"In Snape's final moments, he shares the memories most important to him with Harry Potter. The memories of the two women he loved. Lily Evans and Hermione Granger."
I do not own Harry Potter. Author's note at the end for those that are interested!
Note: This story is very well interpreted when you listen to the song Sweeter & Sweeter by Alex Parks. It's a marvelous song and it fits very well. That's why the story is named after it. That song inspired this story. :)
This was it. He knew it was coming – knew it couldn't be stopped. He could feel it, burning and searing through his limbs. He was dying. He had one last thing to do, one last promise to Albus Dumbledore before he could truly be free; free from everyone's hold on him. He was free from expectations, free from people using him for their own means.
No. That wasn't true at all. From the first moment he had met her, his life had never been his own again. Once again, he found himself clay in the hands of another, to mold and to shape. From the tender age of nine, his soul had passed from one set of hands to another.
First, it was Lily Evans. Beautiful, charismatic Lily Evans. Muggleborn. Red hair. Brilliant. Strong. Perfect. She was kind, and she was the first person to care for him, to truly take care of him and care for his wellbeing. He was hers from the moment they met. Everything he did he had done for her. She meant more to him than anything in the whole world, than everything in the whole world. And then one word fell from his mouth, so fast he could barely control it, and it was over. Done. He shouldn't care. But he did. It bothered him that he cared. After all, everyone left him anyway. He shouldn't feel guilty for a slip of the tongue. Should he?
Second, he belonged to Voldemort. He had become a pet to the Dark Lord by doing all of his malicious biddings and his dirty work. He rose through his ranks, becoming a favorite. The Dark Lord was pleased with him. He was pleased with his abilities and his loyalty to the cause against the dirty, filthy muggles. He even betrayed her. He betrayed Lily! His first reason for life was dead and it was his fault! He had betrayed Lily Evans! He could not be loyal to the Dark Lord after that. After all, he had been the reason for the sharp blunt pain inflicted within him when she died. When he killed her.
Third, was Albus Dumbledore. He had run to Dumbledore in his time of need, hoping and praying that the powerful wizard could save the woman he had loved. He did everything he asked. He had protected the boy! The insolent and arrogant miniature version of James Potter! He had done everything that he said. He was a servant to the old man. He followed his every order, and eventually – dare he say it? – he became his mentor.
His fourth master came as a surprise. She appeared as a welcomed surprise, and possessed him from the moment he had seen Her, from the moment that he took in Her rich caramel eyes. He was devoted to Her, hopelessly so. He was so devoted that She became the reason that he woke up in the morning, replacing Lily so easily that it was a shock to him. If Lily had been his love, then She, She was his soul mate. She was his guiding light, his stunning, wise, adoring reason for being. She was young, and engaging; smart and witty; clever and full of life. She was the one to own his heart and soul in the absolute. Loving Her was something so painful, yet so pleasured that he almost wished he had never met Her; that he had died after Lily Evans. If he had thought Lily Evans was perfect, then She, She was a goddess to be put on a pedestal so high he would never reach it. Hermione Granger.
He couldn't control the tears as every memory he had ever had of Her poured from him. He couldn't stop them. He gave the boy every last one. All the memories that he held dear, the ones he did not, and that ones that he was ashamed he had.
As his body fought to live, fighting to see and cherish Her resplendent beauty for one last time as She cried tears only for him, he whispered so low it was barely heard, "Tell… Her."
He was sure that he saw Her before she saw him. She was… eye-catching. Beautiful in the way that She wasn't pretty but sweet, with a creamy neck and the bushiest but most lovely colored brown locks he had ever seen. Her front teeth were large, much too large, not unattractive but- Attractive? Was he really commenting on a student's attractiveness in relation to Her teeth?
He listened closer to see She was chattering away with the girl next to Her, spouting facts about the ceiling.
So She was striking and smart. What a wonderful combination that was. He valued cleverness more than anything in the world and this… unnamed girl had it. The look that She gave him, full of the deepest admiration shook him deeply. Students did not admire him. Within Her firewhiskey colored eyes, he saw so many things. They were expressive and full of mirth. Behind Her thick lashes lay cleverness, eagerness, tenderness, admiration and dare he say love?
For the first time in years, he paid close attention to the sorting of the new first year students. He was so focused that he didn't bother to clap for the Slytherins that had been newly sorted, not even his slimeball of a Godson.
his mind chanted. If She were in Slytherin he could… take care of Her, help Her, comfort Her… protect Her.
"Granger, Hermione," the severe looking Transfiguration professor called.
He was surprised when the girl in question raced towards the hat, eager to start. He knew in an instant there was almost no chance that his girl would be in Slytherin. He had never heard of any 'Granger' at Hogwarts before. His heart began to sink further than it ever had before.
He was hoping he was wrong when suddenly-
He watched the hauntingly familiar sight of a young girl skipping happily to Gryffindor table. It was too similar. So similar that it hurt, that it made him remember.
He could not have Her.
His Hermione was brilliant. She was the most enchanting child he had and probably ever would encounter in all of his years of teaching. All of the other professors saw it too. They saw Her cleverness, Her eagerness to learn and to show Her brilliance.
He saw a thirst to prove Herself. He saw himself in Her. Maybe that was the explanation for his strange affixation on a student. He saw what could have been a perfect Slytherin if not for Her… blood.
He learnt early that She had a fascination with Transfiguration. Why not Potions? He wondered to himself. What made Minerva's class so much more interesting than his class? Did She like Minerva better? Was he not enjoyable to teach from? He knew he wasn't a pleasant teacher and maybe he was downright sadistic to the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs but… She couldn't truly believe him when he called Her an insufferable know-it-all, could She? She had to know that he valued Her intelligence? Right?
He sat in the leather chair by his fire, nursing his third tumbler of amber firewhiskey and staring into the burning embers, when a loud knock pulled him from his thoughts. The Potions master diligently stalked towards the door to answer whoever was knocking. "You had better have a good reason for visiting me right now, old man," he sneered at the newly revealed Headmaster.
"Ah, Severus. Good to see you're enjoying the bottle of Ogden's I sent you."
He just glared harder.
"Well, Severus, Minerva has been telling me all about a first year in her house… A Miss Granger."
He tried hard to keep the twitch off of his face.
"The insufferable know-it-all? I hardly think She's special."
"You said the same about Mister Potter."
"They're both useless."
Dumbledore leant forward, eyes full of meaning as he carefully said, "I don't think you really believe that, do you, Severus?"
He hadn't seen a student so enthralled in all of his years of teaching. He had been teaching for more than eleven years, and never had he seen a student so devoted to learning everything about the wizarding world. She came from muggles, he had found. She was so smart, he though, and so wise. She was truly a woman.
But she was child.
A young, undeveloped child.
He caught himself.
Why was he thinking so deeply about a child? She was only twelve years old! She surely did not want to be on the receiving end of the affections of an old man. He did not really want to be on the giving end of affections to a twelve year old child. The two of them together did not really match. She was so young.
"Yes! I think they're lovely."
"Really? I don't find hydrangeas to be the most beautiful. They certainly are attractive though, aren't they?"
"Well, what's your favorite, Hermione?"
He could tell She was probably blushing.
"Well, I really adore roses. I know it sounds so overdone, but they are so sweet and fragrant. My favorite are red roses. The color is so bright and vibrant. I do love white and pink roses as well. And, peach roses! And of course burgundy. Oh… I guess I should just say I like all roses!"
"Yes. I love roses too. They're so romantic."
It was the way that She walked. She walked so smooth, and with Her head high, even when Her peers taunted Her. She walked like a woman, rather than a slip of a girl. She was small, very petite for Her age. She acted so much older. She was mature. Though She could be annoying in the way that She spoke out of turn, Her cleverness was remarkable. She was so beautiful, and so kind. She was many years older than Her age.
Only his pride and joy would have been able to figure out the logic puzzle that he had created. Only She would have been able to succeed.
He was proud of Her. Angry, yes, but proud nonetheless. Angry, because She had nearly gotten Herself killed. Proud, because She had showed yet again Her distinct intelligence, his reason for loving Her.
Seeing them together made him angry. Potter. Why did every single Potter have to get in his way?Couldn't they be satisfied that James had taken Lily? Potter had to take Hermione as well? It made him want to curse something, anything, so that the pure anger would cease. He drank heartily that night, hoping to forget the confusing feelings he was having for a twelve-year-old girl.
It didn't work.
He knew that She had to have been the one to do it. Only Hermione Granger could have been able to sneak into his private stores and steal his potions ingredients. At first, he wanted to deny it. He didn't want to believe that his sweet, innocent girl had stolen from him. He wouldn't yell at Her, wouldn't be angry. In fact, he found himself proud that his dear girl was able to do such a sneaky act. A Slytherin act. His house!
Yes – he was still angry She was a Gryfffindor. Even the bloody squib house, Hufflepuff, would have been better than the idiot lions within the scarlet and gold house!
He knew they were brewing Polyjuice Potion. For what, he had been unsure. Again, he felt vastly proud. Polyjuice Potion! So young and brewing a N.E.W.T level potion. He was once again reminded how brilliant She was, and how attractive brilliance was.
"Severus!" cried Madam Pomfrey, as she knocked fervently on his office door.
"What," he snarled in annoyance, "Do you want?" No doubt she was going to bother him with some sort of potion that he didn't feel like brewing for an undeserving and ignorant dunderhead student.
"A student – She's – I need a potion!"
"Obviously," he drawled in his usual nonchalant quiet and condescending voice. He looked back at the Daily Prophet, more interested in the recent skyrocket in prices of doxy droppings than Poppy's most recent melodrama.
Poppy ignored his disinterest and continued, "A second year girl has gone and turned into a cat!"
He snorted. It was funny, he had to say. First and second years were as stupid as stupid got. They were dunderheads. The whole lot of them.
"Severus," the matron screeched, "You don't understand! It was Polyjuice Potion!"
He froze. Poly…juice…Po…tion? In an instant he was brewing. The only second year that could possibly have had any contact with Polyjuice Potion was –
His stomach clenched.
He sat by Her bedside, crying in spite of himself. He was such a coward, reduced to tears before Her. Her stark white skin stood out from the dark uniform She wore. Her eyes held a hint of knowing, but surprise.
She was so cold. So cold, he could have sworn She were dead.
She had been found in the library. How like Her, to be punished for seeking knowledge, for seeking the truth. She had been punished for Her blood, for something She couldn't control. She had been punished for Her parents' inability to do magic, for their heritage. It wasn't Her fault! It wasn't…
He couldn't save Her. He couldn't protect Her from the evil that was the wizarding world.
He thought back to only hours ago when he had been alerted that there was yet another attack on a muggle-born student. His heart had throbbed when he heard; worried that She would have been hurt.
His fears were confirmed when Potter and Weasley were spotted running in the direction of the Hospital Wing. He worried for a moment – what if She had died? What if She had been less lucky than the others and hadn't been petrified? What if-
He stopped himself from thinking such morbid thoughts.
Hermione was cleverer than that. She wouldn't have allowed Herself to be – he shuddered – murdered.
"I promise you," he whispered into Her ear as he clung desperately to Her hand, "I won't ever let you get hurt again."
A time turner. A bloody time turner.
The blithering idiot, Dumbledore, had allowed Her a time turner. Was he mad? She was but thirteen, much too young for such a large responsibility. Twelve classes?
He checked Her file, looking through all of Her grades and finally to Her schedule.
Ah. There it was… Divination and Ancient Runes on top of Arithmacy. Her schedule was loaded. How could She handle doing so much work? He alone gave at least two hours of work a night. Was She taking care of Herself? Was She eating enough? Was She sleeping enough? When did She even have time to sleep? Maybe he should lessen his homework so that She would be able to get rest after such a long and full day…
"Honestly, Severus, Miss Granger is quite a responsible girl. I see no reason to believe that She will have any sort of trouble with Her class choices this year," Albus said as he watched the young potions master pace the floor.
"How can you know that? How can you be so sure that-"
"You seem to care quite a bit about Miss Granger's wellbeing, don't you, Severus?"
"No, I only-"
"I ask you not to lie to me, Severus. I ask you also, not to lie to yourself, as that is what truly matters. You care for the girl."
"The truth, Severus, please. Be honest with yourself."
"Yes," he whispered, "She reminds me…"
"Of Lily, yes. I daresay the other professors may agree. She is muggleborn and exceedingly clever. She's also close with a Potter and in Gryffindor."
"Don't talk about Potter in front of me, old man," he sneered, "I only care for Her because I see Lily in Her."
"I do not believe that Severus."
He glared at the headmaster, annoyed with the man's constant meddling. NO, that wasn't true. He was more angry that the Headmaster though that Lily and She were anything alike. He didn't think them alike at all.
"There is one great difference between Lily Potter-"
"Evans," he hissed.
The elder man sighed at his stubborn usage of Lily Potter's maiden name. "Lily Evans and Miss Granger," he finished.
The head of Slytherin stared expectantly, knowing that Dumbledore would continue to speak even if he didn't want to hear him talk; which he didn't. He only listened to humor the old man.
"Miss Granger refuses to think ill of you, even with the poor way in which you treat Her."
Snape sneered. "What would you know? If we're done here, I will be leaving."
It was common knowledge that Potter and Weasley weren't talking to the third member of the trio. All over a blasted broomstick. A broomstick! Ignoring his little flower over a broomstick! How foolish! He had a mind to march over to Potter and hex him until he couldn't stand!
On the other hand, he hoped that they wouldn't start talking to Hermione again… He knew it was selfish. But what would happen if She stopped associating with Potter? What would happen if he comforted Her in her time of duress? Would She cry upon his shoulder? Would She see him as a mentor, see him as a role model?
Dare he wonder… would She care for him?
He was angry that after promising to himself he wouldn't allow Her to be hurt again; She was already in a very dangerous situation. That idiot Potter had attacked him in the Shrieking Shack with his girl's wand! The foolish boy!
As Lupin transformed into his true animal form, he pushed the trio behind him. To be honest with himself (Dumbledore had said it was important to be honest with himself, hadn't he? Maybe he should give it a try.) he couldn't really care less if Potter was accidentally mauled or if Weasley had his throat ripped out.
In fact, he sort of prayed for it. But he did care that his girl was safe, and out of immediate danger. She was after all, his highest and first priority.
Even if She didn't know it.
Krum? Dumb Krum? How could his sweet innocent little flower be fraternizing with… with that… low life, quidditch-playing, pea-for-a-brain, maybe-one-day-Death Eater, under-the-control-of-Karkaroff, Durmstrang, FOOL?
"Viktor is more of a physical being."
He refused to believe that his girl was… being physical with that moron! To make matters worse, they had gone to the Yule Ball together. They had danced together. Merlin, he hated his life right now.
He had been watching carefully, waiting for Her to arrive at the ball, hoping that She didn't have a date. He had vigilantly stared when She had descended the stairs by Herself. He could feel a strong triumph in his chest when She walked down the stairs alone, without a date. It meant that he still had a chance! No one had noticed how gorgeous She was yet! He could have Her! He could!
His heart wrenched when Krum took Her arm and She gave him a smile wider than She had ever given him.
Today, he had snatched the camera from that annoying Creevey boy. He had seen him snapping pictures of Her earlier in the day and made it his mission to get the film from the camera. He succeeded when the over-exuberant boy had taken out his camera in his class.
As soon as Creevey's third year potions class had ended he stalked, newly acquired camera in hand, to his private chambers. He resisted his urge to violently rip the film from the camera in his excitement.
Holding it in his hand he used a spell he had never used before and developed the film as fast as possible. In all of the photos in question She was in a dainty periwinkle dress and Her normally bushy hair was smooth and styled. She looked elegant and feminine. He sifted through the pictures and found that there were a total of six photos of his dear girl.
Each of them containing Potter or Krum.
He glared at them and looked carefully for the one that had the best picture of Her. There was one of Her laughing and leaning and chatting animatedly with Potter next to the ice statue. He picked it up and viciously ripped it in half causing Potter to jump away from the jagged edge and for Hermione to look up in surprise.
She cocked Her head to the side and raised a brow. He stared back at Her, trying to conceal the emotion he knew his eyes would hold. She hesitantly smiled. When he gave a small smile back, She gave a broader smile and waved.
The Potions Master was discouraged by how small Her teeth had become. He mentally frowned. He hoped that his comment hadn't been taken seriously. His girl wasn't one to care so much about looks was She? She was smart, clever… Why would She care about the size of Her teeth when She had so much more to offer the world?
Potter, in his other hand, scowled and reached his arm through the jagged area. He noticed that Potter was trying to pull Hermione out of the shot, and relished the look of dismay the boy gave when he realized that since the picture was ripped, the two would not be in the same photo. He smirked at the look and grinned triumphantly at the glare he got back.
He bought a photo frame that night.
Curves. He had gotten to see Her during the summer this year. She arrived at Black's home about an hour after the Order meeting got in. When it ended, he wasn't surprised to find She and the idiot Weasley children listening in.
He was about to chastise them for their incompetence when he noticed how much She had… grown.
It seemed She had fixed the bushiness of Her hair. It just fell past Her shoulders in soft curls. She wasn't really any taller that he could tell, but Her body had thinned out from a child's to a young woman's. Her chest had grown. He could only imagine what was underneath the muggle shirt She had on – perky tan breasts?
His mouth went dry and before he could punish the group for listening in, he snapped his mouth shut and stalked off.
"What was that about?" whispered the youngest Weasley.
"I'm not sure," his girl replied in confusion.
The fifth year Gryffindor boy snorted, "Mark the bloody day. Hermione Granger is unsure about – Ow! What was that for?"
"You know what it was for, Ronald."
"I know, Severus. I will not condemn you."
"Don't-" he began.
"Do not deny it. What may have seemed to be a friendly concern for wellbeing before seems to be much deeper."
"You love Her."
"Stop accusing me of-"
"Accusing? Why would I accuse you of loving someone? I am sure that you love Her, and therefore I am stating a fact. Accusations are made when one does a heinous crime. You, Severus, have committed no crimes against anyone."
The dark haired man fell into the seat before the Headmaster's desk, covering his face with his hands.
"How…" he whispered, "How do I-? I can't even… I tried so hard. I tried so hard not to allow the affection I felt for Her turn into anything else. It was easy when She was younger. Now – She's nearly a woman."
"She is nearly sixteen, Severus. Her birthday is only a few days away, if I'm correct."
"I know that!" the man snarled, "Don't you think I know that? Every thought I have about Her disgusts me! I'm old enough to be Her father and yet I pine after Her more than I ever pined after Lily Evans!"
Dumbledore sat back in his chair, eyes twinkling and fingers poised together in thought. "Well then, that's the true trouble there isn't it, Severus? You're afraid of letting go Lily."
"I will never let go of Lily. I live for her." But even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He knew that it was a lie the moment that it left his lips.
"I think that has changed now, hasn't it, Severus? Are you sure," Dumbledore said as he leaned onto his desk, "That you don't live for Miss Granger?"
"She's still a child. I cannot possibly-"
"If you care for Her so much, does it truly matter Her age? She's wise beyond Her years. She is after all, the brightest witch-"
"Of Her age. I know. I hear it every day from Minerva."
The two stared at each other in silence. Now that his emotions were out in the open he couldn't hide them anymore, couldn't cling to the transparent hope that he would grow out of his affections.
"Just know this, Severus. As much as I support your love for Miss Granger, I cannot – or more specifically, the Board of Governors will not – allow you to carry a relationship that is anything more than teacher and student."
He was forced to admit the obvious when the batch smelled different. He never smelt it. Although he brewed it every month for the Ministry of Magic, he never bothered to smell it. He refused to. It brought back painful memories. It reopened wounds that he had finally managed to heal. He didn't want to open that part of himself, anymore.
What had been for nearly twenty years of his life lily of the valley, fresh apples and a spicy muggle perfume that he could never name had changed to a sweet lemon, fresh cut roses, and crisp parchment paper.
He could smell it now, really smell the emotion coming from the spirals of the potion. A fat, juicy lemon sliced neatly in Her water each and every day. A dozen long stemmed fresh cut red roses that he had sent Her every birthday, Christmas and Valentine's Day since he had found that they were Her favorite flower. A crisp roll of newly purchased parchment paper that he knew lingered in Her bag as She poured over Her many books.
Where Lily was spicy and raw, Hermione was sweet and caressing.
The realization broke him.
The Weasley boy liked Her. It was obvious last year. This year, it was like a blinking sign taped to his foolish red-haired head. Worse, Longbottom was giving lingering looks towards his Potions partner.
Late on his rounds, the Potions Master found himself listening in on the ramblings of his more sexual active fifth year Slytherins.
"Parkinson? She's a slut."
"A pureblood, at least."
"She looks like a pug. She was obviously dropped flat on her face when she was a child."
His moronic Godson.
"And her friend–"
"She's a whale! Worse, even. I'd rather fuck the Giant Squid than her."
"The only girls worth dating are Davis and Greengrass."
"Daphne? Or Astoria?"
"Either. I've heard… things about Davis though."
"What've you heard?"
"She basically gives it away."
"But you know who I'd really like to fuck?"
"That Lovegood girl? She wouldn't know a cock from a-"
"No… That mudblood Granger. Father said I could have Her when the Dark Lord takes over."
Really, Malfoy? You're taking my girl? I'd like to see you try, ferret.
"She is a looker, ain't she? She had to have shagged Krum last year, yeah?"
Nope, he thought, I know She didn't.
"Must have. I mean, why else would anyone take a bushy haired, buck-toothed know-it-all to a ball? She must give excellent head to have dated a profession quidditch player."
It took all his strength to walk away and not hex the miscreants. He did, however, assign their class a twelve-foot parchment on something he knew they were destined to do miserably on.
Well, all but his flower.
He hated Her so much. He hated the feelings that stirred within him where She was concerned. He hated the disgusting way he was forced to relieve the physical tension of seeing Her.
His body would tighten, uncomfortably, uncontrollably. He would stare at the photo of Her, and take pleasure in the sins he was committing to Her name.
He hated how young She was.
He hated himself.
Beside the photo he had saved from last year was another photo, more recent than the last. He had again confiscated Creevey's camera, and had given back the camera, sans the film, a day later at Minerva's insistence.
Apparently, Creevey had gotten some actual shots of his girl this time. He took every last one. His favorite though, in which She was sitting in the library reading his Potion's textbook, he had framed and placed by his bedside, next to his lamp. He stared at the photo for hours.
On one such occasion, the photo-Hermione had begun to blush and put Her book in front of Her face to hide herself from his stares. He smiled sheepishly, and took the hint to put the photo away.
It was then that he looked in the mirror.
He was hideous. Ugly. Disgusting. He had a nasty personality, and he was atrocious to look at. He glanced at Her picture again.
Long, elegant neck.
Soft, shoulder length curls.
Creamy and no doubt smooth skin.
She was beautiful. She was kind, and loving. She cared about Her idiot friends. She cared about house-elves. She loved everything!
How could She ever come to love such an ugly face? Of course, his flower didn't seem to be the type to care only about looks. But he didn't have a good personality to make up for his ugly face. He was disgusting inside and out. No one, not Hermione or otherwise, would ever love this face.
He had heard rumors, whispers that Dolores Umbridge had been torturing students in her detentions. Specifically torturing muggle-born students and Gryffindors. He didn't care about how much She hurt Potter – but his flower?
He had noticed the scars on Her hand in his next class. It was slightly swollen and red. She had been stirring Her potion when She had discreetly itched the spot. That was when he saw them.
He could hardly contain himself.
"She's been using a blood quill on her detention students," he said to his godson, casually in front of the over-protective Head of Gryffindor house. "So don't get detention, understand? I haven't the time to be making Murtlap Essence every moment of the day to heal the damage."
Minerva scampered off towards the hospital wing a moment later. The next morning, he had noticed that the marks on his flower's hand were far less red and nearly healed.
She was in critical condition. That bastard Dolohov had cursed Her! An angry purple mark marred the creamy white flesh of Her chest now. He had been summoned to break the curse and to make a salve to heal the scar.
Just because Harry-fucking-Potter-Chosen-One extraordinaire didn't care about his own life didn't mean he could go along and put his love's life in danger!
He was contemplating murder.
Murdering the Dark Lord.
Oh, and Potter as well.
She was very interested in his Defense Against the Dark Art's class. He never sniped at Her anymore. He didn't really want to. Instead, he gave Her O's on each of Her assignments. She deserved them.
How lovely She was… Practicing Her wand-waving in his class. In fact, it was the first time he had been able to really see Her wand. It was vine, he realized. He recalled that for many of history, people believed that a person's wand told their character, and explained their fortune. He and Albus had conversed once about the fact that some types of wands do not prosper together, and some do.
When his is Willow and hers is Vine,
These wands intertwine
And together make a marriage
Truly quite fine
Even our wands are meant to be.
He soon learned that Weasley's wand was also made of willow.
At least Potter's was Holly.
Soul mates. Soul mates could not breathe without each other. They could not function, could not live. Nothing that they did without the other was successful. A child with someone besides his soul mate was out of the question.
He knew that She was his soul mate. He waited patiently for Her to come to him, to realize that the longing She must feel and the incompleteness in Her heart was because She was without him. They were soul mates, he knew. How could She stand to live, even now, without him? How was She able to go through Her life missing Her other half when he was right in front of Her?
He wanted Her more than he wanted anything in the world. More than food. More than water. More than air.
He wanted Her more than he wanted to live.
Cormac McLaggan took Her to Slughorn's party. The realization made him violently enraged. How dare that pompous Gryffindor, who was mediocre at best, believe he could court Hermione? HOW?
What had the world come to? Yes, he had somewhat accepted the fact that She would never love him, even though he was sure that they were meant to live together for the rest of eternity with Her cat and seven children.
Yes, he had thought about how many children he had wanted from Her. Of course it made sense for them to have a quidditch team of children. Seven was an excellent number. He had always wanted to have a loving family. He was sure that Hermione would be a loving mother, and that their family would be a happy one. She would be an excellent mother, and he hoped that he would be a wonderful father.
The thought had first come into his mind when She was in fifth year. He hadn't thought that hard on it, of course. He didn't want to be a pervert, considering the object of his affection was still only a child.
This year however, the thoughts had become more prominent. What would it be like for him to have Her? What kind of lover would She be? Would She be a passionate, fearless lover as Gryffindors were said to be? Would She be a caring lover? Would She be shy and submissive to him? Would She like to be dominated? Would She enjoy games, and role-playing? What was Her most sensitive area? Did She like foreplay? Was She more inclined for gentle love making, or hard fucking?
Merlin, he wanted to know.
He wanted to experience it with Her.
He wanted to be the one to make love to Her for the first time, to take the precious gift of Her virginity. He already knew what he would do. He would make it slow, and passionate. He would kiss Her all over, tell Her how important She was, how special and perfect, smart and caring. He would whisper words of love in Her ear, and make sure She knew that he had been in love with Her from the start.
He yearned for the sweet fullness of Her lips and the curve of Her neck, the arc of Her feet and Her dainty little fingers and Her cute little ears, Her delicate nose and Her rosy blush. All of the little spots on Her were beautiful. He wanted to discover Her bellybutton, and Her back, and the places only he should be allowed to see.
He would give Her pleasure, anything he could. He wanted to make Her toes curl, to make Her moan, whimper and cry in delight. He would taste Her very essence and kiss Her until Her lips were red with arousal. He would put his overly large nose to good use, and love Her like there was nothing else in the world.
He could have it if he really tried.
If he just slipped it into Her drink…
That was… too dangerous.
He watched Her cry.
It was awful.
He should have known. He should've seen it coming! He knew the red-haired dunderhead was holding a candle for Her.
He didn't realize She held one for him!
He should kill him! He should murder the idiot for his misplace affections! How dare he think he could –
And then he realized something akin to heartbreak.
He and Hermione both had unrequited loves.
She loved someone else.
The Weasley boy was under a love potion.
So it could be done. Maybe it wasn't as dangerous as he thought. If he was discreet, he could get away with it. He could give it to a house-elf, the most powerful love potion in the world. He would slip his hair into the potion. Then he would pass it off to Her. He would start weak and slowly up the dosage, until it went from a liking to an affection and finally pure unadulterated love and need for him. Of course, he knew that he couldn't make love using the potion but he knew that it would keep Her with him for quite awhile. Then, when he was absolutely sure that She felt a love for him back, he would stop giving it to Her.
He didn't want Her to be able to live without him. He wanted to be needed by Her! If She needed him, then everything would be okay. If they were together, he could face oceans of danger. They were meant to be. She would see the truth in it, he knew, for She was a clever witch.
And even if She didn't – love him, that is – he would be content with fake affection, as long as She was there. He could live with Her false obsession with him. He could! He would never want or need anything after he had Her. If She were there – that would surely be enough to tame the beast in his chest.
And when She got pregnant, they would be so happy. And even if She got away from the love potion after they married, She would never leave the children. He knew Her personality. She would never leave someone in need. She would never leave their children! Never! She wouldn't leave him. She wouldn't leave him. No. She wouldn't.
In secret, he listened to Potterwatch.
Every time he heard Her name, his heart skipped a beat.
How sweet Her name was, like a prayer on angel's lips.
How he missed seeing Her lovely face.
He hoped that She was okay.
Most of all, he hoped that Weasley hadn't taken Her from him.
During his time as Headmaster, he found that She was his reason for continuing to live. He wanted to live to see the end of this war so that he would be able to love Her. If he could love Her, everything would be good in the world.
Nothing could go wrong with Her love.
"Don't call Her that."
Not on Her.
Never on Her.
It took all the restraint in the world not to break their wards and find Her. It took every ounce of his being not to march in, grab Her wrist, pull Her to him and kiss Her hard on the lips. It took all of his effort not to storm in and say, "Darling, marry me."
He could just imagine how She would run to him and accept. He could imagine how She would state that She knew all along his plan and how he wasn't evil. She would kiss him back, and agree to marry him right that moment.
He wanted to kill Bellatrix. She was a psychotic bitch. Lucius had happened to inform him that the trio had been briefly retained in Malfoy manor.
Madam Lestrange had managed to torture his flower in her own way. He wanted to barge in and slaughter the witch for what she had done! Torture! She could have ruined Her beautiful mind – Her sweet naïve and clever mind! She could have made his girl into a stupid, blathering idiot! She could have driven Her to insanity, the way she had done with the Longbottoms.
And now She had it carved into Her arm.
It would never go away.
Even after the war, when he confessed his love to Her, and She accepted him and his proposal for marriage, She would always have that mark.
Not on Her.
Never on Her.
Now that he was Headmaster, he daydreamed.
Every daydream starred his loving wife, Hermione Snape. Some featured their many children.
Potter and Weasley were never in them.
There was one he yearned for, in which they took care of their children. She would tuck in their two youngest, twin boys aged three and rush to carry their older sister, four into bed. As soon as that was done, she gave their third oldest at six a bath as their eight year old daughter bothered Her with a stream of questions. Their eldest, a daughter turned eleven would be arguing with her younger sister and bathing brother as his seven months pregnant wife wrapped their son in a warm towel and led him from the bathroom.
"Hermione?" he called from nearby.
"The twins are in bed?"
"Yes, Cygnus and Orion are fast asleep."
"Same. I just put Aiden to bed. Elizabeth and Melinda are-"
"Yes. They're going to bed now."
"Then… We're alone?" he whispered, as he wrapped his arms around Her swollen middle.
"Mmm…" She moaned, "Severus…"
In one that he was particularly fond of, Weasley and Potter had disappeared, and didn't bother him. His wife had given him five children, one after another with one more on the way. He was making sweet love to Her on the desk of his Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. All of the stupid students had miraculously disappeared and his wife was screaming at him for more, trembling for his aching touch.
Another one he frequently thought about was one in which She sought him out when the battle was over, and his name was cleared to tell him that She had always harbored affections for him, and that She wanted him more than anything in the world.
"I love you," She would say, "I have for so long. I want you, Professor."
"Call me Severus."
"Severus," She whispered in Her sweet caressing tone.
There was his favorite – their bonding ceremony. She would walk to him holding Her favorite white roses in traditional flowing white robes at twilight and would take his hand into Hers. She would say that She would always love him, and press Her lips to his as he pushed a rose gold wedding band onto Her left finger.
Shortly after their wedding, about a month later – no less because She had stayed a virgin until the night they wed – She would come to him with pleasant news.
"Severus, I'm pregnant."
Oh, Mrs. Snape…
He would kiss Her hard and together they would celebrate the fruits that their love had created. He would give Her belly extra attention until She went into labor, kissing it with vigor.
"My sweet little girl," he would whisper to Her womb, "I hope that you are as beautiful and kind as your mama, that you look just like Her."
She would smile for him, and chuckle before saying, "I hope that she looks like you."
"To look like me," he would say, "Would give her the more unfortunate genes in this family."
"Nonsense," She would whisper, "She would be lucky to be like her brave, courageous and handsome father."
And then, a few months later, they would curl up together, his front to Her back, and he would gently caress the large, luscious swell of Her abdomen. He would kiss it and love it more than everything.
A child that looked like Her mother would be fabulous. The petite girl would have all of her mother's features, and sweet caramel colored locks would be the most beautiful child in the world.
"Everything is so perfect," She would say.
And it was.
"And when I kill the Potter boy, Severus… I'll give you his mudblood."
"As a reward, Severus."
"Thank you, Milord."
She was already his! The Dark Lord would not take possession of Her – even if only to give away!
It made him shiver. He felt a renewed hatred for the Dark Lord. The evil wizard would never have Severus on his side if he thought he could…
But… What if Potter lost? What if he died? What if he wasn't able to defeat the Dark Lord? Then what happened? His flower would surely be hunted down and pushed to his feet, forced to do as he asked.
The more he thought about it, the more it appealed to him. For the first time, he pondered a scenario in which the Dark Lord won. Should he pretend that he was always on the man's side? Should he act as though he never was loyal to Albus? Should he take Her and allow her to live by his side as a subservient witch? He would save Her and she would be so grateful that she would consider him a savior. She would worship him, for saving Her from the evil and loyal Death Eaters. She would give herself to him willingly in mind, body and soul. She would give him everything that he wanted; children, love, Her glorious body.
Wait! What was he thinking? How could he think such a thing? How could he ever betray everything that She stood for? How could She love him if he did that? She would hate him!
Never! He would never change back to the Dark Side. She was of the Light, and for Her, he would be too.
For the first time in his life – Severus prayed for a Potter.
As he stood in the Shrieking Shack, Severus cursed his life. Nagini's toxic venom burrowed deep through his veins and he began to cry, from every part of his body.
He turned his eyes. There She was, his sweet little flower in all of Her innocence. How lovely She was. He had always known of course. But She was a woman now. He had no reason to fret.
All the dreams he had put together that he was certain would come to pass, would never come true. They would never marry. They would never have children. He would never tell Her how he loved Her. They would never make love.
She would never know.
She was staring at him. Her eyes were on him! She was looking at him – willingly! But those eyes – those sweet expressive eyes! The way that She looked at him – he was sure that She knew. He was sure that he knew how he felt, had known from the start, maybe. She was so clever, his girl, so clever.
She was crying. How innocent She looked crying, especially when crying those coveted crystal tears for him.
How lovely She looked, so disheveled. Her eyes filled with raw pain, only just for him. She stood in all of Her glory, his soul mate, weeping for his soul.
What a beautiful sight in which to die.
Hi guys. Thanks to everyone who got to the end of this little oneshot. I was very inspired by the scene in Deathly Hallows Part 2 in which Snape shares his memories with Harry. I couldn't help but think "What if he didn't love only Lily Evans? What if he loved Hermione Granger?" I'm a big fan of this pairing, and I'm so happy that I'm posting this little story about them. I think it came out very well, and I hope that you think so too. I would love to get a few reviews for this. Can everyone tell me what they thought? I wasn't so sure about the format? Did it work? Also, thanks in advance to everyone who puts this story on alert and or favorites it or reviews. It's only a one-shot, so I won't be adding more, but I'm glad that I've been able to post it. I really do love the Harry Potter fandom. We really have the most devoted readers and authors! I had actually been working on this story since the start of August. It took me a while because school started and I had a lot to do, but... I think it came out pretty well!
Also, much love to my very good friend, VampireMaddy, for editing this story for me. Seriously guys, she did a lot to help me out and fix my errors (ashamed to say there were several!) I hope that everyone goes and gives her a warm thank you in their review or reads her stories. She truly is a wonderful girl. :) Thanks again, and I hope to talk to you all on the flip-side!