The Music of The Night
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,412
Reviews:
21
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Snape/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
2,412
Reviews:
21
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.
The Music of The Night
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling, Rain Coast books, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers and many others. I am not making money from this work. JKR is a Goddess!
The Music of the Night
Overture
“Crucio!”
The venomous hiss of Voldemort cast the Unforgivable at Hermione Granger, as she protected The Boy Who Lived, so that he could fulfill his part of the prophesy that had determined the course of his life since it’s utterance.
She wasn’t conscious to witness the victory of light over dark. Instead, she was a patient in Hogwart’s overflowing infirmary.
Stuck in a coma, that no one could guess the end of, she didn’t realize that her actions had earned her an Order of Merlin, First Class. She was unaware that she had missed all of the parties that were thrown in celebration of Voldemort’s defeat. She had missed her graduation. Her hard earned diploma now sat framed on the small table beside her bed.
The cracks in the infirmary ceiling, which she had counted so many times on her prior visits went unnoticed, or remarked upon by her. She seemed to be an empty shell, lying on the bed, like a princess under a spell awaiting the kiss from her true love or the utterance of a counter curse. All methods of healing had been tried, Harry and Ron even went so far as to kiss her lips, yet she still slept.
She heard her parents talking to her, begging her to answer them, to talk to them, to return from the black void that imprisoned her. She was helpless against it, although she struggled to free her self. She heard the voices of Harry and Ron, begging her, like her parents had, bribing her with promised trips to the library, with tales of how they had scored on their NEWTS, and that they could prove it if she would only open her eyes. Yet, all of the pleas seemed to then to go unheeded by her, for she was helpless to resist the darkness that engulfed her. Eventually, they stopped, the voices no longer a daily occurrence.
Except for the voice of Severus Snape.
The teacher she both hated and respected. He would read to her snippets from the Daily Prophet or articles from various potions magazines. His voice caressed her ears and her mind with its unusual gentleness. In her mind, she pondered the change in him, the softness of his voice, and the tenacity that it held.
Every day at the same time he would come to her bedside, his captivating baritone voice pulling her from her wandering, like a beacon. She felt safe when she heard him speak, and, she would have missed it had she not heard it every day.
One day he brought music to share with her. He told her that her parents had once said that she had loved musicals, and so, he had gone to see one in London. He had bought the soundtrack, as he believed it to be called, for her to hear.
“Please hear this, Hermione. So many want to see you again. I want to see you again,” he whispered to her.
She wonders why he does this, spending this time with her. She had never responded to him or any other and surely he hated her, didn’t he?
She hears his sigh, so bereft, so ridden with frustration. He tells her, in his professorial voice, to listen to the music he has brought. He orders her to hear it, to respond. To come alive again.
She feels the warmth of a hand wrapped around hers, as the music tinkles forth. Its tune is so familiar to her; she knows that she has heard it before. It is a song that she loves, one that invokes memories of a happier, more carefree time. It tinkles in her ears, familiar and comforting. In her mind, she begins to recite the lyrics, as she is drawn into the music\'s spell.
‘Masquerade. Paper faces on parade. Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!”
~ * ~ * ~
Darkness.
She knew she was breathing. She could hear the sounds of her respirations, she could feel a solid surface beneath her feet, but she was in utter darkness. The coldness of fear was beginning to curl it’s self around her, when suddenly she was blinded by a bright light, shining on the lone figure of …
“Pansy?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
The young Slytherin stood there, unmoving in a gown of emerald satin, which clung to her torso, pushing her breasts up to the point of near exposure. The skirt flowed down and outward in a gentle bell shape that ended with a small train, which was dramatically curled at her feet.
Ignoring the shimmy of fear that made its way up her spine, Hermione took a small step toward the girl.
“Beware Mudblood!” Pansy hissed suddenly, raising her finger and pointing to the Gryffindor, who was now openly trembling. “Beware, for things will not be what they seem.”
Another ray of light illuminated the room, causing Hermione to screech as she spun toward it.
“M-Malfoy?”
He was dazzling to her eyes, dressed robes of silver, which covered him from neck to feet. The white light that shone down on him from above reflected off of his hair, giving it a halo like effect. She squinted into the light, trying to find his eyes. He smirked.
“Granger,” he said. “The one who you have been made for you shall fear. Yet, fear not little Mudblood, for it is destined that it shall be so.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Hermione Granger was, for the first time in her life, at a loss. Her only answer was a smile that sent shivers down her spine.
“Don’t you, little Mudblood?”
“Stop calling me that, Malfoy!” she hissed at him. “Tell me what I am doing here and why you are dressed up as some sort of, oh God, angel!”
He took a step toward her and sighed, “All in good time, Granger, all in good time. I dare say that you haven’t even noticed your surroundings yet.”
Indeed she hadn’t. Looking at her feet, she noticed that she was standing on what appeared to be a wooden floor. ‘Wait,’ she thought. ‘This isn’t right.’
Her eyes traveled up from her feet, And with a gasp, she noted the red velvet skirt that she now wore. It brushed the floor and swept up in graceful folds that flowed to a bustle in the back. Suddenly finding it hard to draw breath, she closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her waist. Sliding them upward, she felt the soft material that seemed to be molded to her in a fashion similar to Pansy’s. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and noted the bodice of her gown was also tight, and pushed her breasts to unnatural heights.
Then the smell of grease paint registered in her mind.
“I’m on a stage?” she asked aloud, eliciting a laugh from Pansy Parkinson, who was gliding toward her with a smirk.
“Yes, how clever of you to make that out, Granger,” she said. “We are here to help you, believe it or not.”
”No, I don’t believe it!” Hermione answered
“Of course you don’t, you stupid little Mudblood!” Malfoy hissed. “We don’t believe it either. We don’t even want to be here, yet we are forced to keep company with the likes of you, as penance for our so called transgressions.”
“Yes, Mudblood, for our supposed transgressions. We must guide you through this time in your life, make sure that you come to no harm,” Pansy said in her ear.
“Welcome to your life, Hermione Granger. Or what may be your life, that is!” Malfoy boomed and with a wave of his hand the whole stage lit up in a blinding light.
The Music of the Night
Overture
“Crucio!”
The venomous hiss of Voldemort cast the Unforgivable at Hermione Granger, as she protected The Boy Who Lived, so that he could fulfill his part of the prophesy that had determined the course of his life since it’s utterance.
She wasn’t conscious to witness the victory of light over dark. Instead, she was a patient in Hogwart’s overflowing infirmary.
Stuck in a coma, that no one could guess the end of, she didn’t realize that her actions had earned her an Order of Merlin, First Class. She was unaware that she had missed all of the parties that were thrown in celebration of Voldemort’s defeat. She had missed her graduation. Her hard earned diploma now sat framed on the small table beside her bed.
The cracks in the infirmary ceiling, which she had counted so many times on her prior visits went unnoticed, or remarked upon by her. She seemed to be an empty shell, lying on the bed, like a princess under a spell awaiting the kiss from her true love or the utterance of a counter curse. All methods of healing had been tried, Harry and Ron even went so far as to kiss her lips, yet she still slept.
She heard her parents talking to her, begging her to answer them, to talk to them, to return from the black void that imprisoned her. She was helpless against it, although she struggled to free her self. She heard the voices of Harry and Ron, begging her, like her parents had, bribing her with promised trips to the library, with tales of how they had scored on their NEWTS, and that they could prove it if she would only open her eyes. Yet, all of the pleas seemed to then to go unheeded by her, for she was helpless to resist the darkness that engulfed her. Eventually, they stopped, the voices no longer a daily occurrence.
Except for the voice of Severus Snape.
The teacher she both hated and respected. He would read to her snippets from the Daily Prophet or articles from various potions magazines. His voice caressed her ears and her mind with its unusual gentleness. In her mind, she pondered the change in him, the softness of his voice, and the tenacity that it held.
Every day at the same time he would come to her bedside, his captivating baritone voice pulling her from her wandering, like a beacon. She felt safe when she heard him speak, and, she would have missed it had she not heard it every day.
One day he brought music to share with her. He told her that her parents had once said that she had loved musicals, and so, he had gone to see one in London. He had bought the soundtrack, as he believed it to be called, for her to hear.
“Please hear this, Hermione. So many want to see you again. I want to see you again,” he whispered to her.
She wonders why he does this, spending this time with her. She had never responded to him or any other and surely he hated her, didn’t he?
She hears his sigh, so bereft, so ridden with frustration. He tells her, in his professorial voice, to listen to the music he has brought. He orders her to hear it, to respond. To come alive again.
She feels the warmth of a hand wrapped around hers, as the music tinkles forth. Its tune is so familiar to her; she knows that she has heard it before. It is a song that she loves, one that invokes memories of a happier, more carefree time. It tinkles in her ears, familiar and comforting. In her mind, she begins to recite the lyrics, as she is drawn into the music\'s spell.
‘Masquerade. Paper faces on parade. Masquerade! Hide your face so the world will never find you!”
Darkness.
She knew she was breathing. She could hear the sounds of her respirations, she could feel a solid surface beneath her feet, but she was in utter darkness. The coldness of fear was beginning to curl it’s self around her, when suddenly she was blinded by a bright light, shining on the lone figure of …
“Pansy?” she whispered. “What are you doing here?”
The young Slytherin stood there, unmoving in a gown of emerald satin, which clung to her torso, pushing her breasts up to the point of near exposure. The skirt flowed down and outward in a gentle bell shape that ended with a small train, which was dramatically curled at her feet.
Ignoring the shimmy of fear that made its way up her spine, Hermione took a small step toward the girl.
“Beware Mudblood!” Pansy hissed suddenly, raising her finger and pointing to the Gryffindor, who was now openly trembling. “Beware, for things will not be what they seem.”
Another ray of light illuminated the room, causing Hermione to screech as she spun toward it.
“M-Malfoy?”
He was dazzling to her eyes, dressed robes of silver, which covered him from neck to feet. The white light that shone down on him from above reflected off of his hair, giving it a halo like effect. She squinted into the light, trying to find his eyes. He smirked.
“Granger,” he said. “The one who you have been made for you shall fear. Yet, fear not little Mudblood, for it is destined that it shall be so.”
“I don’t understand. What are you talking about?”
Hermione Granger was, for the first time in her life, at a loss. Her only answer was a smile that sent shivers down her spine.
“Don’t you, little Mudblood?”
“Stop calling me that, Malfoy!” she hissed at him. “Tell me what I am doing here and why you are dressed up as some sort of, oh God, angel!”
He took a step toward her and sighed, “All in good time, Granger, all in good time. I dare say that you haven’t even noticed your surroundings yet.”
Indeed she hadn’t. Looking at her feet, she noticed that she was standing on what appeared to be a wooden floor. ‘Wait,’ she thought. ‘This isn’t right.’
Her eyes traveled up from her feet, And with a gasp, she noted the red velvet skirt that she now wore. It brushed the floor and swept up in graceful folds that flowed to a bustle in the back. Suddenly finding it hard to draw breath, she closed her eyes, and brought her hands to her waist. Sliding them upward, she felt the soft material that seemed to be molded to her in a fashion similar to Pansy’s. Reluctantly, she opened her eyes, and noted the bodice of her gown was also tight, and pushed her breasts to unnatural heights.
Then the smell of grease paint registered in her mind.
“I’m on a stage?” she asked aloud, eliciting a laugh from Pansy Parkinson, who was gliding toward her with a smirk.
“Yes, how clever of you to make that out, Granger,” she said. “We are here to help you, believe it or not.”
”No, I don’t believe it!” Hermione answered
“Of course you don’t, you stupid little Mudblood!” Malfoy hissed. “We don’t believe it either. We don’t even want to be here, yet we are forced to keep company with the likes of you, as penance for our so called transgressions.”
“Yes, Mudblood, for our supposed transgressions. We must guide you through this time in your life, make sure that you come to no harm,” Pansy said in her ear.
“Welcome to your life, Hermione Granger. Or what may be your life, that is!” Malfoy boomed and with a wave of his hand the whole stage lit up in a blinding light.