Dolores Umbridge, I Love You - Part Two
Aug. 22nd, 2011 07:10 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teddy_radiatorPart Two of my little strange fic - this is a very short chapter (for me):
Title: Dolores Umbridge, I Love You - Part Two
Rating: NC-17 overall, but Part Two- PG
Length: 734/7702
Pairing: SS/HG
Summary: Sometimes, all you need is a little Murtlap essence...
Warnings: Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content overall, but Part Two - Character Death
A/N: I do not own these characters. This is unbeta-d, so don't blame![[info]](https://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=3)
stgulik, it's my fault entirely.
When she and Ron ran back into the Shrieking Shack, it was only to retrieve his body. Hermione insisted; Tom Riddle was now dead. Whatever else Professor Snape had done in his life, the memories he’d given Harry in his dying moments had been enough to save Wizarding Britain. It was the least they could do, Hermione said; they would bring a hero’s body to rest with dignity and honour.
When they approached his body and found him holding tenuously on to life, Hermione frantically searched Professor Snape’s pockets for anything to keep him stable until they could get him to help. She found Anti-venom, a bezoar and a special Blood Replenishing Potion that she assumed he’d created especially for a situation like this. She and Ron treated him as best they could, and he survived being transported to the Infirmary.
While Hermione eased Professor Snape out of his over-robe to prepare him for treatment, a small vial fell out of his robe pocket and rolled across the floor. Hermione hurried to retrieve it, thinking the Professor had included it along with the others. She frowned. Murtlap essence. Vial 183, Batch 10. It was a year out of date and obviously useless. Hermione was muzzy and exhausted from the battle, but she was compos mentis enough to remember the healing properties of Murtlap, and that vial in particular.
She sat by his side for days, assisting Madam Promfrey and the healers by checking his vital signs and making sure he was comfortable. From time to time, she would look at the little bottle of expired Murtlap and wonder. As Professor Snape shuddered and whimpered through nightmare after nightmare, she moistened his lips with ice cubes and soothed him. In his delirium, he would grasp her hand in a crushing grip, and hold it for hours. It was while she sat with him, looking at his pale, slender hand clasped trustingly in hers, that she thought about another pale, slim hand. I must be a good boy...
She found Norton in the Infirmary. Brave little Norton, cut down by a Death Eater in the final, desperate moments of the battle. Hermione felt another burden added to her already wounded heart: Norton, who would always be a good little boy; never again having the chance to be otherwise. In the nights when exhaustion and trauma made her waking moments surreal and dream-like, Hermione grieved over the young Ravenclaw.
Holding the hand of Severus Snape, looking at the vial of Murtlap, Hermione thought she might have an inkling as to why he carried it to what he thought would be his final moments on earth. Beyond the obvious symbolism, she didn’t want to guess any further. At least, she didn’t then and there, not with his hand tucked securely in hers.
When the fever broke and he regained consciousness, she got out of his sight as quickly as possible. He would hate knowing that, in his greatest moment of weakness, he’d held onto her like a frightened child. He had to heal now, and the war trials would be coming up soon. Hermione also had decisions to make, and her world felt like she was permanently caught in a port-key trip, being constantly sucked through a giant straw until she didn’t know who she was, why she was there, where she was going and what she would do when she arrived.
She furtively attended his trial, tucked away in the back, listening, embarrassed for him as his past and his secrets were laid bare to Wizarding Britain. A parade of the just and the unjust passed through the courtroom, declaring his vices and his virtues, and through it all, he sat like a statue. When he was at last pronounced acquitted, there was none of the sneering defiance so reminiscent of the Professor Snape of her youth, nor was there any profound show of relief at being a free man. He merely rose, shook Harry’s, then the Minister’s hands, and left the courtroom, silently sweeping past the screaming newshounds and the photographers.
Though Severus never mentioned in, and she never knew; he had entered the final battle accepting his death, because of the memory of Lily Evans. He had survived the end of the war because of the memory of Hermione Granger, comforting another dark-haired, dark-eyed lost boy, with a bottle of Murtlap, Vial 183, Batch 10.
Title: Dolores Umbridge, I Love You - Part Two
Rating: NC-17 overall, but Part Two- PG
Length: 734/7702
Pairing: SS/HG
Summary: Sometimes, all you need is a little Murtlap essence...
Warnings: Character Death, Explicit Sexual Content overall, but Part Two - Character Death
A/N: I do not own these characters. This is unbeta-d, so don't blame
stgulik, it's my fault entirely.When she and Ron ran back into the Shrieking Shack, it was only to retrieve his body. Hermione insisted; Tom Riddle was now dead. Whatever else Professor Snape had done in his life, the memories he’d given Harry in his dying moments had been enough to save Wizarding Britain. It was the least they could do, Hermione said; they would bring a hero’s body to rest with dignity and honour.
When they approached his body and found him holding tenuously on to life, Hermione frantically searched Professor Snape’s pockets for anything to keep him stable until they could get him to help. She found Anti-venom, a bezoar and a special Blood Replenishing Potion that she assumed he’d created especially for a situation like this. She and Ron treated him as best they could, and he survived being transported to the Infirmary.
While Hermione eased Professor Snape out of his over-robe to prepare him for treatment, a small vial fell out of his robe pocket and rolled across the floor. Hermione hurried to retrieve it, thinking the Professor had included it along with the others. She frowned. Murtlap essence. Vial 183, Batch 10. It was a year out of date and obviously useless. Hermione was muzzy and exhausted from the battle, but she was compos mentis enough to remember the healing properties of Murtlap, and that vial in particular.
She sat by his side for days, assisting Madam Promfrey and the healers by checking his vital signs and making sure he was comfortable. From time to time, she would look at the little bottle of expired Murtlap and wonder. As Professor Snape shuddered and whimpered through nightmare after nightmare, she moistened his lips with ice cubes and soothed him. In his delirium, he would grasp her hand in a crushing grip, and hold it for hours. It was while she sat with him, looking at his pale, slender hand clasped trustingly in hers, that she thought about another pale, slim hand. I must be a good boy...
She found Norton in the Infirmary. Brave little Norton, cut down by a Death Eater in the final, desperate moments of the battle. Hermione felt another burden added to her already wounded heart: Norton, who would always be a good little boy; never again having the chance to be otherwise. In the nights when exhaustion and trauma made her waking moments surreal and dream-like, Hermione grieved over the young Ravenclaw.
Holding the hand of Severus Snape, looking at the vial of Murtlap, Hermione thought she might have an inkling as to why he carried it to what he thought would be his final moments on earth. Beyond the obvious symbolism, she didn’t want to guess any further. At least, she didn’t then and there, not with his hand tucked securely in hers.
When the fever broke and he regained consciousness, she got out of his sight as quickly as possible. He would hate knowing that, in his greatest moment of weakness, he’d held onto her like a frightened child. He had to heal now, and the war trials would be coming up soon. Hermione also had decisions to make, and her world felt like she was permanently caught in a port-key trip, being constantly sucked through a giant straw until she didn’t know who she was, why she was there, where she was going and what she would do when she arrived.
She furtively attended his trial, tucked away in the back, listening, embarrassed for him as his past and his secrets were laid bare to Wizarding Britain. A parade of the just and the unjust passed through the courtroom, declaring his vices and his virtues, and through it all, he sat like a statue. When he was at last pronounced acquitted, there was none of the sneering defiance so reminiscent of the Professor Snape of her youth, nor was there any profound show of relief at being a free man. He merely rose, shook Harry’s, then the Minister’s hands, and left the courtroom, silently sweeping past the screaming newshounds and the photographers.
Though Severus never mentioned in, and she never knew; he had entered the final battle accepting his death, because of the memory of Lily Evans. He had survived the end of the war because of the memory of Hermione Granger, comforting another dark-haired, dark-eyed lost boy, with a bottle of Murtlap, Vial 183, Batch 10.
