Animal Magnetism
Disclaimer: I, sadly, own nothing of the Harry Potter 'Verse. I just like to play with them time to time. Especially Severus.
Chapter 2
It was night; and though he did have excellent vision in the darkness, even he was nearly blinded. He cursed the luck that'd had him appointed as one of that nights' scouts, sent to search the castle grounds. True, there had been trouble before, but honestly, as if any of the Scourges' army would dare go near Hogwarts now- they knew better after any who tried turned up dead. The "Chosen One" was on a rampage; hungry for the blood of his enemies… those who had dared hunt those under his protection and harm the innocents of his realm.
The dark-haired wizard scoffed aloud at the mere imagery. True, he wouldn't try to go up against the boy himself, as solitary and harsh as his existence was, he cherished it- but he laughed at the quivering cowards he served with. Lost in his own musings, the usually observant double agent almost missed the odd thumping noises and rustling in the bush- much less the only vaguely personable outline across the water. But thankfully the snap of a twig under foot had already snapped him out of it, just long enough to notice. There was something out there alright. Only the usual miscreant creatures [like the centaurs and lesser animals] in the forests, but definitely something human-like on the island.
What they were up to he didn't know- but though he'd seen a flicker of movement when he first looked up, there was nothing now. And that squid was still on the loose. It didn't look good. Yet he instinctively believed that the target was not dead… it just half-skidded into the water. So after hesitantly making his way to the shore, knowing he was likely being a complete idiot yet somehow unable to help himself [the old man's cursed influence, he was sure] he made a dive. And he came up triumphant… an obviously female heavy-laden sweater. Dragging it along with him, he swam hurriedly towards shore, never knowing when something might be on his tail.
So he misdirected his strokes, weaving side to side to try and dissuade the creature, then as came to his feet, he waded through the muck to run the rest of the way in. His sodden cotton shirt was plastered to his chest; his wool pants felt even worse. But he forgot his discomfort and made his way to the shore. Up ahead, he could see a shadow rising from the water. The squid, bursting out of the blackness of the night and the water. Shit. In the spit of san between large tree roots and shore, he raced to beat the creature before it could do further damage. Throwing himself at it with a burst of speed, intending to bring the long tentacle down away from the broken girl and secure it so he could recover his wand.
The catapulted weight of his body thankfully forced it down and he pulled a quick trick with one of the tree roots to ground it easily enough. Soaked with water and sand, he found his balance and rolled to grab the fallen wand, casting a sleeping spell. Merlin only knows why Dumbledore and Hagrid were strangely protective of this thing, but they were- and would be upset if he killed it. Breathing coming a little faster than it had before, he made his way back to the young witch. The moon's light was abundant as it broke away from the clouds and he distanced them from the dreaded Lake. Even with soaked hair tangled in seaweed and lashed about her face, she seemed exotically beautiful.
Neither night nor water could completely dim the shimmering gold of her hair, and the moonlight only helped illuminate the unique color of her eyes, a hazel so fused that the color was not green at all, not brown, but nearly as gold as her hair. Her lashes and brows darkened to honey. Her face was delicately, artistically formed with a small, straight nose, elegantly high cheekbones, a stubbornly square chin, and a beautifully shaped, generous mouth. She was startlingly pale, probably from all the loss of blood [he deduced from the many cuts and scrapes], the lips held in a thin, grim line a mixture of white from pain and tension, then blue from the cold. He drew back as the face suddenly registered. It was Hermione Granger, best friend of one Harry Potter.
Consciousness was a pinprick of light that expanded around her, painstakingly slow. Disorientation was immediate. Hermione quickly wished for the nothingness back when comprehension hit. She was falling. Deeper and deeper into the Unknown. And something out of this strange ether told her she didn't want to reach the bottom. Something was waiting for her. Something dark. Wicked. Evil, perhaps. But why was she falling? Did her bold rescuer drop her? Why would he do such a thing after braving the treacherous waters of Black Lake for her? Was there another attack? Did they hit a snag? Her brow would've wrinkled if she were corporeal.
Questions swamped her, more when suddenly her free fall through darkness became what felt like a drop into a gelatinous substance, like breaking through the surface of the lake just to sink through the cool mud to whatever lie beneath. Only she knew somehow she wasn't in the lake anymore. The black clouds that had engulfed her had, for one shining moment, parted as she was pulled from the murky depths- enough to be imprinted with the feel of a hundred ton weight on her chest.
Sodden and struggling for breath with dots dancing before her eyes, she peered through them to see an avenging angel strangely resembling the dour potions master. Who she knew would strangle whatever life remained from her chilled corpse before thinking to save her. What odd dimension had she crossed into where the 'angels' looked like Snape? But as oblivion claimed her once more, Hermione decided she didn't want to know. It would be too terrifying. Confusing. Despite the whispers of safety and comfort that touched her. Snape in a rescuer's role? Her water-logged brain must've been thrown so roughly into shock that she'd entered an imaginary state where reality blended with warped fantasy, and hallucinations cushioned her with a false impression of familiarity and pleasantness.
Yes, that was it. Already tired from the strain of having to think after such trauma, she allowed herself to be placated by the sweet thought of delusions. So tired she was that regardless of the horror she knew lie ahead, she was tempted to relax fully into the buffet of air that cradled her. 'No, it's a lie! The comfort is a lie! A false sense of security to lull you into complacency so that unnamed thing could overtake you!' But she felt so heavy… Just the energy to remain alert, body tensed in anticipation of disaster, was a little too much. 'No! Fight!' Her fear became a living, breathing thing that threw her into a full blown panic, and it startled her enough her whole body jerked spasmodically.
Flailing, she realized she was only falling faster now, from viscosity to fluidity in seconds, which made her tense up even more… and compounded the pain felt in smashing into the rocky ground. The complete white-out associated with blinding pain engulfed her, nerve-endings screaming as if being shredded into microscopic pieces. She didn't move for fear of making it worse, desperately clutching a boulder to her right as if it could save her from drowning in this sea of agony. A small eternity lapsed before it eased enough that her eyes re-focused and could see again, another before she could drag herself to her feet without howling.
When she did, some of the fear transferred into confusion at the dry, barren landscape that looked like a desert. A temperature that had to be in the 90's, the parched, cracked earth, lava trickling from the ground… Dread clutched her heart like an iron glove. Was she dead? Was this hell? "Close enough," a rough, manic sounding voice rasped from the other side of one of those fiery rivers. "But I can help you…." A wavering image appeared to her in the waves of heat that cloaked the place, looking much like herself only taller, leaner, hungrier… The thing the voice had warned her of?
"All you have to do is come just a little further…" the sing-song tone was sickeningly [deceptively?] sweet and suddenly felt like nails on a chalkboard to her. Worse was not knowing why this vision frightened her. But it crooked its finger at her in a 'come here' motion. "This place would devour you, left all alone. You can't make it through alive. But I can." Hand held out with a toothy smile, it [she didn't know how else to address this twisted double] stretched towards her as if attempting to pull her across the stream of molten rock. The expanse of red desert lay behind it, wavering. Was this her only way out? She looked at the image and then at the barren landscape around her. Did she really want to stay here in what appeared to be Hell and try to find her own way out?
Hesitantly she stepped forward- only the hand outstretched unexpectedly grew claws. Trepidation had her heart beating so fast and hard she was sure it was going to burst from her chest, the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. "Aw, don't let this little ol' thing scare you. Come on, come to me. It won't seem so bad after a while. You want out, right?" The monstrous being continued to smile, wiggling its fingers in invitation. Fangs glinted in the light, but it was gone so quickly she wasn't sure if she'd imagined it. Not wanting to take chances, she stumbled back, wide-eyed… and tripped, falling into a huge wall of boulders. Trapped. Literally between a rock and a hard place. Or rather, a rock and demonic-looking doppelganger. Oh sweet Merlin.
Her friends and guardians looked on helplessly, incapable of helping any further than washing the blood from her and trying to get in some potions by transfusion. Hence they left, unable to watch her suffer without breaking down again themselves. And so her shadow came in. He wasn't afraid of the others seeing him, the thought of him being afraid of such a simple little thing was laughable, but then, so was the fact he was there. Where he probably wouldn't be welcome, by either them or by the comatose young woman on the bed. Yet he didn't allow himself to be held back by that fact, which confused him. So he mentally shrugged it off and took it a step further by sitting down next to the bed.
He'd watched her grow over the years-from a somewhat insolent [annoying] yet joyful child to an increasingly bold [and still annoying] teen whose endless curiosity was both frustrating and fascinating. Her intelligence… 'Grades,' he corrected himself, were incomparable to her insipid classmates- just tempered by what seemed to be an inability to think for herself. Thus, quoting the textbooks word for word. It seemed clear to him, and he mocked her for it, but more than that he couldn't help but want [deep down] her to push past that. Become better. Stronger. The quiet man backpedaled in his head. He hated to see potential wasted. Fiercely hated. Hated to see people take advantage of the gifts they'd been given, or blindly follow what was considered 'normal' or 'good' and reject all else.
But even more hated those who blindly took what was handed to them without question. It was foolish and got people killed. Not mention created a hot bed of unimaginative thought and laziness. He hadn't wanted to see that happen to her, as insufferable as she could be. He told himself it was his teachers' instincts prompting such treatment. Yet… He shook his head. No, nothing else. How could he compare a silly, troublesome Gryffindor to himself as a youth? Impossible. He was harder on her simply because even the very thought of her offended him. So why was he here? It was like some part of him felt responsible for he just because he'd pulled her out of that lake. A scornfully Gryffindor-ish thing to do, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.
There would be no waste, surely. She was too hard-headed to die. Right? How he hated the doubt that crept in as he reached to release the straps the cut into her tender wrists and give her a calming draught in attempts to ease her. Yes, she would make it. She had to. People needed her. Her friends needed her. Despite the fact she'd sorely been used. 'Yet, as they came into their own through these hard times, would her purpose remain?' he wondered. She'd always seemed to pride herself on the fact her brilliance saved them from disaster time and again, as much as it taxed her. Though the answer was clear. She simply had to find a new one. Re-direct her energies. In her slumberous state her body jerked and she whimpered. Inexplicably he took her hand, whispering to her. "Don't worry, I am here."
A/N" Don't forget to review!
Next Chapter: The air was smokier here. Hotter. So hot, in fact, that the sheen of sweat spread up her arms, her neck, even her face. Beads formed, and those beads began trickling down her temples, blurring her vision. "Sir," she whimpered, nearing panic again. "Severus," he murmured smoothly. "I'm here."