A/N: Hey guys! This chapter and the next were supposed to go up over Christmas, kind of as a Christmas treat, but my lovely Internet providers - being the stand-up company that they are - let the Internet service drop for four days in my area. Kudos to them, they are now number one on my 'People I Want To Drop-Kick Into A Gorge' list.
Thank you so much to everyone who's been reviewing and story-alerting and story-favourite-ing, it's so nice to see that you like my work! Though I do prefer reviews to alerts and favourites, if only for the more personalized feel. No pressure, it's just my opinion :D
Hope you all had a wonderful Christmas, and I wish you an extraordinarily awesome new year!
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was two days until Christmas before he allowed himself to think of her again.
Though of course it wasn't by his choice; if he'd had his way – which he was finding never happened – the girl would have been gone for the holidays, back to her parents' house where she would be far enough away that he could forget her. Or at the very least, stop dreaming about her. But on that bleak morning in the Headmistress' office, Snape heard some news that terrified him.
And he was furious that it had any effect at all.
"There is concern over Miss Granger's health," Minerva began, her hands clasped in front of her. She spoke to the small room of teachers, all of whom taught the young woman in question. "This morning she had another panic attack, far worse than any other. Geraldine tells me Granger was screaming bloody murder, and would not stop thrashing until she was… rendered unconscious."
At this, Snape closed his eyes unwillingly, overcome with a sudden urge to run and find the girl, if only to see for himself if it were true. And underneath this feeling of morbid curiosity was a deep, pulsing concern that laced his entire being in that moment before he realised what he was doing. He opened his eyes to Minerva, and cleared his mind as best he could. Granger was a student as any other. No matter what she was in his dreams, she wasn't someone to be bothered with during his days. He had to exercise more control.
Snape glanced up at the portrait of Dumbledore, even though the frame was empty of the former Headmaster. Portraits liked to move about, and for some reason, he was glad that Dumbledore wasn't here to witness this discussion. The man had spent much of his last years desperately trying to protect Potter and his friends. Even a shadow of the real Dumbledore would have something to say on this matter, and no doubt he would use his favourite pet, Snape, to do his wishes. The constant errands and missions weren't something the potions master missed. To be constantly wrapped up in the troubles and follies of others… it had been exhausting work. But then, at least he had had little time to think of his own troubles, when he'd been busy. The irony was almost tangible.
"Poppy believes that Granger may not be able to stay at Hogwarts much longer," the Headmistress went on sombrely. "It may be time to move her to St Mungo's, where she can be more carefully watched and receive the care she needs."
Unbidden, his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. No, not that place. She would never survive.
Snape clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. Stop thinking about her. She is no concern of yours. She is a meddlesome, boring, idiotic girl with far too much hair. Stop thinking about her.
"Oh," Professor Sinistra sighed, her brows furrowed sadly. "Minerva, has it really come to that? Is there nothing we can do for her?"
At this, Pomfrey spoke up, her voice almost unrecognisable to Snape since it wasn't asking for a favour. "The Dreamless Potion helps her to rest, but there is nothing we can do for her whilst she is awake. We've all seen her walking the halls. It's as though she has been kissed by a dementor. She is not the Hermione Granger we remember. Not by a long shot."
Kissed by a dementor. Surely the girl wasn't that far gone. Whenever she spoke to him she revealed there was still much soul in her, and plenty of fight. There was also an impressive display of how obnoxious and self-righteous she could be, and how very highly she thought of herself. No, Minerva had to be wrong. The girl had issues, of course, he had seen as much… but to be admitted to St Mungo's?
To his surprise, he heard no protests from any of his co-workers. To the contrary, they all seemed to be sadly resigned into agreeing with Pomfrey. Snape looked at them all with a blank expression, wishing that he could use his Occlumency on them to see their memories of the girl, to see what they saw. Why had he not seen it? Surely if there were that large a difference between the Granger they remembered and the girl they taught now, he would have noticed. Distant teacher he may be, but he wasn't stupid. And he was always observant.
"Potions and spells will only go so far, Aurora," Minerva said. "I fear that Granger requires a more potent magic to forget what she has seen. This morning she was begging Bellatrix for her life. It has been almost two years since the night she was tortured. The memory should not affect her to this degree. Not if she were healing well."
A light shudder ran through him at the Headmistress' words. He knew all too well how that particular memory haunted the girl. Even then, weeks ago when he had yet to begin dreaming of her naked skin, the sight of his student quivering and gasping in front of him, caught up in a horrifying memory… It had affected him more than he thought. He would never wish suffering of that kind on anyone, not even his worst enemy. Snape knew all too well the power of the mind, and how it could be used against oneself.
God damn it, he thought furiously. It's not right. I want nothing to do with her. She ruined my chance at escape. I should hate her. I do hate her. I hate her so much that I can't stop thinking about her.
He was so caught in his thoughts, in the vicious tug-of-war raging between his head and heart, that he almost missed Minerva's question.
"What do you think, Severus?"
He looked up at her innocently. "Me, Headmistress?"
"Yes, you." The witch regarded him with a hard stare, but he didn't even blink. He was used to her intimidation techniques. "You have taught Granger since she was eleven. You were a part of the Order of the Phoenix with her. And she saved your life. I think you, of all the staff, should have something to say about her future."
Inside, he bristled at the reminder that he owed the girl anything. Load. Of. Bullshit. All he owed her was a lifetime of misery, which was exactly what she had given him. Psychologically damaged or not, he would never forgive her for that.
"I am not her father," he drawled, gazing back at Minerva steadily. "I have nothing at all to say about the girl."
"Her parents are in Australia, with no memory of what or whom she is. Though Granger is an adult by our standards, she is barely of age in the Muggle world. She needs someone to make this decision for her. I am only asking that you take an interest in whether or not the girl spends her next few years in hospice."
So there it was, he thought ruefully. The woman only wanted to see if he cared for the girl, since he refused to give her special treatment as they all did. His mind screamed that no, he didn't give a shit about Granger or the state of her mental health; but some other strange, supressed part of his being answered for him.
"I believe she should be given the opportunity to improve," he found himself saying, quite against his will. "There are still many treatments we have not tried. I would not resign the girl to white robes and visiting hours just yet."
Minerva gave him a small smile, barely more than a quirked lip, but it was enough to have him furious. What was wrong with him? Requesting the girl stay? And he had as good as offered his services to her. Treatments to be tried… what game was his heart playing with him?
The rest of the meeting went by in a blur for Snape, who was absorbed in his thoughts so completely that he only nodded when Minerva asked him to brew a Potion of Forgetting for the girl, which would be taken in conjunction with a charm performed by Flitwick. When he came to his senses once more, he found that he was very suddenly standing in his private workrooms, staring into the dark abyss of an empty cauldron. There were so many things he could do with just this cauldron and a few ingredients. He could force the truth from someone. Turn into another person completely. Charm someone into loving him.
But could he really help the girl?
A Forgetting Potion would be worse than useless, he knew. The kind of memories she suffered, they would never go away easily. Had it been possible for him to erase what he'd seen, he would have drunk the potion three times a day for the last twenty years. But they were more than memories. They left feelings – of hope, of desolation and despair. It wouldn't do for the girl to feel as empty as the cauldron and not know why she felt that way. No. She needed to make peace with her memories. She had to let them go on her own.
God, but he didn't want to help her. Yes, he wanted her to be free of her tormenting nightmares, but he didn't want to be the one to do it. He wanted to be the one living a life where he didn't know her name, and didn't know the exact colour of her eyes. He wanted a world where he didn't dream of her hands on his skin. Freeing her would only serve to cement the idea that he owed her anything. And it would undoubtedly make her believe that the two of them were friends, as she'd been trying so hard to achieve since she arrived at the school months before.
It seemed that it was up to him to decide whether helping her would be beneficial or not. Though, he rationalized, there really was no choice at all. He'd already told Minerva that he would help.
Damn it, he cursed silently, flexing his pale hands by his sides. What have I done?
Later that day, the walk to the hospital wing felt more and more like wading through pea soup. Every step he took, Forgetting Potion in hand, became heavier and longer than the last, delaying his arrival at the girls bedside. It wasn't entirely clear to him why he wanted so badly to avoid her, despite the obvious: he hated her existence, everything she had done to him and the way she inevitably found her way into his head every night. Not to mention the near-regular intrusions into his dungeons, at which point she always seemed to have some reason to berate him. It was growing tiresome, but it wasn't enough to warrant this amount of nervousness, of apprehension that was growing in his chest with each second that passed. Snape prided himself on his ability to reign in his emotions at a moments notice, but tonight he was disappointing himself with how difficult it was. What was it about the girl that had him so worked up?
The second he walked into the long room, with all those dozens of empty beds greeting him, he felt that he knew exactly what it was about her. Her head spun in his direction as soon as he came into sight, and her eyes found his without delay. It was a little worrying that she was so comfortable looking into his eyes. Most of his students avoided meeting his gaze like he may give them the plague, but she never did. And never had, if he had to think about it. The girl was either stupid or brave. Either way, a Gryffindor through and through. Steeling himself, and already furious just through being in her presence, he moved to stand stiffly beside her bed.
"Hello, Professor," she said, never taking her eyes from him.
He wouldn't look at her. Or rather, he couldn't look at her. He didn't know what he would find in her eyes if he chose to look. And God, did it bother him that he should be worried at all. Something had come over him since the staff meeting, a sense of closeness to the girl that he didn't need or want - at all. But he felt that he should be gentle with her, possibly even kind. Maybe it was a sort of sympathy for her situation, or some kind of latent desire to see his students succeed. This new feeling of concern certainly had nothing to do with the fact that she had saved his life, or the fact that apparently her nightmares consisted of his recurring death. He cared very little if she thought of him, or why she had done what she did.
Didn't he?
"I said 'hello'," Granger said impatiently. "It's usually polite to say 'hello' back."
"I am not in the habit of taking lectures in manners from mentally unstable students," he sneered, the words tumbling out before he even had a chance to think. Something about her voice just incensed him, more than anything else ever had. He had the sudden urge to hit something, to throw the potion to the ground, create a little discord in the painfully neat and clean wing. Destruction would soothe him, but he had to control himself.
His entire existence was about control these days.
"Is that for me?" She asked, pointing at the vial between his fingers. Snape didn't miss how her hand shook when she lifted it, or how pale her skin was. Not even a British winter could make anyone that white.
"Again, Miss Granger, your skills of deduction have amazed me to no end." He held the potion out to her, still determinedly looking anywhere but her face. Something inside him warned that his whole world would be undone if he looked into her eyes. Evil of a new kind lurked behind her golden brown gaze, he was sure of it. "It is to be taken with food, and you are not to lay down for an hour after taking it."
Granger took the glass from him and studied it for a moment, looking at the green liquid with an academic curiosity. Out the corner of his eye, Snape noticed her interest and wondered, How can Minerva not see that she is the same knowledge-seeking brat she has always been?
"Professor Flitwick will be here soon," she said. "Will you stay?"
"Why would I do that?"
She shrugged, drawing her knees up to her chest and holding them in her arms. "I don't know. Professional interest? To make sure your potion works?"
"Of course it will work," he said dangerously, his pride ever so slightly ruffled. No one had doubted his ability for a while. And for her to suggest, even jokingly, that he might have failed was unbelievable.
"Then stay because I asked you to."
"I'm not your nanny, Granger. Good evening."
He turned abruptly on his heels and went to walk away, feeling again that he was walking through toffee-like air, when she spoke up in a deadly quiet voice that stopped him in his tracks.
His whole body went rigid. His eyes very nearly popped out of his head. His heartbeat was thudding so loudly in his ears he wouldn't have been surprised if the centaurs of the Forbidden Forest could hear it. Surely he heard wrong. She can't have said what he thought she'd said. It was impossible.
It was impossible.
Slowly, he turned back to face her, forgetting for a moment that he couldn't look her in the eye, but that's exactly what he did. The haunted face of a once-lively girl looked back at him, with shadowed eyes and skin so white she could have been a ghost. The sudden urge to hold her nearly undid him as he suspected it would, and only the shock of her words held him back. God, she looked so helpless. And so very, very sick.
Merlin's beard, Pomfrey was right. She does look like she's been Kissed.
Words failed him as he stared back at her, and he didn't even bother to hide his emotions. Let her see his surprise, his all-comsuming despair over her soulless eyes. Because that's what he'd been avoiding. He'd known, the very instant that he approached her, that she wouldn't be the same fierce some girl who he'd snarled at a week ago in the dungeons. Something had changed in her, just as it had changed in him. His resolve to be cruel to her was waning. Her life was slipping from her like sand through an hour glass. Hermione Granger's time as a sane woman was fading.
"Answer me," she said softly. Her soft voice, so agonisingly hollow, made him want to scream. Where was her fire? Where was the girl he dreamed of, who was so full of passion that she could barely keep her hands off him? The girl who writhed and moaned under him like her very limbs were made of flames?
"I'm not sure I understand you," he replied steadily.
"Exactly what I said, that's what I meant. It's perfectly simple." She tilted her head to one side, regarding him thoughtfully. His breath caught in his throat even before the words made it past her lips for the second time.
"Sleep with me."
The room was too hot, the air was too thick. Snape felt himself begin to sweat in the most unusual of places - his knees, his wrists, the nape of his neck. Breathing became a chore, the movement of taking air into his lungs felt unnatural.
Impossible.
"Before you throw whatever insults you've got planned at me, I'd like you to hear me out," she said, keeping him locked within her gaze.
Is that what I should be doing? He wondered belatedly. But he remained silent, desperately trying to get his heart to slow down, and his body to cool. He slipped his wand down from his sleeve, holding it tightly between his fingers. The spell was there on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't get it out. He couldn't freeze her in place, couldn't silence her or knock her out. Something inside him was demanding that he hear her out, and that he really listen.
But he couldn't possibly consider it. It was wrong, and irresponsible. It was stupid and disturbing.
And so, so tempting. Oh God, she was so tempting, even in this state.
"I've said it before, and I meant it," she began somewhat hesitantly. "Sexual release helps me. I don't have nightmares or panic attacks if I've recently… you know. Released it all. But what I didn't tell you last week in the dungeons, is that it's you I think about when it happens."
Fuck.
"I even dream about you sometimes, but not in a bad way that gives me nightmares. I dream … that you touch me, and in the morning … I feel alive again. That day you found me in the library, I guess I was trying to recreate a dream I'd had about you the night before. It wasn't the same, but I think it helped a little."
At this, he stiffened, brought crashing back to reality so fast it hurt. The dreams he had of her felt so real, he used to wonder if some how she'd made her way in to her his head. He'd passed it off as an impossibility. But here she was, admitting to dreaming the same things he did. Even on the same night. Coincidence only went so far, but the alternative was horrifying.
"I know it's a long shot, but something tells me this is what I need. And it has to be with you. Don't ask me why, because I'd prefer not to over-analyze it. This is the first feeling I've had in a week, and it's barely more than a hunch."
She must have seen that he was beginning to come to his senses, because her eyes suddenly took on a pleading look. The sight of her begging for his acceptance was overall so pathetic it made him want to sneer at her just for the satisfaction of hurting her. But he didn't really want that. It was just a defence, a way of avoiding any real emotion on his part. He couldn't hurt her, not while she was like this. Snape was many thing, but intentional cruelty had never been his specialty.
"I want you to sleep with me, professor," she said softly. "Because I know it will help me to heal. And because I think you want to sleep with me, too. I see it in your eyes." Granger hesitated then added in a whisper, "You dream of me, as well."
A hot shot of terror ran through him, and he stared at her with wide eyes.
"How do you know I dream-"
"Ah, Severus, you're here!" A voice squeaked from the doorway. Professor Flitwick came over to the bed with quick steps, followed by the Headmistress and Pomfrey. Snape barely turned to acknowledge them, as his eyes couldn't manage to leave his student's face. Hermione stared back at him without blinking.
"Are you staying, Severus?" Minerva asked, obviously surprised.
"Not at all," he replied coolly, regaining the blank expression he had perfected over so many years of working as a double agent. "I was just leaving. Good evening to you all."
And as he finally left the hospital wing, heart racing and limbs on fire, he could feel the girls eyes boring in to his back. He didn't turn to look at her again, afraid of what he might do if he saw the expression in her eyes. Was she disappointed? Did she feel anything at all?
He made it back to his private rooms in record time, and promptly began pacing the floor of his small living room. There were too many thoughts swirling around in his head, and he cast them all aside to focus on the only one he knew he couldn't ignore: had she meant it, and what was his answer?
The question of how she knew he dreamed of her could wait - it would have a logical explanation.
The issue of whether or not it would even be allowed didn't bother him at all.
All he could think of was the fact that she wanted him. She wanted him. For whatever reason, and to whatever end, she wanted to sleep with him. She wanted to offer her body to him, to use as he pleased.
God, it was too much. And he was in no position to handle it.
The girl wanted him.
She had offered herself to him.
It was his dreams, come to life.
But could he really do it? Go through with this and have his way with her?
The answer came to him so swiftly it was astounding, and he realised with sudden alacrity that he had made the decision months ago, the very first time he had touched her in his dreams, fully aware that he was in control of what he did in those dream. To even think of refusing her made his stomach clench painfully, as though the thought of letting this opportunity slip through his fingers was actually sickening. Though, really, the thought of taking advantage of a sick teenage girl should be the truly sickening thought. And yet, it didn't bother him at all.
What was wrong with him?
It took him nearly an hour to calm himself enough to sit down at his desk, and then it took him another few, long minutes to drag a piece of parchment to his hand. The words were neatly scrawled under him before he fully registered what he had written. But then it was done, and though there was plenty of time to back out, he knew he never would. He couldn't. She was right, he wanted her. God, did he want her.
And so it was that he returned to the hospital wing that night, while the castle slept and only the ghosts could be seen roaming the halls. He didn't wake her from her sleep, but he took a minute to watch her laying there peacefully, and he hoped that for her sake she wasn't locked in some horrible nightmare that she couldn't escape. But then, maybe she was dreaming of him.
The thought made him smile, ever so slightly, and he dropped the rolled-up parchment into her hand, laying open at her side. It was risky, but hopefully she would find it before Pomfrey did. Even if the matron did see the note, he doubted she could ever make sense of it.
He had written only three words.
I have conditions.
A/N: Wow. That was hard to write. I really wasn't in a writing mood when I wrote this, but I had to push it out. Hopefully it wasn't too painful to read. Make sure you review if you liked it! Or even if you didn't! I do so love reviews : )
