You Know What They Say about Necessity...

A big thank you to all my reviewers! Melissa Ivory: actually, I was thinking of the song "Vicar in a Tutu" by the Smiths, but your answer might be where Morrissey got the idea from, so yes, points for you!

Disclaimer: Yeah, it's JRK's and I'm poor. Let'se one on! "Reach Out in the Darkness" is by Friend and Lover. Yes, I'm trying to go with a 60's songs theme this time!


Chapter Six: Reach Out in the Darkness

Snape sat in his wheelchair, fuming at Potter. The nerve of the boy. Well, true, he wasn’t exactly a boy anymore. He was a young man. And he had killed Voldemort, for which Severus was profoundly grateful, as his life of being a double agent was able to come to a close afterwards. Unfortunately not before the escaped Death Eaters found out…

No. Best not to think about that.

White-hot pain flared in his legs, causing him to gasp before he could prevent the sound foscapscaping his lips. He sighed. There was no way he would be able to read like this, let alone sleep: he would take a bit of medicine and have Miss Granger take him to the library so he could pass some time in blissful quiet.

Ah, she was approaching now. It was easier to deal with her than Potter. Snape could imagine James Potter looking down at him from somewhere and laughing at the sight of Severus being carried by his son like a rag doll. Snape groaned again, causing Hermione to frown and hurry to his side.

“Professor?”

“I would like some medication, Miss Granger. Then I would like for you to take me into the library.”

“Of course,” she replied. “I was heading there myself to see what sort of books Professor Dumbledore had left us.” At his look of dismay she added: “Don’t worry, sir, I’ll leave you alone and go back to my room or the living room.”

Snape considered her for a moment. “Miss Granger,” he said at length, “You do not need to leave the library room on my account. I confess to some curiosity as to whether you are actually able to be quiet long enough to read.”

She laughed. “I’ll get your meds, sir. You obviously are in dire need of them.”

“And why do you say that?”

“Because you made another joke.”

She smiled at him and went to fetch his bottle and some juice. Afterwards she wheeled him into the library. It was the first time she’d taken a proper look at the room since they’d arrived—wouldn’t Ron be shocked to know that, she thought wryly. Spacious and warm, there were three large armchairs, two on one wall and a third on the opposite wall with an end table. There were eight bookcases in warm honey colored wood, and each bookcase had six shelves. Hermione’s fingers twitched at thouthought of holding something new and interesting to read as a look of intellectual hunger crossed her face.

She didn’t see Snape looking up at her. He knew that look: it was a look he’d worn himself when he was her age. Even now when he came across something truly enjoyable he would have that same rapturous expression. Not where anyone else could see him, of course.

But Hermione made no attempt to hide her delight at the prospect of learning, and he was startled to find that, with her lips slightly open and her eyes shining so, he found her quite pretty. He shook his head. It had to be the medicine. He’d never thought of her that way before: why on earth would he start now? True, it had been a long time since he’d been around a young woman in anything but academic or war-related circumstances. But that was no reason to be staring so!

“Professor?”

He tore his gaze away from her mouth and said sharply: “I am fine, Miss Granger. I believe I can manage myself from here. Find something to read and show me that you value silence as much as prattle.”

“Yes, sir,” she smiled. Casting one last glance at him, she began to peruse the shelves.


Out in the garden, Harry and Ginny were admiring Dumbledore’s handiwork. Rows of colorful flowers gave a sweet fragrance to the air, and Harry was thankful that it was summer. He glanced over at Ginny, admiring the way the moonlight lit her blue eyes and glinted off her copper hair. Ginny noticed him looking at her and grinned.

“Harry Potter, whatever are you staring at me like that for?” she teased.

“I was just thinking how you’re the most beautiful thing in this garden,” Harry said softly.

Ginny blushed. “You really are a silver-tongue devil, aren’t you?”

“Nope, no silver, see?” and he stuck out his tongue at her, causing her to giggle. He gently drew her close, and her laughter faded as she saw the truth—and the longing—in his dark green gaze. With no conscieffoeffort on her part, her hands slipped up to rest on his shoulders.

“Harry?”

He tipped her chin up and stared at her. She shivered under the intensity of his expression, but it wasn’t fear. She wasn’t afraid of Harry, she never had been. Even when he’d been thought to be the heir of Slytherin who was petrifying other students, even when he’d told her how he’d cast an Unforgivable on Bellatrix LeStrann hin his fifth year, even when madness and despair had overwhelmed him in seventh year and he’d nearly killed himself and several Death Eaters by unintentionally casting wandless magic in a fit of rage. He was still the same person who’d come to rescue her from Tom Riddle when she was a first year, who’d risked his life time and again for those he cared about. She felt safer with him than with anyone she’d ever known.

“Ginny…I…” he stopped, blushing himself now. He cursed his tongue for choosing now of all times to tie itself in a knot. He drew a deep breath and managed to ask the question he’d been aching to ask her for weeks:

“Ginerva Yvonne Weasley… may I kiss you?”

Ginny almost burst into laughter. She fought it under control with everything she possessed. She would never want Harry to think she was laughing at him. She couldn’t believe it. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived-to-kill-Voldemort, the youngest auror in the Ministry in the past fifty years, hero of the wizarding world, had just asked permission to kiss her. Asked! It was so sweet and old-fashioned. He was watching her, a crease of worry forming between his eyes. Ginny felt her heart melt. He’d chosen her. Her. Little Ginny Weasley, who for years had lived under her brother’s shadows, who boys had used as a stopgap on their way to other girls. And Harry was looking at her as though she was an angel.

“Harry James Potter,” she growled, pulling him closer, “I thought you’d never ask.”

Hermione settled deeper into her chair with a happy sigh. The library had exceeded her hopes. There were books that not only had she not read, she’d never heard of! Books on medicine and history and potions and charms and Quiddich (for Harry’s benefit, no doubt) and Defense against the Dark Arts and even muggle books. She’d felt like a third year who’d been given an all-you-can-eat pass to Honeyduke’s. Where to start, where to start?

Snape had chosen a book within two minutes and had moved his wheelchair on the other side of the end table. Instead of reading, however, he was watching Hermione as she walked from one shelf to the next. She’d pull out a book halfway, contemplate it, and then slide it back into place. At length she chose something from a muggle shelf and slipped into the chair across from him, settling in with a pleased expression.

“And what, pray tell, did you finally decide upon, Miss Granger?” he asked.

She blushed slightly, clutching the thick book to her like a shield. “Zuckerman Bound, by Philip Roth.”

Snape arched his brows. “The British muggle author who writes literate erotica?”

“Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that,” she murmured, feeling her blush deepen. What had gotten into her to choose that knowing she’d be reading in the same room with Snape?

“No? Then what would you say, Miss Granger?”

Hermione’s nostrils flared at the implied challenge in his tone. She looked him straight in the eye. “It’s more along the lines of character studies with explicit sex to me.”

“There is a difference?” Snape asked.

“Erotica is poetic. Or it should be. His scenes are crude and stark but very powerful because of that.”

“And you… like that?”

Hermione forced herself to breathe. This could not be happening. She was not discussing sexuality in literature with Professor Snape. She wondered if she’d somehow accidentally dropped one of his pills down her own throat.

“I enjoy a well-written story, sir,” she evaded.

“I see.” He’d noticed her blush and it wasn’t until she answered his questions that he’d realized the impropriety of asking them. “My apologies, Miss Granger, if I have made you uncomfortable. I have read only one of his books myself, and was curious as to what your opinions were.”

“You read muggle literature?” the question popped out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

He snorted. “Of course I do. I’m neither prejudiced nor narrow-minded, Miss Granger, despite what you may have heard to the contrary.”

“I just… assumed…”

“That I only read books on potions and how to turn children into toadstools?” Snape asked derisively. “Please.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Hermione apologized. She glanced down at her hands. “So… which one of his books have you read?”

“Deception,” he answered.

“Did you like it?” Hermione asked.

He considered not answering her, but he had been the one to bring it up. And he couldn’t remember the last time someone had asked him what he thought of a book.

“It was interesting,” he said at length. “Have you read it?”

“Yes, I have,” Hermione answered. “I loved it.”

He arched his eyebrows at her, the book he’d planned on reading in silence forgotten in his lap. “Do tell, Miss Granger.”


Ginny gasped in pleasure as Harry trailed his mouth down her neck. He was sitting amongst the petunias with her settled on his lap, and his lips and hands had been doing things that would have made Molly Weasley furious. But Ginny was nineteen years old, quite of age, and at that moment could’ve cared less if a hundred howlers descended from the sky to scream at her. She wanted Harry, badly.

“Harry,” she sighed as his mouth nibbled on an earlobe.

“Do you want me to stop?” Harry asked, worried that he was taking too many liberties.

“Mmm, don’t you dare or I’ll hex you!” Ginny purred.

“In that case…” he smirked and brought one hand down agonizingly close to her breast but not touching it. She moaned in frustration and grasped his hand, pressing his fingers against her aching peak.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered into her ear as his fingers tentatively caressed her. He brought his other hand to her other breast, and Ginny thought she would go mad. His touch was so cautious, as though he was afraid of doing something wrong or of her wanting to stop. She had to make sure he knew better on both counts.

“That feels so good,” she breathed. “More, Harry, please…”

He complied eagerly, and before long they were wrapped around each otsnogsnogging like there was no tomorrow. Finally Harry pulled back, flushed and panting, to look into her eyes. She smiled as his hands smoothed errant strands of hair away from her face, as he pressed dozens of tiny kisses on her lips, nose, and cheeks. He seemed to want to ask her something, and she waited patiently while he struggled with the words.

“Ginny… will you stay with me tonight? We don’t have to… you know. I just want to kiss you and hold you. If you want to stay, I me

She cut off his nervous stammering by taking his face in her hands and kissing him deeply. When they parted she ruffled his already unruly hair and smiled. “Yes, Harry. I want to stay.”

He returned her smile. “Right. Maybe we should go back in, then. It’s been awfully quiet in there.”

He rose and held out a hand, pulling her to her feet. He kept hold of her hand as they headed for the cottage. “I’m sure they’re fine,” Ginny told him.

“If not, Snape will have me to answer to,” Harry muttered.

“Hermione can fend for herself, you know, Harry,” Ginny said gently. Harry was so protective at times.

“I know. Sorry. You know that Mione’s like my sister, though. Think of Ron and how protective he is of you. He doesn’t think you can’t take care of yourself, it’s just that he loves you and doesn’t want anything to happen to you.”

“So who’s going to protect me from you?” Ginny grinned.

Harry gave her a wicked smile as he opened the back door. “No one, I hope.”


“Ridiculous,” Snape scoffed. “You cannot mean to tell me that you had any sort of sympathy for that character. The woman was weak and indecisive.”

“She was also following her duty because she was loyal,” Hermione countered. “She was trying to compromise between her loyalty and her heart.”

“And she destroyed everyone’s life in the process.”

Hermione smiled. They’d been “discussing” the Philip Roth novel for the better part of half an hour now. Snape had thoroughly surprised her. His opinions were sharp, his expression of his views slightly arrogant. But his comments were often spot on and he seemed to have a good grasp of the characters and their motivations.

“The husband knew, he must have,” Hermione insisted. “He chose to stay: that was his own fault.”

Snape was about to reply when they heard the back door open. “Everything ok in here?” Harry’s voice called.

“Fine. We’re in the library,” Hermione answered. She looked at Snape. “Perhaps we can continue this discussion later?”

“Perhaps,” he replied, then yawned. “However, I find that I am ready for more sleep at present.”

She nodded. “I’ll take you back, then.” She wheeled him down the hall and stopped when she saw Harry and Ginny snogging outside Harry’s room. They broke off immediately, Ginny blushing, Harry looking at Snape as though daring him to say something. Snape scowled but remained silent. He’d just had a somewhat enjoyable discussion with Miss Granger and didn’t want to go to sleep irritated. So he simply nodded. “Mister Potter, Miss Weasley. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, sir,” Harry answered, and Ginny echoed him. Hermione moved past them to take the professor to his room. Once Hermione and Snape were inside Snape’s room and the door was closed, Ginny leaned against the wall in relief.

“I was sure he’d say something!”

“Yeah, so was I,” Harry said. “Hermione must have him doped up.”

“That’s some medicine, then.”

“Must be.” He opened the door to his room. “I’m going to get a few things from the kitchen. Anything special you want?”

Ginny shook her head. “Other than for you to hurry back, no,” she said.

He laughed quietly. “I think I can manage that.” And he headed off.

Once he was gone, Ginny drew out her wand and began casting some charms. She knew what she wanted tonight, and she suspected Harry did as well but didn’t want to rush or pressure her. He was so sweet… too sweet at times! But she didn’t mind. She was ready and had no problem letting him know. Though it was weird to think she might be shagging Harry down the hall from Snape, it was also in a way deliciously naughty. And Ginny liked being naughty.

Harry returned with a bottle of wine and two chilled glasses. She smiled. “You’re smooth, Mister Potter.”

“Only the best for you, Miss Weasley,” he answered, checking to make sure Snape’s door was shut before handing her the glasses and drawing out his wand.

“I already did that,” Ginny whispered.

He smirked. “Now who’s smooth?” he asked, kissing her quickly, then glancing at Snape’s door again. “I wonder why she’s still in there.”

“If she needs us she’ll call,” Ginny said.

“True.” He took one last look down the hall, then followed her into his room and closed the door.