Snamione One Shots

A Stolen Moment

While Harry is retrieving the Sword of Gryffindor in the Forest of Dean, someone is waiting for the opportunity to steal a few moments of Hermione's time...

-

Hermione woke in the darkness and cold of the Forest of Dean, shivering even wrapped in her cloak.

She listened for a moment but heard no sound of Harry in the tent. Sitting up, she blinked in the dull light from the bluebell flames in the nearby jar, revealing the empty sleeping bag next to her own. Harry's boots and cloak were gone, too.

It wasn't the first time he had disappeared in the middle of the night. Hermione had sat up for hours one night, almost beside herself with worry, only to have him return just before dawn without any explanation at all. She sighed, wondering how long he would be gone this time. Exhausted as she was these days, she wouldn't be able to sleep now until he returned.

She rubbed her eyes tiredly, the silence of empty forest outside looming like an ever-present beast; Even when they had been a trio, Hermione sometimes found herself almost overwhelmed by a sense of isolation and despair she couldn't explain, and Ron's departure almost two months ago had made the separation from her family and most of her friends even harder to bear. Tonight, the pang of loneliness was almost a physical pain. How much longer would they be forced to live like this?

A sound came from outside... snow crunching under boots... or was it feet or paws?

"Harry?" she called softly.

The noise ceased abruptly, and a twinge of unease grew in Hermione. Without a word, she extinguished the flames, plunging the tent into complete darkness.

Cautiously, her wand at the ready, she crept forwards on her hands and knees to the opening of the tent, meaning to peer through the narrow slit to the forest outside. Even in the darkness, perhaps she might make out the shape of an animal against the bright snow.

Suddenly, a hand reached through the opening and grabbed the front of her cloak, pulling her bodily out into the open. Her wand was snatched from her grasp and a hand clamped over her mouth. Uttering a muffled scream, she fought her attacker, and they went down together, a plume of snowflakes flying up about them.

Somehow, she managed to punch one hand backwards wildly, her fist connecting with some part of her attacker's face. He - it was definitely a man - grunted and pushed her sideways until he was on top of her, his knees pinning her legs and his hands holding her arms down in a bruising grip.

For the first time, in the light reflected by the luminescent snow, she saw her attacker.

Snape.

Terror renewed, she opened her mouth to scream only to find herself suddenly unable to struggle or make a sound. Her eyes could move - darting back and forth, desperately seeking a way out of her predicament - but she was otherwise paralysed.

Snape withdrew then, climbing off her and kneeling in the snow at her side. His wand was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione was reminded what this powerful wizard was capable of. She was in serious trouble.

His hair was longer than she had ever seen it, hanging about his face and spilling over his shoulders, and he was unshaven, a few days' worth of stubble darkening his jaw. He looked terrible; deep circles under his eyes melded into a fading bruise down one side of his face. Hermione felt a savage pleasure at his dishevelled appearance. Let him suffer for what he had done to Harry and to Dumbledore.

Perhaps her malice showed in her eyes, for at that moment he did take out his wand, pointing it directly at her face. He didn't utter a sound, but a ripple of magic passed over Hermione, and she felt a sudden, odd pain in her head.