For Snape, Especially

Hermione blinked again. She was still in the forest. Not the same forest, she realized – in fact, it looked more like the Forbidden Forest. Why would she have come out of the potion’s influence in the Forbidden Forest?

She turned around, and when she saw Snape it was clear they weren’t out of the woods yet. “Oh, fucking hell.”

Snape was wearing bloody lederhosen. His black shoes had shiny silver buckles on them. Hermione’s outfit was practically identical, except her version had rudding bloomers! She was wearing a bonnet; another damned hat! And as if that wasn’t bad enough, they were wearing shorts – Snape’s legs were still visible! Snape was looking around, completely flummoxed. “I don’t understand,” he muttered finally.

“I do,” Hermione snapped. “Check your pockets.” When Snape stared at her blankly she repeated herself; “Check your pockets!” Numbly, Snape rummaged in his pockets and produced his wand. “No, check again.” Snape did, and found a hunk of rough bread. “I thought so,” Hermione growled resignedly. “Hansel & Gretel.”

“What?”

“Hansel & Gretel,” Hermione repeated furiously. “The next story in the book of fairy tales!”

“But we completed the story!” Snape exclaimed, with a clear treble in his voice.

“I bet this is the first time the potion’s been used on a book with more than one story in it,” Hermione said, trying to calm herself with reason. “We’re going to have to go through every single story in the book in order to get out!”

“Oh no.” Snape went completely white. Hermione thought she actually heard a whimper. “I changed my mind,” he whispered. “Kill me now.”

“What? Snape – Professor – it won’t be that bad,” Hermione answered soothingly, somewhat startled at Snape’s reaction. After all, it sounded annoying to her, but not unbearable. “There can’t be that many stories…”

“Hermione,” Snape said, grabbing her arms and staring with wild eyes, “please, kill me!”

He tried to shove his wand into her hand. “Stop it!” Hermione shouted, and backed off. “Sna- Severus,” she amended, using his first name to try and get some sense out of him, “we’ll manage all right. Please, I need your help in this or we’ll never get home!” Not to mention you look utterly ridiculous in a bowl cut.

Snape looked a bit sickly, but finally he nodded. “Good,” Hermione said with relief. She gently took the bread out of Snape’s hand. “Now come on,” she said, and set off through the woods, breaking off little pieces of bread and dropping them behind her.

Snape timidly walked beside her. He was silent for a long time, and still looked very pale. He also continued to look confusedly at Hermione every time she dropped a piece of bread. “Why on earth are you wasting our only sustenance?” he asked eventually.

“What? You- but you knew Little Red Riding Hood!” Hermione exclaimed. “You mean you’ve never read Hansel & Gretel?”

“No,” Snape admitted. “I- these stories never interested me.”

“Then why do you- oh, never mind,” Hermione huffed. “We’re brother and sister in this story,” she explained. “We’re lost in the woods; depending on the version, either our parents left us here because they couldn’t feed us, we got lost picking berries, or we just plain got lost and our father’s a Duke or something. I’m dropping bread crumbs so we can find our way back if we get lost.”

Snape’s brow wrinkled. “But we’re in a forest; there are animals. And if we’re already lost…”

“It doesn’t have to make sense; children’s stories often don’t,” Hermione pointed out, and Snape nodded. “Eventually we’ll come to a gingerbread house.”

“A house in which gingerbread is made?”

“No, a house made of gingerbread.”

“Made of…” Snape thought about that. “There must be a lot of wildlife with no teeth in this forest.”

“You don’t have to tell me, my parents are both dentists,” Hermione said. “Muggle healers of teeth,” she added when Snape raised a questioning eyebrow. “When they read me this story, the house was made of crackers.”

“I see.” Snape was silent for another moment. “Very well. And then?”

“The witch who lives there will invite us in,” Hermione said.

“The witch? There’s a witch? What does she want with us?”

“She wants to shove us into her oven and cook us, and then eat us.”

Snape looked at Hermione calculatingly. “You’re having me on.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m afraid not. Witches are usually the villain in old stories.”

“True.” Snape shook his head. “All right. What do we do with the witch?”

“Burn her. Shove her into her own oven and let her bake alive. Then we get out and find our way out of the woods, back to our parents’ castle.” She grinned at Snape’s expression. “The earlier versions were even nastier.”

“Muggles have sick minds,” Snape declared. “Even in their children’s stories people get eaten.”

“Are there no wizard children’s stories that are similar?”

Snape hesitated. “A few,” he conceded. “Not typically so graphic, from what I recall. Although I was far more interested in potions even as a child.”

“Really?” Hermione shook her head. “You’re lucky you found your calling so early. I almost wish I’d gotten to grow up in a Wizarding family. All through my childhood I knew I wasn’t where I belonged, but I didn’t understand why.”

Snape glanced sideways at her. “Why did you accept the post at Hogwarts? I was certain you’d go on to university – you’re certainly clever enough.”

Hermione flushed a bit at the unexpected compliment. “It- it was the war,” she said quietly. When no angry retort was forthcoming she continued; “I learned something very important during the last few years – nothing can teach you like experience. Shutting myself away in university would have stifled my learning, if anything, even a Wizard university. Anything I learn in the future will come from life, not studying.”

Snape was silent for a long time; Hermione chose to let him ponder – it was better than the possibility of another snarky comment. She much preferred being on good terms with Sn- with Severus, and he seemed meeker than usual, or at least less aggressive in his behavior. Who would’ve guessed Snape – Severus – has a passive side. That’s something else he should let out more often, she thought, and then fought down furious blushes at the possible implications. Bloody damn and blasted gorgeous legs! And he’s being more civil; if we don’t get out of here soon I may end up dramatically rewriting these stories, and they won’t be children-safe any longer!

Funny to think that they were getting on better than ever inside a book of fairy tales. She wondered what else might test their sanity before they escaped – ‘Three Little Pigs’, maybe? Severus would be the pig who built his house out of bricks, she decided, struggling not to smirk at the mental image of Severus as a pig. That would make me…either the wolf, or the pig who built his house out of wood. And got eaten. Hermione shuddered. Oh, I hope that one isn’t in here. Severus is right…these stories are sick, seen from the inside.

What about ‘The Princess and the Pea’? That wouldn’t be so bad…Severus could simply pretend he’d felt the pea, and that would be the end of it.

Oh Merlin…please, not ‘Rapunzel’. I don’t even want to think about climbing up that filthy hair.

“Hermione,” Severus said, startling her, “I appreciate your enduring this…debacle with as good graces as you have.”

“I’m almost as embarrassed by this as you are, I’m sure,” Hermione replied. “Although…well, this may not be the most remarkable literature, but I do feel rather proud to be one of only eight people to ever successfully engage the Libris Inserere potion. It’s quite humbling.”

“Indeed. Although this hasn’t gone even vaguely as planned, I am pleased the potion performed as intended. Perhaps I’ll even attempt to brew it again some day…somewhere there are no other books that could possibly be touched. And with the door locked. And magically sealed. And barricaded. And, if possible, on another planet.”

“A wise precaution, I would think,” Hermione agreed with a slight smile. Was it her imagination, or was Severus almost smiling as well? I’ll have to remember to tell Ron and Harry I’ve won our bet.

“And if I am forced to go through this, I consider myself…fortunate you are here as well.”

“You- you do?” Hermione gasped. “Why?”

“For one thing, you know these tales; without your guidance I would be trapped here forever,” Severus said as though it were obvious. “And- I believe I can trust that once we are home, you will refrain from spreading word of my horrible blunder.”

“Hah! The next time I see Rita Skeeter she’s going to get an earful,” Hermione responded blithely. “Oh, I’m just joking, Severus!” she added when he froze in his tracks and stared at her in panic. “I have no desire to be known as the rescuer of Little Red Riding Snape! Besides, it’s just a few child-safe fairy tales; it won’t be that unendurable, only a bit silly.”

Strangely, Severus went white again, and dropped his gaze. “Hermione…I have to tell you-”

Hermione cut Severus off with a sharp gesture and pointed. They’d stepped into the edge of a clearing, and the gingerbread house was right in front of them. “All right,” Hermione whispered. “The witch will open the door when we get closer, and invite us inside to eat whatever we want. She’ll lock the door, and try to toss me into the oven.”

“Why you first?” Severus enquired quietly.

“Presumably so the male could save the female,” Hermione said sourly. “You’ll have to rescue me, of course.”

“So I get to be the dashing hero after all,” Severus drawled sarcastically.

Hermione rolled her eyes, and scowled at the house. The cookie roof had pink frosting. The fence was made of giant candy canes. The “grass” was really cotton candy. “Dear Merlin, I can smell the sugar from here!” she hissed.

“I amend my earlier statement,” Severus said. “Any animal with half an ounce of instinct wouldn’t come near this house.”

“So what does it say about us that we’re about to walk right into it?”

“It says that we’re victims of circumstance; that is, we haven’t a bloody choice, unless we decide we truly adore these clothes,” Severus replied smartly, pulling disdainfully at his suspenders.

Hermione snorted. “Oh, very well. But I’m only going to nibble one piece of candy; I’ve never had a cavity in my life, and I’d like to keep it that way!”

“I daresay it’s safe to nibble a bit more than that,” Severus murmured. Then he seemed to realize what he’d said.

And he blushed.

Severus Snape, former Death Eater, double agent from two Wizarding wars, nightmare of a thousand children to pass through the doors of Hogwarts, and owner of the Granite Thighs of Worldly Delight, is blushing at me. That’s as flattering as it is disturbing.

Hermione turned away to hide her own blushes and pretended she hadn’t noticed, even though it was completely obvious she had. Well done, Professor Granger. You just had to use the word ‘nibble’, didn’t you? Now that word will be hanging between the two of you forever! ‘Oh Professor Snape, I was hoping you could help me answer a nibble- QUESTION, help me nibble a question!’

For the sake of successfully escaping the book (for there was no way Gretel even considered doing to Hansel what Hermione was considering doing to Severus against that tree), Hermione strode purposefully toward the house, and Severus hurried to follow. She fully expected the door to fly open just as they reached it, but it remained solidly shut. Frowning, Hermione pulled at the handle and found the door locked. “Where’s the witch?” she asked rhetorically as she tried to peer in the window, and found it the glass was actually molded sugar and mostly opaque.

“Right in front of me,” Snape replied sarcastically.

Hermione scowled at him. “You know what I mean! Why isn’t she coming out?”

“I have no idea. Perhaps we missed something.”

Hermione thought about that. “Oh…well, in each version I’ve read, the witch catches Hansel and Gretel in the act of eating her house; it always struck me as foolish of them not to suspect something when she wasn’t mad about it.” Severus snorted. “So maybe we have to ni- to eat a bit and she’ll come out.”

“Very well,” Severus said, and broke a piece of windowsill off. He sniffed it cautiously, and then took an experimental bite. “Peanut brittle,” he declared solemnly.

“Good?”

“I’ve had better.”

Deciding not to ask where, Hermione snapped off a piece of gingerbread ornamentation. She took a – a nibble, damnit! – and almost shrieked when the door banged open and the most hideous person she’d ever seen stepped out.

The witch was squat and grotesque – she reminded Hermione of Umbridge, actually, except her skin was greener and she had a nauseating collection of warts. She was even wearing the instantly recognizable black cape and pointed hat. “Well, and who might you dearies be?” she asked, and then cackled. Even her cackle was straight out of a script.

“I am Hansel, and this is my sister Gretel,” Severus said blandly as Hermione tried not to frown at the negative stereotyping. “We are lost in the woods.”

“Oh, you poor dears,” the witch oozed unconvincingly. “But I see you’re fond of my Gingerbread house – why you’ve already eaten some of it!”

“We’re sorry,” Hermione said quickly. “We were just so hungry…”

Severus raised an eyebrow at her, but the lie had been right out of the tale and the witch reacted appropriately. “Never you mind, child. Why not come inside? The best of the sweets are in here!”

“Of course they are,” Severus muttered as he stepped over the threshold, Hermione right behind him.

The door slammed shut once they were inside, and the witch grabbed at Hermione, trying to shove her toward the open door of the enormous oven. “Oh, there’ll be such a feast tonight!” she cackled.

Hermione rolled her eyes; as a full-grown woman she was quite a bit stronger than the old witch, but she played along, allowing the witch to push her closer to the fire. “Oh no!” she cried, although without much enthusiasm. “The horrible witch plans to eat us!”

“Take your hands off my sister!” Severus yelled with considerably more oomph to his role. He’s a much better rescuer than helpless damsel, Hermione thought, and then fought down a giggle. In one quick motion, Severus pulled Hermione free; as the witch turned he stuck out his foot, tripping her. Arms flailing wildly, the witch stumbled back and tripped over the hearth, tumbling end-over-end into the fire. The edge of her cloak caught the iron door and pulled it shut, sparing Hermione and Severus from having to see the woman go up in flames. “Well,” Severus said after a long silence, “that was just absurdly easy.”

“I imagine it would be a bit more difficult for two little children, Severus,” Hermione snapped as she headed for the door. When it wouldn’t budge, Hermione kicked the sugar lock off.

“I don’t understand why you’re so upset,” Severus said as he followed Hermione across the clearing and back into the forest. “That went rather well, I thought – and it was blissfully short.”

Hermione actually agreed; that wasn’t what had upset her. When Snape had pulled her away from the witch, his thumb had brushed lightly against the back of her hand, and her reaction was so fierce she wasn’t certain she could stand being around him much longer. The question has ceased to be “How long until we’re out of here” and is fast approaching “How long until I can either diddle myself sore or severely molest and traumatize my colleague?”

Severus made no further attempts to talk to Hermione as she shoved her way through the forest. Eventually she stepped around a tree and found herself on a flat, even surface. “A road,” she said needlessly.

“Hermione!” Severus hissed. “There’s someone coming!”

Hermione turned around to see a fancily-dressed man on regal bearing atop a magnificent horse. “It’s Hansel and Gretel’s father,” she whispered back.

“How do you know?”

“Because he’s the only other character in the story!” Hermione growled just before the man reached them. “Father!” she exclaimed, plastering a smile on her face.

The reunion almost completely lifted Hermione’s spirits, if for no other reason than to see Snape smoldering with rage as their ‘father’ smothered them with affection. Finally they met up with the rest of the army, which the Duke had dispatched to search for his children, and Hermione and Severus found themselves riding on a wagon in the middle of a multitude of guards, heading back to the castle. “Any time now we’ll move on to the next story,” Hermione whispered. “I’ve been trying to gauge how many more there might be…unfortunately, we may have several more to go!”

Severus again looked pale, as he had in the forest. Figuring Severus could use a bit of distraction, Hermione muttered “So when did you have better peanut brittle than the witch’s?”

Severus looked completely stunned by the question. “Albus was fond of it,” he offered eventually.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed as something clicked. “Headmistress McGonagall has a tin of peanut brittle…I suppose Dumbledore taught her to appreciate it…”

“I very much doubt that. Minerva is allergic to peanuts,” Severus replied with a wry twist of his lips.

Stop doing that with your lips! Hermione screamed in her head. “Hmm. I suppose it’s a memorial of some sort, then. Or else…” her eyes widened. “Did the Headmistress fancy Dumbledore?”

Snape didn’t respond to that – but he blushed again, and a thought appeared, completely unbidden but fully formed in Hermione’s head: He twists his lips. He’s in bloody shorts. He blushes. Severus Snape is a sadistic torturing bastard who must be strapped down, whipped raw, coated in chocolate syrup and appropriately cleaned by tongue, and then properly shagged within an inch of his life. All by me.

Snape got one good look at Hermione’s expression of horror before the world disappeared again.