Snape walked back into the classroom, completely unaware of the transparent purple blob that was Neville. He heard Malfoy and his gang snickering, but paid no attention. His mind was on a certain Gryffindor girl...
“Professor Snape!” someone yelled, snapping him out of his reverie. Snape growled and grit his teeth.
“What is it?” he hissed. Had he actually been dreaming about Hermione? Wait, since when did he call her Hermione?
“Sir, Neville is--”
“Quiet!” Snape barked. He spun around, intending to shock the class into silence, but what he saw made him jump back in disgust.
He had seen mangled bodies, the Cruciatus curse, and Avada Kedavra performed without the slightest hint of nausea; but what he saw now made him vomit until he thought, surely, his insides would be coming out.
Neville Longbottom looked like...oh, God, it was indescribable! He looked like a melting candle that used to be a greenish-gray, transparent house-elf with a pimpled face and a few strands of hair. Oh, but it was so much worse...it made dementors look like beauty queens. And the smell was far more repulsive.
Snape felt the room spin as all went black. The last thing he felt was his head crashing into the ground.
Hermione turned at the commotion in the classroom.
“What is going on in there?” she thought.
She entered the classroom and almost threw up from the smell. Plugging her nose, she looked around and saw Snape unconscious on the floor. At his feet was the ugliest thing Hermione had ever seen. Never, had she even contemplated a hideousness of that magnitude. With a flick of her wrist, she shrank the blob to the size of her fist.
“Wingardium Leviosa,” she said, levitating the mess into one of the empty jars on Snape’s desk. She would take it to Dumbledore later to learn what it was.
A glance around the classroom told her that all the students had either run or passed out. Judging by the look on their faces (and the smell of piss) she guessed that they had fainted from fear.
“Cowards,” she grumbled. How would they ever fight Voldemort, if they couldn’t even stand up to a blob?
Snape, on the other hand, had fainted from disgust, and from being that close to the fumes that emanated from “the blob”.
“He looks so peaceful there," Hermione sighed, “and so handsome, too. God, what is getting into me?”
She put her wand to Snape’s temple, whispering a spell she had just read about a couple of weeks ago.
Snape awoke to Hermione, her eyes closed in concentration, chanting a spell. He gazed at her for a moment before shaking himself and sitting up.
“Professor!” Hermione yelped before hugging him tightly. She pulled away, an embarrassed look on her face, and stammered, “I... professor... I’m so sorry, I was just so happy that it worked-the spell, I mean- I learned it a couple of weeks ago. I wasn’t sure I had it right -”
“Miss Granger!” Snape barked, “I do not care what you did, only that you keep that annoying trap shut!”
He saw her bite her lip to keep from crying and felt a pang of guilt creep up on him.
“What is this?” Snape thought, “Now I feel sorry for her? I never feel sorry for students!”
He glanced up at her. She had averted her face from his in order to control her oncoming tears.
“Thank you,” he whispered. Her watering, amber eyes met his in shock. She nodded, then turned to the other students and began reviving them.
He stood there in amazement - the angel who had taken care of him twice, now; and how caring of her to revive him before reviving the students. He would not have wanted them to see him in his moment of weakness. A moment he would have to punish himself for, later. He wondered if she would tell her two idiot friends about their little encounters.
When Hermione had finished reviving all the students she stood up, exhausted. The power it took to perform the spell that many times had completely drained her. As all the students thanked her and left, Snape beckoned her to his desk. With the last student gone, he dropped into his chair.
“Professor," Hermione said in a daze, “You should go to bed. I’ll clean up.”
Snape opened his mouth to protest but, before he could say a word, Hermione crashed to the ground.
“Why is everybody fainting today?” Snape said, to no one in particular.
He pulled out his wand, preparing to levitate her to her room, but then decided to carry her, instead. After all, it was the least he could do after what she had done for him.
“Liar,” a voice in his head whispered, “You want to carry her, don’t you?”
“That’s absurd,” he growled, “Why would I want to carry Hermione? I owe her, that’s all.”
“Hermione...” the voice cackled teasingly, “Don’t you mean Miss Granger?” it faded away, still laughing.
Snape growled again and picked her up. He owed her, that was all. As he carried her through the hallway, he prayed that no one would see him, and cursed himself for straining his back for her. He was getting too old for chivalry. He stepped into her room and placed her on her bed as carefully as he could manage, then covered her with her sheets. He smiled down at her and was suddenly filled with the oppressing urge to kiss her. As he lowered himself down, gazing at her soft lips, a voice cackled in his head.
“Hermione...” it teased.
Snape kissed her quickly on the forehead, then rushed to his room, chugging, yet another bottle of fire-whisky.