Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 129854 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 29
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 60
- 61
- 62
A/N: A few things about why this chapter has been so delayed:
I had an e-stalker :) a lovely e-stalker whom some of you know about. All I will say is that that ugliness has been left behind.
THEN when I went to update, I literally stopped writing to go to the emergency room. If you follow me on facebook you will see my ranting and raving. Two weeks ago it was something called Trigeminal Neuralgia which basically makes it feel like someone beat you in the head repeatedly with an iron bat. Now this week it's asthma and a respiratory infection after my trip to MistiCon. It was totally worth getting sick because I had a BLAST! AND I met Chris Rankin who plays Percy Weasley ;) he was such a cool guy. And he had on a Snape shirt and I got a photo of us while I'm wearing my Slytherin robes and yeah, I'm still squeeing over that. I also got to meet two fellow and amazing writers, BariSaxPlayer (aka Tbird1965 for those who remember her as that) and Llorolluvia. I swear I cant wait until next con! Inquire within if you'd like to know more about it, or if you want my facebook page to see con photos :D
To everyone still following, favoriting and reviewing and sending me messages, I LOVE YOU! I'm sorry this took so long and I'm sorry that I will likely make your eyes bleed by any remaining errors. As it is, I've been taking a load of medicine for the past week, two of which make me insanely drowsy, and I know this chapter is going to need a major reread so I will be perfectly happy with you all telling me 'Hey! OCB, you misspelled this.'
Songs for this chapter: 'Nights In White Satin' by the Moody Blues, 'Stairway to Heaven' by Led Zeppelin, and 'Echoes' by Pink Floyd. Literally I listened to these songs over and over whilst writing this. And let me tell you, this was one of the hardest chapters to write and I think I sprained my brain in the process so hopefully it doesn't sound like gibberish.
I love you all. You are the best! And I'll shut up now.

A blessed thing it is for any man or woman to have a friend, one human soul whom we can trust utterly, who knows the best and worst of us, and who loves us in spite of all our faults.
-Charles Kingsley

With his position as headmaster, Severus could have easily Apparated himself and Hermione directly into the privacy of his chambers. Yet after stepping out of Galbraith's home and into the cool night air, the picturesque view of the night sky compelled him to Apparate along the outskirts of Hogwarts.
Hand in hand the couple walked, Severus deliberately keeping a slow pace, in no hurry to rush back to the damp dark of the dungeons. Along the way Hermione's hood had come loose, and a few times Severus watched her tip her head back, eyes closed and lips pursed as if she were trying to kiss the sky.
Hermione did not know that she was being watched, and Severus did not realise that he had been staring for more than a few seconds. He was completely taken by her face bathed in moonlight, giving her an ethereal glow, until Hermione slowly turned her head and focused her eyes on his.
Since Hermione could not talk, her methods of communication were spotty at best. But as was her Gryffindor nature, Hermione made sure to get her point across one way or another. They were a minute into their trek towards the school when Hermione stopped short, tugging on Snape's hand to keep him from walking further.
"What is it, Hermione?"
Hermione moved her hand from Snape's grasp and pushed the hood away from her face. She began rooting through the pocket of her cloak, unearthing a small book that had passed antique status and handing it over. Snape pushed back his own hood as he accepted the book, bringing it up to his face and turning it over in disbelief.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, not actually expecting an answer. This battered second edition of Oxshott's Compendium of Magick was something that Snape had almost forgotten about, having purchased it almost twenty years ago but never having the need for any of the book's spells. He continued staring at it with incredulity and raised his eyes from the book to find Hermione glaring at him with a somewhat defiant look on her face.
"I get the impression that you're trying to tell me something, I just don't know what that something is."
Hermione's mouth tightened and she lowered her gaze to the book. Actually opening the book seemed like a sensible option and Snape flipped through the pages, wondering what he was supposed to be looking for when he encountered a slip of parchment with his handwriting. The scribbling barely drew his attention, as the writing looked like the results of his trying out a new quill—it was the pages the parchment was stuck between that made him pause.
"This is what you wanted me to see," Snape replied, his words more of a statement instead of a question. He looked down at the words on the page, frowned, and looked again to Hermione. "Why?"
Moving in closer, Hermione reached for Snape's hand and slowly brought it up to her chest, placing his palm against her heart. The gesture was small but the meaning behind it immense, and he shook his head in disbelief.
"Surely you're not asking me to cast this spell."
Hermione's grip on Snape's hand tightened until his knuckles were uncomfortably crunched together.
"Break it if you must," he tartly informed, "but all levity aside, you will not force my hand in this matter. So long as you are under my care means that I am responsible for your well-being, and that includes not allowing you to make a permanent life-changing decision." Snape felt Hermione's heart begin to race beneath his hand. Closing the book and tucking it into the pocket of his cloak, he placed both hands on Hermione's shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Listen to me, Hermione. You're not of sound mind right now and even if you were, under no circumstances would I agree to such a thing."
Telling Hermione that she was unfit to make such drastic choices was mostly a lie, one meant to dissuade her from her request. But now Snape wondered how mentally sound she was, considering that she had managed to not only find a book that should have been beyond her depths of knowledge, but also read about and understood—he assumed—a spell that was esoteric, even to someone like him who had an expansive background of archaic magic.
"Don't do that," Snape half-pleaded when Hermione's lips began to tremble. He swiftly pulled her into his arms and buried his face in her hair, swallowing the lump in his throat before speaking again. "I care about you more than I care about myself. You're the main reason why I haven't taken a running leap from the Astronomy Tower months ago. This is why I must regrettably tell you no."
Snape raised his head to find the evidence of Hermione's breaking heart clear upon her face, and a fierce need to prevent her from crying nearly made him take back his words.
"My soul is already blackened, don't you understand that!" Snape blurted, wrenching himself away from Hermione as though he'd been burnt. "I'm so far lost it's a wonder the devil himself hasn't come to collect his due. But this I cannot allow to happen, Hermione, I won't. You will not bind your soul to mine."
Hermione seemed to shrink inside her oversized cloak. By now she was crying in earnest, making the barest of attempts to dry her face with her too-long sleeve, and Snape felt lower than the dirt beneath his boots.
"Hermione, this isn't like the spell I cast with our wands. We will literally share a soul, an affinity. What if you wake up one day and decide that this is over between us? Have you ever tried living without your soul?"
Throughout his entire plea, Hermione's upper lip drew tighter and tighter as though refusing to be swayed.
"Well if that doesn't put you off, then how about this little morsel," Snape continued, taking one menacing step forward and lowering his face to Hermione. His lip curled slightly as frostiness crept into his tone. "If I die, so do you, and vice versa. What do you think about that?"
Roughly wiping her face one last time, Hermione stepped challengingly towards Severus, posture straightened, nostrils flared and fire burning in her eyes.
"I'm not one of your little idiotic friends, Hermione. That won't work on me," Snape commented drily, even though he felt nothing like his usual sarcastic self. "We can glare daggers at one another for the next thirty minutes if you wish but knowing how cold the forest becomes at night, I'm not opposed to throwing you over my shoulder and carrying you back to the castle."
Slowly the light seemed to trickle from Hermione's eyes, and she fell before him, landing on her knees on the forest ground. A glint of moonlight gave away that she was crying again. This time these tears were different. Hermione remained completely still, never bothering to dry her face or look in his direction. It was as though she had given up all hope, and Snape had the idea that yelling and issuing more threats would no longer work.
Snape was suddenly tired, and not just physically. He was tempted to sit next to Hermione, staying with her in the forest until the war was over, until everything was relatively normal again. "Hermione," he called, exhaling hard while kneeling down to meet her gaze. But she refused to look at him, even after he curled one hand around her cheek and gently brought her face forward. "Hermione, I want to say yes. Believe me, I do. But to go along with this madness means me killing any chance you have of a normal life should we become bonded and something happens to me. Don't you see, sweetheart? The opportunity to have that career you've been longing for, gone in an instant. Travelling the world? Growing old? Falling in love with someone who is charming at first and annoys you once you've married but still makes you want to bear an equally annoying brood of children who will never give you a moment's peace? It will never happen. Do you know why? Because on this night I allowed you to make one stupid choice that dictated the very existence of your future. And—damn it, Hermione! You will not ruin your life because of me!"
The louder his tirade became, the further Hermione retreated into herself. Her face gave the impression of a person who had just been told the world was coming to an end. It was difficult to witness Hermione's unhappiness, especially when Snape knew that he was the sole party responsible for it. He rushed to his feet and hurried a few steps away, pausing to stare up at the night sky as though it would leap down from the heavens and provide him with advice.
It was pointless to deny his feelings. Even he was not that clever, as told by his subconscious on multiple occasions. He loved Hermione when he was awake, he loved her when he was asleep, and being separated from her, even for the barest of moments, did not suit him. The idea of a permanent separation was downright unbearable, especially since he knew it was one that would likely be caused by his own death.
Like the air escaping from a balloon that had been popped with a pin, Snape's mounting stress and indignation abruptly dissolved.
"I will think about it," he relented, first to himself, then to Hermione as he spun around to face her. In spite of being slumped over on a patch of earth, Hermione somehow retained her dogged determination as she stared wilfully across at her lover. "For Christ's sake, Hermione, at least meet me halfway," Snape bit out. "You're asking me to consent to something completely life-altering. Frankly, you ought to be worried if I was to say yes straight off the cuff. Now I'm not saying yes, and I'm not saying no either. All I am asking is that you merely allow me time to consider casting the spell, said consideration being carried out in a place that is warmer and brighter than our current surroundings. "
Snape walked over to Hermione, stopping in front of her and extending the olive branch by holding out a hand. She looked up at him for a minute, considering, before slowly reaching up to take his hand.
"Thank you." Snape firmly tucked Hermione's arm beneath his, wanting to make sure that she wouldn't slip away. "We're going to Apparate one more time. Ready?"
Hermione gave her consent by lightly squeezing his hand.

Rain was steadily pounding against the roofs of the terraced houses when the two arrived in Cokesworth, effectively muffling the loud crack that accompanied Apparition. The walk from the canal to their destination was brisk, made brisker by Snape walking fast and encouraging Hermione to keep up. By the time they reached the doorstep they were both drenched. The downpour left his hair soaked straight through, causing the thin strands to become plastered to his skull. Hermione's hair seemed to laugh at the rain, because the water merely settled atop her riotous curls, clinging to each strand in tiny, glistening beads.
"Stay behind me," he said, swearing under his breath at his soaked sleeve while withdrawing his wand. Chivalry would have made Snape allow Hermione to step into the house first to get out of the rain, and even though the place was warded to the nth degree, a lifetime of unfortunate mishaps caused him to lead the way with his wand drawn.
Snape had no idea why he brought Hermione to his house. His childhood home was his least favourite place, second to his office and private room at Hogwarts, which as of late had begun to feel increasingly enclosed. Yet if he had to make a choice between the devil and the deep blue sea, it only made sense to go with the devil he had known longer.
The worn floorboards creaked beneath their feet as Hermione followed Snape further into the house. He finally stopped halfway down the hall, pushing on a door that refused to budge. It finally relented and opened with a groan, moving slowly beneath its weight of books lined up on the other side.
An odd mixture of bittersweet nostalgia—more bitter than sweet—struck Snape in the chest as he stepped into the room. The unforgettable stale, musty scent of Spinner's End was apparent when he first opened the front door, and even stronger in the enclosed sitting room.
It would be the damndest thing if this is to be the last time I inhale this wretched odour, Snape mused as he flicked his wand toward the ceiling, causing a cobweb-laden candelabra to flare to life. A flick at the hearth followed, and there was an uneven orange glow over the cramped room.
Hermione paused somewhere behind him and sneezed hard three consecutive times. It sounded as though a fourth one was in the works, but she warded it off by grabbing her nose.
"It's filthy in here," Snape remarked, slipping a handkerchief from his frock coat and pressing it into Hermione's hand. "Apologies for all the dust. Nowt to do about the stench though, I'm afraid."
Hermione delicately dabbed her nose with the pristine linen square, refolding it unevenly when she was done. During that time, Snape had taken his wand to the sitting room in an attempt to eliminate some of the dust. When he was finished he moved behind Hermione, removing the wet travelling cloak from her shoulders and draping it over the back of the sofa. Her trembling did not go unnoticed by Snape's keen eye and she willingly complied when he urged her to sit in the armchair closest to the hearth.
Snape then went through the motions of removing his own damp cloak, spreading it out next to Hermione's to dry. He was unsure of what to do next and stood in place for a few minutes, hands shoved into both pockets of his trousers. He looked over at Hermione and saw that she had tucked herself into a ball and nestled in a corner of the armchair.
A pile of outdated copies of the Daily Prophet were stacked on a stool beside Hermione. For the past few years Snape privately thought the Prophet served better use as fish wrapping but nonetheless he made sure to have every current copy delivered, wanting to stay abreast of the Ministry's lies. Now he took the top one, which dated back to December of last year and showed a moving picture of former Minister Rufus Scrimgeour. Scrimgeour was scowling through his bifocals and his tawny grey-streaked head had a coffee ring halo around it from Snape setting a mug atop the paper. The few times he and Scrimgeour crossed paths Snape ignored him, and even though the man was now dead his feelings about him remained constant. Snape picked up the coffee-stained Prophet, shoved the tip of his wand right in the middle of Scrimgeour's arrogant face and transfigured it into a thick blanket.
"You need tea," he said quietly, arranging the blanket over Hermione and firmly tucking the sides around her. "Fair warning—it'll be black. No milk, unfortunately, but that's obvious considering the circumstances."
Just as he was about to walk away, Hermione wrestled an arm free from her blanket prison and grabbed his hand. Her fingers were ice cold and his weren't much warmer, but Snape rubbed both Hermione's hands between his before guiding them back beneath the blanket. Before stepping away to go to the kitchen, he lightly rumpled her hair with one hand, doing his best to ignore the nightmarish plait that he was responsible for.
The kitchen was unchanged and looked exactly as it had when Snape was a young boy. The countertop was dull and remained dull no matter how hard it had been scrubbed. There was nothing to be said about the drawers; the front of each was dingy and a few had handles hanging on by means of a lone rusty screw. The wallpaper had gone yellow and peeled in more than one place, hanging in long curled pieces near the mouldings. The only additions over the years consisted of a dish brush, sponge scourers, and generic bottles of washing up liquid. A half used kitchen roll stood in the middle of a small table shoved into one corner of the room, its battered wooden top exposed. It used to be covered with a cheap tablecloth that had pictures of tiny red flowers. Over the years the tablecloth grew dingy and later on fell victim to the end of Snape's wand when he'd been in the throes of an angry fit. Enough sparks flew from the wood to cause a quarter of the tablecloth to catch fire and immediately disintegrate, leaving behind an pungent odour of burnt cotton. It was months before Snape discarded the tablecloth, but as he had been the only one eating at the table, he was never bothered enough to replace it.
After filling his old whistling kettle halfway with water and leaving it on the cooker, Snape rummaged through the cupboard for a mug that wasn't chipped. He'd always kept bog standard Tetley or Yorkshire teabags on hand, and a fairly new box of the latter was found. There was no point in looking for sugar as he knew that none was in his kitchen, and furthermore, Hermione rarely took her tea sweetened.
Soon the kettle was whistling shrilly and Snape went through the motions of preparing Hermione's tea, barely focused on the task at hand. Occupying his thoughts was the idea of Hermione presenting him with that page of the book. The reason for her actions was obvious enough, but the events leading up to that situation were still unclear.
A mere fortnight had passed since Snape had to remind Hermione to keep socks on her feet, as the floors in his room maintained a constant temperature which was similar to that of a frozen pond. Dumbledore had requested his presence late that morning. Snape had been on his way back to his room when the sound of Filch swearing loudly rang throughout the corridor, the dramatics due to a few exploding toilets in the fourth floor boys' lavatory. The caretaker went on about the broken porcelain strewn about, the pain of getting on his poor old hands and knees to scrub the floors, and how he planned on punishing 'those little shits!'—aptly phrased—for making such a mess.
Snape fully understood that while some students had been scared straight by the Carrows, too nervous to utter a peep without prior permission, there were other students who saw fit to rebel in any way possible. He suspected a pair of Hufflepuffs to be behind that evening's destruction. Lance and Lydia Craig were twins who looked angelic as two children singing hymns in the church choir on Christmas day, but they were prone to such deviousness that even Fred and George Weasley would have been proud. Secretly, Snape admired their moxie, although the paperwork to replace things that were irreversibly damaged was becoming tedious. Yet at that moment he didn't give a damn about the lavatory and hauling the cheeky little snotrags up to his office to personally deal with their vandalism was the last thing on his mind. Hermione had been asleep when he left the room and she was prone to worriment if she woke up and found herself alone.
By the time Snape was finally able to get away from a grumbling Argus Filch, he slipped back into his rooms and found Hermione awake, lingering outside the bedroom door in just his nightshirt. The hem pooled around her feet but Snape was able to see a hint of her uncovered toes on the floor. He made some dry remark about her feet getting frostbitten and falling off, and weren't lions supposed to be drawn to heat, all the while chivvying her into the bedroom. Up to both calves her legs resembled icicles against his hands, which said something as his skin was almost always abnormally cold.
Each day it seemed that Hermione was taking two steps forward and one step back. Some days it was three steps forward, but the fear of her senses regressing always loomed ahead. It was worrying when one's sense of self-preservation failed to kick it, proved by Hermione not bothering to find socks that afternoon. Snape felt that hope was for fools, but regardless of his own cynical views, Hermione giving him the book seemed like a giant leap towards a somewhat rehabilitated mental status.
After bringing her tea and pausing to make sure that she was actually drinking it, Snape dug Oxshott's Compendium out of his cloak pocket and settled across from Hermione to further peruse the page in question. Twenty minutes later and six rereads of the spell, just to make sure that he hadn't missed anything, led Snape to pulling out more leather-bound books from his personal collection that decorated the sitting room.
Hermione had been on the verge of dropping off to sleep in the armchair, the almost empty mug dangling from her fingertips. The handle finally slipped out of her grasp, the motion jerking her awake. A quick flick of Snape's wand stopped the mug from falling to the floor, another flick sending it drifting down onto the table between them.
"I know watching me isn't very stimulating, but I think you will appreciate the effort that I'm putting forth to ensure your safety should I agree to your insane plan."
Hermione yawned.
"I found something that might interest you," Snape continued, glancing down at the book he'd set aside. "I used this when I was a student."
Hermione's interest in the mildly dusty relic from his childhood was obvious as she almost snatched it out of his hand. The Ancient Runes textbook had a faded cover and inside there were notes scrawled in nearly every margin. Snape had found the thing tucked deeply in a bookcase in the midst of his soul-binding spell research. A different textbook had replaced that one in the last ten years, and Snape thought the new book's material was watered down. Hermione was like him, wanting to know everything about everything, and he correctly assumed that she would find joy in his old book. He was somewhat taken aback yet amused by her eagerness, and returned to poring over his ever-growing pile of books after finding that he was being ignored.
Cast aside for a book, he mused, sitting back down on the sofa and glancing at Hermione to see her greedily turning each page. You've been ignored over worse and furthermore, the book does belong to you.
For a moment the entire situation felt surreal; Snape caught himself staring at Hermione as though she was a mirage. Her current activities was nothing he hadn't seen before. There were plenty of times when they spent an evening together reading, either in his sitting room at the school or in bed. More than once he awoke to Hermione sitting up in bed, the duvet tucked around her as she read by wandlight. She apologised profusely, thinking she had disturbed him, but Snape mumbled something about Hermione ruining her eyes by straining to see in the dark. That comment was mostly a ploy; Snape had done the same thing ever since receiving his wand at the age of eleven and his eyes were fine. What he'd really wanted was for Hermione to put down the book and realign her warm, naked body against his.
Presently his reasons for his set gaze at the young woman had nothing to do with her proclivity for bookishness. Snape found himself dallying with the prospect of entirely different circumstances surrounding their presence at Spinner's End. He hardly knew what the humdrum intricacies of domestic bliss entailed, as his own parents had been anything but a blissfully married couple. Molly and Arthur Weasley were a good example, and even though the woman was prone to yelling at her husband as though he was one of their children, it was obvious to anyone that the two loved and respected one another. News of Nymphadora and Lupin had been somewhat of a shock (not the age disparity aspect, as Snape was well aware of the self-hypocrisy should he admit to such a thing), but only because there had been a time where Snape vaguely suspected Lupin's taste in partners to swing in the opposite direction, and that he and Sirius Black were more than just friends. Then again, Black had been so adamant that something was going on between him and Lucius that Snape wondered if Black had been trying to divert attention away from his own clandestine activities. Nevertheless, the last time he'd set eyes on Lupin, the man was practically glowing over his new relationship, preening like a girl who had been asked to the dance by the most popular boy in school.
Snape never expected to find himself in any sort of situation that resembled a relationship. Even the person whom he once considered a best friend told him that he would likely end up alone. True, the comment had been made during the middle of a heated argument, mostly one-sided as he had been the one getting yelled at, but her remark hadn't been all that off the mark. At the time he had been furious and secretly hurt that Lily would wish a lifetime of solitude upon him, but once his temper had cooled he realised that she was right. No girls, magical or Muggle, had ever lined up to date him. There were women who were unaware of his dark past, and they didn't mind his company so long as it came with an endless supply of drink and an hour or two of rough, mindless fucking. Snape couldn't exactly say that he grew used to being alone because he'd felt alone since birth, but the sting of perpetual solitude sometimes reared its head when he observed the outside world.
It was still hard to fathom that he now had someone special in his life. It was even harder to accept the knowledge that their union would not last long. But the fact that he was engaged with such intense research over the soul-binding spell told him that he was leaning to the side of going through it, although he decided that Hermione would be given an answer at the very last minute.
Snape continued reading until there was nothing more to absorb. Hermione's drooping eyes finally did what they had been threatening to do for the past half hour, and on her first snore he used the opportunity to compile a list of necessary ingredients.
"Dobby," Snape called after stepping out into the hallway and shutting the sitting room door behind him. Seconds later the elf popped into place down by his knee and greeted him shrilly.
"Is sir needing Dobby?"
"Keep your voice down!" Snape hissed in a low voice. "Miss Granger is asleep and if she wakes I will thrash you." Dobby clamped his tiny hands over his mouth. "I need you to go to the school and into my private storeroom. Here's a list, I need one bottle of each. Everything is labelled so finding it all should be relatively simple."
Dobby took the list and with the squeaky promise that he would hurry back, Disapparated from the hall. Snape returned to the sitting room and was in the process of digging through the mess of books and bits of parchment atop the table when Dobby reappeared, his tiny arms over-swimming small boxes and phials.
"Where do you want Dobby to put it, sir?" asked Dobby in an exaggerated quiet tone, his voice muffled behind everything.
Snape beckoned him closer and relieved the elf of his burden one item at a time, neatly lining up everything on a cleared space of the table. The elf had his head craned towards Hermione the entire time, his protuberant eyes intently focused on her sleeping form.
"Will you tell Missy Hermy that Dobby says hello when she wakes up?"
"I will, Dobby. Thank you."
With Dobby gone, Snape immediately began preparing the potion. A small, four-legged silver cauldron, now sitting in the middle of the table, had been the first thing on Snape's list. The vessel was nearly fifteen years old but had never been used, and rarely left its shelf in his office. However it still looked brand new, maintaining its high gleam through regular polishing. The cauldron was one of the first things Snape had purchased with his wages as a new professor. At the time he hadn't actually needed the cauldron, as he had access to nearly anything need for potion making at the school, but a rare moment of frivolity made him buy it anyway.
Assembling the potion was quite swift, but casting each necessary enchantment between the addition of each ingredient took more time. When it was almost done, sickeningly sweet vapours wafted from the thick, pearlescent liquid. There were a few more steps needed to complete the process, but Snape told himself to hold off momentarily.
Hermione remained asleep throughout the door loudly creaking open behind her head. She was unknowingly left alone for a few minutes as Snape carried the potion upstairs, and just as unaware of him returning and standing over her.
"Hermione."
That voice... I know that voice...
"Hermione?"
Her name being uttered in that slow, deep tone caused her eyes to open slowly.
"Let's go upstairs."
Snape was holding out a hand, waiting for her to take it. Hermione pushed the blanket off her legs and stood up, slipping her hands into Snape's and waiting to be led elsewhere. A hint of surprise shone in her eyes when he walked right behind the armchair and touched something against the book-lined wall. The entire thing shifted open to display a darkened staircase, and Hermione's fingers squeezed Snape's as he led the way. Up they went, then to the right, and inside a room that was dimly lit by means of a few candles.
"The electricity in here is still a bit dodgy but it works all the same," Snape said quietly, guiding Hermione to sit at the edge of a bed. "Staying in a place for almost ten months out of the year that only has candlelight, you almost forget about a thing like that. But I figure it would be nice to maintain a low profile seeing as you're a fugitive. Then there's that small matter of roughly ninety percent of the Wizarding world hating me and wanting my head on a platter and my balls on another because of Dumbledore's death."
Hermione had been looking around the room and briefly appeared shocked when Snape brought up those unpleasant but necessary facts.
Nice to see that you're frightened, Snape mused. Frightened means common sense, and common sense means that my girl isn't completely lost.
Putting aside their criminal status for a moment, Snape followed Hermione's gaze as she resumed peering around.
The room wasn't all that big and mostly empty except for the necessary furniture. Snape's bedroom was virtually unchanged from his youth, his bed being the last purchase, and that had been ten years ago. He'd literally shot up between the ages of fourteen and seventeen, and the bed he'd slept in as a boy had been much too short for his tall frame. This bed was plain, unlike like the one at Hogwarts, but it served its purpose. It had been a relief to sleep and not bang his shins whenever he moved. There was nothing much to say about the rest of his furniture; the dresser was old, likely beautiful at one time and now worn with age. Snape always knew it to be a hand-me-down from some unknown source, but it was sturdy. There were two bedside tables; the right was bare and the left held a book, an empty water glass, and a candleholder with a half-melted candle, its old wax drippings covering half the body of the candleholder and part of the wooden table beneath.
As Hermione finished her appraisal, Snape went over to his dresser and pulled open the top drawer. He withdrew a dark wooden box and set it on top of the dresser, next to the cauldron containing the almost complete potion and Oxshott's Compendium. Among the box's contents were a few things that Snape deemed personally precious—his first wand, his mother's wand, and a small stoppered crystal phial that came from his personal collection.
Snape used his wand to Conjure more candles around the room before turning to face Hermione, a small object in his hand.
"Do you remember what this is?" he asked, holding it up.
When no flicker of recognition showed in Hermione's eyes, Snape sat next to her on the bed.
"Look at it, Hermione," he implored, holding the bit of glass inches from her face. "It is imperative that you remember where the contents of this phial came from. Your memory is the only thing I need to go forward with this spell. I know you can't speak, but give me a sign—anything—to let me know that you still remember."
A sliver of unselfish consciousness made Snape hope that Hermione would not remember, but a larger part of his selfish heart wanted her to remember. He pick up her hand and pressed the phial into her palm, wrapped both hand around hers.
"Look at it, Hermione. Look at it and try your best to remember."
Hermione stared unblinkingly at him, then slowly brought her eyes down to their joined hands. That night felt as though it was a lifetime ago, but Snape remembered with perfect clarity when that phial had been filled with the dark red liquid.
Fucking miserable was the only way to describe how he felt being confined to Grimmauld Place. Not that he would have ever sided with the likes of Sirius Black, but he understood clearly why the wizard had left that grand house during his teen years. A bad relationship with his parents was something that Snape could fully relate to, but there had been something about the house that harboured a Dementor-like quality, as it seemed to suck the very life out a person. Molly Weasley enlisted every single person too young to be in the Order with scrubbing Grimmauld Place from top to bottom, but no amount of Muggle or magical household remedies was enough to scour out its downbeat vibe. Snape purposely kept to his room for a few reasons: no one wanted to see him, he didn't want to see anyone, and he did not want to be in that house. Then he had been livid with Dumbledore for being made to play nanny and Snape preferred to brood by his lonesome.
Hermione had been an unexpected surprise and her presence turned out to make his stay at Grimmauld Place more than just bearable. He hadn't anticipated depending on her to maintain his sanity later on down the line, but she ended up doing just that. And as for falling in love with her, he definitely hadn't seen that coming. But prior to them both tumbling deeply and precariously into a situation that neither would likely be able to back out of, Snape decided to look upon his and Hermione's liaisons with a casual attitude. Cheeks bright with shyness and body trembling from uncertainty, Snape knew he should have turned Hermione away from the moment she initially approached him in his dingy little cave of a room in a non-saviour capacity. He had almost gone far as suggesting that she find a nicer, safer, and much younger male option at her favourite local library if she was so eager to do away with her innocence. Perhaps being alone for so long had addled his senses, because all manner of rationale fled, leaving him feeling more unsure than he cared to admit.
The gift of Hermione's virgin's blood as well as her virginity had unnerved him just as much as the first time when he permitted her lips upon his own. At the time he had taken each of those early encounters for granted, so sure that Hermione's interest in his person would wane with the break of dawn.
Oh, how wrong he had been.
The phial was still in Hermione's hand and she stared at it, drew her eyes up to Snape's face, and lowered them again to the phial.
Snape shook his head. He knew that Hermione was asking for some sort of hint, but giving her one would defeat the purpose.
"Think, Hermione. Think."
Hermione lifted the phial beneath her nose, turned it left, right, and brought it back down. This time when she looked over at Severus it was with a glowing face, and he knew that she finally remembered.
"Don't be embarrassed," he told Hermione, knowing that she had nothing to be ashamed about. If anything he was the one who should have been sorry; he was the older of the two yet his performance that day displayed a gross lack of experience on his part. He'd been too rough for her first time. Hermione claimed she was fine afterwards but he'd had his doubts after seeing the blood on him and the sheets, and those doubts were greatened when he showered early the next morning and winced at the too hot water causing further discomfort to his already tender cock.
"I'll cast the spell, Hermione, so long as I have your permission to use this." Snape rested his fingers on the phial, waiting for her to let him know. Hermione looked down and slowly transferred the phial to his hand. "Thank you."
Severus was aware of the eyes glued to his back as he made his way to the dresser. Disbelief lingered at the back of his mind, but he already decided that he was going to go through with Hermione's wishes. He had no doubt that the spell would not work; the words to the ancient ritual was written in Latin, and one part of it roughly translated to the spell not taking hold if the love wasn't genuine. Attempting the spell beneath any other circumstances gave the potential for nasty after effects, therefore was only meant to be cast by those who had nothing but pure intention.
After Hermione's blood was added to the potion, Snape waved his wand across the cauldron whilst speaking the proper words. The potion glowed bright blue, its colour growing darker until the liquid swirled around in dark purple waves.
"We both need to undress for the next step," Snape announced, turning to face Hermione. "Do you mind?" he asked, eyeing her jumper. "Or shall I?" he added when she made no moves to remove her clothes.
Her answer came in the form of rising from the bed and moving three steps forward.
The margin for error was small once the potion was complete; if one drop was wasted then all his work would be for naught. Snape's every motion was calculated as he picked up the silver cauldron, moving it from the dresser to his bedside table. Hermione's eyes stayed on him the entire time. She met him halfway as he moved in front of her, and raised both arms when his fingers grasped the hem of her jumper.
This is different, Snape thought as he disrobed his other half with the utmost care. Her jeans and jumper were folded and placed on a chair. She kept on her socks and knickers, as there was no need to remove them.
"One last thing," he murmured, drawing Hermione closer with one arm. Snape had to use both hands to free her hair of its braid, and he finger-combed her damp curls until they hung freely down her naked back. As he fiddled with Hermione's hair he felt her arms slowly encircle his waist, and by the time he was done her cheek was resting comfortably against his chest.
How long had it been since they'd held one another like this? Snape could not remember. True, he'd pulled Hermione against him many times to comfort her after her horrific ordeal at Malfoy Manor, and whenever they shared a bed she almost always slept in the safety of his arms, even if she was unaware of it. Their current stance looked the same as each of those current instances, but the fact that Hermione had initiated it meant all the difference.
Fingers delicately traced over the small of his back while Hermione turned her face side to side, nuzzling both cheeks, nose and lips against his frock coat. Snape's hands had been resting cautiously atop Hermione's shoulders, as he was unsure of how to proceed what with her naked state, but the feeling of her soft skin beneath his fingertips was a temptation that he could not resist. Feather-light strokes turned into heavier caresses, and it was clear that Hermione was enjoying it because she soon went lax against him.
So much for will-power; Snape always found Hermione hard to resist, and merely stroking her satiny skin was enough to make him forget the whole purpose of bringing her to Spinner's End and undressing her in his bedroom.
"Come, sit here for me," he directed after forcing himself to step away. Hermione looked put out when he moved his hand from her back and that made him chuckle. "Believe me, relieving myself of your sweet embrace is the last thing I want to do, but the potion is only good for a short amount of time."
Hermione sighed and reluctantly shifted to the middle of the bed. She then crossed her legs and watched her man for a few minutes. It was still raining and a slight chill went through the room, causing her to shiver, and she rooted around the mattress and pulled a corner of the duvet around her body. That seemed to do the trick, but it didn't stop Snape from bending over to yank the entire duvet off the mattress and rearrange the whole thing around her body.
Once Hermione was well cocooned, Snape stripped down to his boxers and put everything on the chair with her clothes. When he approached Hermione the potion-filled cauldron was balanced in the palm of one hand. The other held onto the book that was older than their combined ages, most of its pages yellowed and curled in a few places.
There was something terribly intimate about the way Hermione had arranged herself on his bed. It had nothing to do with the fact that she was naked except for her socks and knickers and wrapped neck to foot in his sheets, and everything to do with the look in her eyes. She was watching him with pure adoration in her eyes, looking as though he was the only person that mattered to her.
That was enough for Snape to remember that not only did Hermione belong to him, but he belonged to her just as much. It was probably selfish of him to accept her proposal, but he knew in his heart that Hermione would be the first, last, and only person he would ever share any sort of union with. The duration of their bond was likely to be short, but if this was to be his last chance at filling a void that he never knew existed until recently by means of magically cementing his and Hermione's bond, so be it.
"I know it's cold in here," Snape said, sitting beside Hermione and setting the book aside. "I'll try to make this quick. I need you to remove that and lie down here."
Hermione allowed the duvet to fall down off her body. She lay flat on her back, inhaling softly when Snape brought a hand close to draw all of her hair to one side.
"This won't hurt," he reassured, methodically dipping a fingertip into the silver cauldron and drawing the first symbol in neat lines on Hermione's torso. Her body still bore the scars from Bellatrix's torture, and Snape made sure to cover what he could with the potion. Hermione flinched when he drew the next symbol along the right side of her ribcage, and he apologised profusely. When his fingers veered right beneath her bellybutton, just shy of the elastic waistband of her knickers, Snape noticed that he wasn't the only one who was experiencing a change in breathing. He hadn't known what to expect prior to the start of the spell, but he definitely didn't anticipate any part of it to be erotic or sensuous.
Hermione had slowly moved both arms above her head and partially buried her face into the crook of her elbow, lazily staring down at him as he continued drawing on her skin. The shift in position had caused the delicate arch of her back to become more prominent and her breasts to stand out. Snape paused for a moment, swallowing hard and willing all the blood in his body to remain in their respective places. He figured Hermione would take issue with his current less than proprietous thoughts, and as honourable as his intentions were, fact remained it would be a miracle if he was able to finish.
After taking a few deep breaths and making sure that his hand was once again steady, Snape continued. Half a dozen times he told himself that he didn't notice the softness of Hermione's thighs, the fresh, clean scent of her skin, or the way she softly sucked in air when his hand cupped her knee.
Elhaz, Ehwaz, Gebo, and Berkano were just a few of the runes the spell called for; there were other symbols outlined in the book, many of which he knew of through research yet none that he'd never had the need to utilise prior to tonight. By the time he was done the right side of Hermione's body looked like some abstract yet beautiful form of live art from neck to ankle. She was also trembling, and again he did his best to not notice the two dark pink nipples that were stiff, partially from the cool air in the bedroom but mostly from arousal.
"Done, and it's dry already. Now I need the same on my left side." Hermione slowly sat up and reached for the cauldron. "Are you sure you're up to it? The symbols have to match exactly else the spell won't work." Hermione pursed her lips and gestured toward the cauldron once more. Reluctant he was, yet Snape handed the cauldron over anyway. He moved into the spot Hermione had just occupied and waited for her to start with bated breath.
It took Hermione a longer time to paint the runes on his skin, but that was something Snape didn't mind. She started at his ankle and moved upwards, taking care to keep the cauldron upright in her hand. His biggest obstacle was fighting down an erection when her fingers moved closer to his thigh. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own and twitched inside its cotton prison, but thankfully Hermione's hand moved away right before it had time to awaken fully. The last threat to an erection came when Hermione was at his neck, gently pushing his long hair to the side and guiding him to look away so she could paint the last symbol.
You really are a pervert, Snape told himself bitterly, silently threatening his penis with some brand of self-castigation in the next thought. He forgot that his neck was incredibly sensitive, and Hermione hovering over him, breathing on him was enough to set his skin aflame.
"Finished?" he asked in a strained voice when she moved to his side. Hermione nodded, and Snape took the cauldron from her hands and placed it on the bedside table. Snape carefully rose from the bed, shuffling across the bedroom and standing in front of a full length mirror. A thick layer of dust had taken residence upon its surface and he used his wand to clean it.
In spite of his doubts, Hermione had done an impeccable job. Personally he thought that he looked like a macabre version of her, him being a child's muddled finger-painting and Hermione being the Renoir, but that had nothing to do with the painted symbols and everything to do with personal appearance.
"In some cultures they consider the left side to be equated with evil," Snape shared conversationally as he sat down next to Hermione. "Perhaps it was fitting that I take the runes on the left side."
Hermione looked less than amused and narrowed her eyes at him.
"What, everyone else is allowed a witty repartee or two about the notoriety of my evil ways and I'm not?"
Snape smirked as Hermione continued glowering at him. "Your face is going to get stuck like that. Now if you would be so kind as to stop giving me the evil eye, I need you to rest on your side for me. Not that side, the other side," he directed when Hermione was about to lay down with the runes touching the bed. "Be still, sweetheart," Snape whispered, resting alongside Hermione yet carefully arranging himself so as to not disturb the markings upon their skin. The couple remained face-to-face, chest-to-chest, the markings and the blank canvas of their skin matching up like yin and yang. Severus slipped his free arm beneath Hermione's body and used his other hand to draw his wand between them.
The spell was only four short lines and once the ancient words were uttered, a pale blue orb dwindled into sight and hovered over their entwined bodies. Hermione's eyes flitted between his and the orb, and he felt her soft fingertips skimming along his flank. When the orb descended those fingers gripped onto him, the gesture close enough to a silent plea for him to not let her go.
"It's all right, Hermione. I've got you."
Their grip on one another tightened, and the floating orb seemed to grow brighter. The runes seemed to suddenly take on life of their own, and Severus sensed a warm, pleasant sensation between them. The heat was soothing, comparable to slipping into a hot bath after a long day, and welcoming as a lover's embrace. It was enjoyable at first, but soon it gradually intensified into a burn that made it hard to focus on anything else.
Oh fucking hell!
This was agony! It felt like a fire had been lit beneath his skin, and it refused to relent no matter which way he moved.
Over and over Severus told himself that he swore to protect Hermione, to keep her from feeling any sort of pain. But it was hard to look after her, much less look at anything, when it felt as though he were being roasted alive. Sweat broke out all over his body, and every muscle resisted against some unseeable force. He was able to literally hear his own blood racing throughout his body when a familiar voice broke through the haze of pain.
Just breathe, Severus. Breathe.
That was easier said than done, but the voice appeared in his head again, offering more gentle encouragement.
It's OK. Just breathe. It will pass.
Slowly Snape realised that the voice belonged to Hermione, but he was too far gone to figure out if she was talking out loud, if he heard her inside his head, or if he was merely hallucinating.
He had never been one to willingly comply from the start, but something told him to listen to Hermione. Snape inhaled deeply, then exhaled, and repeated the process over and over until the panicky sensation faded away. After prying his eyes open he found that they were enveloped in some sort of cloudy blue mist that matched the colour of the orb previously floating over them.
The bedroom and everything in it seemed to disappear on the outside of the blue. It was even hard to see the bed they were both lying on. Yet the one thing he could not ignore was the hand that reached up and pressed against his cheek, gliding down to his neck and pulling him forward. Cheek to cheek, sex to sex, they lay together. His breathing had been rapid but he focused on the sensation of Hermione's chest rising and falling in a slower, steady motion, and he forced himself to match her rhythm.
There was nothing sexual about that contact; the embrace was meant to soothe and comfort, yet when Hermione initiated a kiss—a kiss that left him shocked—somehow the two ended up glued to one another, moving in a way that almost resembled the countless times they had made love. And even though they weren't physically joined below the navel, it didn't prevent them from ardently kissing and clutching onto one another. For the third time that night Severus felt another erection on the cusp, but now he didn't try to hold it back. Hermione didn't seem to mind, because her legs were clamped around his waist and her hips writhed and cambered against his, pulling him closer and forcing his entire stiff, clothed length to brush repeatedly against her.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
They were barely touching and still Severus felt his impending release, and he knew that nothing short of death would be able to stop it. Even though Hermione's mind-set seemed to match his, he forced himself to look down, wanting to doubly make sure that she wasn't frightened by him rutting on her. Fear, however, was the one thing absent from Hermione's eyes; her face bore the look of woman lost in the throes of ecstasy. He had a feeling that if she was able to create any sort of vocals, the only thing coming from her throat would be the sweet moans and screams that was music to his ears.
Hermione's fingers were digging into his lower back, beckoning him even closer although they were pressed so tightly that not even a wisp of air could fit between. With each fraught kiss her breath flowed warm and uneven against his face and throat. Soon Hermione lost herself to the force that had taken over them both, and she inhaled sharply while throwing her head back.
The sight of Hermione on the verge of silently losing control was too much to bear. A feral roar tore from Snape's throat when his hardness broke, and his hips jerked back and forth as the inside of his thigh and boxers were coated with furious jets of his release. While Hermione was unable to make any sort of noise, he hazarded a guess that she was experiencing the same thing for her spine bowed till it cracked and her clenched thighs immobilised his lower half. Her fingers had turned into manacles around his forearms, squeezing so tightly that they were on the verge of wringing the magical ink from the Dark Mark that marred the left.
It felt as though ages had passed before they came down from their simultaneous plateau. Snape hadn't realised that he had come close to shredding apart his bed sheets until his hands began to hurt, and one by one he unknotted his white-knuckled fingers from the crumpled material. The tiny part of his brain that was still miraculously functioning tried to decipher what had just transpired. As for the rest of his mind, it was still fogged with the after effects of the strongest climax he had ever experienced. Eventually all he was able to hone in on was the sound of them both gulping in air. He didn't remember collapsing atop Hermione's chest, and an eyeful of brown hair as well as the staccato thumping of her rapid heartbeat let him know that he was using her as a mattress.
It took another five minutes for Snape to catch his breath, and when his panting tapered off he noticed a dull thumping sound in his ears, steadily growing louder in small increments. The thumping matched the fast pulse against the side of his head, and it took him some time to realise that the sound that had literally rooted itself inside his head was Hermione's heart. It was the oddest thing and he attempted to lift his head but found it too heavy, reminding him unpleasantly of his first time getting thoroughly pissed in which a terrible hangover was subsequent. Groaning, Snape dropped his head back down and attempted to apologise when it fell hard with a thunk against Hermione's shoulder. He felt the need to say something, anything, but now even his lips refused to cooperate.
Dredging up a bit of focus proved difficult, but the soft pulses at both temples transformed into a palpable ache that resonated throughout his skull, growing prominent enough to render him motionless. For a moment Snape thought some invisible force was trying to bludgeon him to death, and he prayed that Hermione was not experiencing the same thing. The effort to lift his head and pry his eyelids apart a half inch was monumental, but he was relieved to find that his witch had drifted off to some other place.
A second later Snape also realised that the blue mist had dissolved. He had no idea what that meant, and even less of an idea if the spell worked. The book hadn't exactly given a step-by-step outline of what would happen once it was cast. What he did know was that he felt utterly exhausted and agreed that sleep was in order.
Snape pushed himself upright and looked down at Hermione again. She looked as knackered as he felt, and tiny beads of perspiration shone on her forehead and upper lip. After settling down alongside her, Snape used his thumb to whisk away the moisture. She came to when he touched the corner of her mouth, and Hermione began kissing his fingers without opening her eyes.
"Does that mean you're alright?"
Supporting himself over Hermione's body with one arm, Snape curved the other hand around her cheek while waiting for some sort of response. She nodded, still not looking at him, but it was enough to ease his lingering worries. His fingertips began tracing a path along the slim line of Hermione's jaw, down her throat, and across the entire length of her sternum. She exhaled softly when his pointer circled the outside of her navel, and bit down her bottom lip when he skimmed all five fingertips above the slope of each breast. Snape finished his tentative caresses with a soft kiss to Hermione's forehead and nose, and just as he was about to lay next to her, she slung both arms around his neck and tugged until he repositioned himself against her.
Snape had to brace both hands on either side of Hermione's face to keep their noses from crashing together. Hermione was unfazed by the almost accident, and gave another tug until Snape brought his lips to hers. She had yet to return his gaze and that made him keep their embrace deliberately light and slow. Those barely there caresses led Hermione into tilting her head back in an effort to gain a more fruitful kiss. When Snape refused to comply he felt the tip of her tongue flicked out, leaving a damp spot on his upper lip.
Pulling back to level his head with Hermione's, Snape found her staring up at him. He parted his lips to speak, but almost immediately it became apparent that some change was taking hold as a result of gazing into her eyes. A strange sort of hypnosis fell upon the couple, leaving them unable to look away from one another.
It was deeper and profoundly more intimate than Legilimency. It wasn't that he could see a physical picture of Hermione's thoughts, but he was able to somehow look through her eyes and see the way she saw him. He could literally feel what she felt for him and that bit of knowledge left him rattled, astonished, and so emotional that it hurt.
This time he kissed Hermione as though her lips were made of air, and he was a man starved for oxygen. The three little words that he once found difficult to say now flowed easily from his lips, and Snape didn't realise that he had repeated himself until he heard further declarations of his feelings being uttered in a voice that could only belong to him.
"I love you. I was an arse to not tell you before but I do. If I should die tomorrow so be it, but at least you know the truth."
There was little doubt that Hermione understood him, because she lifted her head and lightly pressed her lips to his. She then urged him to lay his head against her breast and he complied, and Hermione ran her fingers over his cheek and the nape of his neck until they both fell asleep.

Snape didn't have to open his eyes to know that he was lying in a pitch dark room. That was odd, as the dying embers from the hearth were usually glowing in their place across the room. But he wasn't in Hogwarts. No, he had returned to his childhood home, although the reason was not yet clear. Did he come to pick up something? Was he hiding?
The feel of fingers gently running through his hair suddenly distracted Snape from his thoughts. Where was his wand? His wand never, ever left his side. And who was touching him? The only person who had been allowed to approach him in such a personal manner had been his mother, and the last time she toyed with his hair was shortly before his first year at Hogwarts. He'd been upset about something, it was hard to remember what about, and Eileen had made the rare attempt to comfort her son by sweeping his too long hair back from his face. Tobias had complained about the gesture, grunting that all her coddling was going to 'turn him into some sort of nancy-boy and it was high time he grew a pair'. Severus remembered that day being the last time his mum touched him with any sort of affection.
The hands were still steadily smoothing down the back of his head, and Severus reasoned that he ought to be worried, especially since his wand was nowhere to be found. More to the point, the caresses were comfortingly familiar and he didn't want them to stop.
"Are you awake?"
The owner of the feminine voice continued playing with his hair, patiently waiting behind him for an answer. There was a lengthy delay, as Severus found himself not knowing how to respond. Was he awake? He vaguely recalled falling asleep but didn't remember waking up. The surface beneath him was soft and resembled a bed, but his eyes could not be certain.
"This isn't real," Snape murmured to himself, struggling to see where he was. The area turned out to be dimly lit but still he discovered nothing but thin air. "I'm seeing things. None of this is real; I've finally gone off my rocker."
"Silly man." A cloud of soft hair and warm, softer body touched his naked back. There was a flurry of movement followed by a deliciously undressed Hermione settling in front of him. "Of course this is real. You're here and so am I."
Snape's brow furled as he reached out to touch her cheek, finding the skin warm and supple. Hermione returned the gesture, also including his lips and the bridge of his nose.
"We could both be mad," he whispered.
"Or we could both be madly in love and under the influence of a bonding spell."
Snape allowed that comment to sink in as Hermione continued stroking his face.
"If all this is real, I wonder why we're able to speak here like this but not out there." Snape paused to brush a few curls away from her eyes. "Just now you knew who I was straightaway, but it wasn't that long ago when we felt like virtual strangers. I thought I had lost you."
"Sometimes everything feels so muddled in my mind," Hermione replied, frowning. "I don't know why we can talk like this now and not before, but I suppose your heart is somehow able to remember what your mind forgets."
"And you remembered me."
"Of course I did. You can't get rid of me that easily."
"I dare not try. Now tell me, what else do you remember? How far back can you go?"
"Um... I don't know exactly how long ago it was but I remember pain. Lots of pain, and it hurt so badly that I almost wanted to die. I remember looking for you but you weren't there, and I was scared and there was this black cat but eventually you came back."
"I'm sorry you were frightened. If it's any consolation I hated leaving you alone in my rooms, even for a second. But you are safe in there, if you were worried."
"It's OK. And I know I'm safe with you, I can feel it."
"Is there anything else? Do you know what's stopping you from being able to talk?"
"No, like I said before everything is foggy. Sometimes I think I can speak but when I try everything hurts."
Snape still wasn't truly convinced that his conversation with Hermione was actually happening. If this conversation was by chance the result of his impending madness, then he would accept it. After all, he had experienced hallucinations before and they hadn't come close to being this tranquil. He just hoped that if this was merely a dream, that he would remember it all upon awakening.
On the other hand, perhaps this wasn't something his mind had merely conjured. The ache in his chest upon Hermione telling him that she hurt whenever she tried to speak was very real. It sounded as though she had been cursed, but since Hermione was unable to remember how her mute condition came about in the first place, it left him in a maddening quagmire.
"What's wrong?" Hermione asked, patting his face until he met her eye.
"Other than the usual calamities? Nothing."
"That's not true and you said you would never lie to me. Tell me, Severus. Whatever you were just thinking about made you upset. I can still see it on your face."
"Apologies for the gall to forget about that intense watchfulness of yours." Hermione lightly flicked the end of his nose. "I was reminding myself of the unfortunate fact that I am ignorant to the reasons for your malady. I don't know what to do and I don't know how to help you and that is particularly irksome."
"Severus..." Hermione's voice trailed off as she shuffled forward until they were sandwiched together. "Did you mean it when you said you loved me?"
His arm had automatically slid over her waist, and his lips were at her forehead. "Of course I did. I still do."
"Then that's all you have to do. Just love me."
"I will, Hermione, for as long as I can."
Snape found himself unsure of what to say after that admittance and filled in the void by skimming his lips along Hermione's hairline. They both lay quietly for a while, draped around one another and breathing in the other's scent. Hermione was so still after some time that Snape thought she had fallen asleep, until he heard her mumble something into his chest.
"I didn't hear you."
Hermione tilted her face up and looked him in the eye. "I'm not stupid, I know something is coming. Something worse."
"Yes, there is," he answered after a long stretch of trying to find the right words.
"Don't leave me alone in this world, Severus."
It was a promise that he could not make, and they both knew it even if they refused to admit it out loud.
Hermione didn't fight or argue with him this time. She closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest again.
"I wish we could stay here like this forever. But if I can't have forever then I'll settle for right now."
"Regardless of the future we were never promised forever, Hermione."
"I know, but it sounded like a nice idea."
"I'll not fault you for that. I'm well familiarised with having to stay ten steps ahead of life on a consistent basis. It's tiring, doubly tiring when you're doing the thinking for other people as well as yourself. Living in the moment rarely occurs."
When it came to spontaneous matters, they mostly had to do with espionage and covering his arse. Carpe Diem was no way of life; when would he have found the time? And since becoming headmaster, the precious moments he had for free time had dwindled to almost nothing. Being with Hermione had been unexpected yet pleasant, and he'd found himself looking forward to each of her visits—not that he would have confessed to such a thing at the time.
Hermione sat up and pulled him with her, and he lifted a brow, wondering what she was doing. Once she arranged herself in his lap, wrapping her legs around his back, he didn't care what she was doing so long as she didn't move.
"Kiss me," Hermione murmured, slipping both arms around his neck. Snape remembered this bossy Hermione and smirked, putting his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.
"Of course, since you demanded so nicely..."
That kiss was slow and sweet. The two leisurely explored one another's lips and mouth as though they had all the time in the world. Hermione's body began reacting in a way that left her gently undulating against him, and that sent all the blood rushing to Snape's lower half. Only when he felt his naked erection rubbing against Hermione's also naked intimate parts.
More than once she forgot about their lip embrace in lieu of her writhing hips, feverishly trying to gain some friction against where she needed most.
"I can't take it anymore..." Hermione blurted, repositioning her legs, steadying one hand on Snape's shoulder and reaching down with the other. "Would you mind if we...?"
"What is it you need, sweet girl?"
"Live in the moment with me." Hermione softly grasped his erection and aligned it with her slick entrance, holding it there while waiting for permission.
"I already told you—I'm yours."
That was all the encouragement Hermione needed before carefully sinking into place, taking her lover all the way into her body. They both cried out when his cock nudged her womb, and she waited before moving again. Tentative movements soon turned into a somewhat faster yet gentle rocking that made them cry out again.
The orgasm he experienced during the course of their soul bonding spell had been intense, but in no way had it matched the feeling of actually making love to Hermione. If it felt this good now, then there was no way he would survive the outcome. Higher and higher they climbed, the rhythm of their bodies, blood, breath, and heartbeats synchronising into one entity. The war, the events leading up to war, even the reasons for their soul bonding spell were forgotten as they became utterly consumed and lost in one another. The only thing that mattered to Severus was Hermione, and he was the only thing that mattered to her.
Severus had been half-right about not surviving the end—he was almost positive he was going to die from the onslaught of pleasure at the moment of La petite mort, as their minds and bodies soared to the heavens before plummeting back down into a darkened abyss that swallowed them whole and swaddled them in a blanket of peace and contentment.
- 60
- 61
- 62
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Unintentional Inveiglement