The Seven Year Sleep

Chapter Four
A Friend

They walked that Friday night, when the sun was glowing red and gold. She carried a bouquet of flowers in her arm. They were beautiful- lilacs, creamy and soft lavender roses, tufts of baby’s breath.

“It would seem that I have better taste in flowers than you do,” he had said loftily, handing her the blooms.

Stroking them, Hermione suppressed the soft smile that had threatened to creep across her face. “Or perhaps a better florist,” she reiterated.

His eyes gleamed with amusement and approval.

Later, Severus had said, “I like a woman who can stand a bit of verbal sparring.”

“Oh really? And I thought you preferred meek little maids.”

His eyes had narrowed. “Miss. Granger, I will have you know that I came here tonight only because you challenged me. I do not back down from challenges very often.”

“Shall I challenge you to another walk then? And it’s Hermione,” she corrected him.

“Don’t play with fire, Hermione,” Severus purred. “You know what they say about fire, and children. They get burnt.”

They had stopped walking then.

“You forget, sir, I am not a child.” Hermione was thrilled and horrified at her behavior. When had she grown so bold? Why was she enjoying this all so very much?

“No. You aren’t.”

And then his lips had pressed against hers, swallowing the small ridiculous gasp, feeding her his hot wet tongue. Her eyelashes had drifted shut then, and the warmth had wrapped itself around her. His hand had clutched the small of her waist, the other hand was tangled in her hair. He kissed her as she had never been, and never again would be kissed again. He ruined her for any other man but he.

Afterward. “I said before that I only came because of that challenge. That was true. But next time, it will be because of this.” And he kissed her again.

--Hermione Granger

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Pain jolted Severus into unpleasant reality.

His eyes flew open and he involuntarily screamed, clutching his neck, his stomach as the terrible roiling churned within him. Bile rose to his throat, and vomit splattered onto the floor. Sweat had drenched Severus' inky black hair, plastered his clothes to his skin, and the sickly sour smell of throw-up permeated his nostrils, even as his innards burned.

He fell to the floor, curled up in fetal position. He lay there, holding himself for god knew how long, for he could not stand up long enough to walk and get something to alleviate the pain. Finally, Severus felt the awful feeling recede, enough at least for him to be able to crawl to the lab. He must keep some sort of potions there, if he knew himself at all.

True to his nature, there was a shelf full of healing potions. With a trembling hand, Severus grasped one, and poured the contents into his mouth weakly. It helped. It strengthened him, and he was able to stand up now. There was no physical sign of weakness anymore. But he could still feel the scraping hands beneath his skin, the slash of teeth within, and it made him shudder with revulsion.

"What the fuck was that?" he shouted, furious. First he had lost his memory, then the wife he couldn't recall, and now this unaccounted for illness. As usual, it seemed that the fates had to use him for their punching bag. Severus fell back into a chair.

There was no use dwelling on it... he had probably just had a case of very bad nausea.

He went and cleaned up the mess he had made in the guest bedroom, then being very hungry decided to eat some food that Hermione made for him.

He heated up the soup in a saucepan, cut some of the rye bread and buttered a few slices. It was all very delicious, to his surprise. For some reason, Severus hadn't pictured Hermione as a home-making type. The soup seemed to cure the last of the pains, and Severus was satisfied.

Then the owl came. It tapped with it's beak against the window, and Severus let it in, curious. He untied the rolled up piece of parchment from the reddish golden owl's leg, gave it a pat, and it left as swiftly as it had come. He unrolled it swiftly, his eyes scanning over the words.

Severus,

I have heard of your recent unfortunate circumstances.
I fear that the blame rests upon my shoulders.
I am not in the country at the moment, but I will be returning shortly to meet you.
We must meet- this Saturday, The Three Broomsticks at 9:00 pm.
Look for a crimson cloak.

A Friend,
A. F.

Do not reply, and burn this letter after reading. There are eyes upon us at all times, and most are unfriendly.

The black eyes narrowed. What could this ambiguous letter possibly mean? And what did he mean by the fact that Severus' situation was his fault? He flicked his wand at the parchment and watched it smolder. Whatever it meant, Severus was going to get to the bottom of this.

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I cannot recall the past seven years. In a way, I feel they have not occurred. That is the only thing that is holding me back from being outraged and furious at my situation.

There is an odd, disquieting feeling about me, however, and that is worse than the anger would be.

In anger, there is a sense of relief in letting out the pent up frustration.

This feeling, however, is a lingering coldness, like a ghost that clings to this earth.

It has no substance, only the barest imprint of reality.

It haunts me. She haunts me.

I do not love Hermione Granger. How can I?

I do not recall anything about her.

I cannot remember our first kiss, or the feel of her body against mine.

I cannot remember the sound of her laughter, or the day she was born.

There is nothing about her that can possibly endear her to me.

And yet her face lingers before my eyes when I try to sleep.

It is the first thing that comes to mind when I wake up.

How can I escape something that isn’t there?

How can I forget something I cannot remember?

I feel as I am on the threshhold of something... waiting.

Waiting for one thing or another to drag me into where I belong for certain.

This waiting is what is killing me.

--September 15
S. Snape

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“Hermione,” whined Ginny, pulling her friend’s arm. “Please! You promised.”

Hermione laughed at her friend, pushing her hand away. “I promised no such thing, Ginevra Weasley,” she said, giving her best scolding look. It had no effect on Ginny, who was used to reproving looks.

“I know,” she said breezily, flopping on the bed. “I thought it might work anyway. You’re so BUSY lately. Too bad you have the memory of an oliphaunt.”

“Elephant, Ginny.” Hermione put her quill down and looked at her. “Why do you want me to go so badly anyway?”

“You need to get out more, Hermione. You’ve been working non-stop in order to forget that you are human. Can’t we just go out together for one meal?”

“Why aren’t you going out with someone tonight?” Hermione asked, avoiding the question.

“I am tired of the dating scene. So tired. If I haven’t found someone by now, I’m not likely to,” Ginny said swiftly.

“Stupid Harry,” Hermione muttered. “He is just so daft. Why haven’t you told him how you feel?”

“I’ve been refused once already. I don’t need another rejection.” Ginny flushed. A witch had her pride after all.

“Well, I’ll go but only if Harry goes too. I haven’t seen him in a while, anyway,” Hermione said cleverly. She smirked a little. Her two friends were so thick-headed. They were madly in love with each other, but couldn’t get up the guts to admit it. And these were two of the biggest Gryffindors in history. She shook her head.

“Fine, now will you get dressed?” Ginny said, brightening.

“Yes,” she laughed. Hermione was actually looking forward to going out. She hadn’t been to the Three Broomsticks in ages, and she was dying for a butterbeer.

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He was at the Three Broomsticks five minutes earlier than necessary but his “friend” had beaten him still. A person in a crimson cloak was sitting by the bar, the back towards him. Severus narrowed his eyes, clenched his wand tightly with his fist.

He had taken every precaution he could; cast a protective ward around him in case of minor spells, carried vials of different potions against poisons, and even made an illegal Portkey which would activate only if he wished in case of a big emergency.

The crimson-cloaked figure turned. It was a woman.

She was very beautiful. Ash blond hair hung about a lovely heart-shaped face dominated by glimmering lagoon-blue eyes. Possibly a veela.

“Hello Severus.”

“A friend?” he murmured questioningly, his gaze intent on hers. He could read her will, and it was clear as day. She nodded.

“I cannot stay long,” the woman said in a low voice. “We must pretend as though you are flirting with me. I will flirt back. Remember to keep a smile on.” She looked up at him through her eyelashes, and her lips curved seductively.

He nodded, and let a lascivious expression sneak across his face.

“How do you know me?” he asked her. “I assume you know my current straits. How do you know it?”

She smiled deeply, allowing her dimples to show. “It wasn’t open to the public, do not worry. If it had been, you would have been in grave danger... there are those who want you, Severus.”

“Who are you?”

“I cannot say...” she trailed a light hand across his cheekbone, as though in a caress. “Just know I am A Friend.”

“Why is it your fault that I have lost my memory?” he whispered against her neck, drawing her closer.

She pulled away a little, licking her lips, though her eyes were far from lusty. “I cannot say... I merely advise you to look in the place where you feel at rest.”

“At rest...?” Something clicked in his head. “Is there something that will show me...?”

She nodded. Her lips fluttered against his, lightly. Her hair shielded their faces from public view, and they made it look as though they were kissing passionately. “You are in grave danger, Severus. Be careful. Danger is everywhere around you... within yourself. Look within yourself.”

He touched his neck, his stomach. She jerked her head in assent, her eyes dark. “I must go now. I will contact you soon, when you find it.”

Then, she walked out the door and was gone.


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