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The Book that Binds COMPLETE	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 16013 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: SnapesOnlyOne: I’m glad you enjoyed the Mesmer interlude. I watched it in full on YouTube. You should take a look.

HG4Eva: Your review cracked me up. I loved it. ‘w.. wh.... WHAT?!’ – awesome! Hmm, I like your thoughts on what might be to come. ;)

Lovey_reader: ‘Shut the front door!!!’ – that cracked me up! I can imagine you dropping your kindle. Thanks for loving the words in the book – I enjoyed writing that part a lot. Glad it was appreciated.

Robin: Thanks for your hilarious and kind review. I’ve found my own Snape too – makes me laugh till I cry – the best. So glad you are back here and reading.

DinatheCat – Clever clogs :)

LeWyKi – As usual, I loved your extremely well considered review. You will see that your thoughts have helped me in this chapter again. Perhaps you should be co-authoring this as you have made such a significant contribution. Please keep rambling :)

Oracle – I’m glad that the naughty AFF text truncator hasn’t gobbled up your review again. I haven’t heard back about my query. "...shiny magician’s cape." Ta-da! – hilarious, I should have so included ‘ta-da’. ‘Sex Action Snape - Take down his trousers and set Nessy free. Hours of fun for you and your friends. Silk boxers and sex books sold separately.’ – OMG, this made me choke. Now we have the action pair. Thanks again for the error corrections and also for not letting the cat out of the bag xx.

Mary – If you like Hermione’s the monologues, you’ll enjoy this chapter :)

Chapter 7 – The Past that Pines

I wrote it?

Hermione continued to stare blankly at Severus. What was that? Some sort of word puzzle? Unusual timing if it was. Maybe he’d actually said something else that sounded like ‘I wrote it’. Like . . . Ire O’Tit! Yes, that could have been it . . . some sort of Irish Burlesque dancer . . .

Hermione’s mind had short-circuited. Her inner monologue was throwing up a fruit salad of furphies in a desperate attempt to avoid the horrible truth. She chewed on her cheek as her foot started to jiggle—the only part of her body that had managed to shake its delusion and was now looking for something to kick.

Gradually the rolling realisation worked its way up her body and, finally, reached her brain—the swearing part of it. What the actual fucking fuck?!!

He was looking up at the ceiling. Waiting. He didn’t even need to look at her to know what was coming.

“You . . . did . . . what?” The words were delivered in splinters through her gritted teeth.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d had three days to come up with a convincing placation. Maybe if he’d spent that time planning, rather than thinking about fucking her, he might have had something more to present than ham-handed silence on a wilted bed of awkwardness.

“Are you telling me you wrote . . . this book?”

The furrow in her brow deepened as she stared in bewilderment at the pages flopping open between their hands.

“You’re . . . Mr Boats?”

Eyes closed, he tapped his index finger on his nose.

“It’s a pseudonym.”

“No fucking kidding!” She blasted him.

Dropping his hand, he looked at her with a resigned expression. He couldn’t get away. And he couldn’t cast a silencing spell. He’d just have to weather it. He was in ‘Granger danger’ again and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Why didn’t you tell me before now? Did you forget?” She raised a sarcastic eyebrow.

He settled back against his pillow. Most of the forthcoming questions wouldn’t be requiring answers, simply expressions of guilty remorse. He’d do his best.

“Sit up and look at me!” she demanded, yanking on his hand.

Maybe not. He pushed himself up and shuffled back until he was leaning against the headboard.

“I deserve an answer, Severus.”

Merlin. She’d called him Severus. It sounded so . . . so sensual coming from her mouth . . . that mouth . . .

“Are you listening to me?!” She suddenly snatched up her wand and jabbed it into his throat. “You’d better start talking or I’m going to blast that dim-witted look off your fucking face!”

She was breathing heavily as she slowly twisted the wand into his neck. If it really was his book, then maybe it was his curse too. Had he known this would happen? Had he planned this whole thing?

Adam’s apple jousting away the jabbing vinewood, he poured out a sigh that seemed to have been dredged up from the soles of his feet.

“I wrote it twelve years ago, never thinking it would see the light of day. A small publishing company printed a few hundred copies, then it looked like sinking back into oblivion where it belonged. One day I found a copy whilst perusing the staff section in the Hogwart’s Library. I destroyed it, but days later it was replaced. Madam Pince was a stickler for ensuring the library catalogue was maintained. I knew I couldn’t afford to destroy any more copies or she’d be suspicious and investigate further.” He sighed again. “I didn’t want anyone reading it in case they linked it back to me. That’s when I decided to put it behind the locks and wards. . . And that’s when I placed the book bind.”

Hermione’s hand shook, on the verge of skewering his windpipe. “You placed the book bind?”

“Yes.” His black eyes didn’t waver from hers.

“And so why are we still sitting here stuck together by this fucking pile of pulp?!” Her voice rose.

“Because . . .” his cheeks blew out as he slowly released his breath. “I forgot . . . the phrase.”

Hermione’s wand hand dropped, trickling the end of it down his chest to stab into the bedcovers.

“You forgot?”

He scratched the side of his head, half closing his eyes against the question.

“You fucking forgot?” She raised herself onto her knees to look down at him.

He turned his free palm upwards in response.

“So have you tried to remember?” She leaned on the wand like it was a walking stick.

“Actually, no I haven’t,” he replied. “I’ve just been meditating these past three days. It didn’t occur to me to try to dig into my memory for a solution.”

“You are in no position to be snarky, my friend.” Hermione raised her wand and waggled it at him. “This is all your fault.”

“May I remind you of how all this began?” He raised an accusing eyebrow and Hermione only just stopped herself from impaling it with her wand.

“Actually, no. You’re no longer qualified to remind anyone of anything,” she said bitterly.

They continued to glare at one another until Severus broke eye contact and let his head tip against the headboard.

She’d never seen him look so defeated.

Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master. One of the most powerful wizards in the world. Mind like a sieve. It didn’t add up.

As she watched him, her thoughts ticked over the events of the past days. His revelation put a new slant on everything. I. Boats.

She tapped her wand against her lips. “It’s an anagram isn’t it? I. Boats . . . Who’s Tobias?”

“My middle name.” His voice was flat, emotionless. “And my father’s name.”

She continued to appraise him. He’d written it. Every word in that book. Every beautiful word. Where had that come from? He was clearly eloquent. And of course he knew potions. But ‘Passion’? Well she only had to think back to an hour before. Fuck, he was the most passionate being she’d ever met. It wasn’t that much of a stretch.

But the depth of his words. The depth of feeling—of emotions. Could he be the ‘tragic romantic’?

Hermione sighed. There was no use being angry with him. No doubt he was angry enough with himself. She needed him to release the bind. And the only way to do that was to help him remember.

Sliding down from her knees to her backside, she wriggled back against the headboard, mirroring his pose.

“What have you tried?” she asked quietly.

“Everything I can think of,” he rumbled. “When you were asleep, I spent hours going through every word, every phrase, every thought I had.”

The silence weighed upon them.

“Why did you write it?”

It was Severus’ turn to sigh. He rubbed his fingers against his bare knee.

“It was a balance.”

Hermione waited for the explanation.

“I was immersed. In subterfuge. In torture and death. How else can one survive? It was my way of processing the pain. Of acknowledging the hope and . . . beauty . . . that still existed. Somewhere. Somewhere beyond all that.”

Hermione’s chest tightened. The book had been his therapy. But he’d suffered too much. And, no doubt, his failure to remember was linked to that trauma.

She reached out and grasped the hand sitting idly on his knee, rubbing the back of it gently with her thumb. His shoulders visibly relaxed and he turned to her. Not speaking. Just his dark gaze sliding over her. That penetrating stare, disarticulating every part of her being.

Her emotions were a jumbled mess at that moment. She wanted to take away the deep-set pain in his eyes, but at the same time she desperately wanted to get away. She needed her own time, her own space, to process this—to process everything.

He obviously wanted her to take away his pain too, as his hand moved from his knee to hers and his fingers began a slow, sensual descent down her inner thigh.

She felt her body responding immediately—that part of her was clearly more than up for a sympathy fuck but she couldn’t let it happen. He needed to focus. They both did.

“No.” She trapped his fingers against her thigh like a thwarted spider. “Nothing more happens until this bind is removed.”

His face dropped and his brow furrowed like a deprived child. He seemed more concerned by that prospect than anything else that had happened so far. Then he started mumbling. She almost laughed out loud. He was desperately trying to guess the release phrase. Most of it sounded like gibberish. He was, clearly, scraping the bottom of the barrel.

Admittedly, banning all sex until they were finally separated was as much a punishment for her as it was for him. Her pussy was already uncomfortably swollen, like some comedy cunt that instantly inflated upon his touch.

She’d also been fantasising about him—the way he’d lifted her, bodily, to his mouth to sample her breast. But now she was keen to see if he could perform a similar manoeuvre with her pussy. Perhaps a clean and jerk onto his shoulders? Or maybe ‘the snatch’ would be more appropriate.

“Is this amusing?”

“Not at all.” She had to look away from him.

Okay think Hermione. She reluctantly pushed away the image of him pinning her against the wall on his shoulders with his face buried in her pussy.

She hadn’t come across anything in her reading so far that was of any use. He’d spent three days trying to remember and he couldn’t. She could join him in making up words but the chances of happening upon the correct phrase by accident were virtually zero.

She bit her bottom lip. But what if?

Glancing over at him, she saw that he’d given up muttering and was simply staring into space.

“Legilimency?”

He took a moment before responding with a curt shake of his head. “I tried.”

“No, not you. Me. I’ll perform the legilimency. I’ll search through your memory and try to find it.”

“And since when were you trained as a legilimens?” It wasn’t quite caustic Snape but the contempt was still there.

“I taught myself in my final years at college,” she replied, trying not to sound too haughty. “I thought it’d be a useful skill as a teacher—to understand why students were having problems with certain topics.”

He stared at her. Looking conflicted. She stared back. It was a good idea. She didn’t understand why he was balking.

Finally, he pinched the bridge of his nose again, speaking into his clenched palm. “You will see some things that you might find . . . troubling.”

She nodded. Of course. He’d been a Death-Eater and Spy. She didn’t know how much he’d been involved in the torture and killing but, no doubt, he would have had to participate to have remained in Voldemort’s inner sanctum.

“I understand,” she looked at him solemnly.

He had that pained expression on his face again. “Actually, I don’t think you do,” he sighed. “I was twenty-eight when I put the bind on. Just . . . go back a long way and . . . try to ignore everything else you see till then.”

What did he think she was going to do? Sit in there for hours, trawling through every mundane memory and snarky thought from this moment back. As riveting as complicated formulae and potions ingredients were, she had more important things to do.

“Fine,” she nodded. He still looked uncomfortable but there were no other options on the table. “Tell me when you’re ready.”

He closed his eyes for a brief moment before opening them to look at her. “Proceed,” he huffed.

It was the least enthusiastic invitation she’d ever received but she had to take it.

Returning his gaze, she cast the Legilimens incantation and immediately found herself gliding through what looked like a tunnel with moving images on the walls. It took a little while for her to work out how to control the speed of her progress and, to begin with, the images were simply a series of flashing blurs. Gradually, she managed to slow down and the images crystallised, coming into sharper focus.

What the fuck?! The image before her was of her lying on her back, legs spread with his cock furiously pumping into her pussy. She’d never done that! How in Merlin’s name . . . then she realised that it wasn’t a memory, it was a thought, a fantasy. Oh, he’d been thinking about her—about fucking her. She guessed that wasn’t such a surprise after the events of the past couple of days.

She continued on to the next animated image. Her again. This time with his cock down her throat—her looking far more happy and comfortable than she would in real life. Lucky he had the fantasy world for that one. Then another. At least she thought it was her, the hair looked the same but he was doing her from behind. Was he fucking her in the arse? She pursed her lips. There seemed to be a pattern developing.

Speeding up, she continued along the tunnel as if she were running down a Hogwart’s corridor lined with animated photographs. And practically every one included her. It was like a moving pornographic shrine—his come spurting over her face; her tits covered with come; come trickling from her pussy; come dribbling down her chin. Oh, here was a nice change of pace. Come oozing out of her pussy and arse at the same time. Was there someone else involved or had he fantasized himself two dicks?

Most of his fantasies were pretty come- and cock-centric. It seemed he hadn’t moved far beyond the male gaze. Although, she did seem to be talking in some of them. Well, if saying ‘fuck me’ or ‘fuck me hard’ or some such equivalent was considered talking—it was hardly inspiring conversation.

Interspersed amongst the fantasy images were real memories. Images seen through his eyes. Watching her sleep. Watching her eat. Watching her in the bathroom when he was pretending not to look. The man of mystery was becoming less and less mysterious by the second. In fact, she’d probably sum up the past few minutes with the phrase ‘too much information!’ Her head was starting to hurt.

Moving faster, she delved into older memories and was shocked to find that she was still there. These were from before she’d even arrived back and Hogwarts! She travelled back further and further. Years. And she kept popping up. But they weren’t memories. Any of them. He’d been thinking about her since she’d left. A lot.

And then she came to her final year as a student at Hogwarts. She was everywhere on the tunnel walls. He must have been watching her all the time. From the head table, out on the school grounds, in potions class, watching her laughing with Ginny, crying on Harry’s shoulder, looking down her cleavage as she picked up her books. How old was she there? Barely fucking legal!

She pulled out of his mind, breathing heavily.

“Don’t.” He raised a hand before she could speak.

“But . . . “

“I know. Don’t say it.” He looked mortified.

She blinked furiously, her voice tight. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Mister.”

He nodded, resignedly.

No wonder he hadn’t wanted her in there. She stared at him a moment longer before taking a deep, steadying breath and delving back in. She accelerated past weeks, months, years until she reached the memories from before her time at Hogwarts. Many of the faces that flashed before her were strangers, although others she knew well, like the younger versions of Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. There was a bit of sex but not much. Mainly women in seedy premises. Probably whores. Everything seemed darker, greyer. She sighed. Her head still ached. This was all getting depressing.

He watched her face intently. He wouldn’t blame her for hating him after this. The mind was, of course, the ultimate non-consensual facilitator. But he had, naturally, always expected that what occurred in the privacy of his own mind would have actually remained private—for his consumption only. Now she’d seen it all. And it clearly troubled her.

Her face was pale and her brow deeply furrowed as her eyes flickered side to side. She was breathing quickly, almost panting. Suddenly her face contorted in a rictus of pain. Where was she? What had she found?

As he watched, her eyes turned glassy, like an amber sunset into shallow pools, then the tears began to fall. He had to get her out of there.

Before he could do anything, she pulled back and fell sideways, covering her mouth with her hand, sobbing.

“Did you find anything? Did you find the release?” He leant toward her, speaking urgently.

She didn’t answer, weeping into her palm.

He tugged at her arm. “Hermione!”

She finally looked up at him.

And nodded.
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The Book that Binds *COMPLETE*

The Book that Binds COMPLETE