Writer’s Block
Author: Mary
Summary: Hermione’s cure for writer’s block turns out different than she expected. In response to the WIKTT ‘Writer’s Block’ challenge. Set 7th year.
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Notes: Flashbacks are in italics. This fic changes points of view frequently, so just know that Hermione refers to Snape as “Snape”, and Snape refers to himself as “Severus”. :) I’m not entirely sure this fits the parameters of the challenge, cause she’s not exactly stuck with Writer’s Block. More mind numbing terror. Well, you’ll see what I mean, anyways. You can find the details of the challenge at the end of this fic :) And as always, reviews are welcome and loved!

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A first year yelped and hurried out of the way as a quill flew across the room and landed on a rug.

Hermione growled in frustration and let her forehead hit the table in front of her with a loud, satisfying thunk. The seven previous times she had slammed her head against the poor table hadn’t helped her at all, but they certainly distracted her.

How had she managed to get herself into this mess?

Of course, it all boiled down to her inability to say no to the pleading eyes of her best friends. It didn’t help that she had had the tiniest bit of alcohol in her system at the time.

Groaning at the memory of the hangover that had ensued this morning, she decided that she had had more than the tiniest bit of alcohol.

But that wasn’t the point. She had never been able to say no to Harry and Ron on her best days. And even if she was able to do so, her Gryffindor pride wouldn’t have let her.

Not with this task, at least.

The night before had been the first in a series of seventh year parties. Just after the N.E.W.T.s were taken, and before the students said their final goodbyes, the seventh years took it upon themselves to throw several bashes for their fellow classmates. No one in any other year was allowed to attend, and all animosity between houses was left behind, in the name of getting drunk and celebrating seven years gone by.

And so last night had found Hermione participating in the Gryffindor only party, held in an unused classroom on the third floor. Large amounts of Ogden’s Firewhiskey had already been consumed when someone suggested an old fashioned game of Truth or Dare.

Naturally, Hermione played, giving up her Head Girl responsibilities (“Just for the night! But I swear, Ron, I can still take off points from you if I find that alcohol in the morning!”) to play at being a kid again.

The game went smoothly. Harry was forced to admit that while he was perfectly happy with Ginny, Draco was indeed good looking. Ron wound up being dared to run through the castle sans clothing. Ron was in no position to deny such a request, as he was quite drunk, and happily went prancing about the halls.

When he came back, giggling drunkenly, he had dressed and chosen Hermione as his target.

*

“Hermione!” Ron squealed gleefully, slightly slurring the name.

Taking a sip from her drink (“Butterbeer! Now without the Butter!”), the bushy haired girl screwed up her face in concentration. “Dare.”

The redhead laughed again, but the laughter was different. A little more devious. But Hermione was too drunk to register the change.

“I dare you to write a love letter!”

A silent pause filled the room, but was broken by Harry’s laughter. “That’s it?” he asked. “A love letter?”

Ron smiled. “To Professor Snape.”

*

Hermione changed her mind. It had nothing to do with her inability to say ‘no’ when Harry stared at her with those green eyes. It had to have been the alcohol.

But the reason didn’t matter. What did matter was that she had taken the dare. She hadn’t backed down when Neville started choking in horror, or when Seamus started teasing her that she couldn’t do it. She had raised her chin defiantly when Parvati and Lavender started giggling at her.

Which was why she had been staring at a nearly empty sheet of parchment for the past thirty minutes, with no clue as to how to proceed. The only writing on it was a single line:

‘Dear Professor...’

Shakespeare, she wasn’t.

Hermione had never had a problem writing. In fact, she could always be counted on to be the student who would write several feet more on essays than her peers. Seven years, and she had never come down with a case of writer’s block. Words flowed from her quill like water from a waterfall. And even when she did have a small moment of word loss, a few deep, calming breaths helped her focus. But deep, calming breaths weren’t doing anything to dispel the tension.

This... this was different. How in Merlin’s name was she supposed to write a love letter to her Professor?

It certainly didn’t help that said Professor was the object of her affections. Tiny affections. Miniscule affections.

Okay, very big affections.

She supposed her mind started to take notice of him in sixth year. One day, while sitting in a dreadfully boring potions lesson, she had noticed his hands. She had been glancing around the classroom and looking at the progress of her classmates while waiting for her potion to cool, when her gaze happened upon Professor Snape. She watched, mesmerized, while he carefully measured ingredients with a grace and elegance that was a stark contrast to his acid personality.

***

“Hermione!” hissed Ron, trying to get the girl’s attention.

“Hmm?” she answered absently.

“Snape asked you a ques...”

Ron was cut off by an angry voice.

“Miss Granger!”

The furious tone of Professor Snape cut through her thoughts and got her attention. When had he moved so close? Had she been staring at his hands the whole time? Mouth dry, she forced her eyes to meet his.

“Sir?” she croaked.

Dark eyes flashed. “Miss Granger,” he repeated smoothly, sarcasm lacing each word, “I do apologize if this potion is simply too easy for you, but do pretend to be interested, if you please. Ten points from Gryffindor. Again, and I will assign a most unpleasant detention.”

Yes, sir,” Hermione responded meekly.

But the chastising didn’t stop her from sneaking glances at him for the rest of the class.

***

Sighing, Hermione stood to retrieve her quill. If she wasn’t in love with the greasy git, writing the letter wouldn’t be a problem. She’d make up some things, send it to him, and if he thought it a joke, fine. And if he believed it, and tried to let her down easy, even funnier. But that fear of him believing it and rejecting her...

Wait.

Her eyes widened in realization of her traitorous “in love with him” thought.

With a small whimper, she sat back at the table, staring at the mostly empty piece of parchment.

Well, that was that. She wasn’t writing the letter. Gryffindor pride be damned!

Harry and Ron found her still staring at the parchment an hour later.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, poking her shoulder.

Snapping out of her trance, she gazed up at her friends.

Ron held up his broom. “The seventh years are picking up a game. Actually, the whole school will probably be there. Are you coming?”

The brunette shook her head.

“Why not?” Harry asked. “Ahhh...” he picked up her parchment. “I see.” He grinned. “Having problems thinking of what to say to Snape?” he teased, with Ron laughing next to him.

Okay, she could do this.

“I can do this,” she said in her no-nonsense tone. The tone that booked no room for argument.

With a lopsided grin, Harry gave her the parchment back. “Well, good luck. You’ll need it!”

When her friends had gone, along with the rest of the house, Hermione slammed her head to the table again. How was she going to put her feelings on paper?

She needed comfort food.

*****

Professor Severus Snape was having a fairly decent day. No shadow of Voldemort hung over his head (having been defeated the summer before), the school year was over, and the vast majority of students and professors were outside watching Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy play one last game of Quidditch against each other.

In fact, the only thing marring his quiet, peaceful day were the few remaining “Professor’s Notes” he had to finish. Scowling, he picked up the small group of papers. Every year, without fail, Albus made the professors write a note of encouragement to each and every one of the seventh years they had taught.

He finished most of them quickly, with “Mr. Longbottom, You will be pleased to know you hold the record for most cauldrons ruined in the course of seven years. Please never take up Potions.” and “Mr. Potter, Thank you for your courage in ridding the world of Voldemort. I sincerely hope I do not have to endure your company any longer.”

He finally came to the last note. Hermione Granger.

What did he say to the bossy know-it-all who had become a beautiful young woman?

He had admittedly been drawn to her for the past year. She was like him in many ways: intelligence, a thirst for books and knowledge, an aptitude for potions... and he also found her extremely attractive.

He hadn’t bothered to deny it, even when Albus’ eyes twinkled and he smiled impishly when he caught Severus staring at the girl during lunch or dinner. Severus would just scowl and turn back to his food. Once, the old man had had the nerve to mention that Hermione hadn’t decided on a course of action for her future, but was deeply interested in studying Potions in greater depth.

Severus returned his attention to the small note in front of him. For the first time in all his years of doing this, he was at a loss for what to write.

Perhaps some tea would help him. It had always soothed his nerves in the past...

***

The aroma of food was wafting through the portrait leading to the kitchen, and Severus stared at the painting, puzzled. Lunch was long over, and dinner wasn’t for several hours.

Inside, various ingredients were on several tables, and a small group of house elves were huddled in a corner, wide eyes staring behind a counter.

The Potions Master raised an eyebrow, and then raised the other when he saw Hermione stand up from where she had been picking up a spoon.

The expression on her face when she caught sight of him almost made him laugh, but he turned his amusement to a look of annoyance.

“Professor!” Hermione squeaked, nearly falling over in surprise.

“Miss Granger.”

Well. He certainly hadn’t thought he would see her in the kitchens... cooking?

Gesturing to a large pot, Snape sniffed the air. “What is this?”

“I, uh, made mashed potatoes, Sir.”

His eyebrow raised again as he looked at the other items on the tables, and Hermione let out a small sigh. “Yes... and muffins.”

“Might I inquire as to what you are doing making food while your fellow classmates are outdoors?”

The girl’s face flushed a brilliant shade of pink. “Just a little writer’s block. Making food usually helps.”

***

Oh, she was going to die. She had survived a horrific battle with the most evil wizard of all time, and she was going to die from embarrassment while standing in the school kitchens!

Of course, the object of her current problems would have to show up while she was down there. She must have done something horrible for Fate to play with her this way.

Snape came around the counter and pulled out a large teapot, busying himself with making tea. He didn’t ask her to leave, and said nothing of her being somewhere she had no real reason (or right) to be.

Long minutes passed in silence, and he sat at a table, sipping his tea from a blue china cup. Picking up a muffin, he gave it a critical look.

“May I?”

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

“Tea?” he asked, pouring himself another cup.

Wide-eyed, Hermione nodded again.

“Miss Granger,” Snape sighed. “Despite what you may think, I will not bite, nor am I angry at you for being here. Now join me for a cup of tea.” He poured her some tea into a matching china cup, and held it out to her.

***

He had asked her to stay! Certainly, that would not help him think of something pleasant to write to her, with her sitting not two feet away. Albus would have a laugh if he could see them.

She hesitantly took the cup he was holding and sat down, not looking at him.

“What were you trying to write? Surely you have no lingering assignments?” he ventured.

The girl across from him coughed and choked on her tea. Without thinking, Severus was up and standing behind her with one hand on her shoulder, and the other patting her back.

***

His hands were on her! Collecting herself, and derailing that train of thought, she cleared her throat one last time.

“Uhh, Professor?”

Bloody hell, that sounded a bit deeper and more seductive than intended.

The man appeared to realize that he was absently rubbing her back, because he jumped away as if burned.

“Forgive me, Miss Granger,” he muttered, returning to his seat.

Was it just her, or did Hermione see a tiny hint of pink covering his cheeks?

“I’m fine.” She offered a weak smile. “No, no homework. Just a... letter, I guess you could call it.”

The blush had probably been a figment of her imagination, because when he looked at her, it was gone. “Anything important?”

Hermione grinned sheepishly. “Just a dare. I don’t really want to do it. It’s not that I couldn’t, cause the feelings to do so are there, but...”

A small sneer appeared on Snape’s face. “Ah, yes. The first of the seventh year parties. Truth or Dare games are horribly unoriginal. I assume your dare was to write something shocking or rude to someone. Who is the unfortunate recipient?”

Hermione wished that she had taken another sip of her drink, just so she could choke again and thus avoid the question.

“A professor,” she whispered.

“I see.” His infamous eyebrow rose again. “Would said professor take points off for this letter?”

Hermione couldn’t help it. She snorted. “Undoubtedly.”

***

That was it, then. She couldn’t be talking about anyone but himself. The other professors, upon receiving a harsh letter from the Head Girl, would know it wasn’t intended as such, and simply laugh and pin it on a wall as an example of how an angry note should be written.

Severus sighed. “What is it you were dared to write to me?”

The shocked expression on her face was almost comedic. “How... how’d you guess?”

Severus explained his theory, and the girl giggled. “That’s probably true.”

He took a small bite of a rather good muffin. “So tell me, Miss Granger, were you dared to write? A nasty note criticizing my teaching methods?”

“Not exactly.”

He smirked, but it was a shadow of his usual caustic smile. “If it helps, I am at a loss as to what to write to you on your Seventh Year Note.”

She grinned at him with a brilliance that made his smirk turn into a heartfelt smile.

“I’d forgotten about those. Well, if you tell me what you think instead, I’ll forgive you for not putting it in writing.”

Oh, if only he could tell her what he thought.

The smirk returned. “You have yet to divulge what you’re to be writing to me.”

He could almost see her jaw set.

“A love letter, sir.”

Well that was unexpected.

***

The second she said it she regretted it. She knew he was mentally reviewing everything she had already said about the letter, and she could see the moment he recalled her mentioning that the feelings were there. She watched as he stood up, and she followed suit, preparing herself for the inevitable rejection.

She opened her mouth to apologize, but all her words were taken away as he came around the table and crashed his lips to hers.

***

Stepping into the common room, she forced the giddy smile off her face.

“Hermione!”

She had nearly run right into Ron. “Ron,” she smiled. Where are you two going?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Party. Honestly, Hermione, aren’t you supposed to be up on these things?” he teased. “By the way, did you get your letter written?”

Hermione stopped herself from grinning. “I delivered it this afternoon.”

Both boys laughed. “Ah, wish we could have seen the git’s face!”

The girl snorted. “Trust me, it was memorable. You two go ahead, I want to get something done. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Harry and Ron hurried out the portrait. “Hurry up! Don’t want to miss the Slytherins getting drunk!”

Hermione went to her room and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment. Bending over her desk, she began to write:

Mum and Dad -

I’ve decided I will be studying potions in depth this summer, and will not be returning home right away...

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END
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Admittedly, I’m a review whore. *hint hint*

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The Challenge:

The Premise: The premise of this challenge is simple: like so many of her fans at WIKTT, our dear Hermione has fallen into the desolate hole of writer’s block, and can’t seem to pull herself out. Your duty, dear author, is to get her back on track, by any means necessary.

The Rules:

1. Student Hermione’s writing must be something other than homework. Post-Hogwarts Hermione must be some sort of professional writer (journalist, novelist, lyricist, etc. you decide).
2. Severus must be a main character, though whether he be muse or distraction I leave to you.
3. Hermione must try, and fail at, at least one “cure” for writer’s block.
4. At least one of the following must be used:

a. “I made mashed potatoes.” / “Yes… and muffins.”
b. Someone starting a blank piece of paper/parchment/computer screen that stares back.
c. Large quantities of bubbles… extra points if used for drama or angst.
d. A table overturned in anger… extra points if it’s the table that’s angry.
e. “The children…. My god won’t somebody think of the children.”
f. “Oh my god, there’s an orgy in my mouth!”
5. The story should end with Hermione engrossed in writing.