They stood on either side of the study, him at a calm standstill, her poised as if preparing for a duel. She had very little idea of what to expect from this lesson, or if it would help at all. He seemed rather unsure as well, a battered copy of Occlumency: Occluding and Being Occluded in his left hand. He didn't wear his apprehension though as he took her in. If anything, her nervousness made him feel a firmer surety.

"Miss Granger, the easiest way to occlude is to clear your mind of whatever resides in it. It should be the most efficient way of ridding the curse from your thoughts. That being said, it will not always work - my mind seems to wander very easily."

She knew about Occlumency, Harry told her all about his own, very short lived lessons. According to Harry, Snape was not a very patient teacher. He faulted Harry with being weak and emotional (which of course Harry claimed to be false accusations). Rid herself of everything? She couldn't imagine what her mind would even look like blank.

"It isn't a direct attack on your mind that you are fighting. When you hear my …voice, in your head it isn't me speaking to you, but a direct connection between us." He looked uncomfortable, as he always seemed when they discussed his voice in her head. "When you hear my voice, you need to focus on pushing the command away with something else. Another thought, a memory perhaps. Understand?"

She nodded, though she assumed theory was much more different than practice.

"I will enter your mind first, you will resist me understand? Then you can see the difference between evading my active penetration and my unintentional connection with you." He had pulled himself to his full height as he pointed his wand at her, entirely given way to his teaching persona. She nodded her consent and immediately shut her eyes as she tried to squeeze everything out of her head.

She could feel a cold tingling in her head, could feel a weighty push against the back of her forehead and knew he was there. Suddenly, memories were being pulled to the forefront of her mind, without her approval. Her and Harry sitting in front of their first tent after escaping The Weaslys', looking over the books she brought in her beaded bag, turning the corner in the Common Room and seeing Harry and Ginny kissing, Ron getting angry at the radio late one evening when it unexpectedly went dead, the three of them at lunch in Hogsmeade, - she'd just tripped and her knee stung sharply, lying in Snape's bed only days ago, tired but fearing his return-

Suddenly there was no more pressure and her Professor stood in front of her as if he hadn't just travelled almost five months back. He looked untouched.

"At least try." He muttered. She hadn't done anything to dissuade his presence.

Suddenly he was stock still again. She was about to question him when suddenly her arms started moving of their own accord and the voice in her head, his voice, told her to remove her sweater. She did with little thinking, and once it had been cast aside only then did she realize again she hadn't even tried resisting him.

"This time, try to push me out." He stated.

The voice in her head told her to take off her shoes. No, she said. Her arms were shaking with her effort, her hands grew clammy. He pressed her further and it was as if he was commanding her limbs himself. Finally when resisting felt too painful, she succumbed and her shoes came off .She sighed in defeat and relief.

"Try again-"

"I won't have any clothes left!" she stated. He rolled his eyes and took a step towards her.

"Calm down."

Her mind felt exhausted even though it had only been one attempt. It was excruciatingly hard to deny him. He stared her down again and she waited. The fire was dying and the slow unfurling crackles was the only thing to fill the air. Finally he subsided and raised an eyebrow.

"Miss Granger."

"Sir?"

"You did it!" He looked surprised.

"You didn't command anything."

His brow furrowed and he looked to the fire with a question on his face,

"Yes, I asked you to reignite the fire."

"No-"

"Yes."

"It seems as though, most of the time Sir, I can't hear you. When you're gone I don't hear you at all and when you return in the evenings I hear one or two things, but not very many. Why?'

Severus Snape regarded his student with unease. It was not untrue that he had attempted to occlude her, but surely that was not this successful. Something had gone wrong with the curse, it wasn't as Voldemort had intended when he cast it. Whether this was in their favor or not, he was unsure as of yet.

"Well, we'll have to see how this unfolds. The rest of your evening is yours. I'll try to find some answers." He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned towards his desk, dismissing her. She had not been a burden since her arrival to his rooms, he rarely had time to himself to see her during usual waking hours. But in these moments, the in-between moments he called them, he was never sure of how to proceed.

She was a young girl, captured and held hostage in his opinion with very little in the way of comfort. Her best friend was dead, the other one as good as dead and she was subject to his every want and need. How did he appease her? She didn't ask for much, came off as very shy and uncertain. She walked around with trepidation, light steps, quiet breathing. He could see those things. It might have helped if he knew what she wanted.

She stood there, uncertain for a few moments before retreating in to the small guest room he had refurbished for her.

The whiskey was dry and welcome. Nowadays it wasn't uncommon for him to have a glass or two a night. When left to his own devices, he thought mostly about his culpability. The murder of Dumbledore had been the last favor of both masters and even though it had been welcomed, asked for, unavoidable, the scene haunted him restlessly.

He would have to stay here and keep appearances now and when the time came, eventually, Potter would have to die. It was a burning fact that he couldn't seem to live with. But mostly everything was out of his hands now, or at least that had been the plan until Miss Granger had been put under his care. This was meant to be his reprieve, his reward for killing Albus, and yet it was the most important task he had been set as of yet. The Order had a majority ruling, he was no longer welcome there either, though it would have been too dangerous now to engage in any meetings they held. It was all up to Shacklebolt and Lupin now but whatever help he could give, he would.

He knew where Potter was – not exactly – but he knew what the boy had been sent out to do. Without his two friends, Professor Snape wasn't entirely sure how the boy would fair. Voldemort had been right when he took the two of his companions and left Potter unharmed. He was useless alone, like anyone would be.

What he found most difficult now was the balance between acting and reality. He had death eaters all over the castle, punishing at will and ransacking. There was little he could say that would not cause suspicion. And then he had old staff members, good people who eyed him suspiciously and wondered where his loyalties were buried. McGonagall made things entirely easier, standing up for the inflicted when he couldn't. But there was only so much authority either of them had.

When he drank, he drank with his soul, taking in the numbing sensation welcomingly, and nesting in to its folds. After his third tumbler, he had little thought for anything but his bed, resting fitfully and unhappily.

XXXXXXXX

Hermione was pulled awake by a gripping force in her back forcing her to sit up. The room was pitch black, her digital watch flashing the early morning hours in neon digits. Agonizing doses of pain washed over her as she fought to remain where she was but they overcame her.

She whimpered as she got out of bed on her own accord, her feet forced on to the cold hardwood of her bedroom floor. Without seeing where she was going, her body maneuvered around her bed towards her door and she forced herself out.

From what she could finally see, the professor had gone to bed, left a half empty tumbler of whiskey on his desk and a number of scattered papers. Through her watery vision, she could see the fire still burning away a relatively new log. Her head ached so sharply she nearly cried out, but it seemed nothing would deter her from her mission. Her feet carried her past the desk, past the sitting area and straight in to her professor's room. Despite her lack of control, the fear in her did not subside. She opened the door with a brashness of a woman who had control.

Fight it, fight it! She pleaded with herself, wishing they had practiced more instead of leaving the issue be for the night. Her professor was sleeping, one hand bunched to his face, the blankets haphazard. At the sheer force of her fight, she shut her eyes in complete humiliation as she unveiled him and rested herself on the bed. This was hard to disassociate, hard to remind herself she was doing these things because he wanted them and not out of some sick perverse behavior on her part.

"Professor." She said, hoping he would wake before she had to go any further. He did not and she found herself stroking his now uncovered chest with gentle hands. She could do nothing to rouse him, but stroke his cotton clad chest. "oh gods, oh gods." She muttered tearfully. Her arms pulled him towards her, resting him inside the crook of her arm, taking him in as close as she could. She laid down next to him and covered them both. The pain in her head instantly ceased and she whimpered with relief. His breath tickled her neck, calm and quiet. She couldn't move, her body stuck to the bed, stuck to his body. She slowly and methodically started to caress him in a comfortable way, the way her mother would have done to comfort her.

"Professor." She whispered afraid now to wake him but even more afraid to stay.

He accepted her presence as a fact, nuzzling his nose in to the nape of her neck and sighing in content. His arms pulled her closer to him, appeased by her presence.

It was a long few minutes before the realization of another body brought her professor back to reality. As soon as he jerked away from her, it was as if she had been freed from a body bind and she too jumped back, out of the bed.

"What is the meaning of this?" he stammered, also getting out of the bed and standing tall before her. She cowered under his gaze well aware of her state of dress and completely humiliated.

"I am so sorry Professor, I couldn't, I couldn't help it-"

"Fine. Leave now. This is inappropriate."

She nodded and without a word ran out of his private room.

"Damnit!" he snarled, hitting a nearby pillow. What the devil was that? He couldn't even remember dreaming let alone desiring anything. And to think he desired her, to come in here and … and what? Hold him like a little ninny? He'd made a fool of himself and gotten mad at her for it.

Unsure how to proceed, he settled back down in to his bed, wearily glancing at the door she had left open in her hasty escape.

He hadn't even considered something like this. He let out a moan and rested his head against the cool headboard. Why wouldn't he? He should have considered every single possibility. He was a fucking man for god sakes. And it seemed like she could read his mind without him even knowing what it was he wanted. They would have to focus on occluding now, to save propriety. To save her and himself face.

He stood watch the rest of the night, keeping over his thoughts and schooling his emotions. It would not do to have an incident like that, ever again. When morning broke, he was the first to see it.