Revenant
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,789
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
12
Views:
2,789
Reviews:
61
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
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.
Homecoming
Summary: WIKTT Challenge: The Hollow Man: Severus Snape is sentenced to an archaic ritual that destroys his mind and magic. Now that he is needed once more, can the Golden Trio find a way to bring him back? SS/HG
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I claim nothing.
Revenant
Chapter One: Homecoming
The faint drizzle had finally given way to a thick and uneven mist, veiling the streets in a hazy white. Strange and greasy halos glimmered in the exhaust laden air, lending an unreal quality to the night. The weather had been unseasonably cold this year, with an early spring that had flourished for a short handful of weeks before degenerating back into a blustery post-winter of shifting fogs and sudden snowfalls. Wizarding and Muggle folk alike were bemoaning this as the longest winter in living memory.
Hermione pulled her thick coat tighter around her shoulders as she stole a glance at the tall figure that lurched through the fog just behind her. A slight shiver that had nothing to do with the weather ran down her spine as she took in his expressionless face and awkward gait.
She shook her head and turned away, the wisps of her unruly hair sticking to her face in uncomfortable and unavoidable clumps. She kept her eyes open for the turn off to her street; Number 5, Traduk Lane. In the thick fog, nothing looked familiar; the buildings that enclosed the streets seeming to fade away until she was walking through a formless void with some strange and damned thing dogging her steps.
After passing the same busted curbside for a third time, Hermione finally slowed her steps to a stop. Looking askance at the disinterested man beside her, she began to rummage through her pockets, finally pulling a creased and battered booklet from her pocket. A quick look around for any muggles, and Hermione cast a quick revealing spell and examined the booklet carefully.
A tiny red figure was stranded alone among a spider web of sprawling lines. Looking closely, Hermione could just make out the tiny lettering that paced each mark. Her finger slid along the open page of the book until she found the two crisscrossed lines that she had been looking for. Mumbling to herself, she began to retrace her steps until she found the turn off to the hidden street. With a heartfelt sigh, she mumbled the finite spell and slipped the booklet back into her pocket. Making sure that the dark man was still with her, she stepped into the hidden alley that passed for Traduk Lane.
*
5 Traduk Lane was a small house that had been crammed onto an even smaller lot giving it a cramped and overwhelmed feeling. It looked even taller than its three narrow stories, seeming to loom over the twisting lane like some fabulous wizard’s tower. In a way that’s exactly what it was; only it belonged to a witch, not a wizard.
Hermione slogged up the broken stones that made up the walkway, and ascended the rickety old stairs to the front door. The lock resisted every effort that she used to open the door, and finally with a sigh, she pronounced an “Alahmora” in precise tones that belayed her weary appearance.
The door swung shakily open and Hermione cringed as she heard a loud groan echo through the old home as it settled its weight without the benefit of the front door’s support. She paused a moment, then seeing that the house wasn’t about to collapse around her ears, she stepped forward and motioned for the dark figure to enter the old house.
“This way.” She informed the thing that had once been her Potions Master, shutting and locking the door behind them.
He obeyed without hesitation, following three steps behind her as she guided them deeper into the old house. They passed unopened crates of books and belongings until she motioned for him to stop in what could have been loosely called a ‘servant’s quarters.’
“You, uh, need to get cleaned up Sir.” She had been instructed by an officious clerk that she was not to call him by any of his old titles or honorifics. She was expected to call him Snape, or even more disrespectfully as she saw it, as Severus. She knew this on an intellectual level, but found herself unable to actually do so; it was one thing for a heavy-handed and overzealous Ministry to strip away a man’s identity, but it was another thing to tell her she had to perpetuate it by stripping the history from the man as well.
Besides, the idea of addressing Professor Snape in such an intimate manner as to use his given name was, well, just plain creepy; it would almost be as if she were taking advantage of the situation on such a deep level that she couldn’t even begin to contemplate.
He stared at her, his gaze flat and emotionless; his faded black eyes poor copies for the ones that had flashed and snapped with derision and disdain for so many years. They were the eyes of an empty thing and Hermione found herself unable to look into them.
“You need to wash sir. You’ve… you’ve got dirt on you.” Her voice was hesitant as she took in the sight of his thin form.
He was far more pallid than she’d ever seen him. Perhaps it was just stillness of him that gave her that impression, for as long as she could remember he had always burning with a anger and spite. Even in his quiet and still moments she had always viewed him as coiled with a tension –ready to strike; in repose, his stillness of form had merely been a crouching of a tiger, or the coiling of a snake. Now seeing him, he seemed to her to be nothing more than a cadaver that had not yet gone to rot. He was still dressed in the Death Eater battle robes, even though it had been well over a month and a half since the last battle. The robes were stiff with caked grime and dark rust coloured stains.
“Sir?” She questioned when he made no move. She wasn’t sure how much he understood of her words. “You need to take off your robes... they’re… dirty.”
His hands moved stiffly, as if his lack of mind had robbed his hands of grace. He tugged at the buttons until the garment dropped stiffly to the floor. He stood before her dressed in what had once been a form fitted black suit, reminiscent of the height of Victorian fashion. Now his once tailored outfit hung from his body in places, draping him within its folds.
“The… uh… clothes bin is… uh… right over there…” She stammered, not taking her eyes off the gaunt figure before her. “That’s where you should put your robes… and… uh… other clothes… whenyou’redonewiththem.” She finished the last part of the sentence in a rush. She desperately hoped she didn’t have to guide Seve -Professor Snape- through his ablutions detail by detail; bad enough to have to live with the man without having to micromanage his life as well.
He bent to place the discarded robes in the bin and she turned away from him to look over the rest of the bathroom. “The… uh… bath is there, fresh towels over there, and your change of clothes there. Um… soap and shampoo and crème rinse there…”
Her words trailed away and she looked again at Professor Snape, who stood silently regarding her. “Please bath and change your clothes. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen when you’re finished. Um…”
“Please join me there when you’re done.” She added, feeling silly talking in such a way to a grown man.
His blank expression did not change as he began to undress. Red-faced, Hermione darted past him to the open door. She was just closing the door to the bathroom when she heard a sickening ripping sound come from behind her. Screwing up her courage she turned back to face her once-dreaded instructor.
The ripping sound continued as he slowly peeled his shirt from his body. Hermione gasped and tried not to wince as she realized that he had been severely injured at some point in the last battle. His wounds had most likely been treated by rushed and drained mediwitch who hadn’t even bothered to clean, much less remove the clothing from the wound when she gave the ex-Death Eater a perfunctory healing. As a result the cloth of his shirt had been healed into the wound as the flesh had knit around the fabric. Removing the shirt caused a wave of blood to ooze down the man’s belly and side.
Looking closer at him, Hermione realized that his pants and shirt were stiff with the dried weeping of his injury, which hadn’t healed clean -thanks to the intrusive cloth. He’d probably been loosing blood at a slow and steady pace for the past six weeks, Hermione thought, trying not to give in to the urge to vomit. No wonder he looked so pale.
Unaware and unconcerned with her observations, Severus Snape continued to disrobe. As he pulled his last leg from his trousers and stepped toward the waiting bath Hermione overcame her shock. “Wait. Wait, you need to be healed.”
He stilled under her hand and she could feel the chill that permeated his flesh. The wound was a shallow gash that had been peeled open from his right nipple to just past the dusting of black hair underd tod to the left, of his belly button.
She fumbled with her wand and with a quick brush of its tip on his flesh, commanded “Exfoliflaius.” Blood surged from his open wound as thin tendrils of fabric began to work their ways from his body. A small ping of metal hit the tile on the floor and Hermione looked down to see a bloody and jagged piece of metal clatter to a stop on the floor. A few pieces of bone rained down as well, hitting the tile and bouncing slightly, leaving bloody smears on the cream flooring.
Hermione looked back at Snape, her eyes wide. She had no doubt that those pieces of metal and bone had been lodged in his wound, and she didn’t need to wonder what would have happened if they had been left to fester in his wounds. Swallowing heavily, Hermione began to drag her wand over his body commanding “Exfoliflaius” searching for other hidden injuries.
No other wounds reopened or disgorged any foreign materials, but Hermione was sweating when she had finished. She touched her wand to the gash in his side and commanded “Amenden” A flood of energy fled her body and left her all but comatose on her feet as the ragged wound slowly re-knit back together.
Through all of her ministrations Snape stood unmoving and unresponsive.
Finally she stepped back and looked awkwardly past his shoulder as she commanded him, “Okay. You’re all set. Go ahead and bath, and dress; I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re done.”
Snape turned back to the bath and Hermione fled to the safety of another room.
*
Obligatory Author’s Notes:
In general, sorry about the slow updates. This may or may not change in Mid-Dec as the holiday season strikes us, and school releases us to our various holiday endeavors.
Deb >^..^< Sorry about the sad stuff. I… uh… didn’t realize that it was quite as… er… melodramatic as it is until I re-reread it. I found the “all Pink Floyd- all the time” channel online, and I suspect it may have affected the prologue a bit.
Mother, summaries are sneaky things, but yes, Snape’ll get better. Sooner or later… although “better” is relative I suppose.
Ah, the mighty Zephyr, thank you for your encouragement. It’s always nice to get an “Um Wow!” On my end, I’m still waiting (patiently) for some Lusting for Potions and Revelations updates…
And of course, last but not least, thanks to the mighty LittleBird, who reads the sludge before it’s posted; who helps me stay on topic, and who gives me ideas when I get whiney.
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I claim nothing.
Revenant
Chapter One: Homecoming
The faint drizzle had finally given way to a thick and uneven mist, veiling the streets in a hazy white. Strange and greasy halos glimmered in the exhaust laden air, lending an unreal quality to the night. The weather had been unseasonably cold this year, with an early spring that had flourished for a short handful of weeks before degenerating back into a blustery post-winter of shifting fogs and sudden snowfalls. Wizarding and Muggle folk alike were bemoaning this as the longest winter in living memory.
Hermione pulled her thick coat tighter around her shoulders as she stole a glance at the tall figure that lurched through the fog just behind her. A slight shiver that had nothing to do with the weather ran down her spine as she took in his expressionless face and awkward gait.
She shook her head and turned away, the wisps of her unruly hair sticking to her face in uncomfortable and unavoidable clumps. She kept her eyes open for the turn off to her street; Number 5, Traduk Lane. In the thick fog, nothing looked familiar; the buildings that enclosed the streets seeming to fade away until she was walking through a formless void with some strange and damned thing dogging her steps.
After passing the same busted curbside for a third time, Hermione finally slowed her steps to a stop. Looking askance at the disinterested man beside her, she began to rummage through her pockets, finally pulling a creased and battered booklet from her pocket. A quick look around for any muggles, and Hermione cast a quick revealing spell and examined the booklet carefully.
A tiny red figure was stranded alone among a spider web of sprawling lines. Looking closely, Hermione could just make out the tiny lettering that paced each mark. Her finger slid along the open page of the book until she found the two crisscrossed lines that she had been looking for. Mumbling to herself, she began to retrace her steps until she found the turn off to the hidden street. With a heartfelt sigh, she mumbled the finite spell and slipped the booklet back into her pocket. Making sure that the dark man was still with her, she stepped into the hidden alley that passed for Traduk Lane.
*
5 Traduk Lane was a small house that had been crammed onto an even smaller lot giving it a cramped and overwhelmed feeling. It looked even taller than its three narrow stories, seeming to loom over the twisting lane like some fabulous wizard’s tower. In a way that’s exactly what it was; only it belonged to a witch, not a wizard.
Hermione slogged up the broken stones that made up the walkway, and ascended the rickety old stairs to the front door. The lock resisted every effort that she used to open the door, and finally with a sigh, she pronounced an “Alahmora” in precise tones that belayed her weary appearance.
The door swung shakily open and Hermione cringed as she heard a loud groan echo through the old home as it settled its weight without the benefit of the front door’s support. She paused a moment, then seeing that the house wasn’t about to collapse around her ears, she stepped forward and motioned for the dark figure to enter the old house.
“This way.” She informed the thing that had once been her Potions Master, shutting and locking the door behind them.
He obeyed without hesitation, following three steps behind her as she guided them deeper into the old house. They passed unopened crates of books and belongings until she motioned for him to stop in what could have been loosely called a ‘servant’s quarters.’
“You, uh, need to get cleaned up Sir.” She had been instructed by an officious clerk that she was not to call him by any of his old titles or honorifics. She was expected to call him Snape, or even more disrespectfully as she saw it, as Severus. She knew this on an intellectual level, but found herself unable to actually do so; it was one thing for a heavy-handed and overzealous Ministry to strip away a man’s identity, but it was another thing to tell her she had to perpetuate it by stripping the history from the man as well.
Besides, the idea of addressing Professor Snape in such an intimate manner as to use his given name was, well, just plain creepy; it would almost be as if she were taking advantage of the situation on such a deep level that she couldn’t even begin to contemplate.
He stared at her, his gaze flat and emotionless; his faded black eyes poor copies for the ones that had flashed and snapped with derision and disdain for so many years. They were the eyes of an empty thing and Hermione found herself unable to look into them.
“You need to wash sir. You’ve… you’ve got dirt on you.” Her voice was hesitant as she took in the sight of his thin form.
He was far more pallid than she’d ever seen him. Perhaps it was just stillness of him that gave her that impression, for as long as she could remember he had always burning with a anger and spite. Even in his quiet and still moments she had always viewed him as coiled with a tension –ready to strike; in repose, his stillness of form had merely been a crouching of a tiger, or the coiling of a snake. Now seeing him, he seemed to her to be nothing more than a cadaver that had not yet gone to rot. He was still dressed in the Death Eater battle robes, even though it had been well over a month and a half since the last battle. The robes were stiff with caked grime and dark rust coloured stains.
“Sir?” She questioned when he made no move. She wasn’t sure how much he understood of her words. “You need to take off your robes... they’re… dirty.”
His hands moved stiffly, as if his lack of mind had robbed his hands of grace. He tugged at the buttons until the garment dropped stiffly to the floor. He stood before her dressed in what had once been a form fitted black suit, reminiscent of the height of Victorian fashion. Now his once tailored outfit hung from his body in places, draping him within its folds.
“The… uh… clothes bin is… uh… right over there…” She stammered, not taking her eyes off the gaunt figure before her. “That’s where you should put your robes… and… uh… other clothes… whenyou’redonewiththem.” She finished the last part of the sentence in a rush. She desperately hoped she didn’t have to guide Seve -Professor Snape- through his ablutions detail by detail; bad enough to have to live with the man without having to micromanage his life as well.
He bent to place the discarded robes in the bin and she turned away from him to look over the rest of the bathroom. “The… uh… bath is there, fresh towels over there, and your change of clothes there. Um… soap and shampoo and crème rinse there…”
Her words trailed away and she looked again at Professor Snape, who stood silently regarding her. “Please bath and change your clothes. I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen when you’re finished. Um…”
“Please join me there when you’re done.” She added, feeling silly talking in such a way to a grown man.
His blank expression did not change as he began to undress. Red-faced, Hermione darted past him to the open door. She was just closing the door to the bathroom when she heard a sickening ripping sound come from behind her. Screwing up her courage she turned back to face her once-dreaded instructor.
The ripping sound continued as he slowly peeled his shirt from his body. Hermione gasped and tried not to wince as she realized that he had been severely injured at some point in the last battle. His wounds had most likely been treated by rushed and drained mediwitch who hadn’t even bothered to clean, much less remove the clothing from the wound when she gave the ex-Death Eater a perfunctory healing. As a result the cloth of his shirt had been healed into the wound as the flesh had knit around the fabric. Removing the shirt caused a wave of blood to ooze down the man’s belly and side.
Looking closer at him, Hermione realized that his pants and shirt were stiff with the dried weeping of his injury, which hadn’t healed clean -thanks to the intrusive cloth. He’d probably been loosing blood at a slow and steady pace for the past six weeks, Hermione thought, trying not to give in to the urge to vomit. No wonder he looked so pale.
Unaware and unconcerned with her observations, Severus Snape continued to disrobe. As he pulled his last leg from his trousers and stepped toward the waiting bath Hermione overcame her shock. “Wait. Wait, you need to be healed.”
He stilled under her hand and she could feel the chill that permeated his flesh. The wound was a shallow gash that had been peeled open from his right nipple to just past the dusting of black hair underd tod to the left, of his belly button.
She fumbled with her wand and with a quick brush of its tip on his flesh, commanded “Exfoliflaius.” Blood surged from his open wound as thin tendrils of fabric began to work their ways from his body. A small ping of metal hit the tile on the floor and Hermione looked down to see a bloody and jagged piece of metal clatter to a stop on the floor. A few pieces of bone rained down as well, hitting the tile and bouncing slightly, leaving bloody smears on the cream flooring.
Hermione looked back at Snape, her eyes wide. She had no doubt that those pieces of metal and bone had been lodged in his wound, and she didn’t need to wonder what would have happened if they had been left to fester in his wounds. Swallowing heavily, Hermione began to drag her wand over his body commanding “Exfoliflaius” searching for other hidden injuries.
No other wounds reopened or disgorged any foreign materials, but Hermione was sweating when she had finished. She touched her wand to the gash in his side and commanded “Amenden” A flood of energy fled her body and left her all but comatose on her feet as the ragged wound slowly re-knit back together.
Through all of her ministrations Snape stood unmoving and unresponsive.
Finally she stepped back and looked awkwardly past his shoulder as she commanded him, “Okay. You’re all set. Go ahead and bath, and dress; I’ll meet you in the kitchen when you’re done.”
Snape turned back to the bath and Hermione fled to the safety of another room.
*
Obligatory Author’s Notes:
In general, sorry about the slow updates. This may or may not change in Mid-Dec as the holiday season strikes us, and school releases us to our various holiday endeavors.
Deb >^..^< Sorry about the sad stuff. I… uh… didn’t realize that it was quite as… er… melodramatic as it is until I re-reread it. I found the “all Pink Floyd- all the time” channel online, and I suspect it may have affected the prologue a bit.
Mother, summaries are sneaky things, but yes, Snape’ll get better. Sooner or later… although “better” is relative I suppose.
Ah, the mighty Zephyr, thank you for your encouragement. It’s always nice to get an “Um Wow!” On my end, I’m still waiting (patiently) for some Lusting for Potions and Revelations updates…
And of course, last but not least, thanks to the mighty LittleBird, who reads the sludge before it’s posted; who helps me stay on topic, and who gives me ideas when I get whiney.