a/n:  this chapter has been revised so that the content is R-rated, rather than NC-17.  Sorry folks. =(

Mine Protector

Chapter 13: Intangible Affections

Hermione left the dungeons feeling only slightly better than she had when she entered. Mostly, she was furious at herself for not maintaining a business-like approach as she spilled her guts to the potions master. She wanted Severus Snape to see her as an equal, a colleague-- if such a thing were possible; now she wasn't certain it was. Behind that dark gaze she saw his mental image of her jump from a teenaged Hermione to a teenaged Helena; the names and coloring were slightly different, but the overall impression was the same.

She paused at the foot of the grand staircase and pressed a hand to her mouth; the lips felt pulpy, her chin scrubbed red by stubble.

She hadn't planned on kissing him, but when he said her name out loud she had felt something go quiet within her, some incomprehensible static that she had kept on full volume to prevent her from acknowledging that true self died down at the sound of her own name being spoken.

At that moment she felt Helena die, too.

Her past and memories remained, of course, but the girl herself--the studious, ever-pleasing girl who hid revenge in her heart like a diabolical pathogen--she was gone. And in her place, there was just Hermione. She gave in to the invention at last, realizing that the invention was nothing more than a better version of herself, after all.

When the kiss between herself and Severus had deepened, had transcended the spur-of-the-moment thank you kiss and taken on more intense shades and movement, she had been surprised, but certainly not displeased. In his embrace she had felt a wild, trembling desire course through his body; the hands that touched her neck had tightened, twisting her hair almost painfully, and she nearly choked on his breath, which came hot and hard into her lungs as if it belonged there. Part of that unbidden desire was for her, but she sensed that another part of him simply wanted to break free of his own internal barriers--clearly he was a man with many.

Still dizzy with the memory of that kiss, she regained her footing on the stairwell. What her body wanted now, more than anything, was sleep--but the VesClotho betrayed her inner rhythms, wiring her mind with fist-clenching adrenaline. A bath was what she needed, and not just any soap-and-bubble bath. The prefects bathroom on the first floor, near the Ravenclaw's dormitory, was outfitted with waters that could make even a band of Cornish pixies drowsy. Wearily, she returned to the first floor and entered a long corridor that, though dim now, would be full of stained-glass infused light come sunrise. She stopped before a large impressionist painting of sunflowers; rather than fluttering in the wind, the flowers seemed to drip and smear paint into all corners of the canvas. "Honeydew," she said, and the painting swung forth on its hinges, revealing the bathroom entrance.

It was rumored that this particular bathroom had been once used as a channeling temple of some sort. In later centuries, Wizards and Witches had become less concerned with religion: some practised paganism, some went the more traditional route of Christianity, and others yet favoured eastern dogmas. With that, the temple had been reverted to a more useful girls' bathroom, luxurious enough to be used only by prefects and staff. Most of the girls, however, favored the prefect's bathroom near the Gryffindor dormitory, which was bright and outfitted with steam rooms and magic-shiatsu tables. In contrast, this former temple resembled an underground grotto more than it did a bathroom.

Stepping into the dimly lit room, steam immediately seeped into Hermione's head, fogging it up with delicious euphoria. The bath here wasn't particularly useful for hygienic purposes; it was actually a large, natural stone pool, fed by a mineral hot spring that ran under the castle. Above the pool, little trickles of water ran down the stone wall, creating a calming patter similar to rain. Wood-hewn candelabras floated a foot or so from the ceiling, dripping wax and throwing yellowy circles of light on the floor.

A wardrobe was at one end of the room, and from it Hermione pulled out one of many fluffy white towels, and, after a moment's thought, removed an equally fluffy robe, as well. She stripped nude and found it quite gratifying to leave her clothes in an untidy heap by the wardrobe. The stone floor should have been cold on her bare feet, but the spring that fed the pool also warmed every stone in the room, and she found that being naked felt quite pleasant. Natural, even, in a place such as this.

After folding the towel and robe onto a dry area a few feet away, she sat herself at the lip of the pool, letting her legs dangle and swish about in the fabulously warm, tingly water. The water had magical properties, no doubt--healing effects, maybe, or perhaps just a hint of tranquilizer to it. She lowered her entire body into the waist high depths, and finally found a stony niche that she could snuggle into quite comfortably while tipping her head back onto a smooth, curved rock.

I must find time to come here more often. . . she thought lazily. Already, the over-loaded circuits of her brain seemed to be winding down, becoming diffused and forgotten as she breathed in the heady steam.

She shrugged down into the water further, letting it lap against her chin. Then her eyes closed of their own volition, and she began to drift. . .

-----

As soon as she began to undress, Sirius regretted his decision to follow Hermione out of the dungeons and into what appeared to be a mind-cleansing, hot spring bath.

A light sleeper by nature (and by force of habit, as he had been on the run in such recent years), Sirius had arose very early on Sunday morning and ventured down to the kitchens, hoping he could sneak some coffee and rolls from the house elves. Before he had made it there, however, he had glimpsed a pale figure making her way to the dungeon entrance, glancing over her shoulder furtively; curious, he followed her. When she stopped inside a classroom, he peeked in long enough to see that the girl was in fact Hermione Granger; she was fully dressed, and appeared to be breaking into a closet, of all things. When a sudden noise alerted Sirius to another person's approach, he quickly pulled back into the dark, hiding behind a tall stone pillar.

It was Severus Snape; dressed in a ridiculous bathrobe, he clearly had caught Hermione red-handed at whatever she was doing.

Odd...Snape and Hermione seem to be having a lot of run-ins lately... Sirius thought, remembering the potion master's rampage the day before, when he had seemed bent on finding the girl and tearing her limbs off for lunch.

"I assume you are looking for me, and not ingredients for a new wonder potion?" he heard Snape say in his usual tone of annoyance.

Wonder potion? Sirius had no idea what that was about. In reply to Snape's words, Hermione mumbled something back that Sirius was unable to decipher.

"I see. And this word would be best delivered at the crack of dawn, would it?" Snape's voice came again, and Sirius stepped back with another jolt of surprise. Hermione had actually come down here *looking* for the potions master? Judging by the stories he had heard from Harry and Ron, Sirius had assumed all three of the young Gryffindor's loathed the very cold ground on which Severus Snape walked. Even more confusing, Sirius watched as Hermione was willingly led (by hand!) into what could only be Snape's private quarters. Once the stones closed up behind them, Sirius crept up to the wall and put his ear to it. The wall was thick, though, and he heard nothing.

Worried for Hermione, Sirius briefly toyed with the idea of forcing his way into the room, or perhaps even fetching Dumbledore. But those words, "wonder potion", kept re-surfacing in his head. When he had stopped Snape in the hallways yesterday, the man had been ranting sheer lunacy about a mysterious 'something' that Hermione had done to him. Sirius himself had seen nothing wrong with the man--he had looked quite fit and rested, actually--but Snape had insisted that his appearance had been altered. Indeed, he had seemed utterly disgusted when Sirius was unable to comprehend any difference in his physical self.

Had Snape's behavior yesterday been somehow affected by a potion of Hermione's making? Amused, Sirius wondered if the girl had tried to poison the man, but somehow an act that cruel seemed against her nature entirely. What was more likely was that she had been working on a new potion--for extra credit perhaps--and when Snape had tested it, it must have had unexpected and unpleasant results.

That still didn't explain why she went looking for a former death-eater before dawn, though.

Half an hour or so later, Sirius saw Hermione leave Snape's lair, clearly alive and in one piece. Head down, she seemed somewhat distraught; even though the stone pillar failed to hide him completely, she didn't sense him watching her retreat. The girl had irrefutable reflexes, though, and before following her again, Sirius murmured a quick camouflage charm, one which would render him invisible to her eyes, should she sense him behind her. It was a little trick he had picked up when he escaped from Azkaban--it wasn't as good as an invisibility cloak, since it only rendered him visually imperceptible to one person at a time, but it was helpful in getting out of sticky situations, nonetheless.

At first, it seemed as if Hermione was going to head up to the second floor--to the Gryffindor dormitory, perhaps. Upon reaching the first landing, however, she paused, hand held to her mouth, and stood still for several minutes. Afraid she might have heard him, Sirius waited at the foot of the stairs, virtually holding his breath. When she began backing down the staircase, his throat tightened; he pressed himself against a wall, trying to make himself as flat as possible. She brushed by within inches of him.

Now where is she off to? Unable to stifle his curiosity, he followed her down a hallway, one which he vaguely remembered as leading to the Charms classroom back in his day. She paused before a painting that Sirius didn't recognize and muttered a password. When she disappeared through the revealed entrance, he had no time to debate the proper course of action--he promptly pursued her through the door, and the painting very nearly slammed shut on his heels.

The room he found himself in was like nothing he had ever seen before. He'd heard rumors of fabulous prefect-only bathrooms scattered throughout the castle, but had never imagined that such facilities would include what looked to be a mineral hot spring. Though the room was dim and windowless, it was anything but gloomy; the moist air entered his nostrils and he breathed in deep, feeling relaxation wash over him.

A tranquility spring? he wondered, and his attention was caught by a soft rustling sound from the other end of the room. Stepping through the curtain of steam, he was greeted with the site of Hermione slipping out of her sweatshirt, revealing a white slice of her back.

Shit! He quickly backed away, and found himself once again pressed up against a wall. Unfortunately, the steam wasn't nearly thick enough to obscure his vision completely. Additionally, the painting couldn't serve as an exit without drawing her attention, and he cursed himself for having the stupidity to follow her in the first place. Now he was crouched in the corner like a peeping-tom pervert, watching an underage student prepare to bathe; if he wasn't so led by his protective instincts, he might not be in this mess.

But he was a man, after all. And though he tried valiantly to force his eyes away from her slowly undressing form, he found he could not help but stare. Her naked back told him that she had worn no brassiere, and peeling off her jeans exposed a pair of perfectly innocent, powder-blue knickers.

Only sixteen..and she's one of Harry's best friends. DO NOT look at her like that, you fool...

But he looked anyway. She slung her underclothes off completely, leaving them in an unbecoming heap on the floor. Her back was still to him, and he forgot his budding arousal enough to admire her physical architecture on a purely aesthetic level: her hips still had a girlish narrowness to them, but her legs were long and well-built; the shoulders were on the broad side, but as she brushed aside her hair he saw that her neck had a smooth elegance. In all, she had a poise that belied her youth; to him she looked very strong--inside and out.

She slipped into the bath and appeared to fall into a deep state of relaxation. She became so still that he wondered for a moment if he could sneak out of the room without her noticing; then perhaps he could finally get his coffee and forget he had ever gone on this ridiculous venture. But before he could even think to plot out an exit that wouldn't give him away, he came to the startling realization that she was, in fact, *asleep*. She had lowered into the water so far that it now washed up against her slightly parted mouth, and her eyelids were twitching, as if she were entering a dream state.

If she doesn't wake up, she could completely submerge and drown in her sleep. He'd heard of such things happening; when asleep, it was possible to drown in even a few inches of water. Most wizarding household bathtubs had charms to prevent such accidents, of course, but he was unsure as to whether a natural hot-spring would be equipped with such safety features.

"Hermione..." he whispered loudly, hoping to penetrate her subconscious."Wake up!"

There was no sign that she'd heard him; indeed, even as he watched she seemed to be sinking by tiny fractions--his eyes might have been playing tricks on him, but his concern did not falter.

Just wade in and pull her out...prop her up and then get the hell out of here!

He splashed in as quietly as possible, and as the water seeped through his clothing, he felt his muscles shudder pleasantly, and a warmth seemed to spread out into every nerve of his body--even the parts that were still dry. Oh Lords, even he wanted to sink down and sleep on the spot! Clearly, this pool wasn't one meant to be visited alone, and so early in the morning at that. Standing, he bent over her drowsing head, intending to shake her up by the shoulders as gently as possible. Hesitating only for a moment, he reached for her. . . and then her eyes blinked open.

Before he could stop himself, he leaped back in surprise; a small wave washed over her and she sat upright, sputtering slightly. She looked around druggedly, now clearly aware she wasn't alone, but unable to focus her eyes on who or what had splashed her with water.

"Is someone there?" she said softly, more alert now. He backed away slowly...but damn, little ripples were radiating out from where his legs were moving. She watched the water's course with interest, looking not particularly alarmed. "Who's there?" she said again, standing up carefully. She turned in a circle, her arms searching out blindly.

Sirius gulped inaudibly; she was now nude from the lower hips upward, and very, very close to him. He froze in place, unable to stop staring, silently praying that she would dismiss him as nothing more than an invasive dream. But no, she was still reaching out, directly in front of him so that he could see her wide, dilated hazel eyes, and the few wet tendrils that clung to her cheeks and neck. The fingers moved closer, mere inches away from his torso.

Run! he thought frantically. Who cares what she thinks....just jump out of the water and go!

But the dreadful, hypnotizing water seemed to sedate him on the spot, and he found himself unable to move, even as her hand brushed up against his ribcage, then paused and pressed, finding firm purchase.

She gasped and stared straight through his invisible face, her eyes fluttered back and forth as she tried to compute why she could feel the form of a human body, but saw no one.

"Who are you?" she asked, her voice thick with incomprehension. She ran her fingers up and down his chest tentatively, which was quivering as he tried valiantly to still his breath. He finally clutched one of her hands and pushed it away, willing her to leave, to forget that she had found him out. But she only squeezed his bare hand in her own, her expression far away now, as if she were finally making some sense of his invisible presence.

"No cloak..." she murmured.

Oh God, did she think I was Harry?

Whatever she had thought before, she now seemed completely unafraid, and looked in his general vicinity with an air of deepening affection.

"Is it you?" she asked, still clinging to his hand, her voice hopeful.

Oh hell...she thinks I'm someone...someone specific... His mind went dizzy; who on earth could a sixteen year old girl be expecting to spy on her in the bath? Another Prefect, perhaps? Or was her mind still in a dream-state? The moist, endless quality of her eyes suggested that she might be in a trance of some sort. He hoped...prayed that this was the case.

Sirius was now painfully aware that a naked young woman was standing a mere foot from him, her not-quite smallish breasts tipping up towards him, the rosy nipples taut despite the warmth of the room. He had engaged in occasional sexual dalliances while on the run from Azkaban, and each of them had been hollow, desperate acts in which he tried to re-connect with some aspect of humanity lost to him--attempts to jump-start his emotions in some way that went beyond fear and pain. Each of those occasions had resulted in short-lived relief; the agony and loneliness always came back to haunt him in the end--especially at night.

And now this woman--girl, really--was standing before him, strange desire in her eyes, hair smelling clean and delicious, and, wonder of wonders, she was pressing his hand to her damp cheek, which felt feverish to the touch. He quivered with something other than anxiety as she ran his hand down the pale length of her neck; his fingertips read out the arc of her collar bone, then voluntarily slipped to the top of her breast, finally cupping the entire warm sweetness of it, pressing the pliable flesh up and into her slightly.

STOP! he ordered himself, thinking of how she would react if she knew it was her Defence instructor who was cupping her breast; what Harry would do if he knew his own Godfather was fondling his best friend; what Ron Weasley would do if he knew Sirius was touching his would-be girlfriend in such lustful fashion . . .

He betrayed his own mind's orders and caressed the nipple with his forefinger, an act which caused her to moan and blindly pull his free hand to her other breast. Even while his conscience was screaming at him to stop, he continued to move his hands, her quickening breath inspiring him onward. In like, he felt a *woosh* of heat run through him as parts of his own anatomy hardened dramatically. The expression on her face was truly something else--because she couldn't see him, perhaps, she whimpered and kept her eyes wide open, and they fluttered and rolled back as he intensified his movements--a reaction he found incredibly erotic, seeing as how most women he had been with closed their eyes chastely, so that he was unable to read the level of pleasure reflected in their gaze.

Those were other women...WOMEN! And this is a girl. STOP NOW STOP NOW... the rational man in him begged on.

She responds as if she's been touched this way before, his more animal side thought idly, surprised that studious Hermione Granger had obviously let a male touch her in such an personal way--enough times so that she was fully uninhibited in displaying her arousal.

As if reading his thoughts, she guided his hands down and around her waist, then lower until he was savoring her firm posterior. Leaving him there, she spread her own hands across his chest, working up and down the smooth musculature of his torso, apparently amazed to feel out the physicality of a man she could not see. Then she found his hands again and urged them down further, further.... He'd never approached a woman's body like this before, with his hand wrapped *behind* her and essentially buried in the cleft of her backside and reaching forth to relish her warmth, and as she painstakingly pressed her hips into his clothed but burgeoning erection, he felt his mind unravel senselessly, a sweet, electric sensation running up his calves and into his bucking pelvis.

A tiny groan escaped his lips--the first noise he'd made in her presence. She smiled blissfully in response, and brought one of her hands up to his face, allowing it to linger there for a moment.

Then he felt her touch go cold. She stopped gyrating against him, and the smile melted from her face, all the flush going out of her cheeks at once as she went a deadly white. Though his physical arousal remained, Sirius felt anxiety bulldoze over him; apparently, one touch to his face had been enough to rouse her from her sensual trace, or it had identified him as someone other than the dream-lover she had been envisioning. His skin went icy as he realized the severity of his situation; he still had his fingers in a very intimate region, and she was quickly stiffening up in fury, preparing to rip herself away from his grasp.

He backed off, quite terrified that she might start screaming--or worse, strike out at him. Deep regret and guilt washed over him, so that he thought he might soon be sick; how could he allow himself to be tempted by her--a student, a personal friend, really--someone he would never, for the life of him, want to hurt. He had taken advantage of her as she stood before him in a state of semi-consciousness, hadn't he? By all the Gods he would surely pay tenfold for what he had just done.

Forgive me, Hermione....please, forgive me... he pleaded silently, even as her eyes narrowed in enragement at her hidden abuser.

"Whoever you are...get out of here," she hissed, virtually shaking with anger. "GET OUT!" she screamed, and her voice echoed off the stone walls, making him wince--it felt for all the world like the most deadly of the unforgivable curses.

She didn't have to ask him twice. He scampered from the pool and ran to the sunflower painting, leaving a trail of water behind him, and a flood of despair and shame with that.

-----

She hadn't meant to fall asleep, but it was pure heaven to let her body sink into a blissful coma, up to her neck in water scented with lavender and sage. She wasn't worried about it--if her face was somehow immersed, the stone cleft she was nestled into was enchanted to quake powerfully, shaking her from her stupor. In fact, she worried about very little as the warmth swept through her limbs, a sweet anesthesia that seemed to transform her very blood into a dense, slow-moving syrup.

Through closed eyes, she had felt a penetrating gaze upon her, and though she knew something was wrong, that she was supposed to be alone, it took several minutes before she could force her eyes to open.

There had been nothing there--or so she had thought. Then she noticed the circular swishing of the water, and could sense something...*someone*....moving towards the edge of the pool.

A man? An invisible man?

Touching him suggested realness, but what if this were nothing of the sort? What if she had conjured him in her sleep, brought her fantasy forth in real life with the mere power of her thoughts? She had heard of incubi--unseen demon-imps conjured by the pheromones of young girls, who sought cruel satisfaction of their depraved lusts. But this was no demon; she could feel his heart thrumming beneath her palms. Whoever he was, he was on the verge of flight.

A snatch of conversation drifted back to her....

*Did you try a bath?...I find that a bath helps with the insomnia...*

Had Snape decided to join her? Dismissing the invisibility factor, a mental image of him seemed to rise out of the steam before her, and she sleepily drew his hands to her body, guiding his touch in ways she had only done in her most private fantasies. His erection nudged against her, and quickened breath signaled his fast-rising desire, his need to possess her. Pleased, she stroked his obscured face.

Then her body had seized up. She didn't know how, but the set of this man's jaw told her he was NOT Severus Snape. The hands that were gently caressing her--as if she were made of spun glass--could belong to anyone. Gentle hands, they whispered a promise never to hurt her. And they could belong to anyone.

Anyone...anyone! her mind echoed. Male faces shuffled before her eyes: Draco, Crabbe, Goyle, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch, Voldemort....men capable of betrayal and pain.

ANYONE! She shoved the man from her, screaming at him to get away. And whoever he was, he was frightened. She heard him run from her as if she were capable of disembowelment or worse.

A few minutes later, she found herself struggling to pull clothing over her still wet skin, sobbing uncontrollably, her mind still refusing to fully wake up even after all she had endured.

She lowered to the floor and bent into herself like a child, wondering how someone so smart could do something so stupid.