Ch.7— Wrath
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The storm lessened and then ceased altogether, and the sky was once more blue and perfect. Packing Phineas' portrait away, they left the cave and began to walk. And Hermione was ever-thankful she now had shoes with which to navigate the rocky terrain.
"So," she said, breaking the silence between them, "there's just a small matter of ritualistic sacrifice, right?"
"In one, Miss Granger," he replied, his tone curt.
"I've said it before, we're rats in Slytherin's maze. Rats who, if we fail, will be carved up in sacrifice to the Queen of the Damned." She scrubbed her face tiredly. "We're practically lambs for the slaughter."
"This changes nothing," Professor Snape insisted.
She looked at him as if he was deranged. "Are you kidding me? This changes EVERYTHING! He didn't build this for his guests to see if we're worthy to visit his inner sanctum. He built this hell as a tomb for trespassers to appease the bloodlust of a goddess that in all probability exists. There's virtually NO hope we survive this experience!"
He stopped walking and turned to face her. Leaning in, he spat, "Miss Granger, it does not matter! We've a job to do, and we're going to do it. That being said, you will stop your hysterics this moment."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why don't you go ahead and make me, you bloody wank— wait a moment." Hermione drew up short. That was not like her, not at all. She looked around, only just noticing the scenery had shifted. While they'd been arguing, crimson-black clouds had begun to gather above them with lightning following in its wake.
"Professor," she looked at him and said uncertainly, "I think we're experiencing our first taste of wrath."
His anger fled as her words pierced him, and he looked up.
There was a great tearing sound, and the Earth in front of them split in two, water rising up from the seam. Lightning crashed in a torrent all around them, bits of stones beginning to rain down from above. The Earth trembled, and they reached out for one another as they watched the other side instantly recede to where it was a small mote in the distance.
They'd stumbled, it seemed, upon the River Styx.
A wraith-like being looking every bit as malevolent as a dementor appeared at the shore with a boat. And as she watched, it held out its palm.
"Charon demands payment," said Professor Snape
"It's going to be our stuff, isn't it?" she asked.
Professor Snape began disrobing, handing Charon each item of clothing he wore one at a time, oddly enough saving his shoes until last. And she noted absently that he had chosen, in the end, to forego wearing Harry's y-fronts.
He reached to take off his shoes, but Charon lifted his hand.
Enough payment had apparently been made.
He did, however, get to keep his wand.
Charon then demanded payment from her.
Every single stitch she had on soon followed with exception of her hair tie, beaded bag, and shoes. She'd decided to follow his lead. After all, it didn't matter about modesty between the two of them, but footwear? It could be the difference between life and death.
Charon's hand lifted, and it bowed before them, gesturing they should step on.
Boarding first, Hermione immediately looked behind her for her flames gesturing they should follow. Once Professor Snape had climbed in, Charon began to punt them across. Hermione asked, "Professor, would you mind lengthening the strap of my bag. I wish to wear it across my body."
He did so, and she began to take stock of anything within she could use to help her.
But the screams soon distracted her.
Terrible and blood-curdling, they could be heard coming from the other shore. And somehow, she knew each scream was meant for her. Her mouth grew dry as her palms began to sweat, and she closed her eyes, accessing her memory palace, and skimmed through this part of The Inferno.
"Alright, so wrath," she said, looking behind her at Professor Snape. "There's two types: wrath against others and wrath against oneself, so more than likely we're going to have to encounter both."
"Take out the map," he told her. "There will no doubt be more on it."
Hermione did so and said, "Professor, there are two chambers with what looks like a labyrinth to go through in between."
"Multiply your flames and be prepared to use them," he ordered, and she looked up. Hundreds of glowing eyes stared back at her.
Hermione performed her 'dupleo' charm until there was a veritable cadre of flames surrounding them. The screaming intensified, and she took an instinctive step back straight into Professor Snape. He put his arms out to steady her, but when he moved to let go, she put her arms on top of his, holding him to her.
The air smelled of fire and brimstone, and the heat was scorching.
Gradually, she began to see a gate to the labyrinth appear on the other shore, and she saw it was being guarded by three jackals.
"Jackals travel in packs," she said. "What do you want to bet there's more?"
The boat scraped bottom, and Hermione felt the fear and adrenalin before battle begin to hum in her veins.
"Try to take out as many as you can." Professor Snape gestured around them to the hundreds of glowing yellow eyes staring back. "We are going to have to fight our way through, and they're going to try to separate us. Stay close to me."
Hermione stepped off the boat. The screams grew deafening, and she realized what she mistook for screaming was actually shrieking laughter from the jackals.
The three jackals lunged at them with teeth bared. Professor Snape fired three hexes, obliterating them in the time it took Hermione to blink.
There was a moment of silence.
Then a hoard descended.
Professor Snape's wand did not stop moving, wandlessly repelling as many as he could shield against with his free hand while firing curse after curse with his wand, taking out as many as ten at once.
Meanwhile, Hermione protected his back, and hers, with the engorged jars of flame she'd cast, using them as a fiery barrier to surround them.
A jackal surged forward taking her off guard, and she took a step to the side to avoid it. In that one small step, three more lunged to shove her back, and suddenly, she found herself apart from Professor Snape. In the time it took to draw a breath, she was surrounded and cut off with just her flames to save her.
"Professor!" she called out, right as a jackal lunged for her arm.
Professor Snape hit it with a blasting hex and cast a shield around her, firing curses repeatedly to keep the jackals at bay for her, thus leaving himself exposed. She flung a jar at a jackal that was headed straight for his nape, and it shattered with a hiss, killing the thing and burning those around it.
Professor Snape cast 'incendio' and twirled his wand, and there was suddenly a ring of fire surrounding them. And Hermione realized what he wanted her to do. He couldn't sustain this; he needed his wand to begin moving them forward, but she could. With a twirl of her finger and a 'dupleo' charm, she had her jars of flame, now measuring forty or more, encircling them.
Engorging them all, she made a curtain of fire to barricade them.
"What do we do?" she asked him as she looked around. The gate still seemed so far away, and thousands of jackals still surrounded them. They howled and surged, their numbers relentless. They were learning how to successfully knock down her jars, and it was obvious her curtain wouldn't last for long.
"We're going to have to make a run for it. Hold onto me." Professor Snape suddenly scooped her up and began flying them, blasting through the jackals in front of them with Hermione felt jaws and fur, claws, and teeth everywhere that wasn't being held by him. A jackal made a dive for her exposed throat, but Professor Snape flung his wand, and the thing flew backward before being swallowed up by the hoard.
She gestured, and her flames followed them, surrounding them on three sides while Professor Snape flew them onward. They made it to the gate, and the moment they made it through, the jackals disappeared, their shrieking laughter silenced.
Hermione lowered her flames, her hands trembling, and Professor Snape put her down, asking, "Are you alright? Were you bitten? Burned?" His hands ran up and down her sides, inspecting.
She shook her head. "You?"
"I'm fine, Miss Grang—"
"Severus, you killed me!" Albus Dumbledore cried from their right, startling her.
"Hermione, how could you—?" her mother cried from their left.
There were two directions to go, two separate sides of the maze, and she looked up at him feeling lost. "It looks like we're going to have to split up, Professor."
"So, it would seem." He frowned down at her. "Remember: occlude, try to resist giving into the temptations wrath will pose. I will meet you on the other side of this, Miss Granger."
Hermione didn't pause to think but launched herself into his arms. And in reaction, he put his arms around to hold her. She didn't want to die alone. God, she never realized how much of a fear that was until this moment. She did not want to die alone. And precious were the seconds she stayed tucked into Professor Snape's arms, precious seconds where she felt safe.
But she couldn't stay like this forever. They didn't have the time for one, and she was only prolonging the inevitable.
Steeling herself, she pulled away from him and said, "Right then, that's enough. Knowing you, I've made you terribly uncomfortable. I'll see you on the other side, Professor."
And not pausing to look back, she called her flames to her and stepped into the labyrinth.
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"Unloved."
"Useless."
"Alone."
Each word was whispered in her ear like a caress. And they were each of them familiar. These were the voices that tore her down, made her feel the wreak of failure. Those that featured in a nightly chorus if she didn't occlude properly. These were the thoughts Riddle's locket would bring up if she let it when her self-loathing was at its worst.
And Hermione realized she hadn't stepped but one foot inside the maze.
Harry's voice suddenly rang out, distinguishing itself from the rest as he appeared before her, "Snape, Hermione? Really? And you actually let the bat of the dungeons stick his—God, I can't even think—" He looked sick.
"I loved you, 'Mi, but what good are you now?" Ron said from behind her, pushing her forward into the maze. "Used goods. That's all you are. And you let the black bat fuck you. And you know you liked it, 'Mi. In fact, you want more of the mangy git's touch. I thought there was a line. I mean yeah, I always knew you'd do anything to get an 'O', but really, 'Mi? Fucking Professor Snape?"
She felt hurt, anger, and outrage at their words, and she looked behind her to discover Professor Snape, too, was arrested in motion. He'd been listening to everything Harry and Ron had been saying to her, and if she strained, she could hear his voices too:
"A student, Severus, really?" Professor Dumbledore said, his tone grave.
"You really are a pervert," Hermione heard the voice of Sirius Black say, his tone gleeful.
"He's always had a thing for mudbloods," a voice that sounded suspiciously like Lucius Malfoy said.
"Snivellus finally got himself some," the figure that could only be James Potter said tauntingly beside him. "It's too bad the lady didn't want what little he had to give."
She watched Professor Snape's hands bunch into fists as his jaw clenched tight. It was going to be hard for her not to give into anger, but Professor Snape? This might be where he met his end.
"Professor," Hermione called out to him, meeting his gaze. His eyes were livid. She gulped and said, "Remember, this place lies. It's just trying to provoke us to anger. Let's not let it."
Hesitantly, he nodded, and with relief, she watched him occlude. She felt like she'd just prevented a cauldron from exploding.
Occlusion.
They had to practice it.
Drawing a deep breath, she shunted the voices to the back of her thoughts and began to walk, running her hand along the right wall. She'd read somewhere this was the key to solving most mazes. And taking out a spare bit of parchment from her bag, she began to rip it up into pieces and drop them on the ground like 'bread crumbs'.
Lucius Malfoy suddenly appeared before her, saying, "Hello, little mudblood. Perhaps you should be bedecked in filth equal to that of your moniker?" He drew his wand and wads of mud were flung at her from every direction, plastering her with stink. He looked down his nose at her. "What's the matter, filth? Are you going to cry about it? Or perhaps it would be better for you to try to get even?"
Her vine wood wand was suddenly presented to her. Lucius Malfoy held it in his hand, taunting her with it. All she had to do was take it, and then she could use it to obliterate him.
But this was the temptation, and she needed to resist it. She turned away from the sight and headed in the opposite direction.
Draco Malfoy suddenly appeared in front of her and kicked her in the stomach, sending her sprawling back. "That's what you get, mud-blooded bitch, for every single time you failed to find your place and stay there."
Her cheeks began to scald, and a simmer of rage began to burn in her gut. Remember, occlude, she told herself. This place was just trying to manipulate her. She would not let it. Hermione picked herself up and carried on, focusing on ignoring the jeering remarks and violent reactions, staying calm.
Suddenly, Cormac Mclaggen was there beside her, drawing her into his arms and pinching her nipple viciously. "You know you like it rough, Hermione. You want to see what I do with little girls who like it rough?"
Tearing herself away from him, she began to run.
The voices followed her.
"Such a failure—"
"A freak!"
"A disappointment!"
"—no daughter of mine—"
She stopped running, out of breath, realizing she was well and truly lost inside the maze now. There was no way to outrun them all, and they were growing louder and louder by the second.
What was the solution, though? Anger could be countered with…
Tolerance.
The word presented itself to the forefront of her mind as if being plucked from above and gifted to her.
She would have to show tolerance, and as with so many things in this place, she needed to surrender and through surrendering, find peace.
She told herself it didn't matter. It didn't matter what this place did to her, or threw at her, or how many times she was kicked, she would not give in to what it wanted.
Salazar Slytherin's hell was strong; she was stronger. It wanted to provoke her anger. She would show tolerance instead. And as she'd been thinking out the solution, the voices around her gradually lessened until they were only whispers.
And these were easy enough to ignore.
She had the map, and she had a manual compass; it had come with some of her dad's camping things. The map itself was oriented due north which meant in order to reach the other side of the maze, and hopefully Professor Snape, she had to head west.
There was a movement out of the corner of her eye, and Hermione quickly looked up but saw nothing.
She looked back down at the map, studying it thoroughly. If she kept going west, she'd come across a little courtyard that looked to be maze center.
The thing in her periphery moved again.
Quickly, she looked up just in time to see a twin-image of herself dart away.
Hermione paled…
This circle was about wrath against others and wrath against oneself.
Oneself.
She was going to have to fight herself…
And she was wandless.
Alright, if that was the case, then she needed to change the way the game was played. There was no way she could fight herself and win…especially without a wand, but she had her bag…
Was there anything in her bag that could help her?
She dove into the thing, wishing vainly that she'd taken Lucius Malfoy up on his offer of her wand after all…. So far, she couldn't find anything, but perhaps Harry had something…
Feeling around in her bag, she grabbed for his knapsack and opening it, felt something slippery fall free.
Her eyes widened.
Harry's cloak! Oh, holy shite! She had the invisibility cloak!
Pulling it free, she quickly slipped it on just in time to see her mirror-self turn the corner and begin to run towards her.
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Her mirror self was evil; her face drawn into a rictus grin of hate.
It was the worst of herself she was witnessing, and she looked barely human, almost demonic with grinning tusks, hands like claws, cloves for feet, and bloodlust in her eyes.
And she realized she was seeing a minotaur of herself.
The thing was meant to prod her through the maze, keeping her running, eventually exhausting her so that when she fell, the thing would gore her to death. And if she hadn't put on the cloak, she would have been forced to fight this rabid version of herself hand-to-hand.
But her other self was confused, sniffing the air and pawing at the ground, trying to find her.
Not wasting a moment, Hermione sent her jars of flame darting one way, and she darted down the opposite direction, running blindly through the maze but clutching the map to her. Her twin followed after the jars, and Hermione comforted herself with the fact that if Death itself couldn't find what was hidden under this cloak, then there was no way Salazar Slytherin's 'Minotaur' was going to either.
Now, to find her bearings.
Without a wand, it took her significantly longer to find her compass as it was packed away with the tent, and in between searching, she found a butcher knife. Holding the compass, the needle pointed true north, Hermione headed west, winding her way through the maze, clutching the knife to her.
She could hear spells being cast, and she could only imagine what Professor Snape was having to go through right now. However, he sounded close. Perhaps he, too, was trying to make it to the maze's center.
She twisted and turned, running at times, consulting the map at others. The thing wasn't giving her instantaneous direction, but in mentally picturing the parts of the maze she'd traveled thus far versus the parts of the maze still left unexplored, she knew she was near the courtyard and would be there soon.
Lowering her hood for just a moment so she could see the map better, her twin found her on a tear down the aisle. In the time it'd taken her to realize she'd made a wrong turn, Hermione was trapped, hemmed in from all sides with her doppelganger guarding the only way free and staring straight at her.
And since she'd lowered the hood of the cloak, her head could be seen.
She was alone and defenseless.
Her twin narrowed her eyes and growled at her, pawing at the ground with a cloved hoof, getting ready to charge.
Closing her eyes, Hermione called her jars of flame to her.
And it was agonized seconds she waited for them to appear. The thing charged her.
Her flames appeared a moment later, and Hermione flung one of her jars at her twin.
Her mirror-self snatched it from the air, intent on throwing it back. The moment she did, Hermione wandlessly engorged the jar and then performed a wandless 'evanesco' to vanish it away.
There was a deafening BOOM!
The jar exploded before crumbling to dust, and the explosion obliterated her twin's clawed hands as well as a good portion of her face. She went down on her knees screaming.
Shedding the cloak, Hermione crept up behind her with the butcher knife, and taking her other self by her hair, mercilessly slit her throat.
She looked up to find Professor Snape looking down at her.
He had an arrested expression on his face as if he'd never seen her before. He was covered in blood—none of it, thankfully, looked to be his— and must've finished facing his own personal demon and was coming to help her with her own.
"Thank you, sir," she said calmly, letting her other self's head fall to the ground with a 'plop', "but your assistance is unnecessary."
"So I see." There was a measure of respect in his tone, and she looked up at him, grinning.
Pointing his wand at her, he banished away the mud and filth Lucius Malfoy had thrown at her as well as the blood from her other self's demise, and spelled himself clean in the process.
"How about some more clothes?" she asked as she once more dove into her bag and came up with … three socks, an ancient and fraying undershirt of Ron's, and another pair of Harry's pants. She bit her lip and looked up at him. "I'm afraid this is all I've got."
"Then I'd rather go in the buff," he said, his expression wry.
Hermione shrugged, and contemplated Ron's undershirt, but ultimately decided against it. It smelled like him. But she kept on Harry's cloak, pleased that it covered everything from view but her head.
The maze's center was just that: a courtyard with a row of benches lining each of the walls and a fountain with a ten-headed snake spouting water.
"Do it again," Professor Snape bid as, taking one of the pebbles at their feet, transfigured it to be a cup, and filling it with water from a serpent's mouth, handed it to her.
"Do what again?" she asked, taking a small sip to whet her suddenly parched throat. At the first drop hit her tongue, Hermione drank greedily.
"Easy, easy," Professor Snape cautioned, lowering the cup from her lips. "You don't want to make yourself ill."
Looking up at him, she blushed, but he filled it for her again. And this time, she took smaller sips.
He continued, "That sequence of spells you did to catch your minotaur off-guard. What did you do?"
"Ah, that. I'm using the only wandless spells I know: multiplying, engorging, and then vanishing my flames." Crooking a finger, Hermione flung one of her jars away from the others, and calling her power to pool in her palm, performed the necessary movements to engorge it and then vanish it so that it burst upon contact with the ground much like a muggle Molotov cocktail.
Suddenly, a shriek was heard as the ground began to tremble, and it sounded as if Hell's fury was after them. Her fingers going boneless, the cup she held clattered to the ground as she realized whatever was coming after them was big… very big.
"Get down!" Professor Snape ordered as he drew her hood and shoved her down right as a ten-headed hydra crashed through the maze.
Hermione disappeared under the cloak and rolled; the giant head of a fanged dragon striking where she'd stood not a moment before.
With one of its heads as big as Grawp, its movements reminded her of the Whomping Willow with its shrieking and thrashing. Professor Snape began performing slicing hexes and obliterates, his goal to sever each head before it could grow back.
That was the only way to kill it.
His wand work was lightning fast and precision-perfect, his curses flying in a never-ending torrent, but it was clear he was outmatched. As soon as one of the heads was lobbed off, and another cut, the one before it began to grow back twice as fast. And no matter how fast Professor Snape was, there was no way to defeat it with only his wand alone.
Without her help, they were going to die.
Concentrating, Hermione wandlessly multiplied her jars of flame so there was an assortment of them and flung several at a head. At the last moment, she performed her sequencing spells to engorge them before performing a wandless 'evanesco' to vanish them away. They exploded with a deafening blast causing the head she was aiming at, as well as those of its neighbors, to shrink back in pain.
Professor Snape was there in an instant, lobbing off the head of the one she'd injured as well as the two surrounding it. And she realized he was relying on her. Without pausing to think, she threw another batch, performing the same sequence of spells. He cut three more heads off in the time it took to blink, and Hermione performed her chained spell a third time.
With four final severing curses, the thing was cut down. Blood and gore surrounded them everywhere, and the smell was horrendous.
A door then appeared from within the corpse of the beast.
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They'd survived.
Dear Hecate, they'd survived!
She felt light-headed with victory and drew back the hood of her cloak smiling up at him. "We did it, Professor! We survived wrath! And oh, my! I'm dizzy!" She stumbled back, and Professor Snape was at her side in an instant.
"Track my finger," he ordered, holding out his finger before her eyes. Hermione blinked blearily but did as he requested, her eyes moving sluggishly.
"We can't go on like this," he said. "You must rest, and we most definitely can't stay here. Come on, Miss Granger." He put his arms around her and lifted, and she relied on him a bit too much as he held her upright.
He hissed 'Door Open.'
And with a 'squelch', it did.
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They'd arrived to the next gate with Hermione cradled in his arms as he flew them through.
Not bothering to land right away, Professor Snape flew them a good distance, surveying the land as he did so. Hermione, meanwhile, shut her eyes and basked in the feeling of flying high but feeling completely safe. And the wind felt positively exhilarating after the bit of hell they'd just endured.
Professor Snape ducked his head and said lowly in her ear, "I'm going to find us a safe place to land, and we're going to rest."
Hermione nodded and shivered to feel his voice so near her ear, nuzzling more into his chest because of it.
She felt the skin beneath her cheek pebble with gooseflesh, and she smiled to herself. He was just as aware of her as she was of him. And here in the amnesiac bliss of her floaty thoughts, she could think them and be honest with herself about them.
She'd seen Professor Snape duel, but that was child's play compared with the elegance she'd witnessed tonight. The sheer precise economy of movement, nothing was wasted. And the wizard could wandlessly cast a shield while throwing a volley of curses.
She'd never seen anyone do that.
His wizarding skill was only surpassed by his intelligence. And he had plenty of common sense as well as a vast library of knowledge to share. And too, in Professor Snape she could find a kindred spirit because, like him, she'd done something irreversible, and it had cost her dearly.
He knew what it meant to get caught up in things one doesn't quite understand. And he knew what it meant to atone. And ultimately, Hermione understood he'd have many stories and experiences to share, and she wanted to be the one to hear them.
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A little after twilight as darkness fell, Professor Snape landed them beneath a copse of trees.
There were no birds, no chirping insects, nothing. And it was disconcerting, adding to the wrongness of this place.
Professor Snape set them down gently, holding her to him until she regained her balance.
She still felt off.
It was more than curious. She felt drunk, if that were such a thing. Sluggish and heavy.
"You're experiencing the symptoms of 'battle fatigue'," he said, his hands held spanning her waist. "Your body is undergoing an adrenal dump. Is there any food in that bag of yours, Miss Granger? Miss Granger?" He snapped a finger under her eyes, and she blinked blearily.
"I have a sandwich," she said distantly. "Aberforth foisted it on me, but I couldn't eat it at the time. I saved it for later."
"I'd say we've reached 'later'." He made sure she was steady before he let her go, and then she watched him work magic.
Nature bent to his will; that was all there was to it.
He started with a patch of moss and the exposed roots of an old oak tree, and the roots began to braid themselves, the moss began to grow until it was a fine, cushiony carpet. And Hermione realized he'd made them a bower of moss and wood, protected on all sides by the shield he cast. It looked like bliss, and she put one of her jars floating in the middle to light them as darkness fell, using the rest to stand sentry around them.
Reaching for her hand, Professor Snape drew her down to sit beside him, and reaching into her bag, she found her ice chest and drew it out.
She had exactly two bottles of butterbeer and a sandwich. And after performing an engorgement charm on the sandwich so there was enough to share, Hermione handed him a bottle, then contemplated her own.
Harry and she had been saving these. They were going to toast the fall of Lord Voldemort with them.
It was with a wry grin that she opened the top and took a swig, mentally saluting her friend. Well, if she couldn't have Harry at her side at this moment, then she thanked Merlin to have the man sitting here beside her.
"I feel I have an acknowledgment to make, Miss Granger," Professor Snape said, breaking the silence between them.
Hermione looked at him inquiring.
He said hesitantly, "In the trials we've faced, you've proven yourself more than capable of conducting yourself with a grace and intelligence that, as yet, have gone unacknowledged by me."
Hermione met his stare. "Just what are you trying to say, sir?"
He gave her a level look, and she saw that what he was about to say was going to be difficult for him. "I am saying, Hermione, that you've proven yourself more than capable in meeting each challenge set you, and I'm grateful for the assistance your presence provides."
She was taken aback by his words, her mouth forming a small 'oh'.
And then she beamed up at him, but even her smile was tired.
"Finish your sandwich," he said softly, nodding to it on her lap, "and then you're going to sleep."
Drawing her bag to him, Professor Snape called Phineas' portrait from within, but curiously did not enlarge it but rather shrunk it down so that it was the size of a muggle cellular.
She finished her meal as he talked with Professor Dumbledore. And Hermione would've liked to have said she was paying attention to what they were saying, but she couldn't. Her mind, her body, her very being was shutting down and craving sleep.
She finished her meal, and lay down with the cloak around her. And the last thing she remembered was the Headmaster saying it had been three hours since the last time they'd talked.
And then she knew no more.
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She woke up cold.
She remembered that much.
And she woke up alone.
And when she felt like this it was normal for her to seek Harry out to hold her while she slept. They did that for one another sometimes.
This wasn't normal.
But she felt almost like it was because the situation was a dangerous one, and the person she was with felt safe.
And so, she sought the arms of the one who made her feel safe, and nestling there, went back to sleep.
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The first sensation Hermione registered was a feeling of warmth and security.
She felt cocooned, insulated from the world in that floaty bliss of having gotten a restful night's sleep. When had she last felt like this? It had been months, perhaps years since she'd felt so safe. And she lay sprawled across someone's chest whose chest hair tickling her chin.
She turned, jostling them both, and then arms were coming around her to keep her from falling, and a hand was at the side of her breast almost palming it, causing her nipple to harden at the slightest graze of fingertips.
And in an instant, she knew where she was.
They were in Salazar Slytherin's hell, and she was nestled under Harry's cloak with Professor Snape holding her to him.
His hand started to ease away from her breast, but she stopped him by turning more into his palm, filling it. His breathing hitched. His hand twitched, as if involuntarily, and his thumb caressed her nipple, as if by accident, causing her to gasp, and her posture to stiffen.
It happened again, and she bit her lip.
It happened one more time, and then Professor Snape was palming her breast even more, and she closed her eyes and leaned back into his chest.
"We need to get going," he said lowly in her ear, and she shivered as his thumb and forefinger began to rub her nipple between them in a sensuous massage. And Hermione's entire being was focused on that hand and what it was doing to her.
Just this morning he was her most-loathed professor. But time and circumstance had changed them both, and she felt a swooping sensation in her belly as she thought in one-part disbelief, two parts pleasure that this was really happening.
Professor Snape was actually palming her breast without the excuse of a lust potion. This was him—it was what he—what they both— wanted.
She could feel him, erect and pressing insistently at her hip, nudging her. And he knew, he knew the effect he was having! This was her professor, she tried to tell herself, her professor that she was finding herself incredibly attracted to.
And he obviously felt the same attraction for her.
She suddenly turned them over causing him to lean back, and pillowing her hands upon his chest, she looked up at him. His expression was open; he was as relaxed and contented as she'd ever seen him.
Biting her lip, she began, "This is probably our last day left living, you do realize that, right?"
His arms came around to cover her once more with Harry's cloak that had slid down her back, and it was a bit disconcerting to see his thigh and leg poking out from the other side of nothingness. She continued, "I don't want to wait until our date, sir."
"Wait for what?" he said, his eyes narrowing, as if knowing what she was about to say.
"The possibility of there being more between us. Circumstances being what they are have thrown us together, and I'll never look at you the same way again." She smiled softly. "How could I?"
"You must." His expression closed off. "When we return above—"
"If we return above, you mean, and let's face it, the margin's slim. I don't want to wait before our date and 'a societally prescribed' time has passed before I get to know you intimately. Quite frankly, I think we're doing the most intimate thing two people can do—walk naked through hell together. And I know some long-term relationships that are built on far less," she persuaded. "And too, I think I should find some enjoyment in my last day left living." She grinned hopefully.
His expression was stony. He was unmoved.
She continued to wheedle, saying, "I don't want to die without experiencing this… pentacle of human experience. And we're obviously attracted to one another…." Hermione looked pointedly down to where she knew his erection lay. She bit her lip and rationalized, "And at this point, sir, it's like closing the barn door after the horses have bolted. Waiting does no one any good."
Hermione held her breath, taking it as a positive sign that he seemed to be weighing her words, before his eyes met hers, and she saw he was going to say 'no.'
She sighed.
"You are not thinking rationally, Hermione," he said. "When we get back, and yes, there will be a 'when' not 'if', you will regret our intimate time together—" He shot her a quelling look when she went to object, and said, "No. I will not take advantage of you or the situation in which we find ourselves. I shouldn't even be holding you now."
He made to release her, but she stopped him, saying, "Alright, even though I think what you've said is utter shite, I will obey your wishes. But sir," she looked at him with a naughty hint of a smirk before replying, "believe me when I say I'm going to do everything within my power to change your mind."
So saying, she deliberately threw off Harry's cloak exposing the two of them with her breasts full and aching for his touch and his hardened prick prominently on display.
And in one, lithe movement she straddled him, his eyes widening as she caught him off-guard. His hands immediately moved to cup her waist, and after shaking her curls behind her, Hermione rubbed herself up and down his body like a cat, her breasts pressing against his stomach to his chest, his member just situating itself within her feminine cleft which was swollen and aching for him.
He groaned softly, his eyes meeting hers as he reached to pull her in closer, almost voluntarily.
Her eyes met his in challenge, and she rolled her hips, loving the feel of having him so near where she needed him most. She clutched him to her, and with a boldness that surprised even herself, she claimed his lips in a searing kiss.
He was hers at this moment. She knew it, and he knew it too. He was reluctantly hers. And she wanted his full cooperation when, not if, the time came for them to join.
She gave herself the satisfaction of one more luxurious hip roll before releasing his lips. And then she halted all movement, causing a befuddled expression to appear on his face followed by a vicious scowl, his eyes furious. Grinning, she gave him a 'pop' kiss on his lips before she grabbed the cloak and got up to find a bush to go behind.
It was a long moment before she heard him get up to do the same.
.
.
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A/N: Hoo! Is it hot in here, or is it just me? *fans self* And that's quite the challenge our intrepid Gryffindor has set herself: the willing seduction of one Severus Tobias Snape. I wonder how that will play out in the future… *grins*
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Until next time, readers!
—K