Anti-lawyer spell: Only borrowing, not making any money with it, promise to
return ( although condition should have improved no guarantee is given).
Please review in abundance, it's the only thing that keeps me going. If there are any beta readers who wouldn't mind giving some constructive crits I would really appreciate it.
Summary: Sometimes dreams can become reality, the problem is deciding which ones and when that line has been crossed. A Snape and Hermione story which may change rating, depending upon the reviews and bunnies.
Thankyou for the reviews, promise to keep the word count up from now on. Will update regularly.especially if bunnies are well fed.hint hint ;o)
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She awoke, and as a change to recent awakenings, no fear consumed her, just a warm feeling of well being. Her limbs ached and a wide smile lazily made its way over her face as she stretched, snuggling down into her duvet into a cocoon of warm satisfaction. She remembered, she remembered every warm sensuous detail with delicious clarity and by God it felt good!. Ignoring the morning clamours of her hungry cat, she basked in the memories, reliving her dream.
Cassandra watched with delight as Hermione sauntered over to the tea trolley, humming a muggle tune and smiling distractedly. Looks like she worked it out finally, she thought, happy that Hermione was content, even if she was acting totally out of character.
Hermione found her days dragged by, filled with a golden haze of her own happiness. Her nights were spent either with her lover or sleeping and thinking about him. There seemed to be a very particular difference between her dreams of him and "The Dreame" as she had begun to call it, where she was with him. It was as if a dividing line differentiated the two states, a different state of awareness that allowed her to tell them apart. She knew that when she was with him she was not dreaming in the conventional sense. She awoke tired, if satisfied, and was now becoming quite convinced that she was not merely dreaming but indeed travelling to the time and place her lover occupied. How this was accomplished, by what spell and activated by whom she had no idea. She had no way of identifying the magic, as strangely she didn't seem to have her wand with her. She knew she could have performed some analysis if she could keep it by her side next time she dreamed. Her fear now was that she would break the spell before she was able to replicate it. She did nothing to alter the circumstances of their current meetings, scared that even the slightest change would snatch him away from her forever. It terrified her enough to keep her curiosity at bay..for now.
He, it seemed, had come to the same opinion, and took great care to ensure that the scene of their meetings, the space in which they danced was always the same. Whenever she arrived the room was either in darkness, or the light in his bedroom was extinguished by the time her hand had turned the handle of his door. No words were spoken by either of them, none were needed to express their feelings, their wants and desires. Hermione had never been a screamer, not that she had a particularly wide experience to draw from, so the only sounds uttered in the room were the heartfelt sighs and the gasps of pleasure they used to communicate.
She thought her life was complete, her happiness supreme, and yet it nagged at her. She wanted to look into his eyes, to call his name, to know his mind as intimately as she knew his body. Just like the Greek myth, she thought, comparing her situation to Psyche and Cupid. She, however, had no intention of losing her lover by breaking the spell that protected them, that made their meetings possible. She had no idea how she would be able to see him again if she was indeed moving through time to be with him. It had to be enough, this closeness and distance combined. It had to be enough, and yet it wasn't.
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He had spelled the door to wake him when her hand touched the handle of his bedroom door. He had spent a great many nights awake waiting for her, trying to ascertain a pattern in her visits, but to no avail. There was no pattern he could find, and therefore he had no warning of her visit until she was already within his rooms. His temper had consequently hit rock bottom, the constant anticipation, constant need of her, had left him in a foul mood that spilled out to encompass him like a black cloud. Everybody had noticed, the students kept as far away from him as possible, even the other teachers were wary. The only exception to this seemed to be the Headmaster who wafted breezily through the great hall, said good evening in a loud and sunny voice and clapped the younger man on the shoulder as he passed behind him and walked to his seat at the dinner table. Severus just grunted, moodily rolling his aching shoulder and waiting for the meal to begin.
"Headmaster, I really am worried about Severus." A thin lipped Minerva McGonagall whispered, "He is most definitely more disagreeable than usual, he has positively terrified Amanda Gibbons, I really think you need to have a word with him." Her voice had begun to rise with her protective emotions and she turned a recrimanatory glance in Severus's direction.
"Maybe he just needs to get laid?" Sirius Black announced in voice that could be heard on the house tables, grinning at Minerva's blushing cheeks and winking at Severus maliciously.
"I don't think that is the problem, Sirius." Albus announced giving him his most stern reproving look, Sirius looked sceptical. "But I shall have a word with him if this doesn't sort itself out in the next few days. Don't worry Minerva, your Gryffindors have enough courage to get through double potions once a week." He chuckled, and winked at her before turning a worried expression towards his favourite Potions Master.
He ate with mechanical action, he tasted nothing, felt nothing, experienced nothing that was not with her. He had never felt so helpless, so bound to another person like he felt with her.it deepened his mood. Every evening, after had dealt with his detentions, his marking and other extraneous projects, he sat and waited for her presence. He had time to think, to try and figure out what exactly was happening, what were their ties to this spell. He had decided on concealing his identity from the moment he had realised that she was not a dream. The scratch marks had been deep and painful, and most definitely not a figment of his imagination. He had much better things to imagine, he leered to himself.
So, here he sat, his lean frame stretched out beside the low banked fire, reading by the light of the candle on the table next to him, another impatient vigil. The words of the book swarmed across his vision and he found himself unable to make a comment on the previous several pages. Angrily he turned back the pages, muttering to himself at his inability to concentrate on so simple a task. When he had the leisure to analyse the next few moments he would see his distraction as ironic. It had stopped him from realising her presence in the room beyond, it had stopped him from extinguishing the candle at her entrance, it had stopped the concealment of his identity and in that one captured moment, it had stopped Hermione's heart as she looked at her lover and recognised the one man she truly disliked.
Please review in abundance, it's the only thing that keeps me going. If there are any beta readers who wouldn't mind giving some constructive crits I would really appreciate it.
Summary: Sometimes dreams can become reality, the problem is deciding which ones and when that line has been crossed. A Snape and Hermione story which may change rating, depending upon the reviews and bunnies.
Thankyou for the reviews, promise to keep the word count up from now on. Will update regularly.especially if bunnies are well fed.hint hint ;o)
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ssssssssssss
She awoke, and as a change to recent awakenings, no fear consumed her, just a warm feeling of well being. Her limbs ached and a wide smile lazily made its way over her face as she stretched, snuggling down into her duvet into a cocoon of warm satisfaction. She remembered, she remembered every warm sensuous detail with delicious clarity and by God it felt good!. Ignoring the morning clamours of her hungry cat, she basked in the memories, reliving her dream.
Cassandra watched with delight as Hermione sauntered over to the tea trolley, humming a muggle tune and smiling distractedly. Looks like she worked it out finally, she thought, happy that Hermione was content, even if she was acting totally out of character.
Hermione found her days dragged by, filled with a golden haze of her own happiness. Her nights were spent either with her lover or sleeping and thinking about him. There seemed to be a very particular difference between her dreams of him and "The Dreame" as she had begun to call it, where she was with him. It was as if a dividing line differentiated the two states, a different state of awareness that allowed her to tell them apart. She knew that when she was with him she was not dreaming in the conventional sense. She awoke tired, if satisfied, and was now becoming quite convinced that she was not merely dreaming but indeed travelling to the time and place her lover occupied. How this was accomplished, by what spell and activated by whom she had no idea. She had no way of identifying the magic, as strangely she didn't seem to have her wand with her. She knew she could have performed some analysis if she could keep it by her side next time she dreamed. Her fear now was that she would break the spell before she was able to replicate it. She did nothing to alter the circumstances of their current meetings, scared that even the slightest change would snatch him away from her forever. It terrified her enough to keep her curiosity at bay..for now.
He, it seemed, had come to the same opinion, and took great care to ensure that the scene of their meetings, the space in which they danced was always the same. Whenever she arrived the room was either in darkness, or the light in his bedroom was extinguished by the time her hand had turned the handle of his door. No words were spoken by either of them, none were needed to express their feelings, their wants and desires. Hermione had never been a screamer, not that she had a particularly wide experience to draw from, so the only sounds uttered in the room were the heartfelt sighs and the gasps of pleasure they used to communicate.
She thought her life was complete, her happiness supreme, and yet it nagged at her. She wanted to look into his eyes, to call his name, to know his mind as intimately as she knew his body. Just like the Greek myth, she thought, comparing her situation to Psyche and Cupid. She, however, had no intention of losing her lover by breaking the spell that protected them, that made their meetings possible. She had no idea how she would be able to see him again if she was indeed moving through time to be with him. It had to be enough, this closeness and distance combined. It had to be enough, and yet it wasn't.
ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss ssssssssssss
He had spelled the door to wake him when her hand touched the handle of his bedroom door. He had spent a great many nights awake waiting for her, trying to ascertain a pattern in her visits, but to no avail. There was no pattern he could find, and therefore he had no warning of her visit until she was already within his rooms. His temper had consequently hit rock bottom, the constant anticipation, constant need of her, had left him in a foul mood that spilled out to encompass him like a black cloud. Everybody had noticed, the students kept as far away from him as possible, even the other teachers were wary. The only exception to this seemed to be the Headmaster who wafted breezily through the great hall, said good evening in a loud and sunny voice and clapped the younger man on the shoulder as he passed behind him and walked to his seat at the dinner table. Severus just grunted, moodily rolling his aching shoulder and waiting for the meal to begin.
"Headmaster, I really am worried about Severus." A thin lipped Minerva McGonagall whispered, "He is most definitely more disagreeable than usual, he has positively terrified Amanda Gibbons, I really think you need to have a word with him." Her voice had begun to rise with her protective emotions and she turned a recrimanatory glance in Severus's direction.
"Maybe he just needs to get laid?" Sirius Black announced in voice that could be heard on the house tables, grinning at Minerva's blushing cheeks and winking at Severus maliciously.
"I don't think that is the problem, Sirius." Albus announced giving him his most stern reproving look, Sirius looked sceptical. "But I shall have a word with him if this doesn't sort itself out in the next few days. Don't worry Minerva, your Gryffindors have enough courage to get through double potions once a week." He chuckled, and winked at her before turning a worried expression towards his favourite Potions Master.
He ate with mechanical action, he tasted nothing, felt nothing, experienced nothing that was not with her. He had never felt so helpless, so bound to another person like he felt with her.it deepened his mood. Every evening, after had dealt with his detentions, his marking and other extraneous projects, he sat and waited for her presence. He had time to think, to try and figure out what exactly was happening, what were their ties to this spell. He had decided on concealing his identity from the moment he had realised that she was not a dream. The scratch marks had been deep and painful, and most definitely not a figment of his imagination. He had much better things to imagine, he leered to himself.
So, here he sat, his lean frame stretched out beside the low banked fire, reading by the light of the candle on the table next to him, another impatient vigil. The words of the book swarmed across his vision and he found himself unable to make a comment on the previous several pages. Angrily he turned back the pages, muttering to himself at his inability to concentrate on so simple a task. When he had the leisure to analyse the next few moments he would see his distraction as ironic. It had stopped him from realising her presence in the room beyond, it had stopped him from extinguishing the candle at her entrance, it had stopped the concealment of his identity and in that one captured moment, it had stopped Hermione's heart as she looked at her lover and recognised the one man she truly disliked.