Beneath

Hermione rubbed her face, leaving her hands over her eyes, blocking out the bright light. “Whew, that was some dream,“ she thought as she stumbled out of bed. Realizing she was in her room in Gryffindor tower, she glanced at her clock. Damn! It was after ten in the morning! She had already missed a few classes, and would no doubt be late for the next one. Hurriedly, she dressed and thrust open her door. Running down the hallway, she tied her hair into a knot on top of her head, mumbled a bathing spell, and tucked the books in her arms into her bag.

As she reached the entrance to her house common room, she stuttered to a halt. She was back in the dungeons with Professor Snape. Alone.

“Late as always, Miss Granger? How very kind of you to bother.”

Hermione stood cemented to the floor. Shock flirted with disbelief. How did she get here, again? What was happening to her?

“Well Miss Granger, I don’t have all night…get over here,” Professor Snape growled.

“And it just gets weirder,” she thought, “Did I fall down the stairs and faint? Have I been passed out for twelve hours? How did I get from the dormitory hallway to the dungeons?” Urging herself forward, she walked with trepidation toward his desk, which was strangely cleared, except for his potions preparation knife, and a small cauldron at the corner, just beyond the professor‘s leaning form.

“Hermione…” he said, smiling with a glint of something mischievous in his eyes, “Hurry. I’ve been waiting for you all day.”

She didn’t think that Professor Snape had ever used that tone with her. And that look…when his face wasn’t contorted in anger, he looked different…softer. She moved more quickly, reassured, and stopped two feet from him.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his hand wavering as he reached for her.

He was asking her permission for something, Hermione gathered, distracted by the way his hair gleamed in the torch light. She decided that his hair should only be seen by flickering torches. Even though he was a hard man to please, as his potions performance expectations were impossibly high, she did not believe that he would ever knowingly harm a student, especially if he kept looking at her that way. She nodded once.

“Very well, let’s begin.”

Grabbing her aggressively, Snape pulled her across his body, past him slightly, and shoved her against his desk. She shivered as he moved his hand over her backside, pressing her forward, pressing her hips into the desk. She became lightheaded, as he stood against her from behind. “Did I agreed to this?” she wondered, as his strong, long fingers roamed over her. He touched her hair, her neck, her breasts.

“Ohh…mmmm,” she exhaled.

“You have been a very bad girl, Miss Granger,” he said against the back of her neck, as he toyed with her breasts, pinching and pulling her nipples through the layers of clothing. He began grinding his stiff erection into her, moving his hips in lazy circles.

“You’ve purposefully and rather painfully teased me for weeks, haven‘t you, Hermione?” he drawled, as he pushed her down over the top of his desk. Snape wrapped his hands around her slim arms near the shoulder, and slid them down to her wrists. Running his fingers over her hands, he forced them to grasp the back of his desk. Hermione bucked a little, testing his resolve.

Remaining where he was, with his body draped over hers, he continued next to her ear, “Yes, you’ve been toying with me, bending to pick up the wand that you ‘accidentally’ dropped, leaning into me when I checked your potions, whispering questions into my ear…”

She wondered if she really did do those things. She didn’t, couldn’t remember, couldn’t think now when he was touching her that way.

“And now, you will be punished,” he stated roughly. “Yes! Yes!“ she thought, “punish me...do whatever you will with me.” He raised his head and chest, and wedged a foot between her feet, spreading her legs apart. Hermione shook as her thoughts rioted. Then, suddenly, he stepped back. She protested softly at the lost contact.

Lifting the hem of her skirt, he laid his cool, calloused hands on her the backs of her thighs, raising goosebumps all over her. He moved her skirt up slowly, his hands drifting over her legs to bare her rose silk string bikinis. He dropped her skirt on to her back, then kicked her legs apart further. Recklessly, he cupped and massaged her through her panties, rubbing his palm over her as he did, so she could feel the slickness of her own fluid. Suddenly, he dropped his pants and kicked them away.

Breathlessly, she glanced over her shoulder. Snape had paused. His face, his eyes lo as as if he were starved for her. He paused for the briefest moment, then he brought his beautiful hand against her in a loud slap.

Hermione jumped, then relaxed as his hand soothed the place it had just disciplined.

“You’ve always been trouble, girl, but now I know how to deal with you,” he sneered. He picked up his knife from the desk and cut through her panties’ strings quickly, then punished her behind again.

The contrast of the hard slap with the caresses was driving Hermione mad for him. She shifted uncomfortably. She had to push him a little further… maybe he would…

Getting into the spirit of the game, she laughed saucily, “You’ll pay for that. I’ll never stop tormenting you, Professor, after all…i t’s the highlight of my day. I’ll spend every waking moment deriving wicked ways of making you come… undone.”

“Oh?” Snape started, grinning over her, “really… is that what you think?” He dipped two fingers into the tiny cauldron and smeared the hot mixture all over her nest of velvety curls. Then, he slipped his fingers into her, claiming what was his. Her muscles clamped down hard. He gently coated her on the inside with his potion, then withdrew.

“Mmh,” she grunted, not sure if it was an objection to his abrupt bravado or the removal of his fingers. Clutching her right arm, he yanked her hand away from the back of his desk. He covered her hand with his and coaxed her hand between her legs. He directed her hand as it moved rhythmically over her nub.

“Oooh… yehh... yehhssss…” she cried, her hips pulsing as the warm potion sent tingles rocketing through her body. “What…what isss thahhaat?”

“Well, there’s more than one punishment option available. Isn’t there? If you insist on continuing your flagrantly disrespectful, inflammatory behavior, then I‘ll be forced to play dirty.”

Whirling around, as if to leave her to her own devices, he took a step toward the door. Before he lifted his foot to take another step, Hermione stood. Her hand snaked out and seized his. Pulling him close behind her again, she rubbed up and down his body.

Smiling up at him, she said, “I’ll think you’ll find I’m open to… negotiations, if properly motivated.”

“Very well,” Severus sighed theatrically, “I’ll surrender… if, and only if, you do.”

“Provided I get the directions for preparing that lubricant… Done.”

Sliding himself slowly inside her, a little at a time, Severus moaned. He drew her back against him tightly, kissing her neck. He ran his hands over her arms, her breasts, then settled between her legs. He rained soft, teasing touches over the tops of her inner thighs, her outer petals, then his fingers slid between her folds and settled on her tiny swell.

“Gods, Hermione, you feel so good.”

Hermione was incapable of speech as stifled little gasps forced their way out. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath as he pounded into her faster and faster. She closed her eyes, tears slipping down her cheeks, at the beauty of it, the desperate aching need driving her toward absolute bliss. Knowing she was about to fall over the edge, she tightened the muscles in her core. As Severus withdrew, she rippled her inner muscles, fluttering, clenching them over him. When he entered her, she opened to him in welcome, drawing him closer.

Sudden pleasure ripped through them both, until they collapsed on top of the desk. Severus lifted himself up, turned her to face him and pulled her close, nestling her against his chest. He intertwined her hand with his, and brought it to his lips.

“I love you, ’Mione. I need you. Never go away.”

**************

Harry was terribly worried about Hermione. She had been unconscious for almost two weeks. Harry refused to hear or allow himself to think the word everyone was saying in the infirmary, the word that was swirling through the school - coma. “It isn’t a coma. It isn’t!” he thought, shoring up his resolve. Coma patients were quiet and completely still, and she was often murmuring and moaning, tossing about, as if somehow she was caught in a nightmare. In fact, Harry thought to himself with a little smirk, she had keep him awake most of last night.

He and Ron had agreed to take turns keeping vigil by her bed, sleeping as they could in the bed on her right, taking only the classes that they must. Luckily, potions had been cancelled for two weeks, as a result of Professor Snape’s participation in Hermione’s treatment. Harry sighed. As of ten o\'clock last night, today was Harry’s day. However, he expected Ron would be here at lunch, as neither of them felt much like being away from Hermione, even to eat, while she was so ill.

He flexed his back, and stretched, easing the tension that had coiled in his shoulders overnight. He leaned closer to Hermione, scooting to the edge of his chair and capturing her hands between his. He smiled as he watched over her. She looked so sweet, so fragile in one of the frilly little white cotton nightgowns her mum always sent. They looked a bit like knit t-shirts to him, long sleeved t-shirts, with lace at the collar and cuff, diaphanous from wear. She probably could tuck one in to her jeans and wear it on weekends, but admittedly, one could fit all of Harry’s fashion knowledge in a thimble. She would be comforted by the familiar gown when she woke. Perhaps she was comforted now. Harry sincerely hoped so. He glanced up at her face. Her skin had a sallow cast, and she was absolutely still, except for her eyes moving under her lids.

Hermione’s fever had come and gone, but for some unknown reason, she had yet to awaken. Madam Pomfrey had tried everything in her formidable arsenal of treatments, but so far, Hermione had remained unresponsive. Madam Pomfrey insisted that the task was quite beyond her, and that Hermione would receive better care at St. Mungo’s, but for once Harry had agreed with Professor Snape. Hermione needed to be here. Harry, remembering Neville’s parents fearfully, was afraid that if she went to St. Mungo’s, she would fade away. At least at Hogwart’s her friends could easily visit her.

Harry had gone to Professor Dumbledore and begged that Hermione not be sent there. Dumbledore had agreed, providing that Harry could secure approval from Hermione’s parents, and that he would assist Madam Pomfrey in keeping Hermione’s parents updated as to her progress.

But now, six days later, Harry had to admit that they were running out of options, and that her move to St. Mungo’s may be inevitable. Professor Snape had seemed extremely concerned about Hermione, to the extent that Harry wondered if Snape, in his exhaustion from being sick himself and working through the night several days in a row, had forgotten that Hermione wasn’t a Slytherin.

Harry lifted Hermione’s hand in one of his, allowing the other to stray up her arm to reassure her and himself that he would not give up either. As Harry’s hand reached the inside of her elbow, he felt tiny raised circles and bumps. Moving her sleeve out of his way, Harry gasped and swore.

“Mmmad..Madam Pomfrey, Professor Snape, come here… hurry…” Harry called, leaning over Hermione toward the medical potions room.

A very disheveled Severus Snape emerged first, followed quickly by Madam Pomfrey. Severus moved closer to Hermione’s head, and shoved the table covered with flowers from well-wishers aside.

“For Merlinssakes! What is that?” Madame Pomfrey exclaimed.

“I don’t…” Severus began slowly, as if mesmerized in horror. He swayed on his feet. His beloved, his sweetest…had…had been viciously stabbed in the arm several times by something small. “How could someone do this?“ he thought. “Why?“ Shock, then rage, slowly at first, bubbled up from deep within his heart. Hot, acidic rivers of hate flowed from him, ran through him, and slammed against the back of his throat. He gagged slightly on the bile, as his exhaustion battled against the rising emotion. With a will of its own his jaw clenched. His hands fisted tightly for several seconds, then relaxed.

“I’ve seen this before, in the muggle world, on television, ” Harry stated quickly. “She’s been repeatedly injected with something. By the bruising and tearing, it looks as if it’s been done by an amateur. Someone who‘s used to giving injections, like a doctor or nurse would… well, it wouldn’t look like this.”

Shaking his head, Harry continued sadly, under his breath, “She looks like a goddamned addict.”

Somewhat surprised that Madam Pomfrey had not admonished him for his language, Harry raised his head.

“We have to get her to a hospital, a muggle one, where she can have blood tests run by a proper toxicology department…”

A hand firmly grasped Harry’s shoulder, and Professor Sprout’s voice lifted from behind him, “there’s no need for that, Mr. Potter. I know exactly what‘s been administered. It‘s on the table next to Professor Snape.”

All three turned to see Professor Sprout just behind Harry. Surprise washed over each of them. So deeply immersed in shock, they had not heard her entMoviMoving around Hermione, she wedged between Severus and the table.

“Just came ’round to check on Miss Granger’s progress, and saw…do you see these flowers here? They are cuttings from the Galphimia gracillis Malpighiaceae, a tree indigenous to the Amazon. At the base of the leaves, there is a gland from which a very addictive narcotic and highly hallucinogenic substance can be harvested, called ayahuasca. It isn’t typically fatal; however, in large quantities, there have been resulting deaths. The muggle natives have used this substance in drinks, for religious practices, to induce a telepathic, hallucinogenic trance for centuries. It was also used, until recent history, to ensure the fidelity of their women.”

“So what you are saying, Professorout,out, is that someone wants to either kill Miss Granger slowly, or cause her to have severe telepathically-based hallucinations,” Severus sneered.

“Yes. I can’t believe I never noticed these flowers before. They’re very rare in this climate; and in this tropical arrangement they look very much like…” For a second she faltered, then seemed to stiffen before continuing, “In any case, I’m certain. And as to the reason behind the attack, I am afraid so, it must be one of those two motives, unless… perhaps someone wants to control her, by means of an addiction,” sighed Professor Sprout, casting her eyes to the floor.

“Are you absolutely, irrevocably certain that this is the source of the poison?” Severus demanded.

“Yes,” she began, lifting a leaf, and pointing to a stem, “can you see this… just here? It’s clear that several of the glands have been pierced and drained. There is no other explanation.”

Madam Pomfrey dropped dejectedly on to one of the adjacent stools, and sighed sadly. “But why? Miss Granger is such a lovely girl. Who would do such a thing?”

“I have no idea, Madam Pomfrey, but I intend to find out. Do you remember when the flowers arrived, can you tell me if they came by owl or apperated?” Severus demanded.

Madame Pomfrey regarded them carefully, “As I recall, they came via the floo network, on the first day of Miss Granger’s bed rest, before her fever broke. There was no announcement as to the sender except, ‘for Miss Granger from the Ministry of Magic’ - but not the department - and no parchment arrived attached.”

“Thank you. I will inform Albus and Minerva of all that we have ascertained at once,” Severus said, shrugging into his robes, and hastening toward the door. “Please administer a diluted purging potion over all of the wounds, Madam Pomfrey, we don‘t want to bring her out too quickly as it might cause severe pain… and I’ll see… I’ll see what I can formulate to deal with the addiction. In the meantime, Mr. Potter, return to class. I‘m sure Mr. Weasley will be anxious to hear of this development.”

Severus’ heart pounded as he strode purposefully down the hall. He was elated. He was drunk. Finally, they had an answer. It was a horrible answer, but there was something he could do. He could stop feeling so damned helpless. And his love would not leave him, at least, not yet, not until she woke… Shaking himself, lightheaded, he rolled Madam Pomfrey‘s question around in his mind, “who would do such a thing?” He knew that Hermione was not one of the best loved students in the school by her peers, but nor was she openly disliked. Someone must be trying to control her, he thought as his body struck another moving object…

“Malfoy! What are you doing out of class, “ he hissed.

“I’m between classes, sir, and I wanted to check on Granger. Bulestrode is supposed to be meeting me in the hospital wing,” Draco replied, picking himself up off of the floor.

“Miss Granger is doing much better…”

“No doubt, as a result of your diligent care, Professor,” Draco interrupted sarcastically.

Underneath his frustration, Draco was relieved, but refused to give his greasy professor any sign of it. He would stick firmly to the plan. One way or another, Hermione Granger would agree to be his wife. It would not do to invite interference from Snape.

“Watch your tone, boy. You‘re not my favorite student these days, despite your status as a Slytherin,” Severus threatened, taking a step closer.

“I told you last week, Professor, I never mentioned my suspicions to Granger, and you assured me that she is of little interest to you, personally. I have no idea why she decided to take a stroll around the lake in the middle of the night. Too much coffee from Three Broomsticks? Who knows?”

Severus turned aside and started back on his path, “Very well. We’ll discuss your attitude later, Malfoy. I’m in a hurry. Miss Granger’s illness has been diagnosed, and I must meet with the Headmaster and Professor McGonagall to discuss possible treatments.”

Draco continued down the hall, muttering under his breath. Reaching into his robes, he fingered the vial of crimson liquid in his pocket. “Or perhaps, Professor, we’ll have a discussion about your attitude.”


*********************************

Severus was completely drained. He lifted his head from his supporting hand and skimmed his notes once more. Shifting on his stool, he yawned. It was no use. If he had weeks, rather than a few hours, before Hermione would need something to overcome her cravings for the ayahuasca… She needed him now, and he had failed her, time and again, on so many levels, but this failure cut the most deeply. He couldn’t even manage to use his gifts to assist her. He could ease her symptoms, but without more time… He cursed himself softly and stood up.

He would sleep now. He had to be prepared for her awakening. Walking past the other beds, set in tidy lines along the sickroom, his eyes reached for and fastened on her face.

She was incredibly lovely, even in sickness. Even while Hermione slept, Severus’ desire for her beat him, scalded him from the inside. Lying back in the bed next to hers, he shook uncontrollably, fighting the urge to crawl in next to her, to absorb some part of her to sustain him. He chuckled bitterly under his breath, he was the true addict, not Hermione. If only his addiction could be so easily overcome. He needed the touch of her skin under his hands so desperately, over the past few weeks he found himself inventing excuses, excuses offered to himself and others, to put his hands on her. His erection was agonizing, mocking his awareness of her proximity. He cursed himself again, this time for his wayward thoughts, and rolled away from her, determined to sleep.

************************************

Hermione came to him freely, and embraced him.

“Where have you been?” she purred against his chest, pushing at him, trying to get closer, “I’ve missed you so much.”

Lucidity washed over him. Ah yes, he was dreaming again. Joy mixed with the sweet sting of lust passed through him.

He pulled her close. “I’m truly sorry, love, but I’m back now,” he whispered into her hair.