Sorry for the delay, all! Writer's block struck but has been since
conquered. Expect Chapter 7 next week...
NOTE: This fic is R rated. You have been warned - please react accordingly.
Chapter Six: What I'm Without
She was patiently silent as she waited for him to finish off his cup and, quite frankly, he found the quiet unnerving. Not that he wanted her to revert to the unprompted chatter of her eleven-year-old self, but upon consideration he was certain that even the Hermione who'd sat in his classroom on Friday would've been incapable of maintaining this type of serene introspection for more than a minute. It made him wonder suddenly just how deep the changes prompted by her merger with Miranda ran. Her decision to choose a new name for herself abruptly made perfect sense. Miranda may have been the one to die physically, but for all practical purposes, the girl who'd raised her hand at every question during Friday's lesson was gone as well. The addition of seventeen years worth of experiences and living her brutal murder had left an indelible mark. The young woman sitting affably across from him was practically a different person from the Gryffindor know-it-all who'd plagued his Potions class for the past seven years.
Does that make the fact that you almost kissed her this morning better or worse, Severus? He asked himself sourly. Downing the rest of his tea in a gulp, he resolutely pushed those thoughts away as he set his cup down. "Accio Book!" He called with a swish of his wand and the leather bound tome from last night zipped into his hands.
The witch across the table from him sat her own cup down but continued to watch him without interruption. Thumbing through the heavy volume, he quickly came to the page he had shown Albus and handed it to her. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but instead of waiting for a reply bent her head to the book and quickly read through the section he had pointed to.
"As you can see," he said as he donned his best teaching voice like a robe. "The Bridge of Ether is a combination of several components. The first of course is the potion, which we will be gathering ingredients for today in Diagon Alley."
"The recipe appears almost ridiculously simple," she said abstractly as she ran a fingertip over the instructions.
"That's because it is," He snapped as he took the book away from her, irritated by her interruption. "Even Mr. Longbottom would be hard pressed to turn this particular brew into a catastrophe."
She frowned at him prettily. "But how can something so simple hold the force necessary to stabilize the Bond? I thought a potion's power was directly related to the difficulty inherent in it's brewing?"
"Many of the uninitiated think that," He sneered condescendingly. "While the more complex potions are known to yield exceptionally vivid results, there is a certain stability that should not be overlooked in simplicity, Miss Granger." Flipping several pages, he handed the volume back to her. "If you would desist in your pointless interruptions, I would explain." The glare she shot him would've felled a lesser man, but he just found it amusing. "The Bridge of Ether is comprised of the potion and several spells which culminate in a wizard tattoo, as you can see on the page before you."
"A wizard tattoo?" She said distrustfully, "Like the Dark Mark?"
He blanched at her description, but couldn't refute, as it was unfortunately right on target. "The Dark Mark is actually a perversion of this very spell," he replied softly. A wave of nausea swept over him and he couldn't help but wonder if it originated from himself or the slightly green-faced woman across the table. Even if it was from her, he could hardly blame her for feeling ill: the thought of the Dark Mark's more distinguished cousin gracing his skin made him feel slightly sick as well. "The Bridge of Ether was traditionally used by Shield Mates or Lovers. It forms a solid, unbreakable, connection between two individuals. Our existing Bond will be able to make use of that bridge to stabilize itself. Like the Dark Mark, the Bridge of Ether will allow us to pinpoint each other's position for apparating and make us constantly aware of one another's condition. The telepathy," he wryly smirked, "will not be noticeably different from what we currently enjoy." His subtle stress on the word 'enjoy' brought an answering smirk to her face before she could stop it.
Her expression smoothed out as she took a deep breath and attempted to come to terms with this new information. The thought of a wizard tattoo permanently etched on her skin was not appealing. And that was before you took into account the powers associated with it! "What will the tattoo be of?" she asked finally. "Not a snake-wrapped skull like the Dark Mark, I hope!" she yelped in a startled afterthought.
"I sincerely doubt it," he said as he leaned over and pointed to a spot further down the page than she'd yet to reach in her reading. "The tattoo will take its shape from relevant aspects of our individual personalities and reflect who we are together. Though I'm quite confident," he stated with an evil smile, "that my contribution to the design will be a serpent of some type."
She couldn't hold back her snicker, "You should thank Merlin it's me in this situation with you instead of Pavarati or Lavender. You'd end up with lipstick or a curling wand with a snake wrapped around it, for sure."
"If it were Miss Brown or Miss Patil I would not BE in this situation," he quirked with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Oblivious to his insinuation that her involvement was the deciding factor in his participation, the Professor reached over and turned the page while she gaped at him. "The potion's influence is amplified by the combination of the other components. Once we finish brewing, the infusion is allowed to cool while we engage in ritual meditation. You do know how to meditate, don't you?" He looked up at her and she nodded at him dumbly. Looking down, she followed along through the section in the book he was pointing at. "After the meditation, we will consecrate ourselves inside a Circle with the potion in a silver chalice."
"We're actually going to consecrate a Circle?" Hermione broke in excitedly. Circles were considered Old Magic and were rarely used in modern spell casting. Having the opportunity to participate in one for a legitimate spell was a rare experience for any witch in today's wizarding world and the prospect thrilled her. A fragment of remembered reading floated through her head and she squinted down at the printed words suspiciously. "Isn't consecrating a Circle supposed to be done in the nude?"
Severus swallowed sharply at the thought of Hermione's lithe form swaying nakedly through the Rite of Consecration. "We'll pick up some raw silk robes. As long as they haven't been dyed and are hand sewn, we should be able to bypass that particular requirement." Standing up, he moved around the table and pointed over her shoulder to a section on the next page. "After the Circle is consecrated, we drink the potion and cast Kundalini on each other."
"Kundalini? The spell of Chakra Illumination?" Tilting her head up to look at him as he towered over her shoulder, she shrugged at his inquiring look; "I did a project on it over the summer."
"Aside from Divination, what could you possibly need to do extra studying in? If you don't require additional tutoring for MY class, I'd be hard pressed to believe you're scores in Charms or Transfiguration were lacking," he sneered down at her.
"I didn't say I *needed* it," she answered frankly. "I just like being able to bring books home with me over the holidays. The only way we muggle-born students are allowed to do so is if we're signed up for a holiday project assignment."
"Taking on superfluous work just to have books available over the break..." Shaking his head, he chuckled. "And all this time I thought you were nothing but an ostentatious show off, Miss Granger. Who knew your behaviour all these years has been prompted by nothing more than a truly epic case of bibliophilia?"
"This should scarcely come as a surprise to the man who's caught me sneaking into the Library after hours at least once a week for the past seven years," she laughed.
"Indeed," he replied with a smirk. "I had you in Friday evening detentions so often your fourth year the Headmaster accused me of trying to keep you as an unauthorized teacher's aide." It was well known that Professors were allowed to take fifth year students and higher as teacher's assistants, but only with the Headmaster's approval.
"Naturally you disabused him of such a ridiculous notion," she said as she smiled up at him. Genuine affection infused the grin, as if she were speaking to a cherished friend and not Hogwart's most hated professor.
"Naturally." He surprised them both by smiling wryly back down at her. "I told him it wasn't my fault you Gryffindors are so inept at sneaking back from moonlit trysts."
She threw her head back and howled with laughter; the action resting her nest of curls in an unnoticed pile against his stomach. "Moonlit trysts!" She sputtered before dramatically placing the back of her hand against her forehead as if swooning. "Ah yes, my illicit love affair with Hogwarts: A History! In secret we met - in silence I grieve..."
"That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." He finished mockingly as he rested his hands on the top of her chair.
"You've read Lord Byron!" She blinked up at him in pleasant shock. "But, but he's a muggle!" Normally he would have been offended by the intimation of such a remark, but with her happy surprise at finding someone at Hogwarts who'd heard of her favorite poet ringing through him, it was impossible to take the statement in any way other than the one it was intended. Very few modern wizards in even Ravenclaw, the most studious house, were inclined to read anything written by non-magical individuals that was less than two thousand years old, to say nothing of a not-so- former Death Eater/Slytherin. Finding anyone in the magical world who even acknowledged that there was a use for poetry outside its spell casting applications was an astonishing feat in itself.
"If you examine my shelves, you'll find my reading material is untouched by such prosaic concerns." His dark eyes looked down searchingly into hers. It was suddenly strangely important to him to know that she, of all people, didn't see just him as the role he was forced into playing to maintain his spying position for the Order. "Does that surprise you?" he was almost startled to hear his own voice ask solemnly. His entire body tensed as he awaited her answer. He didn't know what had possessed him to voice such a query, but now that it was done he found that he desperately wanted to know her answer. At the heart of that question was one he'd found himself pondering many a dark night: Was he redeemable? After all these years, was there anything of the man behind the role of "Evil Professor Snape" left? And even if there was, what did it matter if not even the woman who had free reign to read his heart and mind could see it?
The laughter melted from her eyes and she met his gaze squarely. Through their connection, the layers of subtext to his inquiry swam in her mind. Her heart hurt at the thought of a man who had given up so much of himself to fight the Dark doing so with no confirmation from those around him that they saw past the mask he was forced to wear. "No," she practically whispered, willing him to know that she saw past the facade. "It doesn't surprise me at all." Instinctively, her hand came up to clasp his where he'd curved it around the top of her chair.
The corners of his mouth curled up in the closest approximation of a fond smile to grace his features in longer than he could remember. The earnestness of her reply, both audible and mental, warmed him and diffused the stiffness that had crept in his posture. His acceptance of her meaning flowed through the bond and with a contented sigh, in relief she sagged lower in her seat. Leaning her head further back against him, she gave his hand an unthinking squeeze.
It was then that he realised the danger inherent in the link that they shared. In less than a day, with the help of their bond, the woman in front of him had managed to tear through his carefully constructed walls like they were paper. No one had ever had this kind of affect on him. His suspicious Slytherin nature had no defense ready for simple heart-felt Gryffindor honesty. And with the open access to her psyche he currently enjoyed, there was no way he could deny the plain truth of her feelings:
She respected him. She admired his intelligence. She trusted him. And when he wasn't being a condescending bastard, she was comfortable enough in his presence to joke with him. To comfort him. And most unbelievable of all, had the house elf this morning not interrupted them, she would have kissed him. Not because she was trying to get a better grade or to garner some kind of blackmail material, but simply because at that moment she'd wanted to. And while that understandably confused the hell out of her, by no means did it disgust her.
He could only wish his own feelings were so straightforward. Or, for that matter, that he had the luxury of considering them. The bottom line was that she was a student and he was her Professor. It was worth his job and her reputation, not to mention both their lives if the Dark Lord found out, for them to be involved in any other fashion. Their bond and his Protection vow would put them in enough of a precarious situation if either ever came to light. Teachers don't get soul-bound to their students and Death Eaters don't swear to Protect mudbloods. The last thing they needed was to have the extra stigmata of, what? Being friends? Dare he even consider it, being lovers? He shivered at the thought of taking her back to his bed under even more...inappropriate... circumstances than last night's.
Looking down at the soft chestnut curls spilling over his green fabric- covered chest, he took a moment to savor the sensation of a willing woman comfortable and lounging practically in his arms. As much as their current intimate position may belie it, there was no denying that their world held no place for this improper familiarity. But if he was going to have to go back to being Snape-the-Bastard, he was at least going to enjoy this sweet fantasy a minute longer.
As if she'd heard his thoughts, she rose from her chair and turned to stand in front of him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Conjure us an hourglass," she commanded quietly.
"Miss Granger, what?" he sputtered in shock at her sudden move to embrace him.
She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "We have one more minute. I'd prefer not to waste it." His body jerked in her arms as he realised that he must have projected his entire mental discourse to her. It was very discomfiting to realise how bare he'd just laid his soul open to her. The temptation to pull back into his familiar shell was almost overwhelming. "The hourglass, Severus," she said firmly, dragging him from his uncomfortable thoughts.
Her use of his given name laid out the terms for their encounter as plainly as if she'd spoken them aloud. For one minute, they would cast off their public personas. Professor Snape and Miss Granger would cease to exist and, for a short time, would be replaced by Severus and Cat. A man and a woman who wanted nothing more than to hold one another. And when the last grain of sand drained from the hourglass, he would once again become the resident greasy git and she would resume the roll of Gryffindor's Head-know-it-all and they would never, ever, speak of their stolen minute again. "This sort of thing never works as planned, you know," he calmly stated, his mouth brushing lightly against the finger she'd pressed to his lips as he searched her eyes.
"Very little in life goes according to plan," she responded wryly as she slipped her arms up to wrap around his neck.
"Indeed," he said as he slid his wand out. "Tempio Assanti!" he cried and tossed his wand onto the table next to the conjured hourglass, freeing both hands to pull her closer. Determined not to waste a moment of their precious time, he wrapped a hand in her curls and dragged her mouth to his.
*~*~*~*~*
Sweet Titania! She thought dizzily as her every sense was invaded by his essence. As Miranda she had been kissed by this man before, but it hadn't remotely prepared her for this. In the Malfoy dungeons, he'd kissed her for a purpose and a reason relating to the Greater Good. Now he was kissing her for himself with all the hunger of a beggar at the king's banquet, and OH! The difference it made!
Ease dropping on his mental tête-à-tête, she'd found herself agreeing with him on every point. Their situation did put them in an uprecedentedly dangerous position on any number of fronts. There was too much at stake for them to alter their behaviour in any way, but she was astonished to find that she did wish to change their conduct radically. Having seen the teasing, sarcastic version of the man in her arms, it made the bitingly cynical version that much harder to bear. When he'd considered being her friend, she'd felt like her heart would explode at the thought of having someone FINALLY who could understand the way her brain worked. Someone intelligent enough in their own right not to be overwhelmed by her intellect; someone who would challenge her and welcome her ready mind and quick wit as a foil for their own. Knowing the he had the capacity to be that kind of friend to her, and she to him, made the entire concept of their relationship evolving into something more than a student/teacher one sound frightfully appealing.
While she had never been aware of him physically until today, waking up in his arms and their almost kiss of earlier had opened her eyes to the possibilities. So when he thought of becoming her lover, the accompanying images he'd unintentionally sent her associated with that consideration sent a bolt of heat shock through her body.
*the two of them, back in his bed, gloriously naked with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pounded her into the mattress*
Having never slept with anyone as either Miranda or Hermione, the fleeting sensation of what sex felt like from a male perspective lit up her nerve endings in a way she'd never experienced and left her aching to be the soft abandon he imagined plunging into. While she'd understood the mechanics of sex for years, her teenage fumblings under both identities had never roused in her this almost painful longing to have a man inside her.
Not any man, she corrected herself. Just Severus. So when he'd decided to give them one more minute of inappropriate closeness, she'd resolved that they wouldn't waste that time with her sitting demurely in front of him. If this single breach of etiquette was supposed to last them indefinitely, she wanted something more definitive to remember than holding his hand.
A sudden thrust of his hips against hers brought her back to the present. The proof of his desire pressing hot and hard against her stomach sent a rush of excitement tingling through her and she moaned into his mouth as she pulled him impossibly closer. The tie of the dressing gown he'd transfigured for her had come loose and the robe fallen open, removing a layer of unwelcome barrier from between her flesh and his. The cotton of his pyjamas was seductively soft the bare skin of her legs and she found herself wrapping a leg around his hip to increase their contact. He gasped appreciatively as the move aligned her body properly against his and removed the hand he'd wrapped in her hair to run it sensuously along the naked skin of her upper thigh.
The hot brush of his fingertips sliding along her skin burned like fire. Please...her mind whispered to his, begging for even more of his touch. "Severus..." She groaned aloud as she tilted her head back. He hands found her waist and lifted her up, giving her the leverage necessary to wrap her legs around his hips. Locking her ankles behind his back she squirmed enticingly against him, thoroughly enjoying the mental hiss of pleasure her wriggling prompted from him.
"Cat..." he murmured against the column of her throat as he blazed a trail of kisses down to the hollow of her neck and flickered his tongue in the dip. The rough timbre of his voice pulsed through her. Panting, she rocked against him and pulled his head up for another deep, searing kiss. His strong hands kneaded her hips as she shimmied against him and, irritated by the obstruction, she ripped the front of his shirt open to give herself access to his chest.
His reaction to her primal move was to immediately grasp her hips and firmly thrust his body up against hers. The thin blockade of her panties and his pyjama bottoms did little to muffle the exquisite sensation and if she hadn't been so busy kissing him she would have screamed in pleasure. Her hands were just sliding down the planes of his chest to attack the offending garments when a silvery chime broke into their reverie and caused them both to freeze.
Their minute was up.
*~*~*~*~*
"Now that I know what I'm without, You can't just leave me. Breathe into me, and make me real." - Bring Me to Life, DD soundtrack, Evanescence
*~*~*~*~*
*CHAPTER NOTES*
1. "In secret we met - in silence I grieve. That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." Lord Byron, When We Two Parted
2. Um...yeah. I SO earned my R rating with this chapter. A little gratuitous snogging never edged up anyone's rating, right? *looks around nervously* Right?
3. Where'd Tempio Assanti come from? Absolutely nowhere, I just thought it sounded cool. At most, a variation of the Spanish word 'tiempo' which means time.
4. A HUGE THANKS to my reviewers! My inspiration to beat my muse into submission and refuse to let writer's block keep me down came from your fantastic remarks!
NOTE: This fic is R rated. You have been warned - please react accordingly.
Chapter Six: What I'm Without
She was patiently silent as she waited for him to finish off his cup and, quite frankly, he found the quiet unnerving. Not that he wanted her to revert to the unprompted chatter of her eleven-year-old self, but upon consideration he was certain that even the Hermione who'd sat in his classroom on Friday would've been incapable of maintaining this type of serene introspection for more than a minute. It made him wonder suddenly just how deep the changes prompted by her merger with Miranda ran. Her decision to choose a new name for herself abruptly made perfect sense. Miranda may have been the one to die physically, but for all practical purposes, the girl who'd raised her hand at every question during Friday's lesson was gone as well. The addition of seventeen years worth of experiences and living her brutal murder had left an indelible mark. The young woman sitting affably across from him was practically a different person from the Gryffindor know-it-all who'd plagued his Potions class for the past seven years.
Does that make the fact that you almost kissed her this morning better or worse, Severus? He asked himself sourly. Downing the rest of his tea in a gulp, he resolutely pushed those thoughts away as he set his cup down. "Accio Book!" He called with a swish of his wand and the leather bound tome from last night zipped into his hands.
The witch across the table from him sat her own cup down but continued to watch him without interruption. Thumbing through the heavy volume, he quickly came to the page he had shown Albus and handed it to her. She cocked an eyebrow at him, but instead of waiting for a reply bent her head to the book and quickly read through the section he had pointed to.
"As you can see," he said as he donned his best teaching voice like a robe. "The Bridge of Ether is a combination of several components. The first of course is the potion, which we will be gathering ingredients for today in Diagon Alley."
"The recipe appears almost ridiculously simple," she said abstractly as she ran a fingertip over the instructions.
"That's because it is," He snapped as he took the book away from her, irritated by her interruption. "Even Mr. Longbottom would be hard pressed to turn this particular brew into a catastrophe."
She frowned at him prettily. "But how can something so simple hold the force necessary to stabilize the Bond? I thought a potion's power was directly related to the difficulty inherent in it's brewing?"
"Many of the uninitiated think that," He sneered condescendingly. "While the more complex potions are known to yield exceptionally vivid results, there is a certain stability that should not be overlooked in simplicity, Miss Granger." Flipping several pages, he handed the volume back to her. "If you would desist in your pointless interruptions, I would explain." The glare she shot him would've felled a lesser man, but he just found it amusing. "The Bridge of Ether is comprised of the potion and several spells which culminate in a wizard tattoo, as you can see on the page before you."
"A wizard tattoo?" She said distrustfully, "Like the Dark Mark?"
He blanched at her description, but couldn't refute, as it was unfortunately right on target. "The Dark Mark is actually a perversion of this very spell," he replied softly. A wave of nausea swept over him and he couldn't help but wonder if it originated from himself or the slightly green-faced woman across the table. Even if it was from her, he could hardly blame her for feeling ill: the thought of the Dark Mark's more distinguished cousin gracing his skin made him feel slightly sick as well. "The Bridge of Ether was traditionally used by Shield Mates or Lovers. It forms a solid, unbreakable, connection between two individuals. Our existing Bond will be able to make use of that bridge to stabilize itself. Like the Dark Mark, the Bridge of Ether will allow us to pinpoint each other's position for apparating and make us constantly aware of one another's condition. The telepathy," he wryly smirked, "will not be noticeably different from what we currently enjoy." His subtle stress on the word 'enjoy' brought an answering smirk to her face before she could stop it.
Her expression smoothed out as she took a deep breath and attempted to come to terms with this new information. The thought of a wizard tattoo permanently etched on her skin was not appealing. And that was before you took into account the powers associated with it! "What will the tattoo be of?" she asked finally. "Not a snake-wrapped skull like the Dark Mark, I hope!" she yelped in a startled afterthought.
"I sincerely doubt it," he said as he leaned over and pointed to a spot further down the page than she'd yet to reach in her reading. "The tattoo will take its shape from relevant aspects of our individual personalities and reflect who we are together. Though I'm quite confident," he stated with an evil smile, "that my contribution to the design will be a serpent of some type."
She couldn't hold back her snicker, "You should thank Merlin it's me in this situation with you instead of Pavarati or Lavender. You'd end up with lipstick or a curling wand with a snake wrapped around it, for sure."
"If it were Miss Brown or Miss Patil I would not BE in this situation," he quirked with an exasperated roll of his eyes. Oblivious to his insinuation that her involvement was the deciding factor in his participation, the Professor reached over and turned the page while she gaped at him. "The potion's influence is amplified by the combination of the other components. Once we finish brewing, the infusion is allowed to cool while we engage in ritual meditation. You do know how to meditate, don't you?" He looked up at her and she nodded at him dumbly. Looking down, she followed along through the section in the book he was pointing at. "After the meditation, we will consecrate ourselves inside a Circle with the potion in a silver chalice."
"We're actually going to consecrate a Circle?" Hermione broke in excitedly. Circles were considered Old Magic and were rarely used in modern spell casting. Having the opportunity to participate in one for a legitimate spell was a rare experience for any witch in today's wizarding world and the prospect thrilled her. A fragment of remembered reading floated through her head and she squinted down at the printed words suspiciously. "Isn't consecrating a Circle supposed to be done in the nude?"
Severus swallowed sharply at the thought of Hermione's lithe form swaying nakedly through the Rite of Consecration. "We'll pick up some raw silk robes. As long as they haven't been dyed and are hand sewn, we should be able to bypass that particular requirement." Standing up, he moved around the table and pointed over her shoulder to a section on the next page. "After the Circle is consecrated, we drink the potion and cast Kundalini on each other."
"Kundalini? The spell of Chakra Illumination?" Tilting her head up to look at him as he towered over her shoulder, she shrugged at his inquiring look; "I did a project on it over the summer."
"Aside from Divination, what could you possibly need to do extra studying in? If you don't require additional tutoring for MY class, I'd be hard pressed to believe you're scores in Charms or Transfiguration were lacking," he sneered down at her.
"I didn't say I *needed* it," she answered frankly. "I just like being able to bring books home with me over the holidays. The only way we muggle-born students are allowed to do so is if we're signed up for a holiday project assignment."
"Taking on superfluous work just to have books available over the break..." Shaking his head, he chuckled. "And all this time I thought you were nothing but an ostentatious show off, Miss Granger. Who knew your behaviour all these years has been prompted by nothing more than a truly epic case of bibliophilia?"
"This should scarcely come as a surprise to the man who's caught me sneaking into the Library after hours at least once a week for the past seven years," she laughed.
"Indeed," he replied with a smirk. "I had you in Friday evening detentions so often your fourth year the Headmaster accused me of trying to keep you as an unauthorized teacher's aide." It was well known that Professors were allowed to take fifth year students and higher as teacher's assistants, but only with the Headmaster's approval.
"Naturally you disabused him of such a ridiculous notion," she said as she smiled up at him. Genuine affection infused the grin, as if she were speaking to a cherished friend and not Hogwart's most hated professor.
"Naturally." He surprised them both by smiling wryly back down at her. "I told him it wasn't my fault you Gryffindors are so inept at sneaking back from moonlit trysts."
She threw her head back and howled with laughter; the action resting her nest of curls in an unnoticed pile against his stomach. "Moonlit trysts!" She sputtered before dramatically placing the back of her hand against her forehead as if swooning. "Ah yes, my illicit love affair with Hogwarts: A History! In secret we met - in silence I grieve..."
"That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." He finished mockingly as he rested his hands on the top of her chair.
"You've read Lord Byron!" She blinked up at him in pleasant shock. "But, but he's a muggle!" Normally he would have been offended by the intimation of such a remark, but with her happy surprise at finding someone at Hogwarts who'd heard of her favorite poet ringing through him, it was impossible to take the statement in any way other than the one it was intended. Very few modern wizards in even Ravenclaw, the most studious house, were inclined to read anything written by non-magical individuals that was less than two thousand years old, to say nothing of a not-so- former Death Eater/Slytherin. Finding anyone in the magical world who even acknowledged that there was a use for poetry outside its spell casting applications was an astonishing feat in itself.
"If you examine my shelves, you'll find my reading material is untouched by such prosaic concerns." His dark eyes looked down searchingly into hers. It was suddenly strangely important to him to know that she, of all people, didn't see just him as the role he was forced into playing to maintain his spying position for the Order. "Does that surprise you?" he was almost startled to hear his own voice ask solemnly. His entire body tensed as he awaited her answer. He didn't know what had possessed him to voice such a query, but now that it was done he found that he desperately wanted to know her answer. At the heart of that question was one he'd found himself pondering many a dark night: Was he redeemable? After all these years, was there anything of the man behind the role of "Evil Professor Snape" left? And even if there was, what did it matter if not even the woman who had free reign to read his heart and mind could see it?
The laughter melted from her eyes and she met his gaze squarely. Through their connection, the layers of subtext to his inquiry swam in her mind. Her heart hurt at the thought of a man who had given up so much of himself to fight the Dark doing so with no confirmation from those around him that they saw past the mask he was forced to wear. "No," she practically whispered, willing him to know that she saw past the facade. "It doesn't surprise me at all." Instinctively, her hand came up to clasp his where he'd curved it around the top of her chair.
The corners of his mouth curled up in the closest approximation of a fond smile to grace his features in longer than he could remember. The earnestness of her reply, both audible and mental, warmed him and diffused the stiffness that had crept in his posture. His acceptance of her meaning flowed through the bond and with a contented sigh, in relief she sagged lower in her seat. Leaning her head further back against him, she gave his hand an unthinking squeeze.
It was then that he realised the danger inherent in the link that they shared. In less than a day, with the help of their bond, the woman in front of him had managed to tear through his carefully constructed walls like they were paper. No one had ever had this kind of affect on him. His suspicious Slytherin nature had no defense ready for simple heart-felt Gryffindor honesty. And with the open access to her psyche he currently enjoyed, there was no way he could deny the plain truth of her feelings:
She respected him. She admired his intelligence. She trusted him. And when he wasn't being a condescending bastard, she was comfortable enough in his presence to joke with him. To comfort him. And most unbelievable of all, had the house elf this morning not interrupted them, she would have kissed him. Not because she was trying to get a better grade or to garner some kind of blackmail material, but simply because at that moment she'd wanted to. And while that understandably confused the hell out of her, by no means did it disgust her.
He could only wish his own feelings were so straightforward. Or, for that matter, that he had the luxury of considering them. The bottom line was that she was a student and he was her Professor. It was worth his job and her reputation, not to mention both their lives if the Dark Lord found out, for them to be involved in any other fashion. Their bond and his Protection vow would put them in enough of a precarious situation if either ever came to light. Teachers don't get soul-bound to their students and Death Eaters don't swear to Protect mudbloods. The last thing they needed was to have the extra stigmata of, what? Being friends? Dare he even consider it, being lovers? He shivered at the thought of taking her back to his bed under even more...inappropriate... circumstances than last night's.
Looking down at the soft chestnut curls spilling over his green fabric- covered chest, he took a moment to savor the sensation of a willing woman comfortable and lounging practically in his arms. As much as their current intimate position may belie it, there was no denying that their world held no place for this improper familiarity. But if he was going to have to go back to being Snape-the-Bastard, he was at least going to enjoy this sweet fantasy a minute longer.
As if she'd heard his thoughts, she rose from her chair and turned to stand in front of him. Sliding her arms around his waist, she tilted her head up to meet his eyes. "Conjure us an hourglass," she commanded quietly.
"Miss Granger, what?" he sputtered in shock at her sudden move to embrace him.
She placed a finger on his lips to silence him. "We have one more minute. I'd prefer not to waste it." His body jerked in her arms as he realised that he must have projected his entire mental discourse to her. It was very discomfiting to realise how bare he'd just laid his soul open to her. The temptation to pull back into his familiar shell was almost overwhelming. "The hourglass, Severus," she said firmly, dragging him from his uncomfortable thoughts.
Her use of his given name laid out the terms for their encounter as plainly as if she'd spoken them aloud. For one minute, they would cast off their public personas. Professor Snape and Miss Granger would cease to exist and, for a short time, would be replaced by Severus and Cat. A man and a woman who wanted nothing more than to hold one another. And when the last grain of sand drained from the hourglass, he would once again become the resident greasy git and she would resume the roll of Gryffindor's Head-know-it-all and they would never, ever, speak of their stolen minute again. "This sort of thing never works as planned, you know," he calmly stated, his mouth brushing lightly against the finger she'd pressed to his lips as he searched her eyes.
"Very little in life goes according to plan," she responded wryly as she slipped her arms up to wrap around his neck.
"Indeed," he said as he slid his wand out. "Tempio Assanti!" he cried and tossed his wand onto the table next to the conjured hourglass, freeing both hands to pull her closer. Determined not to waste a moment of their precious time, he wrapped a hand in her curls and dragged her mouth to his.
*~*~*~*~*
Sweet Titania! She thought dizzily as her every sense was invaded by his essence. As Miranda she had been kissed by this man before, but it hadn't remotely prepared her for this. In the Malfoy dungeons, he'd kissed her for a purpose and a reason relating to the Greater Good. Now he was kissing her for himself with all the hunger of a beggar at the king's banquet, and OH! The difference it made!
Ease dropping on his mental tête-à-tête, she'd found herself agreeing with him on every point. Their situation did put them in an uprecedentedly dangerous position on any number of fronts. There was too much at stake for them to alter their behaviour in any way, but she was astonished to find that she did wish to change their conduct radically. Having seen the teasing, sarcastic version of the man in her arms, it made the bitingly cynical version that much harder to bear. When he'd considered being her friend, she'd felt like her heart would explode at the thought of having someone FINALLY who could understand the way her brain worked. Someone intelligent enough in their own right not to be overwhelmed by her intellect; someone who would challenge her and welcome her ready mind and quick wit as a foil for their own. Knowing the he had the capacity to be that kind of friend to her, and she to him, made the entire concept of their relationship evolving into something more than a student/teacher one sound frightfully appealing.
While she had never been aware of him physically until today, waking up in his arms and their almost kiss of earlier had opened her eyes to the possibilities. So when he thought of becoming her lover, the accompanying images he'd unintentionally sent her associated with that consideration sent a bolt of heat shock through her body.
*the two of them, back in his bed, gloriously naked with her legs wrapped tightly around his waist as he pounded her into the mattress*
Having never slept with anyone as either Miranda or Hermione, the fleeting sensation of what sex felt like from a male perspective lit up her nerve endings in a way she'd never experienced and left her aching to be the soft abandon he imagined plunging into. While she'd understood the mechanics of sex for years, her teenage fumblings under both identities had never roused in her this almost painful longing to have a man inside her.
Not any man, she corrected herself. Just Severus. So when he'd decided to give them one more minute of inappropriate closeness, she'd resolved that they wouldn't waste that time with her sitting demurely in front of him. If this single breach of etiquette was supposed to last them indefinitely, she wanted something more definitive to remember than holding his hand.
A sudden thrust of his hips against hers brought her back to the present. The proof of his desire pressing hot and hard against her stomach sent a rush of excitement tingling through her and she moaned into his mouth as she pulled him impossibly closer. The tie of the dressing gown he'd transfigured for her had come loose and the robe fallen open, removing a layer of unwelcome barrier from between her flesh and his. The cotton of his pyjamas was seductively soft the bare skin of her legs and she found herself wrapping a leg around his hip to increase their contact. He gasped appreciatively as the move aligned her body properly against his and removed the hand he'd wrapped in her hair to run it sensuously along the naked skin of her upper thigh.
The hot brush of his fingertips sliding along her skin burned like fire. Please...her mind whispered to his, begging for even more of his touch. "Severus..." She groaned aloud as she tilted her head back. He hands found her waist and lifted her up, giving her the leverage necessary to wrap her legs around his hips. Locking her ankles behind his back she squirmed enticingly against him, thoroughly enjoying the mental hiss of pleasure her wriggling prompted from him.
"Cat..." he murmured against the column of her throat as he blazed a trail of kisses down to the hollow of her neck and flickered his tongue in the dip. The rough timbre of his voice pulsed through her. Panting, she rocked against him and pulled his head up for another deep, searing kiss. His strong hands kneaded her hips as she shimmied against him and, irritated by the obstruction, she ripped the front of his shirt open to give herself access to his chest.
His reaction to her primal move was to immediately grasp her hips and firmly thrust his body up against hers. The thin blockade of her panties and his pyjama bottoms did little to muffle the exquisite sensation and if she hadn't been so busy kissing him she would have screamed in pleasure. Her hands were just sliding down the planes of his chest to attack the offending garments when a silvery chime broke into their reverie and caused them both to freeze.
Their minute was up.
*~*~*~*~*
"Now that I know what I'm without, You can't just leave me. Breathe into me, and make me real." - Bring Me to Life, DD soundtrack, Evanescence
*~*~*~*~*
*CHAPTER NOTES*
1. "In secret we met - in silence I grieve. That thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive..." Lord Byron, When We Two Parted
2. Um...yeah. I SO earned my R rating with this chapter. A little gratuitous snogging never edged up anyone's rating, right? *looks around nervously* Right?
3. Where'd Tempio Assanti come from? Absolutely nowhere, I just thought it sounded cool. At most, a variation of the Spanish word 'tiempo' which means time.
4. A HUGE THANKS to my reviewers! My inspiration to beat my muse into submission and refuse to let writer's block keep me down came from your fantastic remarks!