Hurt Snape Quizzie Part 3
If we love Severus Snape so much why do we torture him? This week’s quiz features stories where Professor Snape has been hurt and Miss Granger* must nurse him back to health.
*Or in one notable exception Severus’ bed nurses him back to health. Let us not be picky.
Match the story to the quote:
Lost Time by firefly124
Yea, Though I Walk by aurette
Snape’s Bed by chivalric55
Empty by debjunk
Soothing Hands by notsosaintly
Its Elemental My Dear Snape by cathedralcarver
The Caretaker by aurette
The F Word by madqueenmab
The Flower of Cities by leni_jess
Paralyzed by Anachronistic Anglophile (abandoned)
The P Word by paisleysnail
Into the Light by losille2000
1. The sound of something rushing through the air caught his attention, and he turned towards the noise.
The bludger caught him in the face, full on. His head rocked back and cracked against the shed behind him, and he slid to the ground in a daze, blood pouring down his face. The sound of students landing and running over had him panicking, and he opened his eyes despite the tears and pain. He tried to stand up by throwing himself back against the shed and bracing his body against it. When he blinked the tears out of his face, he saw red.
"Mr. Snape, sir, I'm terribly sorry! I think you need to sit down." He was surrounded by short, redheaded people. One of them had her hand on his arm and was trying to guide him back towards the ground. He looked at her, blinking rapidly and recognized Potter's wife. He tried to control his fight-or-flight response while surrounded by children.
The sound of more running feet made him turn his head quickly, but his brain swam, and his legs crumpled out from under him. Students caught him and lowered him to the ground.
"Direct hit. He also smacked his head against the shed pretty hard," Ginevra said as the running feet got closer.
"I'll handle it," a warm, feminine voice said.
He looked up to see Granger hovering over him, waving her wand with a determined look on her face. He drank the potion she gave him with no questions asked, and the pain dulled immediately. However, so did his senses as he started to float under the narcotic effect.
2. She gave herself a little shake. Of course she was hoping for the spell to work. She didn’t want a friend who was only a friend because there wasn’t anyone else around, did she?
She’d missed Mum’s wand movement this time, but she heard her cast again, “Finite Cruor Ignotus!”
The stain on the floor flashed a brilliant gold, then vanished completely.
Mum let out a huff of air, saying, “I think that’s done it.”
Rose looked at the spot where the stain had been. She cocked her head and wondered why it had taken three tries.
An Arithmantic property of the number three? Or maybe just because Mum, Hugo, and I make three?
“Then I am free to go?” Snape asked.
Rose tried to hide her disappointment. He was obviously in a hurry to leave.
3. Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, that was last Wednesday. We then ran tests on you to determine how much of what potion you had left in your body.’ It was now her turn to glare at him. ‘The impotence potion was of your own creation?’
‘Obviously,’ he grumbled. ‘The ordinary ones stopped working weeks ago.’
Wrong answer.
‘There is no such thing as an ordinary impotence potion,’ she hissed. All the feelings she had buried while trying to help this man suddenly came rushing back in the face of his terrible attitude and awful manners. ‘You could have made yourself sterile. Or, for all you know, it could have turned black and fallen off. We didn’t use impotence potions to treat the P-virus precisely because of all those nasty side effects. Magic does have some rules, you know, and suppressing certain natural reactions is never a good idea.’
‘And how exactly would it have affected you if any of those things had happened? I knew -’
‘I would have been the one trying to re-attach it!’
4. Hermione's revising for her NEWTs. Something's frustrating; she shifts in her chair.
"Oh, fuck me," she says, and slams the book shut.
Oh, he'd like to. Very much. She meets his eyes. She blushes.
"Sorry, Severus. I'm a bit on edge. I know my language is appalling."
"I... don't mind."
"You're the only one. Mum and Dad are more pissed about the habit than the whole Australia thing."
"Fuck the complainers." The word, her word, rolls, delicious, off his tongue.
She laughs. "You know what? I could use a break. You up for a drink?"
Fuck, yes.
5. She was stunned. He's not going to hurt me? This incredulity was only brief, however, given the nature of her previous realization. He knows what I'm like; he just went through my memories. He probably also knows that I can relate to him, since that's what I was just thinking about. Maybe he's going to spare me. But under what condition? This was far too obvious-no doubt he would ask her to take the mark.
Voldemort had a wry smile on his face when she looked at him in askance.
"As you've probably already reasoned, young lady, I think you would be an admirable advisor. I do need someone to replace our dear Professor Snape-such a pity I had to dispose of him."
The man on the floor did not stir; the amount of blood around him signified to Hermione that he was already dead. No one could survive that amount of blood loss for so long.
She blamed herself for having jumped out so rashly. I might waited until Voldemort left and then have saved him, she lamented. Now I'm in a bad place myself. If only I get out of this alive...
6. Afterwards, when the battle was over, no one went looking for him. No one found him. No one carried him into the Great Hall, where all the other fallen heroes were taken. They left him in the Shrieking Shack, forgotten, unwanted, as he had been most of his life.
The following morning, when he was cold and stiff, they sent an undertaker to get him. Not even someone who had known him. Although they knew by then that my master had been a good man all his life, they ignored him even in his death. The undertaker dragged him along, down into the dungeons, and dumped him on his bed like a pile of rubbish. No one was with him; no one washed him or put fresh clothes on him for his funeral, although he was covered in blood and dirt. No one came and made sure his death was honoured.
No one mourned him.
No one grieved.
I feel his weight on the mattress. I feel the coldness seeping from his flesh. I feel the absence of breath, heartbeat, and brain activity.
And… and… I cannot stand it! So I reach out for him and find his cold, blood-crusted wrist that hangs over my frame.
7. What was she doing?
"Almost there," he heard her say and her voice sounded as if it was far, far away. He could hear small grunts of exertion; the branches were further apart, the knotholes smaller and less accessible now. Finally, finally, she reached the branch holding the berries. He saw her face turn down towards him, a wide grin stretched across it.
"Did it!" she exclaimed.
"Not quite!" he called back, exasperation clear in his voice.
She eased herself over the last branch, straddled it, clenched it with her thighs and leaned forward to grasp it between her hands. Her face was taut with concentration, her eyes focused on the berries before her. Snape found he was holding his breath, silently willing her safety, while marveling at her bravery.
All this…for me?
No, he would think about the implications of that later.
She inched along, her pace excruciating. Snape found his fingers digging into the earth beneath him - compulsive, panicky - as she moved closer, one hand reaching out to pluck, closer-
He saw it happening before she did, apparently, because the cry of surprise and fear he heard echo about the clearing issued from his mouth, not hers, as she suddenly slipped sideways, eyes wide with shock, hair and bag flying up-
8. “Professor, will you let me try to help you?” she asked tentatively.
Only his eyes moved as he attempted to glare at her in his typical professorly fashion. His eyes spoke what he could not: that she bloody well knew there was nothing to be done for him. She had seen him like this at least a dozen times before, after all, and she had been unable to help him then. If he could have spoken, she was sure he would have resorted to calling her ‘silly little girl’ like he had so many years ago.
Fully expecting this response, she directed his withering gaze toward the book on the table. The room became utterly silent as he held his laboured breath for a moment. She had a feeling he would recognise the book. What she didn’t know was that Severus had heard about it but had never found a copy, not through lack of trying. The book was legendary. The possibilities it held were widely known in certain circles. His chest constricted as he held back a grateful sob and simply nodded his head.
Hope renewed, Hermione paged through the heavy parchment pages to the section on the Levamentum Charm, meant to be used for any Dark Arts spell that inflicted pain, but most notably for the Cruciatus. What made this charm unique was that it was not performed on the injured person but on the Healer’s hands, giving her the ability to soothe by touch. It was a brilliant charm and she was eager to give it a go.
9. As they walked towards the border of trees, in whose shelter they could disappear, he responded, "Minerva as Headmistress has been working hard to make sure today's children are taught about what happened to yesterday's children."
"She's asked you to help, then."
"I won't teach again," he said vehemently, "but I'll advise. Even when I was in St Mungo's she'd come by with some problem in someone's syllabus to discuss. We've never got out of the habit."
She knew he'd had few regular visitors: the Headmistress, herself, Draco, some of his Slytherins who survived and did not resent him for it - even Harry, at longer intervals. Initially, she had visited to make sure that the man she had dragged back to life with dittany and a bezoar and the potions secreted inside his robes should continue to live, and to want to live, but that had changed. He had, grumbling all the while, and slowly, given her the confidence one gives to a friend. At first she had been surprised at how she valued that, but she understood herself better now.
She changed the subject before the ground became uncertain under her feet.
"I should like to teach, perhaps, some day when I'm better prepared."
"What, Potions?" He sniffed derisively.
10. She cleared her throat. "I understand your concern, but I really do not think it will be a problem. If it does become a problem, I also understand it may affect my tenure here. Like you, it is my belief that people shouldn't have to be bothered while they are healing."
Smethwyck nodded, as did the others at the table. He gathered the disorganized parchments in front of him and ordered them carefully before folding his hands in front of him again and looking up at her.
"We will need the most help in the Janus Thickey ward," Smethwyck said, "but there will be times you'll be needed elsewhere."
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, hearing this. She knew who was there: Lockhart, Neville's parents… Severus Snape. She could deal with Lockhart, bug the possibility of having to work with Neville's parents could potentially be difficult. Despite Neville's history, she did truly love her friend and knew how much not having his parents around affected him. The few times she had visited them, she had been near tears.
*Or in one notable exception Severus’ bed nurses him back to health. Let us not be picky.
Match the story to the quote:
Lost Time by firefly124
Yea, Though I Walk by aurette
Snape’s Bed by chivalric55
Empty by debjunk
Soothing Hands by notsosaintly
Its Elemental My Dear Snape by cathedralcarver
The Caretaker by aurette
The F Word by madqueenmab
The Flower of Cities by leni_jess
Paralyzed by Anachronistic Anglophile (abandoned)
The P Word by paisleysnail
Into the Light by losille2000
1. The sound of something rushing through the air caught his attention, and he turned towards the noise.
The bludger caught him in the face, full on. His head rocked back and cracked against the shed behind him, and he slid to the ground in a daze, blood pouring down his face. The sound of students landing and running over had him panicking, and he opened his eyes despite the tears and pain. He tried to stand up by throwing himself back against the shed and bracing his body against it. When he blinked the tears out of his face, he saw red.
"Mr. Snape, sir, I'm terribly sorry! I think you need to sit down." He was surrounded by short, redheaded people. One of them had her hand on his arm and was trying to guide him back towards the ground. He looked at her, blinking rapidly and recognized Potter's wife. He tried to control his fight-or-flight response while surrounded by children.
The sound of more running feet made him turn his head quickly, but his brain swam, and his legs crumpled out from under him. Students caught him and lowered him to the ground.
"Direct hit. He also smacked his head against the shed pretty hard," Ginevra said as the running feet got closer.
"I'll handle it," a warm, feminine voice said.
He looked up to see Granger hovering over him, waving her wand with a determined look on her face. He drank the potion she gave him with no questions asked, and the pain dulled immediately. However, so did his senses as he started to float under the narcotic effect.
2. She gave herself a little shake. Of course she was hoping for the spell to work. She didn’t want a friend who was only a friend because there wasn’t anyone else around, did she?
She’d missed Mum’s wand movement this time, but she heard her cast again, “Finite Cruor Ignotus!”
The stain on the floor flashed a brilliant gold, then vanished completely.
Mum let out a huff of air, saying, “I think that’s done it.”
Rose looked at the spot where the stain had been. She cocked her head and wondered why it had taken three tries.
An Arithmantic property of the number three? Or maybe just because Mum, Hugo, and I make three?
“Then I am free to go?” Snape asked.
Rose tried to hide her disappointment. He was obviously in a hurry to leave.
3. Hermione nodded. ‘Yes, that was last Wednesday. We then ran tests on you to determine how much of what potion you had left in your body.’ It was now her turn to glare at him. ‘The impotence potion was of your own creation?’
‘Obviously,’ he grumbled. ‘The ordinary ones stopped working weeks ago.’
Wrong answer.
‘There is no such thing as an ordinary impotence potion,’ she hissed. All the feelings she had buried while trying to help this man suddenly came rushing back in the face of his terrible attitude and awful manners. ‘You could have made yourself sterile. Or, for all you know, it could have turned black and fallen off. We didn’t use impotence potions to treat the P-virus precisely because of all those nasty side effects. Magic does have some rules, you know, and suppressing certain natural reactions is never a good idea.’
‘And how exactly would it have affected you if any of those things had happened? I knew -’
‘I would have been the one trying to re-attach it!’
4. Hermione's revising for her NEWTs. Something's frustrating; she shifts in her chair.
"Oh, fuck me," she says, and slams the book shut.
Oh, he'd like to. Very much. She meets his eyes. She blushes.
"Sorry, Severus. I'm a bit on edge. I know my language is appalling."
"I... don't mind."
"You're the only one. Mum and Dad are more pissed about the habit than the whole Australia thing."
"Fuck the complainers." The word, her word, rolls, delicious, off his tongue.
She laughs. "You know what? I could use a break. You up for a drink?"
Fuck, yes.
5. She was stunned. He's not going to hurt me? This incredulity was only brief, however, given the nature of her previous realization. He knows what I'm like; he just went through my memories. He probably also knows that I can relate to him, since that's what I was just thinking about. Maybe he's going to spare me. But under what condition? This was far too obvious-no doubt he would ask her to take the mark.
Voldemort had a wry smile on his face when she looked at him in askance.
"As you've probably already reasoned, young lady, I think you would be an admirable advisor. I do need someone to replace our dear Professor Snape-such a pity I had to dispose of him."
The man on the floor did not stir; the amount of blood around him signified to Hermione that he was already dead. No one could survive that amount of blood loss for so long.
She blamed herself for having jumped out so rashly. I might waited until Voldemort left and then have saved him, she lamented. Now I'm in a bad place myself. If only I get out of this alive...
6. Afterwards, when the battle was over, no one went looking for him. No one found him. No one carried him into the Great Hall, where all the other fallen heroes were taken. They left him in the Shrieking Shack, forgotten, unwanted, as he had been most of his life.
The following morning, when he was cold and stiff, they sent an undertaker to get him. Not even someone who had known him. Although they knew by then that my master had been a good man all his life, they ignored him even in his death. The undertaker dragged him along, down into the dungeons, and dumped him on his bed like a pile of rubbish. No one was with him; no one washed him or put fresh clothes on him for his funeral, although he was covered in blood and dirt. No one came and made sure his death was honoured.
No one mourned him.
No one grieved.
I feel his weight on the mattress. I feel the coldness seeping from his flesh. I feel the absence of breath, heartbeat, and brain activity.
And… and… I cannot stand it! So I reach out for him and find his cold, blood-crusted wrist that hangs over my frame.
7. What was she doing?
"Almost there," he heard her say and her voice sounded as if it was far, far away. He could hear small grunts of exertion; the branches were further apart, the knotholes smaller and less accessible now. Finally, finally, she reached the branch holding the berries. He saw her face turn down towards him, a wide grin stretched across it.
"Did it!" she exclaimed.
"Not quite!" he called back, exasperation clear in his voice.
She eased herself over the last branch, straddled it, clenched it with her thighs and leaned forward to grasp it between her hands. Her face was taut with concentration, her eyes focused on the berries before her. Snape found he was holding his breath, silently willing her safety, while marveling at her bravery.
All this…for me?
No, he would think about the implications of that later.
She inched along, her pace excruciating. Snape found his fingers digging into the earth beneath him - compulsive, panicky - as she moved closer, one hand reaching out to pluck, closer-
He saw it happening before she did, apparently, because the cry of surprise and fear he heard echo about the clearing issued from his mouth, not hers, as she suddenly slipped sideways, eyes wide with shock, hair and bag flying up-
8. “Professor, will you let me try to help you?” she asked tentatively.
Only his eyes moved as he attempted to glare at her in his typical professorly fashion. His eyes spoke what he could not: that she bloody well knew there was nothing to be done for him. She had seen him like this at least a dozen times before, after all, and she had been unable to help him then. If he could have spoken, she was sure he would have resorted to calling her ‘silly little girl’ like he had so many years ago.
Fully expecting this response, she directed his withering gaze toward the book on the table. The room became utterly silent as he held his laboured breath for a moment. She had a feeling he would recognise the book. What she didn’t know was that Severus had heard about it but had never found a copy, not through lack of trying. The book was legendary. The possibilities it held were widely known in certain circles. His chest constricted as he held back a grateful sob and simply nodded his head.
Hope renewed, Hermione paged through the heavy parchment pages to the section on the Levamentum Charm, meant to be used for any Dark Arts spell that inflicted pain, but most notably for the Cruciatus. What made this charm unique was that it was not performed on the injured person but on the Healer’s hands, giving her the ability to soothe by touch. It was a brilliant charm and she was eager to give it a go.
9. As they walked towards the border of trees, in whose shelter they could disappear, he responded, "Minerva as Headmistress has been working hard to make sure today's children are taught about what happened to yesterday's children."
"She's asked you to help, then."
"I won't teach again," he said vehemently, "but I'll advise. Even when I was in St Mungo's she'd come by with some problem in someone's syllabus to discuss. We've never got out of the habit."
She knew he'd had few regular visitors: the Headmistress, herself, Draco, some of his Slytherins who survived and did not resent him for it - even Harry, at longer intervals. Initially, she had visited to make sure that the man she had dragged back to life with dittany and a bezoar and the potions secreted inside his robes should continue to live, and to want to live, but that had changed. He had, grumbling all the while, and slowly, given her the confidence one gives to a friend. At first she had been surprised at how she valued that, but she understood herself better now.
She changed the subject before the ground became uncertain under her feet.
"I should like to teach, perhaps, some day when I'm better prepared."
"What, Potions?" He sniffed derisively.
10. She cleared her throat. "I understand your concern, but I really do not think it will be a problem. If it does become a problem, I also understand it may affect my tenure here. Like you, it is my belief that people shouldn't have to be bothered while they are healing."
Smethwyck nodded, as did the others at the table. He gathered the disorganized parchments in front of him and ordered them carefully before folding his hands in front of him again and looking up at her.
"We will need the most help in the Janus Thickey ward," Smethwyck said, "but there will be times you'll be needed elsewhere."
Hermione chewed on her lower lip, hearing this. She knew who was there: Lockhart, Neville's parents… Severus Snape. She could deal with Lockhart, bug the possibility of having to work with Neville's parents could potentially be difficult. Despite Neville's history, she did truly love her friend and knew how much not having his parents around affected him. The few times she had visited them, she had been near tears.