Snape\'s Rock

This story was entered in the Sycophant Hex: Spring Faire Festival under the General Story: The Potion Master\'s Wife.

The criteria is below:

The Great Hall of Hogwarts was packed for the beginning of term feast. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting together as usual at the Gryffindor table at the opening of what would be their last year at Hogwarts.

\"Who\'s she?\" asked Harry.

\"Who?\" asked Hermione.

\"That woman sitting at the high table, I\'ve never seen her before.\" He pointed to the woman next to Professor Snape with whom, uncharacteristically, the Potions master seemed to be having an animated conversation.

Hermione followed his gesture. \"Oh, her?\" She smiled with the air of one who knew a secret. \"That\'s Madam Snape. She often visits on weekends.\"

Rules:
1. The story is to start with the above sentences.
2. The back story, description and explanation of above are left to the author.

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Snape’s Rock


The Great Hall of Hogwarts was packed for the beginning of term feast. Harry, Ron and Hermione were sitting together as usual at the Gryffindor table at the opening of what would be their last year at Hogwarts.

\"Who\'s she?\" asked Harry.

\"Who?\" asked Hermione.

\"That woman sitting at the high table; I\'ve never seen her before.\" He pointed to the woman next to Professor Snape with whom, uncharacteristically, the Potions master seemed to be having an animated conversation.

Hermione followed his gesture. \"Oh, her?\" She smiled with the air of one who knew a secret. \"That\'s Madam Snape. She often visits on weekends.\"

Two weeks earlier…

Hermione Granger knew she shouldn’t be here. Not only was she snooping through Professor Greasy Git’s potion supply cupboard, obviously without his permission, she was also technically trespassing. It was, after all, the summer holidays and she really had no business whatsoever being on school grounds, at least none that was legal, let alone moral. Several of the jars surrounding her contained slimey, preserved creatures that, as hard as Hermione tried to avoid looking at them, kept drawing her attention and amplifying the shivers she already had running up her spine from the prospect of being caught. That having been said, Hermione did feel slightly exhilarated by breaking school rules, and even more so by the prospect of pulling off the said stunt while leaving that arrogant, surly Bat completely oblivious as to whom had been fiddling with his precious supplies.

Hermione’s respect, or lack thereof, for Professor Snape was at an all-time low. Despite Voldemort’s demise, the Bastard had continued to make her, Ron and Harry’s lives a misery at any given opportunity. He persisted in sneering, downgrading and embarrassing the trio. Until the final battle, Hermione had managed to almost convince herself and try to persuade her friends that Snape really wasn’t such a bad man – he had, after all, risked life and limb for the Order, and the three of them specifically on many an occasion, and perhaps he really didn’t despise them as much as it appeared. Wishful thinking, Hermione, she chided herself. Now that the threat was gone and there appeared to be no need for Snape’s continued spite, if anything it had increased tenfold. Hermione was just grateful that there was still a week left before classes were to resume, although, Hermione cringed, that meant there was another week of ‘the game’ to play.

As the summer had worn on, the joy of Voldemort’s defeat turned to complacency and the thrill of their newly gained Apparation Licenses waned, Hermione had found herself dragged into what now seemed like a completely idiotic game of dare. Of course, it was all well and good in hindsight to think that taking the boys up on their suggestion to brew yet another Polyjuice Potion, in order to allow them to reek havoc upon Grimmauld Place without having to cop any of the blame, was perhaps just a little ridiculous. Her second thoughts became even more resolute as she heard voices float through from the adjoined room, one of them most definitely the silky, snarky voice of a certain Professor who would probably hex her to Kingdom Come should he discover her anywhere near his supplies.

“Severus, for Merlin’s sake, the bastard is gone! For good! Why must this secrecy continue?” The woman’s voice sounded exasperated and exhausted as it drifted through the draughty gaps of the door placed at the opposite end of the supply cupboard. “One must begin to wonder if you are not simply ashamed of me.” Those last words were murmured so quietly, as if she feared that articulating them might solidify her suspicions. Hermione thought for a moment that she recognised the woman’s voice, but the thought passed almost as quickly as it dawned.

“The Dark Lord may be defeated, but take a moment consider the current situation. I would like to credit you with possessing slightly more intelligence than the Dunderheads who have been celebrating all summer as though His demise was the final word.”

Hermione cringed. Those words might as well have been directed at her, but surely, Voldemort’s fall did spell the end of the terror, did it not? With her thirst for knowledge overwhelming her initial panic, Hermione crept across the flagstone floor, the heels of her shoes clicking gently with each step. She cursed herself for not wearing sensible shoes instead of these monstrosities Ginny had given her for Christmas. Ginny had told Hermione, in the politest way Ginny knew, that they were in the hope that she might realise there was indeed more to life than being a know-it-all. Yeah, Gin, there’s being blasted into a million pieces by Snape.

“So there are a few obstinate Death Eaters left. The Aurors are taking care of them quite nicely. I see no harm in admitting to the world that you are married!”

Married? My Gods, Hermione thought. Then in an instance, a notion passed across her mind so quickly she hadn’t the time to stop it – said Surly Bastard’s wife obviously hasn’t been giving him enough!

Snape made a scoffing noise. “You, my dear, might have a death wish, but I would find it far from agreeable to be placed in the position of identifying your numerous pieces on a cold stone slab.”

“Always the charmer,” the woman replied fondly.

Then, Snape did something that almost made Hermione question reality. He laughed. It was not the sneering, scathing, Holier-than-thou scoff she had heard on several occasions, but a warm-hearted chuckle that tore at the very core of what Snape was to her – an emotionless, greasy bat.

Not allowing her self to register what she was doing, Hermione crouched down by the door and pressed her eye to the keyhole. Her view of the room beyond was limited, but sure enough, not far from the doorway, they sat at a heavy wood table. Hermione stifled a gasp as she realised that Snape was facing in precisely her direction and should he for even a second glance her way he would certainly see her eye peeking through the hole. As for the woman – his wife – she had her back to Hermione, but even from here Hermione could tell she was nothing like what anyone would have guessed Snape’s wife would be, should they even ponder the ridiculous notion that he had one! She was small and slender, yet she sat at the table with a confident posture. Her hair was dark, though not the greasy black of Snape’s. It was damp and had been haphazardly pulled back and tied with a rubber band with the air of someone being well past the years of having to impress one’s partner with looks.

“So,” she said, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, “I am doomed to seeing you only in the secrecy of your chambers for the rest of eternity?”

“I believe this is my laboratory, not my chambers,” Snape commented with an odd grin at the woman before him. It was indeed a strange smile, all at once softening his features while retaining an entirely smug air.

“Ha de ha. Very smart. And Dumbledore claims you are the most intelligent wizard of your generation? That man is delusional.”

Hermione was impressed. Sure, Professor Snape certainly knew his Potions, but the idea that Dumbledore bestowed the same compliment upon him as her self quite astounded her. I am becoming arrogant, aren’t I? she chided.

“You will hear no argument from me on the Headmaster’s mental state.”

“Liar! You have nothing but respect for the man.”

“Perhaps.”

“Anyway, stop avoiding the point, Severus. When, precisely, are you going to stop trying to wrap me up in cotton wool and let the world know that I exist? Or must I burn into the Quidditch Pitch ‘Professor Snape is in love’ with a big, gaudy heart around it and let you deal with the consequences? I am sure those ‘Dunderheads’ would find that quite amusing.”

Snape sighed and suddenly became quite enthralled with the tabletop. Finally, with a prompting cough from his wife, he looked back up at her. “I am not trying to hide you, Pet. I am trying to protect you.”

“Honestly! I spend all day every day with those kids, beating facts and figures into their minds and I don’t even get the thanks of them purposefully ignoring me in the corridors! I want a date, Severus. I want a time. I am not going to keep hiding!” The humour was gone from her voice, and Hermione watched as Snape fidgeted ever so slightly. She did find it quite entertaining on one level that his wife could make him squirm in a way that he seemed to pride himself in doing to his students. However, Hermione was utterly confused. What did the woman mean that she spent every day with the students? Hermione certainly didn’t recognise her!

“The beginning of term feast.”

The woman’s shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, then stiffened. Suspiciously, she enquired, “This year? This term?”

Snape sighed, then chuckled again. “This term.” Leaning across the table, he pulled a shallow stone basin across its top, making Hermione shudder at the grinding din it caused. “In the mean time…”

The woman sat there silently for a while. “You know I hate this.”

“I know.” Was that indeed sorrow that crossed Professor Snape’s face?

“Is this really necessary now?”

Snape glared at her. “Pet, for Merlin’s sake, it is only for one more week!”

Hermione found this endearing name rolling of the Greasy Git’s tongue rather irking. It appeared to be so demeaning that Hermione was surprised that this woman, who was quite clearly far from meek, appeared to be totally complacent with its use.

“Fine.” She was clearly unhappy with the use of the Pensieve. She raised her wand to her head and began to draw silvery strings from between those loose dark strands of hair and flick them into the basin with force. Hermione could see the woman’s arm tensed in anger.

Finally, after many shiny wisps had been deposited in the bowl, the woman rose from the table, nodded curtly at Snape and turned as she went to leave, giving Hermione a full view of the woman she had been eavesdropping on. She wasn’t what one would call classically beautiful, but she certainly was more appealing than Hermione could have possibly imaged that Snape could snare. Her eyes were dark but too large, her mouth a little too wide, her nose precisely the opposite of Snape’s monstrosity and hence looking ridiculously small by comparison, her skin was pale, yet not unhealthy like Snape’s. However, her appearance was not what stunned Hermione. It was the sight of her heavily pregnant belly protruding from beneath her blue robes.

Once again, Hermione knew she shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be doing this. But, there it sat, just beyond the door of the now empty room and simply begging to be explored. The silver light that shimmered from the Pensieve was all too tempting. Not that it mattered, for surely there would be multiple spells and locking charms upon the door and she would never be able to reach those memories. With a defeated sigh, she rose from her position, grimacing at her aching legs stiff from having crouched for so long, but still thanking her lucky stars that Professor Greasy Git had departed shortly after his wife, having placed several of his own silvery wisps into the Pensieve.

Half-heartedly, Hermione flicked her wand at the locked door and muttered, “Alohomora.” To her utter surprise she heard the lock click open. Then again, in an odd Snape-ish way, this made complete sense. No one with any sense of what a private man Snape was would even consider using such a simple spell to enter his Laboratory, and hence it was the ultimate protection – except from nosy Gryffindor know-it-alls.

Tentatively, Hermione stepped over the threshold and peered around the room that lay beyond. Her view from the keyhole hadn’t been that limiting after all – the space was tiny, every inch of the walls covered in shelving stacked with various potions and yet more bottled creatures that Hermione cared not to scrutinise. It was dim, dark and dreary, precisely as she’d expected.

Right, she thought, if you are going to commit the crime, do it. Now is not the time to admire your victim’s laboratory.

Determinedly, she strode to the table and stared in at the silvery pool that swirled before her. Pausing to listen for any telltale signs of Professor Snape returning, and hearing none, Hermione cautiously prodded the contents of the basin with the tip of her wand. Faster and faster the contents swirled until Hermione found herself staring through its glasslike surface into the dark grounds of night-time Hogwarts. Unable to identify the tiny figures before her, Hermione leant closer and closer still until she overbalanced. Swiftly, she reached out with her hands to grip the table, her left hand misjudging its surface and instead hitting the edge of the bowl. One finger connected with a tiny bead of liquid that had swirled up to the lip of basin. She found herself being drawn into the scene before her with a stomach-churning lurch.

Finally, Hermione landed with a jolt and glanced around nervously at her surroundings. With something akin to relief, she realised that she was inside her safe-haven – Hogwarts Library.

There, at a desk in the corner, sat a young girl, no more than fourteen years old. Her straggly dark hair was draped over her face as she glared at the mountain of books before her. Abruptly she snatched up the parchment before her and crumpled it into a tight ball, her knuckles turning white with anger. She sunk back in her chair and stared exasperatedly around the room. Hermione watched on as the girl’s eyes came to rest on a boy across the room. Following her gaze, Hermione found herself looking at a young Snape, perhaps in his last year or so of Hogwarts. He was bent over a book, utterly enthralled.

Curiously, Hermione moved her focus back to the girl, whom she now assumed was Snape’s wife. She looked hesitantly at her books, then back up at Snape, fidgeting for several moments before snatching up her book and hesitantly approaching the absorbed Snape.

“Excuse me?” The girl spoke in no more than a peep as she stood before him. Snape didn’t respond in the slightest. Taking a deep breath, the girl tried again. “Excuse me?”

Snape’s eyes flicked up from his book then, after giving the girl a decent scrutinising, he responded in a curt tone, “Yes?”

“I…I…you’re taking seventh year Potions, aren’t you?”

“Indeed.” Something dawned upon Snape’s face as he continued to look the girl over, though Hermione couldn’t even begin to guess what suddenly changed his vaguely interested perusal into something resembling detest.

“I…I…Severus isn’t it?” the girl continued to stutter, and Hermione’s heart went out to her.

“Yes.”

“I’m…”

“I have no interest in your name.” Hermione felt anger surge through her at Snape’s immediate dismissal of the girl who’d obviously struggled so hard to find the courage to approach him.

“Oh.” The girl stood there for another moment.

“Well? Do you want something?”

“It’s..I…I wondered if possibly you could help me with my Potions assignment. I’m not so sure how to…”

“And why should I help someone such as you?”

Hermione wanted to slap him, to curse him, to do anything to make up for the hurt look on the girl’s face.

“Sorry. Never mind.” The girl slunk back off to her table, looking fit to burst into tears.

Hermione stared on, a minute or so passed and she began to wonder why this vision persisted, when she discovered Snape taking covert glances at the girl. Then, quite swiftly, he snapped his book shut and stalked across the library to the girl’s desk, seating himself without asking permission opposite her.

“Well,” he growled, “what is it?”



The memory dissolved, yet as quickly as it faded another one formed. Hermione found herself standing not far from the main entrance to the castle on a clear, eerily calm night. The stars shone overly bright and combined with the full moon it certainly gave her enough light to see by.

A short distance away stood the infuriated form of Professor Snape, but not quite Professor Snape. No, this was a much younger version of his Royal Gitness, still with the greasy hair and overt proboscis, but slightly leaner. His face was, if possible, more hallowed than present day, his dark eyes recessed into his head. He looked worn and broken, yet utterly tumultuous.

And there, next to him, stood his wife. Much, much younger, Hermione observed, probably not any older than herself. Her dark hair was longer and she did indeed wear a Hogwarts uniform.

“Go to Dumbledore!” she was demanding, her hands on her hips, looking utterly determined despite the much larger form of enraged Snape looming over her.

“And say what? Sorry, Sir, but I’m a stupid twat who signed up to the Dark Lord’s regime and I want you to rescue me? For Merlin’s sake, you idiotic girl, you are too young to understand!”

“And what pray tell are you other options? Wait around here until Voldemort comes to kill you? You really are a prat, Severus Snape!”

“Then why do you insist on trying to help me?” he growled, his wand hand wavering over the side of his robes.

“Because, you great Git, you helped me when I needed you!” she yelled back.

“Potions homework and rescuing someone from the Dark Lord are on ever so slightly different levels,” Snape hissed back. “Go back to your dormitory before you are expelled and leave me in peace.” It was a command, not a request.

“Dumbledore, in his infinite wisdom, has seen fit to make me Prefect! I have every right to be out here patrolling the grounds and every right to drag your trespassing sorry behind up to his office and to explain to him precisely why you were stumbling around Hogwarts grounds with the waning effects of Cruciatus!”

“Dumbledore is no longer my Head Master!” Snape bellowed at the girl.

With courage that Hermione admired, the girl reached out and placed on hand on Snape’s arm. “That much is true, but he is still your friend.”




The image wavered before Hermione, and she found herself abruptly transported to the inside of Hogwarts - the Potions classroom to be precise. She hovered just inside the door, watching on with baited breath at the scene before her. An obviously irritated Snape stood before the class in his usual Potions master attire, glaring out in an all too familiar manner at the students before him.

“Mr Walters,” Snape drawled, glaring at a boy in the third row, “what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

Hermione cringed as she recalled poor Harry’s first lesson with Snape.

The boy stared blankly back at him.

“10 points from Gryffindor, Mr Walters, for your complete incompetence!” Snape bellowed, turning back to the blackboard behind him.

“Snivellus,” Walters muttered under his breath. Hermione gasped, then turned to study Snape’s reaction. He had obviously heard the boy for he paused sharply for a moment before flicking his wand at the blank board before him.

Prior to that moment it had never occurred to Hermione that Snape’s first year of teaching, and several beyond that, would have been to students whom were formally his peers- peers whom were obviously all too well aware of his schooldays’ reputation.

The lesson wore on, with more jeering behind Snape’s back until Hermione began to feel a pang of pity for her detested Professor. After all, Hermione had been on the receiving end to similar petty name-calling on many an occasion, and despite its outwardly insignificant harm, she knew all too well how utterly soul destroying it could be.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of not-so-hushed insults, the class drew to an end and the rowdy bunch sauntered off from the classroom. All, that is, but one student. Snape’s wife, Hermione noted, had been sitting silently in the back row for the entire class, not more than three feet from where Hermione lingered. She hung back from her classmates and approached Snape’s desk as the last of them left the room.

Gathering up her books slowly, she then walked resolutely to the Professor’s desk.

“Severus…” she began, but was cut quite short.

“Professor Snape,” he snapped at her, his eyes flicking from the papers in front of him to give the girl a decent glare.

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, Severus, don’t…”

“Professor Snape!”

“Fine, Professor Snape,” she replied, sarcastically. “They don’t mean it…they’re just testing the new teacher…”

“Miss Irving…”

“Petra.”

Pet. Hermione nearly smacked her forehead as Snape’s name for her suddenly dawned.

“Miss Irving,” Snape insisted, “do not come to me apologising for your idiotic classmates.”

“I am not apologising for them, I am trying to explain them.”

“Delightful. Is that all?” Snape’s irritation was all too apparent.

“Sever…Professor, do not forget that some of us respect you. And I would like to keep it that way, but if you are so utterly determined to continue with this self-depraving act, then far be it for me to stop you!”

Now Hermione hovered in the corner of what must be Snape’s chambers. He sat alone by the fireplace, drinking from a very large glass filled with firewhisky and occasionally muttering an obscenity. His face was haunted, his eyes closing occasionally in haunted thought. Quite abruptly, startling Hermione to no end, he heaved the glass into the flames before him and bellowed, “Damn you, Girl! Get out of my head!”

Another place, another time. Hermione stood in the dark dungeon hallway and, after several moments, began to wonder precisely why she was here. No one appeared to be around and mild panic was setting in suggesting that perhaps she had somehow become trapped in a moment of one of the memories. Just as she started to become quite agitated, she heard the distinct slamming of a door not far away, then hurried footsteps closing in on her from the opposite end of the hall. Hermione sighed with relief. She watched on as Petra scurried along the corridor, jumping back as the girl almost collided with her, before turning to watch her come to an abrupt halt at the top of a set of stairs. Inquisitively, Hermione scooted along the hallway to see what had brought her to such an ungracious standstill. There, lying on the stairs, blood pouring from his head, was the unconscious form of Snape. In his crumpled state, Hermione came to the startling realisation that he was not so much the intimidating bastard she thought she knew, but a human being, capable of being broken.

Petra reached out and tentatively touched his forehead. When there was no response she leant closer, obviously trying to discern whether Snape was even still breathing.

Hermione began to panic. I’ve got to get Dumbledore! She turned to race down the hall, then stopped. It was pointless. No one here could hear her. Despite this, she found herself waving her hands at Petra while yelling, “Dumbledore, you idiot! You have to get Dumbledore!” In one last ditched attempt to catch the girl’s attention, Hermione swiped her hand at Petra’s face then nearly lost her balance as her own arm passed though the girls head. Defeated, Hermione slouched back to watch on.

Petra removed her wand from her robes and began to restore Snape, starting by healing and cleaning the wound on his head. Finally, after several more charms and spells she stood back looking semi-satisfied. With a well-performed levitation charm, Petra floated Snape off in the direction of his office.

Hermione scowled.

“Take him to the damn hospital wing, you stupid girl!”

Snape began to rouse; first, his eyelids flickered, then one hand moved, before finally he opened his eyes fully. In several moments, Hermione saw him scour the room visually in search of an explanation. He hadn’t far to look. Petra sat on a hard-backed chair next to his bed, watching on with a smile of relief.

“Morning, Sleepyhead.”

Snape glared at her. “What the bloody hell are you doing here?!”

“Thank you, Petra, for saving my life and not leaving me to die in some dark dingy hallway.” She smirked at Snape as she spoke, only causing him to become more agitated.

“I said, what the bloody hell are you doing here?!”

“Professor Dumbledore is away on business. He asked me to watch you.”

Snape snorted. “Interfering old Bat.”

“That he may be, but at least you are alive.”

“Well, isn’t that a bonus?” Snape snapped sarcastically, glaring back at her.

“You, Severus Snape, are an ungrateful bastard!” Petra yelled at him, her humour at his scathing comments so suddenly evaporated.

“Indeed. Now leave.”

“Gladly!”

Petra stomped from the room, slamming the door behind her.

Snape closed his eyes and sighed. “Silly girl,” he muttered, but the harsh tone to his voice was gone.


Once more, the scene faded, leaving Hermione really quite anxious. Although, she thought, they obviously end up together, but Hermione was quite desperate to see that Petra got what she was obviously after and to see Snape with at least a little happiness in what she had become painfully aware was not the easiest of lives.

Petra sat at the desk in front of Snape’s, glaring at him. The Potions Classroom was otherwise deserted.

“Why on earth did you feel the need to give me detention?” Petra spat at him.

“Because, Miss Irving, you insisted on helping Mr Walters with his potion.”

My, that sounds familiar, Hermione thought.

“Ah, so you’d prefer your classroom splattered with frog intestines?” Petra shot back.

“No, I’d prefer you let the twits learn for themselves.” Snape continued to mark essays as he spoke, barely acknowledging her presence.

“I seem to remember you being reasonably willing to help me…”

“You are not a twit. Now, I want those cauldrons scrubbed. No magic.”

“Wanker,” Petra muttered, and as she rose from the desk and turned towards the cauldrons, Snape let an odd smile cross his face and he shrugged – as though he realised he deserved the insult.

Hermione watched on as Petra scrubbed at the cauldrons all the while muttering under her breath, and though Hermione only caught a few words, they gave her the gist of what the witch was saying. “Arrogant…idiot…can’t even admit…wasting my bloody time…”

Hermione cringed as she caught Snape listening intently to her ramblings, and then rise from his seat looking very determined. “Shut up! Shut up!” Hermione yelled as Snape snuck across the room to stand behind the girl, Petra totally oblivious to his presence.

“Can’t even see that I want him…too bloody busy being a prick…should just…”

Snape was now but a foot from Petra, when he spoke up in a voice that, although low, echoed throughout the otherwise empty classroom. “Can’t I?”

Petra jumped, then froze.

Snape took one step forward, leant down and pressed his lips gently to the bare skin of her neck. Petra sighed. Hermione smiled, somewhat satisfied.

“I am fully aware of what you are trying to do, Miss Irving, I just have no idea what your devious intentions behind it are.”

Petra leaned her head back against him allowing him better access, which he took no time in optimising. Hermione gasped as she watched on, torn between continuing to stare and running like mad. Did she really want to witness this? Like she was watching some adult rated movie that she knew her parents wouldn’t appreciate, Hermione glanced over her shoulder before turning back to the scene.

“Must there be devious intentions?” Petra replied hoarsely.

“Aren’t there always?”

“No.”

Snape’s arms encircled her, pulling her closer to him whilst turning her to face him. His lips met hers in a fierce kiss, a battle of wills broken. Hermione sighed – Now this is what romance is supposed to be, she thought. Not some silly teenage boy slobbering all over her in the Astronomy Tower. Snape slid Petra’s robes from her shoulders and let them pool upon the cold floor as he ran his hands over the back of her thin shirt. Petra gently held Snape’s face, stroking his skin as if she were afraid this wasn’t real. With the shaky fingers of a man battling his inner demons, Snape unbuttoned that shirt, pulling it open to graze his hands over the tops of her breasts.

“More,” Petra sighed, pressing against him.

Snape continued his movements, but leant in to her and growled against her neck, “Please, stop me.”

“Why on earth would I do that?” Petra murmured, her eyes slipping closed as she revelled in his touch.

“Because this is infinitely wrong.”

“I doubt Dumbledore would mind.”

“That is not what I mean.”

“I don’t care.”

Snape pressed on, his leg slipping between hers as he hoisted her from the ground and carried her to his desk. Gently, he lay Petra down, then, placing one hand on the wooden surface for support, he once again accosted her neck, then her breasts, a determined yet soft smile flickering across his features with every moan he elicited from her.

“Severus! Please! I have waited too long…”

Snape suddenly stopped, and stared down at the witch lying before him.

“No, no, no…” Petra chanted as it appeared that he was going to stop completely. “Severus, please…I want you.”

Confusion first dawned, then Snape smiled. In moments, he had released himself, disposed of her panties and was paused above her, staring down at her face.

“No devious intentions?”

Petra then giggled. “Only satisfying ones.”

Snape smiled, actually smiled. Then his face took on a look of utter attention as he leant down to capture Petra’s lips and pushed himself forward and inside her. Petra moaned, Snape let out a guttural growl of contentment and Hermione sighed. Finally!

It was the Great Hall, decorated for the Yule ball. Hermione stood in one corner, and glancing around she quickly spotted Snape skulking in one corner. He looked completely unimpressed.

“Professor Snape?” Petra had wandered up, looking positively stunning, Hermione thought, in a beautifully fitting maroon dress.

“Miss Irving,” Snape nodded, a slight smile crossing his face before he forced his stony expression back.

“Would you care to dance?”

Snape glared at her. “How bloody stupid are you girl?!” he hissed, his face taking on the look he reserved for Harry and Neville.

“Excuse me?” Petra enquired, looking confused.

“Turn around. Look over to that corner. See that crowd? Do you not find it slightly odd that so many past Slytherins have joined us this year?”

Hermione followed Petra’s gaze and indeed there stood a menacing crowd. The only one she truly recognised was Lucius Malfoy, younger, but definitely still him. Nearby Hermione thought she saw Sirius, dear Sirius, slouched against one wall and Hermione’s heart leapt. Harry was not the only one to miss his Godfather, but on closer scrutiny, it was not him. Regulus Black, Hermione thought.

“Death Eaters?” she murmured.

“Precisely. 10 points to Gryffindor, Miss Irving.”

Gryffindor? Bloody hell, thought Hermione. The Slytherin Snake and a Gryffindor?

“And what? It’s against the gang’s policy to dance with a student? I would have thought you’d be more concerned with what Dumbledore thought!”

“Hardly. But what precisely do you think would happen if I were to be found consorting with a Mudblood?”

Petra’s face darkened. “Do not call me that.”

“Then leave. That will be the least of your worries if you are seen talking to me any longer.”


The door to Snape’s chambers flew open and Petra stormed in.

“I can’t take this any longer!” she yelled at the man sitting before the fireplace. “I have been sneaking in to visit you for the past two years, having the most amazing sex, loving you with all my heart and then I have to leave and pretend none of this ever happened! I won’t take it any longer!”

“Then don’t.”

“My thoughts precisely!” Petra replied, turning to leave. Then she stopped, and looked back. Suddenly, she rushed to Snape’s side. “They did it again, didn’t they?”

Snape looked up at her, and Hermione gasped along with Petra. His eyes were sunken, his face even more pale and slick with perspiration. Though he tried hard to hide it, Snape was cringing in pain.

Petra conjured up a damp cloth, and pressed it to Snape’s forehead.

“I thought you weren’t going to take this any more?” Snape sneered at her.

“Bastard.”

“Indeed.”

“Bastard that I love with all my heart.”

Snape’s lips curled into a pained smile. “And you’re an incessant twit that I love with all mine.”

Petra smiled.

Then, with blood dripping from his head and looking like death warmed up, Snape asked in a low tone, “Marry me?”

Petra stared at him for a while.

“Lovely impression of a trout, Miss Irving.”

“Marry you?” she squeaked in surprise.

“I believe that’s what I asked. Stupid really – I still don’t know why you come to see me, let alone why you would want to spend your days with a grumpy old bat…”

“Yes.” Petra beamed at him.

“Yes, I’m a grumpy old bat?”

“That too.”


Years had passed. Snape and Petra stood out by the lake at night, Snape looking a little anxious as Petra stared into the waters depths.

“I’m pregnant.”

Snape’s expression was tainted only for a moment with surprise; then, “We will have to dispose of it.”

Petra erupted into silent sobs. “I can’t do that.”

“You can’t keep it! Don’t be a twit!”

Petra looked defiantly back at Snape. “Just like that?”

“There is no other option.”

“To hell with you, Severus Snape!” she yelled, then turned and bolted into the darkness.


Suddenly, Hermione found herself wrenched from the memories and standing next to the Pensieve.

“That is quite enough.” Hermione panicked, then quickly realised that this wasn’t the voice of her surly Potions master.

“Petra.” Hermione stared at the woman, who suddenly seemed so real – no longer just a stolen memory.

“Yes I am, Hermione.”

“You…you know who I am?” Hermione stuttered in surprise.

“Indeed. Severus speaks quite fondly of you. Were he any younger, I would be jealous.” Petra’s face warmed into a smile. Snape admired her?

“But…but…Snape hates me!” Hermione blurted out, then wished she hadn’t. This was the man’s wife, after all.

“Appearances aren’t all they seem, Hermione. Severus does have reasons for his actions. His world is not a safe place.”

Realisation dawned on Hermione. All those harsh words, all that condemnation, not only of her, but Harry, Ron…heck, three-quarters of the school. It was for their own protection.

“Don’t get me wrong, though,” Petra said with laugh. “He is a surly bastard.”

Hermione smiled.

“You know, I should tell him that you broke into his laboratory,” Petra mused, suddenly serious.

Hermione cringed.

“But, we shall let this one slip. Besides, I can’t imagine he would be too pleased with me for not restoring his wards.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, utterly grateful. Then she remembered the woman’s words from her earlier eavesdropping. “What do you mean you spend everyday at Hogwarts?”

Petra sighed. “I am your Muggle Studies Professor.”

“No you’re not!” Hermione protested. “Professor…” And yet, her Professor’s name had slipped from her mind.

“Complex memory charms,” Petra said in way of reply. “Dumbledore gave me the job; taking pity on me, I suppose. And keeping me under his watchful eye, I don’t doubt. Needless to say, Severus is not he only one concerned with my well-being should our relationship have become known,” Hermione was impressed – it took serious ability to perform such strong charms on oneself. Hermione wanted to ask more, but Petra cut her short. “Now run along, I doubt even I could persuade Severus not to hex you into oblivion if he caught you here.”

Hermione hurried to the door, then turned back. “You’re a good woman, Petra. Professor Snape needs you.”

“I know. And I need him.”

With a nod at her belly, Hermione added, “Best of luck.”

“Thank you – now go!”