Remember When It Rained

Remember When It Rained
Chapter Twelve
Running Down


Days faded into nights and soon a fortnight had passed. For Hermione and Severus the days hadn’t been easy and the nights had been filled with dreams of each other. Neither had slept very well and it was beginning to take its toll on both parties.

Severus Snape wasn’t the best of men under normal circumstances, but the lack if sleep, the meetings with Voldemort and the stupidity of the dunderheads in his First Year classes had his temper boiling lava hot. It was inevitable that his temper would erupt, and it was the unkindness of fate that determined that the first victim of Mount Severus would be Neville Longbottom and by her mere association with him, Hermione.

“I have put up with you and your ineptitude for nearly seven years, Longbottom!” he spat. “And just when I begin to think that you have done all of the damage you can do you surprise me yet again!”

He was towering over poor, trembling Neville, his dark beady eyes narrowed, and face paler than normal save for the angry flush across his sharp cheeks. One hand gripped the wrist of Hermione, who had tried to flee the room with the rest of the class whom he had excused with a shout, the other held Neville by the collar of his robe.

“You are forbidden from setting foot in my classroom ever again, Longbottom! I don’t care if Voldemort himself is chasing you, if you step one toe over my threshold I will hex you! Now get out!”

He pushed the boy from him, lips curling in distain. Hermione now began to struggle against his grip, her heart pounding fiercely against her chest.

“Hold still Miss Granger!” he hissed as the door to the room slammed shut behind the fleeing form of the now shamed Neville. He roughly pulled her closer to him, grabbing her other wrist as she made to hit him.

“That will be fifty points for attempting bodily harm on a teacher, Miss Granger and detention tonight for failing to prevent today’s disaster!”

“What!” she yelled, stunned into stillness at his words. “That’s not fair! You have spent the last six years telling me not to help Neville and now you give me detention for obeying you!”

“I would advise you to shut up Miss Granger before you make your situation worse!” he hissed as he lowered his face to hers.

Hermione however, was past the point of no return when it came to her temper and his threats meant nothing to her at that moment.

“No! You shut up you fowl fiend! I am sick and tired of you!” she shouted. “You follow me around every night on my patrols, don’t deny it , I know you’re there in the shadows! You have, for the last fortnight, consistently been harder on me and the other Gryffs than normal and there is no excuse for your treatment of Neville! You-”

“THAT IS ENOUGH GRANGER!” he bellowed, his voice ringing through the room. She was startled into frightened silence as he pulled her toward the door. “I would advise you,” he continued in a menacing tone. “to leave this room and pray that I do not report your behavior to the Headmaster.”

“No!” she shrieked.

“Yes,” he answered with a smirk, his tone quiet and deadly. “Whether or not I do report you is entirely for you to determine. That shall be done at your detention this evening. Be here at seven. Do not be late. Now get out.”

The door swung open before her and she fled, leaving even her book bag behind. Severus leaned against the door jab listening to the sound of her footfalls.


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She ran all the way though the corridors until she reached her room, where she threw herself on her bed and howled into her pillow. Crookshanks, frightened by his mistress’s sudden entry, had scooted under the bed. Now, upon hearing the distress of his owner, he leapt up onto her back and purred.

“Oh Crooks!” Hermione gasped, as she rolled over and pulled him into her arms. “He’s so awful!”

If Crookshanks had been able to reply, it would have been cut off by the loud pounding on Hermione’s door. Instead the cat let out a startled yowl and leapt off of Hermione, causing her to wince as his claws accidentally dug into her chest.

“Hermione! Open up!” yelled Harry from the other side of the door.

His pounding hands were joined by another pair as Ron shouted for her to open the door as well.

Hermione strode angrily across the room and flung the door open, and then turned on her heel and made her way back to her bed.

The boys exchanged knowing looks at her expression. Knowing her as well as they did they could tell that she would have cheerfully hexed the first person who crossed her path should they tread dangerously. Harry wisely decided that in this particular circumstance a bit of humor was in order.

“So Mione, shall I hex him? I’m sure that I could manage an invisibility hex or something on those robes of his. Say in the middle of the Great Hall at supper?”

“Yea!” Ron chimed in. “Imagine the look on his face if he had to walk the length of the hall in nothing but his all togethers!”

“No, no,” Harry continued. “Imagine what Madam Pomprey would do to Snape because of all the students vomiting when they saw Snape naked. Not to mention all of the psychiatric care we would need!”

“Well it might not be all that bad, Harry.” Ron continued. “Maybe one of the Slytherin girls would be so overcome with lust that she would just jump him and give him a good rogering on the spot. He could use one that’s for sure!”

Hermione, who had been listening to the back and forth between her friends, mouth quirking slowly into a smile, finally laughed out loud.

“Ron! If that happened the entire school would have to be confined to St. Mungo’s!” she said with a laugh. “Then we wouldn’t be able to take our N.E.W.T.’s!”

Each of the boys rolled their eyes at that last bit and flung themselves on the bed next to her.

“So,” Harry said as he picked at one of her curls and twirled it around a finger. “What happened? The last time I saw him that angry was when he caught me in his Pensive.”

Hermione took Ron’s hand and sighed. “He was so awful! Poor Neville is not supposed to return, Professor Snape kicked him out and told him that he’d hex Neville if he dare set a toe into the room.”

‘No way!” Ron shouted. “We should go to Dumbledore!”

“Wait Ron!” Hermione exclaimed throwing up a hand. “It get’s worse. I have detention tonight at seven, and he said that if I’m late he will have me expelled.”

Harry dropped the lock of hair he had been toying with and growled, “That git! He can’t do that to you! Detention? For what? Not helping Neville?”

“No,” she answered with a sigh. “I tried to hit him.”

“No way!” hooted Ron. “You tried to hit Snape? And you are alive to tell the tale?”

She merely answered him with a wry smile.


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‘When one is faced with a situation that one is dreading,’ Hermione thought as she made her way down the dungeon corridor toward the Potions classroom. ‘time always seems to fly by.’

She paused at the door and noted that it was exactly one minute before seven. With a shudder she raised her hand, rapped on the rough wood of the door and opened it.

“Miss Granger,” Severus Snape greeted her in a satiny voice. “Right on time I see.”

She chose to remain silent as she made her way to the front of the room and took the front desk by her book bag.

He was reclining in his chair, feet propped on the surface of the desk, regarding her from under hooded eyes. He caressed his lower lip with a finger tip, as if contemplating his next action, when in reality he was pondering the way that her fear of him made her eyes sparkle in a manner that left him nearly breathless with wanting.

He regarded her sitting before him, chewing on her cheek in an effort to remain silent, as her eyes darted to his and back down at the desk again. Now that she was in his presence, he had no clue what to do with her torn as he was between assigning her the most unpleasant task he could think of or grabbing her up into his arms and kissing her breath away.

Silence reined in the room for a full five minutes as each challenged the other in their contest of wills, but in the end Hermione was no match for the patience of Severus and she asked, “Why have you been following me?”

With a hiss, he kicked his feet off of the desk and rising from his seat, strode to her in two long steps. “Miss Granger,” he murmured, leaning on the desk with his hands. “Do not flatter yourself with the supposition that I have been following you. Why would I waste my time in such a manner?”

She met his eyes then, hers flashing in anger and hurt. “Please don’t insult my intelligence Severus,” she hissed. “I know you’ve been following me for crying out loud, I know the way you smell.”

He turned from her, unable to deny her words. “Clean that pile of cauldrons,” he ordered instead pointing to the nearby cleaning station.

Hermione stomped her foot in frustration. “Fine then,” she yelled. “Live in denial for all I care!”

Facing the wall behind his desk, he heard stomp her way to the work station, the squeaking of the taps and the rush of water telling him that she had begun the task he had set her to. He suppressed a sigh and sat back down in his chair, pulling a stack of parchment toward him.

Silence, broken by the scratch of quill on parchment, which was drowned out by the scrubbing of the cauldrons, reined in the room for a time. Hermione used the cover of the noise to vent her spleen toward the scrub brush, while Severus directed his ire to the inadequate work of his Second years whom, he thought, had managed to forget all that they had learned in their first year. Judging by the quality of their work at least. Severus, not for the first time in his career, told himself that he was getting too old for this job as he made slashes through the work of a student with the blood red ink he so favored.

Soon enough he was finished with his task, leaving him time to observe (he really couldn’t help it) the irrepressible Miss Granger. Who was, he noted, looking particularly lovely this evening. Lovely in spite of the fact that her body language was screaming anger and frustration.

Her knowledge of his following her had not really surprised him, he merely didn’t like to be confronted about his growing obsession with her. Yet, on the second night of term, he had been out doing his own patrol, when her scent in a corridor drew him in and down the path behind her.

Careful to keep within the many shadows, he watched her cautiously make her rounds, checking all of the familiar places that students would hide. It was early yet in the year for relationships of a romantic nature to form, but one could not dismiss this years Fred or George Weasley from getting an early start on the “fun”, as it were.

And so it had begun, his nightly stalking of her. He told himself that the corridors were dangerous, especially to one as close to Potter as Miss Granger. He would, on some nights berate himself for being unable to resist the need to follow her, to watch her from afar, to try to catch her scent in the air. She would frequently turn around, peering into the shadows, brow wrinkled in concentration. On one or two occasions she opened her mouth as if to speak, only to change her mind and turn away.

He would return to his chambers, late at night and throw himself into a cold shower, or on more occasion than one, seek to relieve his desire for her with his own hand. He would whisper her name “Hermione” on those nights as he hit his peak, only to look in the mirror as he cleaned himself up and curse himself as a pervert. His dreams would be full of her, naked and writhing beneath him on some occasions or smiling at him as she chased him around the lake on others. He couldn’t escape her.