Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of sixteen. It contains sexual content, including some non-consensual, and may offend some readers. If this subject is offensive to you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 43 – All in the Mind

"You said you wanted to see us, Sir?" Bale's voice was hesitant as he and Gem stepped into Snape's office. Hardly surprising that they were a little nervous – the Potions Master's summons had been rather cryptic, demanding that they report to his office immediately.

Snape had been pacing the office, waiting for them, and he now stood by the fire, gesturing the two students to armchairs. They sat, glancing uneasily at each other, wondering what this was all about.

They were not kept waiting for long. "I require your assistance," said Snape, getting straight to the point. "There is a particularly difficult potion that I must make, and cannot brew it alone. Having seen you both work, I know that you have attained a certain level of competence in the subject, and your assistance would be appreciated."

It was now more than a week since Hermione had been taken to the hospital wing, and there had been little change. Sometimes she remembered their relationship, other times she did not. On occasion, she thought that she was back in junior school, and could remember nothing about Hogwarts, and other times, it was as though things were perfectly normal. Two days ago, she had told him about how she, Potter and Weasley had reached the lake caverns, and seen a dark, looming shadow in the water, but yesterday she had not known his name.

Her fragmented memory seemed to come and go at random, and it was agonizing for him. The occasions when she remembered their relationship were rare. Mostly she either could not remember him at all, or knew him only as the teacher she despised, and he could not decide which of the two was worst. At least when she did not know who he was, he was free to sit by her bed and talk or read to her. When she remembered him as Professor Snape, it was clear that his presence was not welcome, and he had on occasion, been driven from the room by either Hermione herself, or by Pomfrey, who claimed that he was upsetting her patient.

At first, Pomfrey's advice had been to allow Hermione's memory to heal naturally, but as the days had progresses, he had finally managed to persuade her that intervention was required. Hermione's memory was shattered, like a mirror broken into a thousand tiny pieces, and would take some drastic action to repair. Time alone would not be sufficient.

The potion that he wanted to use was extremely delicate. The ingredients were not difficult to obtain, but had to be measured precisely. During the brewing, timing was everything. A moment off, and the whole thing would be ruined. Snape had reviewed his options carefully, before speaking to the two boys. He had considered requesting the assistance of Pomfrey herself, but, while the matron was an expert in the use of potions, she was not an accomplished brewer. Having narrowed the list to his more accomplished students, his first choice would, naturally, have been Hermione, but he had confidence in the two Hufflepuffs, and they agreed at once.

For two nights, the three of them worked diligently, preparing the ingredients, and planning for how the potion would be created. By the time the third night came – the night that they would do the actual brewing – they each knew their part like a well-rehearsed play. Starting immediately after an early dinner, they worked solidly for over six hours. Everything had gone exactly according to plan, and all that was left was to leave the final mixture simmering for precisely thirteen minutes, before pouring and bottling, ready for use. It had been a tiring operation, with no chance for any lapse in concentration, and the three were exhausted. Finally, holding up the precious bottle of carefully stoppered brew, Snape nodded in satisfaction.

"Your assistance has been invaluable," he told them, sincerely. "Well done."

Both boys knew the reason for the potion, and the patient who would receive it – the school had been told part of the story of the tunnels by Dumbledore – but a new understanding seemed to pass between students and teacher as they regarded the completed concoction. For one second, Snape was sure he could see in their eyes that they knew the truth of his feelings. Was it because of the last few days, he wondered, or had they always known? And yet, it did not matter. With the knowledge that they knew his secret, came the certainty that they would keep it to themselves. Requiring no words to confirm the silent exchange, the three nodded, then set off up the stairs to the main castle. With a final glance at the Potions Master as they reached the top of a large staircase, the students headed right, towards their house, leaving the teacher to take the precious bottle to the patient.

- - -

An hour later, Snape was regretting ever thinking of brewing the potion for Hermione. He had known the effect it would have, but he had not been quite prepared for the reality. Hermione was curled up tightly, in terrible pain. Pomfrey had prepared a lotion for her skin, which had been applied to counteract the burning of the potion, but the pain was still unbearable. She had been moved to a small room on her own, to avoid disturbing the other patients with the effects of her treatment, and Snape and Pomfrey remained with her while the potion worked its magic. Unable to touch her, to avoid causing further pain, Snape was forced to stand by and listen to her heartbreaking cries. He paced the room like a caged tiger, while Pomfrey sat by the patient's bed.

Finally, Hermione's pain seemed to ease. Her cries lessened, then stopped, and her piteous, half-conscious state changed to a deep and peaceful sleep. Her breathing was regular and soft, and there was a serenity on her face that he had not seen for so long.

Shape had not slept that night, and as the dawn approached, he longed to curl up in the chair next to Hermione's bed, and sleep, close to her. Unfortunately, this was not possible. Apart from the fact that the matron insisted Hermione be left in total peace to sleep, and refused to allow Snape to remain, he had classes to teach. With a final look at her sleeping face, he bent to kiss her lips – much to the disapproval of the matron – and left the room.

As he stepped through the main ward of the hospital wing, he paused to regard the other two sleeping students. Each had been affected very differently by their adventure. Weasley had evidently been hit by more than his fair share of hallucinogenic spells, and had told stories of strange, furry creatures that exploded when he touched them, and a team of large fish on broomsticks, holding a Quidditch practice in the tunnels. Not to mention the frogs – which seemed to occupy his thoughts in some rather strange ways! The visions he had been having were gradually fading, and every day he was calmer and less prone to fits of uncontrollable giggling. A few days, Pomfrey had predicted, and he would be back to normal.

Potter was another story. It was getting close to two weeks since they had been pulled from the tunnels, and in all that time, he had not regained consciousness. He was sleeping soundly, and nothing Pomfrey had done could wake him, but she could find nothing wrong with him.

The teacher stared at the two as they slept, anger curling his fingers into fists. If they wanted to be reckless and stupid, whey couldn't they do it alone? Why drag Hermione into their hair-brained schemes? Potter had always been one to interfere in things that were nothing to do with him. He should realize that if things were hidden or protected, it was for a reason. Doors were not locked and passages concealed just for the fun of it. It was time those boys grew up – or at least put only themselves in danger, without involving others. They had seen him angry before, but that was nothing compared to what they would face when they had recovered. They would learn not to endanger the woman he loved!

At that moment, the door to Hermione's room opened, and the matron stepped out, closing it softly behind her. "Something wrong, Severus?" she asked.

Snape shook his head. "Nothing," he growled, then turned to the door, to head for the Great Hall and some breakfast.

- - -

It was many hours before Hermione woke, feeling more comfortable and relaxed than she had done in what felt like a very long time. Her memories of the last two weeks were like waking nightmares, in which she had been constantly in pain and confusion. Some parts of it, she could remember clearly – such as how she had not known Severus when she had first regained consciousness, and Ron's ridiculously infectious giggling, during his last visit. Other parts were only vague and frightening images. She felt weak and tired, but at last her mind was clear. She knew who and where she was – and for someone who had always prized her intellect above all, it was a joy to feel that the ordeal of confusion was finally over.

Shaking with the effort, she slowly pulled herself to a sitting position in the bed, and looked about. On the table next to the bed, a large vase of flowers was surrounded by cards, and her wand was resting on top of a pile of books. But what was far more interesting to her right now was the sleeping figure of Severus Snape.

She smiled as she watched him. He was in an armchair, which looked very comfortable for sitting in, but not at all for sleeping. His head was twisted at an awkward angle, and his face was pale and worried. Poor Severus. He must have been through Hell. How could she not have known him? She could remember clearly the dislike she had felt when he walked in the other day, asking how she was. She had wondered why he was taking an interest – sure that he must be up to something.

If she had never fully regained her memory, would she have fallen for him again, she wondered?

They had been brought together by his act of violence and violation. Despite the pain and trauma, it had given her a glimpse into his passionate and deeply scarred soul. Without seeing that dark side of his being, would she ever have been able to know and understand him the way she did now? She would never be able to answer that.

All she knew was that she loved him with all her heart.

As she watched him, contemplating the strong features and soft black hair that she adored, he stirred, and his dark eyes opened to meet hers. Immediately, he stood, took a step forward, then stopped, hesitantly. It appeared that he did not want a repetition of the last time he had approached her. To dispel his fears, Hermione opened her arms to him.

"Severus," she said, softly.

The worry on her lover's face seemed to melt away in that instant, and he took the three steps forward to take her in his arms.

"Hermione," he murmured, huskily into her ear. She held him tightly, the feel of his body seeming to give her the strength she needed. His touch was tender, as though afraid to hurt her. "I've been so worried about you, my darling." He pulled back, to look into her face. "Are you sure you are ... ?"

The pain on his face wrenched at her heart as his voice trailed off. "I'm fine, Severus," she told him, wanting to see all his fears leave him. "I know exactly who you are, and I love you!"

Still trembling, she lifted a weak hand to touch his face, then pulled him toward her. Their lips met, and the warmth of his touch spread through her body like rays of sunlight breaking through clouds to reach the darkest shadows. As their tongues touched, Hermione felt like her heart would burst with the joy of being with him. She felt his hands caressing her back, as they kissed – his arms encircling her body and holding her close. It felt so good.

The sound of the door slamming startled them both, and they released each other with a shock. Madam Pomfrey was standing inside the doorway, looking furious.

Snape stood quickly and stepped away from the bed. "My apologies, Poppy," he muttered. "I ... "

Pomfrey cut him off. "Severus, I have to ask you to leave," she snapped. "I cannot allow this kind of behavior. This is a hospital!"

"No," rumbled Snape, softly but firmly. ""It will not happen again, but I will remain here." He gazed levelly at the matron, as though daring her to challenge him.

After staring at him for a few moments, her shoulders sagged a little. "Very well," she conceded at last, "but you will both," she glanced at Hermione, as she said this, then back to Snape, "conduct yourselves with some control."

"You have my word," Snape told her, "I will not touch her." As though to prove his sincerity, he moved to the armchair and sat down, watching as the matron checked on her patient.

When Madam Pomfrey finally left, she gave each of the lovers a hard stare, and a reminder of "You gave me your word." With that, she left the room, looking less than comfortable, and with an expression that showed her disapproval of the whole situation.

Hermione sighed as the door closed, and she was left alone with Severus. He was watching her, his head tilted to one side, and a mischievous glint in his eye. She smiled. Whatever he was thinking – and she knew his expressions well enough by now – she liked. But after what Madam Pomfrey had just said, she did not suppose that acting on those thoughts would be a good idea.

"Severus," she said, smiling coyly, "you promised Madam Pomfrey!"

A smile touched the corner of his mouth, but his voice remained low. "I said that I would not touch you," he rumbled, "and I have no intention of breaking my word."

What was he up to, she wondered? A moment later, she began to understand, and she felt a soft tingling on the inside of her thigh. She gasped, then giggled. "What are you doing?" she half laughed, half whispered, with a glance at the door. Snape said nothing, but a moment later, she felt a touch on her shoulder. No – not exactly a touch – she couldn't define it exactly. She had felt it, like a physical touch, but she knew that there was nothing there – somehow real and unreal at the same time.

Whatever it was, she liked it. It had been so long since she had felt his intimate caress, and she needed him. His eyes were on her – dark and lustful – and it was making her want him so much. His 'touch' had been only the beginning – she knew that he could – and intended to – do far more to her eager body, without leaving his chair. Meeting his eyes, she smiled. The thought of him being able to do that was intriguing and very arousing. Already her body was responding, as she felt a warm tingle run down her back. Slowly, she slid from her sitting position to lie down, closing her eyes, and lifting her arms over her head to stretch out her body openly for him. Whatever he wanted to do, she was giving her body unreservedly to him, to do with as he would.

The touch she felt on her skin was so delicate she could scarcely feel it – like fingers moving over her, just close enough to feel their warmth, without making contact with her body. It started at her fingertips, and moved down her arms, her sides, her legs – finally ending at her toes – relaxing and soothing her whole body. She sighed as she surrendered completely to the sensation.

She could feel his hands on her body, even though she knew he was not touching her. No longer aware of the contact of the bed on her body as his mind reached out, she seemed to be floating – touched by nothing but him. The tender caresses of his hands on her breasts – the warmth of his breath on her neck – the soft strokes of his fingers on her thighs. It was like nothing she had ever experienced – so dreamlike, yet so physically powerful that her body was responding with deep sighs, and melting as though it had no form of its own, other than which his mind gave it.

The sensations deepened in their intensity, and she let out a gasping moan of pleasure. His touch was reaching her most sensitive areas, bringing mind and body to a feverish ecstasy that consumed her whole being. Holding her at the height of her climax for longer than she thought possible, he finally allowed her a release, which left her simultaneously drained and exhilarated.

Slowly, her body returned from its high, and she lay in breathless contentment.

She felt his lips against her face and warm breath on her cheek, as her name was murmured into her ear. Turning her face to meet his as she whispered his name, she reached for his kiss, but found nothing there. Her eyes opened to see him still in his chair, his own dark eyes intensely focused on her. He had not moved.

His touch had been so real. How could he have done that? Well – whatever it was, it had been incredible, and the expression on his face showed that he knew just how much it had affected her. For now, how he had done it would remain his secret, but she would have to find out more about that particular type of magic!

There was something contemplative and serious in his face as he watched her. "I never could have imagined I would be so much in love," he told her, quietly.

Hermione smiled. "There is something that I should have told you, before now, Severus," she whispered. "Yes."

A slight puzzlement appeared in his eyes, and he tilted his head in silent question.

"Yes," she repeated, softly. "I would love to marry you."