these students at the school. Eighth-years had a lighter timetable with a bigger emphasis on real world application. They also did not have to stay at Hogwarts from 3pm Friday until 9am Monday, nor did they have curfew.
Since the war, Harry, Ron and Hermione had understandably become heroes. Unfortunately that did come with some unwanted attention. Hermione never wanted the accolades, interviews, photos and celebrity status that she had now acquired. Neither did her two best friends. In this respect, Hogwarts was wonderful. Even if the younger students, still stared at them.
This was how Hermione Granger came to be sitting in the Hogwarts library, late at night, cramming as many facts that she could into her overworked brain. She loved being back at the school she was relishing in the safety and freedom that this new Hogwarts afforded her. A type of safety and freedom that was currently unavailable outside the walls of Hogwarts.
Currently she was reading the latest 'Mediwizards' Journal'. So captivated was Hermione, that she had read through dinner and it was growing dark outside. "Bugger!" her stomach had grumbled, causing the brunette to look up, startled. Realising she had only 20 minutes, she snapped the journal closed, sent the collection of resources back to their places with a flick of her wand and stood up, straightening her hair and clothes.
Ten minutes later she was zooming up the last flight of stairs towards the infirmary.
"Hello My Dear," said the ageing Madam Pomfrey as Hermione entered. "A fairly quiet night tonight. If you could just check on poor Barnaby in bed three and give him the potion before bed." She didn't bother to lower her voice, "The poor dear's boils are still fairly bad. Keeps scratching and picking at them, making them ooze. Not that I blame him, having them there... I suppose it's fairly embarrassing for a thirteen year old. But that's what you get when you play around with those sort of spells." Madam Pomfrey was talking like no other teenager had ever tried out some masturbating spells. Hermione inwardly smiled, wondering how long it had been since the elderly lady had had a shag.
"Will do, Madam Pomfrey. Is that all for the night?"
"Yes dear, just Barnaby and the usual," she said with a knowing look. "Then feel free to go to bed. The wards will alert me to any other problems. Merlin knows you need more sleep!"
Hermione nodded at the witch and watched the woman head towards her private rooms.
Checking on the third year and administrating the potion was now a fairly standard procedure to Hermione now and left her with room to think. So she reflected on her choice to study under Madame Pompfrey and felt that she was enjoying her eighth year.
When first asked by Professor McGonagal what she wished to study before finishing her schooling, Hermione was stumped. You mean there is no life long career in destroying Horcruxes and running after mad Dark Lords? But after much thought and discussion with anyone who would listen, Hermione had decided two things. She liked solving mysteries and helping people.
After this year she would apply for an apprenticeship under someone in St Mungos, or maybe overseas, but this year she was studying general courses like charms, transfiguration and potions, and a few speciality courses like remedial magical aide.
It was hard at first, helping out other students, but both Hermione and the other students had come to get used to it.
However, there was one part of her job description that she was still coming to terms with. That problem had the name Severus Snape.
Hermione's black, low heeled school shoes clicked slightly against the marble floor as she passed across the room. Pressing her wand hand to the adjacent wall from the main row of student beds, the wall shimmered slightly and she moved forward, disappearing behind the seemingly solid wall.
There he lay. Hermione had often sat with the cold man. From much study she had decided that he was attractive in the tall, dark and mysterious way. Sure his hair was still lank and his nose was too large and pronounced above his thin, pale lips, but he had the look of a strong, noble man. Hermione watched his chest, rising and falling steadily. He had been here now since the Final Battle had ended and he was yet to wake up.
Severus Snape seemed at rest, as though peacefully sleeping after his hard life. Or maybe that's just how Hermione liked to imagine it.
Stepping forward, she ran her wand along his form. After some complicated wand work and note taking, Hermione stepped forward with a jar of potion and took a deep breath. Even though she had done this now for four months, it still made her nervous.
The venom that had riddled Snape's body when Nagini had struck, had all but killed the man. Had he not been a potions master, who had, built up a certain amount of tolerance to certain deadly substances, then Severus Snape would not have made it. As it was, it was touch and go for a long time.
At first the venom was throughout his body, breaking down his vital organs and systems. Slowly, over time, the venom and its affects had lessoned to now be only affecting the Potion Master's chest. This was thanks mainly to the potion that now sat in Hermione's hand. Unfortunately for her however, the potion worked by entering the victim's skin and working into the muscles, tissues and nervous system, slowly ridding the body of the poison. This meant she was once again going to give her former Professor a massage.
First she gave Snape a cleaning spell and removed his shirt with a flick of her wand. Taking another deep breath, she placed a small, gloved hand into the pot of potion, ironically with the Potion Master's own writing on the label, and drew out a suitable amount of the slippery substance.
Pressing her hand softly at first, she began to administer the potion onto his bare skin, deepening the pressure to knead it into his flesh.
Hermione could not help but marvel at his body. Unprofessional thoughts instantly began running through her mind. 'How on earth did he ever hide this under his robes? If only people realised!'
She didn't exactly have a huge repertoire of experience to go from, mainly Victor, Ron and a muggle boy named Tim, but she knew enough to know that Snape's body was a marvel. The muscles on his chest were well defined with sparse dark hairs covering it. The hair dark, contrasting with his pale skin, continued down across a flat stomach and trailed down in a tantalising line towards his trousers. His arms looked strong. Long lean biceps looked strong and manly. Hermione felt weak at the knees at the thought of them wrapping around her.
Hermione's hands stopped as this thought registered. 'No Hermione Granger! Get a grip of yourself! Snape doesn't know you're doing this and if he did he'd likely yell at you. You are helping him. You are not supposed to be perving... bloody hell, he's Professor Snape!'
'Yes,' said her sneaky inner voice, 'but he's not your Professor anymore is he?'
Sighing, Hermione tried to concentrate on the task that was very much 'at hand'. This however was made even harder when she levitated him over onto his stomach and had to start the process of massaging his back. Shapely as it was.
Thankful when her task was over, she conjured up a new, clean set of pyjamas and changed him into them. Not catching a glance of anything below his waist. Though, the thought of it had crossed her mind.
Stripping off the plastic glove, she packed away the potion and settled down into the comfy armchair beside the bed.
Hermione had felt sorry for Snape. Left only in this room with no visitors and no one to think of him, Hermione had started to read to him whenever she had to be the one to tend to him of an evening. Picking up the 'Potions Today' magazine, she flipped to where she had last left off and began to read to the silent, still man.
10 minutes later, she began to read a section about polyjuice. "French Potions Master, Robert Semenou, has refined the method in which the polyjuice potion is made. Semenou has found that by drying the lacewings first, before stewing them, one can make the solution taste somewhat better, without negating the potion's effects." Hermione looked up from the text, "You know Professor, I must remember to thank you one day, preferably when you're awake, for teaching me. You may not have been a favourite in most students' eyes, but considering I made this potion at the age of twelve, you definitely got the point across. Though, I doubt I'd ever be game enough to ever explain why I needed it. You would probably dock all the Gryffindor house points now and for all of my future offspring as well."
Realising that she was completely off topic and rambling, Hermione giggled at the thought of what Snape would say to her if he could. '"Shut that mindless chattering you infernal girl,"' she thought, 'or what about "Miss Granger, no one cares for your wrote learned, unoriginal thoughts, so keep them in that bushy head of yours."'
Looking back at the page, she thought about getting back on topic, but suddenly had the feeling she was forgetting something. It was as though something, some part of her mind was trying to remember. Her mind felt like it was being pushed against. She placed her fingers to her left temple and rubbed.
Suddenly her mind was hit with visions that bombarded the young woman, thick and fast.
Voldermort stood in front of her. He laughed cruelly. A woman lay at their feet, weeping and muttering. "Please no," the woman repeated over and over, "please no, please no, please no..."
Looking around, there stood a ring of Death Eaters. Masked and hooded. Hermione saw her hand raise itself, wand in hand. The woman suddenly reared up, her back curling at an unnatural angle and she screamed in utter pain. Now lying in the dirt, the spell lifted, the woman looked straight into Hermione's eyes. The woman's son was brought forward. She was pleading, asking for mercy for the small boy. The wand was twirled again, this time at the son...
Then suddenly Hermione was the one who was small, her tall, thin father standing over her. His arm raised and she flew into the wall with a thud. Head spinning, she started to shout. But that wasn't Hermione's voice. No it was all wrong. Her mother came in, begging her father to stop. Her mother was now the target...
Lily, beautiful Lily. So nice, so kind. She hit Hermione's face. She screamed her hatred. Hermione felt heart-broken.
Suddenly it was Nagini flying towards her, fangs out...
Breathing heavily, Hermione became aware of herself again. She was lying on the cold, marble tiles. Her left leg and arm had taking most of the fall and were now throbbing slightly. Her head felt heavy and her temples throbbed.
'What on earth just happen?'
Hi guys. First of all, please let me know about any mistakes – I'm Australian and therefore I may muck up and slip in the occasional Aussie reference. Though don't worry, I'm not bad enough that I'll include something like - 'Snape loaded up the dingy with the tucker he'd packed for the barbie that he was going to have with Hermione at smoko.' Well, I hope not...