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Scattered	By : Tnteacups Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 25013 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 5
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I don't make any money from this fiction.

Chapter List
- 5
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A Natural Talent

She came upon the tent quickly, and took a deep, steadying breath before entering.
“Oh, you didn’t run away like a frightened mouse? Impressive.” Snape’s voice was soaked with sarcasm and scorn. She ignored him, and sat on her bedroll, stretching her legs out, and trying to similarly ignore the persistent burn of need between her legs.
“You asked if I could trust you.” Hermione started, lifting her gaze to his face, to find him avoiding her eyes. “Well Dumbledore trusted you, and even though you’ve been nothing but rude this past month, you haven’t done anything to disprove his trust in you.” Hermione considered aloud. Snape made a disagreeing huff, which she also disregarded.
“You’ve been very helpful with my lessons, and haven’t tried to hurt me, so I think you are trustworthy, Professor.” She stated, folding her arms across her chest.
“Don’t call me that.” Snape’s quiet voice was matched by a hateful glare. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, trying to read his thoughts, and found only the blackness of his eyes, and a burning animosity.
“Don’t call you ‘professor’?” She asked, confused. “Why?”
“I’ve more than lost the privilege of being anyone’s professor ever again.” Snape snapped, his face snarling, his eyes flashing, and his mind swirling with an emotion she recognized as regret. Or Guilt?
“That’s ridiculous. You’re teaching me, therefore you’re my professor, regardless of what’s happened.” She tried to reason with him, and tried to match his mocking tone. “What else would I call you, anyway? ‘Severus’?”
“Don’t call me that, either!” He growled, his black eyes glaring death at her.
“I hadn’t actually planned on it.” Hermione shot back, feeling her ire rise at his difficulty. She could feel a sharp stinging, and wasn’t sure if it was from his mind, or her own anger.
“Well then, what am I allowed to call you, Professor?” She bit out the title like an insult, his black stare reminding her of his comment from weeks ago. His Dream-Fevered purr that he liked the sound of her calling him professor. She knew he could hear the memory with his own Legilimency, and pushed harder at his thoughts, trying to break through the hatred that seemed to fill him. His thoughts were different than normal, a vortex rather than a flow, comprised of swirling layers, barriers, quick flashes of emotion.
The outermost whirlwind was pure malice, nearly painful in its intensity, but beyond that, there was lust, burning just as hot as if he still had her pinned to a tree. Deeper still, she could feel his anxiety, sorrow, and self-condemnation. There were flashes of red, green, brown. Then a wall came from nowhere, slamming between her and his thoughts with almost physical force, returning her eyes to focus on his, which were narrowed nearly to slits, his lips curled with anger.
“I’m beginning to regret teaching you Legilimency, Granger.” He snapped, his voice dripping poison, his hands shaking in balled fists.
“I don’t regret it at all. It seems to be the only way I can ever tell what’s real with you!” She hissed back, feeling as though that whole night she’d seen more of the authentic Severus Snape than she had in seven years. His face morphed into a nasty smile, holding a lifetime’s supply of spite, and a victorious gleam.
“Are you certain of that?” He asked, his voice suddenly calm, his hands smoothing flat across his knees. Hermione stared hard at him, trying desperately to penetrate his mind, only to meet the same blank wall. He wasn’t even supplying her with false thoughts, simply cutting her off entirely from himself.
“I am. You wouldn’t be so upset it it were just another test.” She declared, certain of herself. “You’ve gotten control of yourself now, but earlier, you were completely accessible.” She stared into his eyes, searching for some way around the wall. She’d seen the truth of him, and didn’t like that he was putting on another facade.
His eyes broke away, ending her attempted assault on his mind, and she fingered her wand, considering using the more powerful spell to break in. Her fingers slid to the floor, the idea discarded. He was already incensed, it would do her no good to anger him any further by ignoring his clear wish for mental privacy. It had been some unspoken rule of her lessons in Legilimency, that if either looked away from the non-verbal magic, they wouldn’t pry further. She’d never used the powerful version against him except in lessons, and couldn’t help feeling that it would be a violation.
She looked away as well, taking a few deep breaths, trying to calm her own irritation. She decided to fall back to her usual role as inquiring student.
“Prof-” She stopped the word midway out of her mouth, seeing the flick of his eyes in her direction, and his fingers tighten infinitesimally on his wand. “I know what I saw was the truth. What I’d like to know is how I was able to see it. I’ve never bested your occlumency before.” She looked to the floor of the tent, waiting to see if he’d answer or pretend she didn’t exist.
“True, I’m a very skilled occlumens, but being constantly on guard around a powerful Legilimens for an extended time is taxing.” He bit out, sounding still irate, but willing at least to answer.
“I don’t understand. It’s just been me here, and I’m not even that good at it.” She frowned up at him, suddenly suspicious that there’d been someone lurking around camp.
“You stupid girl!” He turned to face her again, his eyes full of frustration. “The fact that you’ve come so far so quickly is proof enough of your ability. You really think getting to your level in a mere month is normal? It takes years to achieve what you’ve done, Granger. Years!”
Hermione sat back, stricken by his words, stunned into silence by his sour admission. It was the first real recognition he’d offered that she wasn’t a lackluster halfwit, and the truth in his statement offered her a strange sense of pride. She wasn’t just getting practiced at entering minds. She was talented. The word came to her from his own black thoughts, and she looked away again, breaking the contact.
“I’m honestly surprised you’ve never discovered this until now. Have you never tried Legilimency before our lessons?” Snape asked, his tone cutting, and critical.
“No.” She shook her head, remembering everything she’d read on it, and her own decision not to try it alone. It was supposed to be difficult, and intrusive. She’d had no one to practice with even if she had wanted to try. She chanced a look at him, seeing his eyes still aimed at her, ready to enter her own mind if she met them.
“You’ve already matched my own ability with the spell, Granger. Were it not for my superior Occlumency, you’d have no trouble searching my thoughts, and finding what you were after.” He confessed bitterly, his claim gaining him eye-contact. Hermione swallowed a thickness in her throat, feeling discomfort with his sudden praise of her. She narrowed her eyes at him, suddenly suspicious that he was complimenting her, and that his mind had felt so different.
“Prove you’re Severus Snape.” She said in a flat voice, forcing her thoughts into calmness, focusing on her breathing. He gazed at her for a moment, his own face unreadable, the mental wall surrounding his thoughts felt unstable as she stared into his eyes.
“Wolfsbane.” He said quietly, his lips barely moving as he spoke. Hermione began to nod briefly, before remembering her earlier request for proof. They’d been outside, and not bothered to hide their conversation. If someone had been listening, and this really wasn’t Snape…
“Not good enough.” She declared, lifting her wand and pointing it at him. She took steady breaths, keeping her own mind still, in case it wasn’t Snape, in case he could read her mind, anyway. A flicker of emotion crossed his impassive features, and he hesitated for only a moment longer, before she was met with his unguarded thoughts. She didn’t wait for any further permission before she inspected them, looking for a truth that couldn’t have been overheard.
The structure of his thoughts seemed even worse than before, no longer a whirlwind, or flow, but rather jagged, mismatched, and fluctuating explosions of thought interspersed with pools of darkness. It had a layer of murky black guilt to everything, and she sifted through the many-tiered bursts of thought. The first she encountered was pride, gold-tinged, and the words “-smart enough to make sure…”. Another eruption took its place quickly, replacing the gold with a dark green. “Stupid, ignorant- How could you possibly think- Natural bloody talent…”. The words faded, and she was presented with another series of thoughts. “Stop thinking about it. Don’t- Not worth it…” These words seemed pink tinged, interlaced with a vibrant purple, and a strange feeling of discomfort, burning, and a desire to touch. Her fingers twitched around her wand, and she was confronted with yet another swarm. Images of her pressed into a tree, lips colliding together. She could see her own face looking up at her, cheeks pink, lips slightly parted, chest heaving, and hair everywhere. She recognized her own thoughts at the time, as he picked them from her eyes, the desire for more, tied closely with a purple apprehension, a worry for pain. A self-disgust overtook everything, and the memory-Snape pulled away, leaving her by the tree with just a few short words. She was yanked into another mini vortex, spinning around and around a single thought for a few seconds. It was a strange combination of black with gold sparks, “-Hasn’t run. She hasn’t run. She hasn’t run.” The repetition was broken by another wave, more memories. A head of red hair disappearing across the Hogwarts grounds as he hung upside down, his first friend leaving him to the mercy of her housemates. A wedding notice that Lily Evans would soon be Lily Potter. Dumbledore’s office, sobbing, broken. A growing bitterness, incompetent students, a blond boy who showed promise, and a brunette girl who brewed her own potion, while dictating two to three others on any given day. A bushy mass of hair that only seemed to grow larger as it hovered over a steaming cauldron. Children scattering as he strode down the hall, his face holding a promise of detention for any who impeded him. A burning in his arm, a terror filling his mind as he and the rest of the stadium waited impatiently for Potter to reappear, panic starting to take over the crowd as the minutes ticked by. A burning in his chest as he was forced to his knees, the pale face above him glowering with displeasure, wand lifting to inflict punishment. A frazzled looking witch who tried desperately to keep her best friend mentally above water, as well as organize a secret dueling club. Misleading the Toad when she asked him if he’d heard about such a group. Giving her plain water in a small vial for her interrogations. A new classroom, but the same students. A bushy haired teen doing better than he’d expected at non-verbal defensive spells. He’d thought her a bit of a bookworm, but seeing her fierceness, her battle-ready stance, he felt the burning need that brought guilt with it. Pleasure, breathless and pure, causing his muscles to shake and his eyes to water as he pumped his arm faster, squeezed tighter, his face buried into his pillow for his teeth to close on.
Hermione pulled away, gasping, feeling a resounding pulsating throughout her own abdomen. She gulped in air, shaking with the memory of Snape pleasuring himself. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes as she struggled for her own control, her legs clenched together, her mouth dry as she tried to forget the feel of his erection in her hand, the vicious way he’d needed to bite something, the waves of immense pleasure such a vulgar action could bring. She’d rubbed herself experimentally before, but it had felt nothing like what she’d just experienced second-hand.
“Satisfied?” The sarcastic question was clearly as much of a jab over what she’d just witnessed, as well as an appeal for her verdict. She glared up at him, her irritation with his teasing briefly overriding her embarrassment.
“I’m convinced you’re Snape.” She allowed, her face burning as she met his black gaze. Without even trying she was slipping back into his thoughts, seeing flashes of herself, his previous pleasure, his fantasies. She tore away again, taking another trembling breath in. “Is my being able to see your thoughts without actively trying also due to natural talent?” Hermione asked sourly, thinking back to how she’d tried the Legilimens spell the first time. Without intent, it had been useless. Now it seemed she couldn’t stop herself from unconsciously using it.
“Likely.” Snape replied, shifting his weight, bending one knee. Hermione glanced up to watch, seeing the stiffness with which he moved, the strange way he sat that couldn’t be comfortable. “Though it could be the familiarity that’s strengthened it. We won’t know unless it happens around others.” She glared at him briefly for mentioning familiarity, met his gaze, and felt his discomfort. Right in the crotch of his pants, as he shifted again. She turned away, her blush renewed as she realized why he chose to sit like that.
“Not a word, Granger.” His voice was low, dangerous, and she shook her head, indicating she didn’t intend to say anything about what they both knew was in his trousers. It seemed as though their trip into his memories had made him just as aroused as her. She didn’t dare look into his eyes again, trying to fight back her own thoughts of his lips and hands, of him grinding against her. She didn’t need any more memories of him touching himself, or fantasies about her underneath him as he drove into her mercilessly, biting at her chest, hand wrapped around her throat…
She closed her eyes and flopped to the ground, rolling so her back was to him, and endeavoring to relieve the pressure in her panties with sleep.
“I’ll be back. Don’t follow.” His voice was harsh, and she listened to the sounds of him leaving, before she rolled onto her back, and stared at the closed tent flap, and the empty space around her. She could hear his footsteps crunching across the ground as he stalked away from camp. She wondered how long he’d be gone, and her fingers rubbed at her pants again, trying once more to relieve the building pressure inside herself. She closed her eyes, trying to ignore her embarrassment at what she was doing, and rubbed slow circles, enjoying the reprieve from her discomfort.
Her fingers pressed harder, drawn in by the ache that was starting to replace the burn. She was tense, her throat felt closed off, and her shoulder shook slightly with the discomfort of the angle. She relented, letting her hand fall away, and took deep breaths, wondering idly if the pleasant throb would ever die down. It seemed as though she could feel her own pulse inside her underwear, and squeezed her legs together once again, sitting up, and rubbing her hands across her face.
The zipping noise announced Snape’s return, and she rubbed her cheeks, as though she could scrub the embarrassed color from them. He glanced at her as he sank to his sleeping bag, his eyes locking on hers, displaying a sense of calm, and relief.
“Have you been crying?” He sounded incredulous as he inspected her flushed face, and watery eyes. Hermione blinked, surprised by the dampness that ringed her eyes. She hadn’t realized it’d happened at all.
“No.” She denied, looking away petulantly, before he could see the real reason for her appearance. His hand shot out like lightning, grabbing her chin and turning it back to him, as he leaned in, close enough to reach, and capture her stare without her looking away. She squeezed her eyes shut, her hands yanking at his wrist, silently pleading for freedom.
“Look at me, Granger.” His voice was low, commanding, and she shook her head slightly in his grasp, only for him to rearrange his fingers, clasping them around her jaw to hold her face more firmly place. “Afraid you’ll be embarrassed? Don’t you think after your theft of my memories it’s only fair that you share the humiliation?”
A wash of guilt covered Hermione, and she begrudgingly opened her eyes, offering him repentance for her earlier violation. Her mind slipped into his as he whispered ‘Legilimens’, observing what he saw in her own head, and his reactions.
He could feel the heated throb that kept her from comfort, and felt a bit of guilt for being the cause. He knew she’d rubbed herself, trying to relieve the distraction. His brow creased as he felt her arm fall away, leaving her unsatisfied. “Why?” The thought rang through both of their minds, and was met with her brief confusion, before his thoughts formed a more cohesive question. “Why’d you stop?” He didn’t dare voice it though, knowing it would cause her to look away again in shame. Instead, he picked the answer from her brain.
“Don’t know.” A few short memories of her lying in another bed, making the same motions, but stopping after a few minutes, her arm more uncomfortable than the ache. A textbook she’d read describing human sexuality, anatomy, and physiology. It mentioned orgasm, but didn’t go into detail about what females should expect, instead outlining a male’s indication of completion as ejaculation. But females didn’t produce sperm, so what exactly was her signal supposed to be that she should be ‘satisfied’? Since she was a woman, did she need sex to orgasm? Was she broken?
His mind swirled with disbelief at her thoughts, amusement at her incompetence, anger at her lack of education in the matter, and a dark thought that he turned over, considering the guilty offer a moment, before he presented it fully for her to inspect. A familiar feeling rose to the surface, and she was transported once again to a memory of him grasping himself, panting, heat building in his pelvis as he worked.
Hermione shut her eyes, blocking out the indecent image, only to feel Snape’s fingers tighten on her face.
“Look.” He commanded, the word like a key unlocking her eyes, both giving her permission to see the private thoughts, and encouraging her to search for something. She met his black stare again, and was swept once again into the feeling of his pleasure, her breath matching the memory as feeling flooded into her. She could feel his arms trembling, his legs tensing, his hips bucking. She could feel his teeth on his lip, and the searing, throbbing pleasure he brought himself. It felt similar to what rubbing herself had been, though more intense, and… wetter? His fingers slid wetly over his shaft, the pressure they provided making a sweet friction that pushed him over some unseen ledge, his whole body tensing as the pleasure peaked, his voice growling as his genitals tightened, and a wave of extraordinary pleasure and relief washed over him. His hand fell away, leaving him panting, sweating, and satisfied.
“That’s what textbooks can’t describe.” He thought, finally giving a reason for pushing that memory at her. She felt her face burning with embarrassment, and need, her discomfort that much more acute after experiencing the feeling of orgasm, without actually reaching it. Her breath was ragged, and she felt too warm, her body burning the same way his had as he jerked himself roughly.
“Th-thanks…” She mumbled, and he finally released her face and sat back. His gaze was still on hers, giving her an unobstructed view of his thoughts. The constant guilt was there, swirling around thoughts about some sort of ‘professor’ based comment, to rile her up. The familiar feeling of satisfaction was also present, and she tugged at that thought, curious, only to see darkness, trees, pleasure. She turned away, flushing again at the thought that he’d left to 'relieve' himself.
“Sweet Merlin, girl.” His voice was barely above a whisper, and she turned back to him.
“What?” She snapped, feeling irritated for no good reason.
“Your Legilimency. I hadn’t really noticed just how far it’s gotten. You’re seeing everything on the surface without a verbal spell?” He was looking at her with curiosity, and she nodded, her eyes wide. “Look again, for reference. This is what I can decipher from just eye contact.”
She looked into his eyes once more, seeing a swirling of colors, feelings, the occasional word. Nearly as basic as when she’d started practicing, though not nearly as slow, or unfocused.
“Oh, wow.” Hermione breathed, thinking to her own non-verbal excursions. She couldn’t go as deeply, nor as controlled as she could with the full spell, but she could still see full cohesive thoughts and structures. She remembered again how he’d thought her talented.
“-without eye contact…” the mental murmur was a brief sliver of thought from him, and she cocked her head, the half conversation they were having managing to douse the burn inside her.
“With the practice others have to get to your level, you could likely delve into the realm of Legilimency from mere proximity.” Snape explained what she’d been confused by. The thought excited her, and she grinned, before a darker thought overtook it.
“Can You-Know-Who do that?” She asked.
“He can. Though he’s had nearly fifty years to get there. Somehow, I doubt it will take you that long.” He mused with a feigned sickness at her prowess. She could see a green tinge of envy on the edges of his thoughts, and held back a snicker, that Snape was jealous of her.
“Do you think… I’ll be able to influence people’s minds like him?” She hedged, recalling how he’d lured Harry right to the ministry their fifth year.
“No. That’s something that’s unique to him, as he has the practice to utilize both Legilimency, Occlumency, and his own twisted agenda together. If you were to suddenly decide to become a dark witch, no doubt, you’d be able to match him in a mental capacity. However, since you’re not he is still the more powerful, as he’s willing to employ heinous methods to get results. I doubt you’re willing to torture, just to get your way.”
She nodded slowly, mulling it over. He shifted again, getting comfortable as he lay back, folding his arms behind his head in the most relaxed pose she’d ever seen him in.
“I don’t think I need to tell you not to go blurting out to people that you are a Legilimens?” He said through closed eyes. Hermione shook her head, before realizing he couldn’t see her.
“No. That would give away my advantage.” She agreed. She lay on her own roll, and closed her eyes, trying to mimic his relaxation, and sleep. The discomfort had dissipated enough to be a minor nuisance, and she practiced her Occlumency, letting a darkness surround her mind, and holding it there until she slipped unknowingly into sleep.
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