Morpheus' Charm
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
7,364
Reviews:
8
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
5
Views:
7,364
Reviews:
8
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.
Repercussions
Morpheus' Charm
By Hellios
Chapter 2 - Repercussions
There would be no easy way to face him today, Hermione thought as she fidgeted with the books she had laid out on her bed. Mercifully, her sleep had been dreamless, although when she had awoken, her body had been covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her night dress stuck to her in patches. It was as if she'd awoken in the middle of a hot humid day, but inside the walls of the castle, it was always cool and dry. She had taken her time in the prefects bathroom, willing herself not to think as she soaked in the tub tried to ignore the slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach.
Now, she was late for breakfast and finding it hard to figure out which books she would need for the day. First up was double-potions. Hermione felt her stomach clench and the bile rise in her throat – she was going to throw up.
She managed to beat down the nausea and threw a few volumes into her book bag, hoping she had what she needed.
When she hastily entered the Great Hall, which was teeming with students and chit chat, her eyes automatically flicked over to the staff table. He wasn't there. Thank god, she thought, she would be able to put off facing him for a little while longer. Then another thought gripped her – what if he knew and was staying away because of it - what if he remembered the dream? She felt the blood drain from her face. The smell of bacon and sausages did nothing to calm her queasy stomach.
“Oi, Hermione! Over here.” Ron's voice could be heard over the hubbub of morning noise.
Hermione turned and looked at where Ron was seated next to Harry with an empty spoved ved for her. She smiled in relief. Her friends were just what she needed. If anyone could distract her from thinking about him, they could.
“Good morning, Ron, Harry,” she said as she approached them. They both gave her sleepy grins. She could see that Ron was already on his second plate of sausages, while Harry held on to his tea as if it would run away at any moment.
“What took you so long?” Harry asked her as she pulled up her chair and sat down with a thud.
Hermione shrugged. “Overslept.”
“You?” Ron snorted. “Never! Pigs would fly, you know.” He reached for a glass of pumpkin juice to wash down his last sausage with.
“It happens,” Hermoine said, then dropped her voice to a whisper, “the spell we did took a lot out of me.” She grabbed a piece of toast and proceeded to chew hesitantly on it's dry edges.
Harry looked over at her. “I've been thinking about that,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we should just forget about it. It could be dangerous.”
“Of course its dangerous, Mate,” Ron said. “If Bill ever finds out I stole that bloody amulet from him, he'll hex me into next year.”
“That's not what I meant,” Harry said, louder than he intended. Several Gryffindors looked in his direction, then returned to their breakfasts when he scowled at them.
“We know what you mean, Harry,” Hermione gave warning looks to both boys. Ron nodded and Harry slumped down into his chair. “Look, Harry, you said it yourself – the adults keep tiptoeing around what needs to be done. In the last year, we've gained absolutely no advantage over Voldemort.” Her words dropped to low whisper over the name.
“Yeah, Harry. It's about time we did something ourselves. And if we could find out what he's planning to do next, we could --” Ron gulped, “-- stop him.”
Harry nodded his agreement but stared blankly out across the table where students chatted and ate, unaware of how unsafe Hogwarts really was. Hermione felt pity for him that she would never express. She knew just how much Harry had taken the burden for their safety onto his shoulders. Dumbledore's death had been a huge blow to them, and so had finding out that their old headmaster was fallible, after all. They had all believed that he could defeat Voldemort, but instead, here they were – Voldemort was stronger than ever, and Hogwarts more vulnerable to attack. And Harry believed that he was the only person that could stand between the two.
No seventeen year old should have that kind of responsibility placed on them – even if it was done so by themselves.
~~~
Severus Snape stood and tapped his wand unconsciously against the workbench. He was supposed to be setting up in preparation for his Seventh Year NEWT class, but instead he found himself recalling the note he'd received early that morning.
The note was written simply and beautifully on expensive looking parchment and signed only with an embellished 'M'. Lucius Malfoy, of course. Although Snape wondered why Malfoy would bother trying to contact someone as disgraced as he was. All the note had said was 'Meet me. In the ninth hour past noon.'
It could have been a trap, of course, but that was unlikely. Snape still wasn't certain why he had been permitted to remain alive all these months, and he had no doubt that if the Dark Lord had wanted him dead, he would even now be festering in a shallow grave. No, Malfoy had not been sent to murder the traitor.
He was still debating whether or not he should see Malfoy. Since he had been ousted as a spy and a traitor all those months ago he'd been shunned by the Death Eaters and scorned by their offspring. He had no reason to see Malfoy, no reason at all except for rash curiosity. That, and a death wish.
Snape, who had been so careful, who had given up valuable hours spying against the Dark Lord, had made the fatal mistake – he'd trusted Dumbledore. Always in two minds about which horse to back, he'd finally and resolutely thrown his lot in with the Headmaster and his Order, only to be betrayed in the end.
The old man had gone and gotten himself killed by the Dark Lord, putting to rest all theories that he was the most powerful wizard alive. Albus Dumbledore had an Achilles heel, after all, and it turned out to be that wretched boy called Harry Potter. Snape couldn't believe that the Headmaster would so wilfully and easily throw his life away for one teen-aged boy. Surely Albus knew he was the last hope for the wizarding world, that not only had he sacrificed his own life, but, in doing so, had inadvertently sacrificed everyone else's. His death was futile and misguided and even thinking of it made the bile rise in his throat.
But what stung even more, was that Albus had not only let him and everyone else down by dying, but he had personally betrayed Snape's position as spy – simply to save Potter's life. While Dumbledore had walked willingly into the Death Eater trap, he had also made Snape swear, and swear on his mother's grave, that he would get Potter safely out of there.
So, of course, he had. His unwilling heroics had well and truly blown his cover.
Now, after all those months, Malfoy wanted to see him again. Well, he supposed he should go and humour the man.
The bell rang, signalling the start of the school day and Snape turned to walk back to his desk. He needed to compose himself – pretend that nothing was amiss. After all, certain of his Seventh year students knew more than what was good for them.
The class began to file inside, singly or in pairs, quietly stepping over the stone floor to take their places at their workbenches and cauldrons. They knew better than to test his patience, especially as lately he had found no reason to curb his viciousness – instead he took cold comfort in belittling his students, even more so when he could inflict his verbal scars on Potter and his little friends.
“The instructions are on the board,” he said coldly to the waiting class. “Try not be as dismalfollfollowing them as you usually are – Veritaserum is particularly difficult and dangerous to brew. I will not be responsible for loss of life or limb.”
He stood leaning against his desk as he watched the mixed class prepare their stations and fetch their ingredients from the store cupboard. NEWT classes were always small, containing two or three pupils from each house at the most, and this one was particularly so. Once hght ght have been challenged by, and even enjoyed, teaching a class of this calibre.
A particularly good student was Miss Granger, although it galled him to admit it. His eyes narrowed as he wat her her place her ingredients on her workbench and ready them for the cauldron. Today it seemed that her technique was a little off. She looked up at him and their eyes locked for an instant. Suddenly, a deep blush spread over her cheeks and she hastily looked down to her work. Silly, irritating girl, Snape thought, always thinks she knows best. Maybe today would be the day she would make a mistake and blow herself up. It would save him the trouble of doing it later.
~~~
The Potions class was finally over and Hermione flew from it as fast as she could, seeking refuge in the Library. It had been an absolute disaster. Seeing Professor Snape as his real, sadistic self had brought back a flood of memories. She couldn't even look at him without remembering what he had done to her in his dream and how much it had revolted her... How could she have let that -- that greasy man touch her – even in a dream. It was appalling.
She had been so shaken, that she had not been able to concentrate on brewing base for the Veritaserum. Fortunately, she had been saved from making a serious error by none other than Neville Longbottom, who'd quietly pointed out that she had chopped her phosphorous into rectangles instead of squares and that her Jobberknoll feathers were tail feathers rather than wing feathers. She could only hope that her base potion would be good enough to use in the next stages of the brew.
The only redeeming point in the entire lesson was that she was now quite certain that the Professor had no memory of their little dream time assignation. The nature of dreams and how they affected certain people wasn't really a quantifiable thing, but if she ever did invade Professor Snape's dreams again, the chances were likely that he would not remember those either.
But she wasn't quite ready to return to that arena again. Perhaps she should choose another subject, although Snape certainly was the best candidate they had come up with so far. Before she came to that, though, Hermione decided she would need to do more research on Bill's amulet.
By Hellios
Chapter 2 - Repercussions
There would be no easy way to face him today, Hermione thought as she fidgeted with the books she had laid out on her bed. Mercifully, her sleep had been dreamless, although when she had awoken, her body had been covered in a fine sheen of sweat and her night dress stuck to her in patches. It was as if she'd awoken in the middle of a hot humid day, but inside the walls of the castle, it was always cool and dry. She had taken her time in the prefects bathroom, willing herself not to think as she soaked in the tub tried to ignore the slightly nauseous feeling in her stomach.
Now, she was late for breakfast and finding it hard to figure out which books she would need for the day. First up was double-potions. Hermione felt her stomach clench and the bile rise in her throat – she was going to throw up.
She managed to beat down the nausea and threw a few volumes into her book bag, hoping she had what she needed.
When she hastily entered the Great Hall, which was teeming with students and chit chat, her eyes automatically flicked over to the staff table. He wasn't there. Thank god, she thought, she would be able to put off facing him for a little while longer. Then another thought gripped her – what if he knew and was staying away because of it - what if he remembered the dream? She felt the blood drain from her face. The smell of bacon and sausages did nothing to calm her queasy stomach.
“Oi, Hermione! Over here.” Ron's voice could be heard over the hubbub of morning noise.
Hermione turned and looked at where Ron was seated next to Harry with an empty spoved ved for her. She smiled in relief. Her friends were just what she needed. If anyone could distract her from thinking about him, they could.
“Good morning, Ron, Harry,” she said as she approached them. They both gave her sleepy grins. She could see that Ron was already on his second plate of sausages, while Harry held on to his tea as if it would run away at any moment.
“What took you so long?” Harry asked her as she pulled up her chair and sat down with a thud.
Hermione shrugged. “Overslept.”
“You?” Ron snorted. “Never! Pigs would fly, you know.” He reached for a glass of pumpkin juice to wash down his last sausage with.
“It happens,” Hermoine said, then dropped her voice to a whisper, “the spell we did took a lot out of me.” She grabbed a piece of toast and proceeded to chew hesitantly on it's dry edges.
Harry looked over at her. “I've been thinking about that,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we should just forget about it. It could be dangerous.”
“Of course its dangerous, Mate,” Ron said. “If Bill ever finds out I stole that bloody amulet from him, he'll hex me into next year.”
“That's not what I meant,” Harry said, louder than he intended. Several Gryffindors looked in his direction, then returned to their breakfasts when he scowled at them.
“We know what you mean, Harry,” Hermione gave warning looks to both boys. Ron nodded and Harry slumped down into his chair. “Look, Harry, you said it yourself – the adults keep tiptoeing around what needs to be done. In the last year, we've gained absolutely no advantage over Voldemort.” Her words dropped to low whisper over the name.
“Yeah, Harry. It's about time we did something ourselves. And if we could find out what he's planning to do next, we could --” Ron gulped, “-- stop him.”
Harry nodded his agreement but stared blankly out across the table where students chatted and ate, unaware of how unsafe Hogwarts really was. Hermione felt pity for him that she would never express. She knew just how much Harry had taken the burden for their safety onto his shoulders. Dumbledore's death had been a huge blow to them, and so had finding out that their old headmaster was fallible, after all. They had all believed that he could defeat Voldemort, but instead, here they were – Voldemort was stronger than ever, and Hogwarts more vulnerable to attack. And Harry believed that he was the only person that could stand between the two.
No seventeen year old should have that kind of responsibility placed on them – even if it was done so by themselves.
~~~
Severus Snape stood and tapped his wand unconsciously against the workbench. He was supposed to be setting up in preparation for his Seventh Year NEWT class, but instead he found himself recalling the note he'd received early that morning.
The note was written simply and beautifully on expensive looking parchment and signed only with an embellished 'M'. Lucius Malfoy, of course. Although Snape wondered why Malfoy would bother trying to contact someone as disgraced as he was. All the note had said was 'Meet me. In the ninth hour past noon.'
It could have been a trap, of course, but that was unlikely. Snape still wasn't certain why he had been permitted to remain alive all these months, and he had no doubt that if the Dark Lord had wanted him dead, he would even now be festering in a shallow grave. No, Malfoy had not been sent to murder the traitor.
He was still debating whether or not he should see Malfoy. Since he had been ousted as a spy and a traitor all those months ago he'd been shunned by the Death Eaters and scorned by their offspring. He had no reason to see Malfoy, no reason at all except for rash curiosity. That, and a death wish.
Snape, who had been so careful, who had given up valuable hours spying against the Dark Lord, had made the fatal mistake – he'd trusted Dumbledore. Always in two minds about which horse to back, he'd finally and resolutely thrown his lot in with the Headmaster and his Order, only to be betrayed in the end.
The old man had gone and gotten himself killed by the Dark Lord, putting to rest all theories that he was the most powerful wizard alive. Albus Dumbledore had an Achilles heel, after all, and it turned out to be that wretched boy called Harry Potter. Snape couldn't believe that the Headmaster would so wilfully and easily throw his life away for one teen-aged boy. Surely Albus knew he was the last hope for the wizarding world, that not only had he sacrificed his own life, but, in doing so, had inadvertently sacrificed everyone else's. His death was futile and misguided and even thinking of it made the bile rise in his throat.
But what stung even more, was that Albus had not only let him and everyone else down by dying, but he had personally betrayed Snape's position as spy – simply to save Potter's life. While Dumbledore had walked willingly into the Death Eater trap, he had also made Snape swear, and swear on his mother's grave, that he would get Potter safely out of there.
So, of course, he had. His unwilling heroics had well and truly blown his cover.
Now, after all those months, Malfoy wanted to see him again. Well, he supposed he should go and humour the man.
The bell rang, signalling the start of the school day and Snape turned to walk back to his desk. He needed to compose himself – pretend that nothing was amiss. After all, certain of his Seventh year students knew more than what was good for them.
The class began to file inside, singly or in pairs, quietly stepping over the stone floor to take their places at their workbenches and cauldrons. They knew better than to test his patience, especially as lately he had found no reason to curb his viciousness – instead he took cold comfort in belittling his students, even more so when he could inflict his verbal scars on Potter and his little friends.
“The instructions are on the board,” he said coldly to the waiting class. “Try not be as dismalfollfollowing them as you usually are – Veritaserum is particularly difficult and dangerous to brew. I will not be responsible for loss of life or limb.”
He stood leaning against his desk as he watched the mixed class prepare their stations and fetch their ingredients from the store cupboard. NEWT classes were always small, containing two or three pupils from each house at the most, and this one was particularly so. Once hght ght have been challenged by, and even enjoyed, teaching a class of this calibre.
A particularly good student was Miss Granger, although it galled him to admit it. His eyes narrowed as he wat her her place her ingredients on her workbench and ready them for the cauldron. Today it seemed that her technique was a little off. She looked up at him and their eyes locked for an instant. Suddenly, a deep blush spread over her cheeks and she hastily looked down to her work. Silly, irritating girl, Snape thought, always thinks she knows best. Maybe today would be the day she would make a mistake and blow herself up. It would save him the trouble of doing it later.
~~~
The Potions class was finally over and Hermione flew from it as fast as she could, seeking refuge in the Library. It had been an absolute disaster. Seeing Professor Snape as his real, sadistic self had brought back a flood of memories. She couldn't even look at him without remembering what he had done to her in his dream and how much it had revolted her... How could she have let that -- that greasy man touch her – even in a dream. It was appalling.
She had been so shaken, that she had not been able to concentrate on brewing base for the Veritaserum. Fortunately, she had been saved from making a serious error by none other than Neville Longbottom, who'd quietly pointed out that she had chopped her phosphorous into rectangles instead of squares and that her Jobberknoll feathers were tail feathers rather than wing feathers. She could only hope that her base potion would be good enough to use in the next stages of the brew.
The only redeeming point in the entire lesson was that she was now quite certain that the Professor had no memory of their little dream time assignation. The nature of dreams and how they affected certain people wasn't really a quantifiable thing, but if she ever did invade Professor Snape's dreams again, the chances were likely that he would not remember those either.
But she wasn't quite ready to return to that arena again. Perhaps she should choose another subject, although Snape certainly was the best candidate they had come up with so far. Before she came to that, though, Hermione decided she would need to do more research on Bill's amulet.