A/N: A feel-good update for all those who are hoping to avoid the plague, and for those who've got it and need something to cheer them up. #washyourhands #stayinside #psa
Also… this is going to be an awkward A/N. There's an unintentional s&m scene, y'all. I didn't intend for it to be that way, but upon further reflection, it reads a little too close to fiddy shades. *trigger warning.
Enjoy!
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Ch. 11— A Man that Knows Intricacy
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Upon their arrival, Callum had shown Professor Snape a paddock to store the Leviathan until they found a way to bind it. Kyah took Lara to their healer, and Hermione was pleased to see the woman knew how to tend her shoulder with the use of magic.
"How are you feeling?" Professor Snape asked lowly, coming to stand beside her and stroking the devoted scar at her back.
"I'm alright," she answered. Truth to tell, the spot on her back was aching fiercely.
"Be honest, Hermione. I need to know your limitations, and courage is foolish in matters such as these."
She bit her lip and looked up at him. "I hurt. Quite a lot actually."
He nodded. "I'll make the salve tonight."
"But the others…" she looked around, especially at Lara who was being tended by the healer.
"The others are not you, and they know the pitfalls of this place better than we do. We are to take advantage of every opportunity afforded us in this place. To any Slytherin, it's common sense—"
"It's selfishness—"
"It's what to be expected in this place. I will see to your health above all else. That's the end of it."
Her eyes narrowed. "You say that a lot, you know? 'That's the end of it'."
He raised a lone brow. "You agreed at the start of this to do as I said at all times."
"That was before I got to know you." She looked thoughtful. "As Severus Snape, Master of Potions and Hogwarts most-loathed headmaster, you stood alone—superior and utterly inaccessible."
Her smile turned soft. "But now I know better. Through our trials together, I've gotten to know a little bit more about the man behind the scowl, and because of the knowledge I now possess, I'm taking certain liberties I would not normally take had our acquaintance not deepened to more, sir." Her eyes pierced his. "And it has deepened to more."
She caressed his hand that was still caressing her back. "Now, I have the promise of the salve to look forward to tonight, but we have more of a puzzle to solve, so let's not waste time doing it."
Turning, she walked to the gathering place. The others of their fellowship were already there seated at the benches, relating tales of their adventure to those assembled.
Simon said excitedly. "You should've seen him—I've not seen anything like it in all my turnings. Not since Herpo encountered the Levigated Demon had I seen such a sight, and even then his patronus wasn't as fully formed as Severus' was." The boy looked over at her professor and said with more than a little hero-worship. "It was very impressive."
Hermione looked behind her at Professor Snape and once more grinned to find him with an all-purpose scowl on his face. 'Severus' he would be to these people. Not 'professor', not 'Headmaster Snape', and if they stayed here, they would get to know him without the stigma of his past; they would know him based on merit alone.
Hermione was looking forward to it, actually.
Sitting on a bench, she took out the map, asking Callum, "We'd like to fill in the map a bit more if we could."
"I'll do you one better, mistress," Callum said, and reaching in the fold of his leather pouch that looked like a wallet, withdrew a very wrinkled bit of parchment. Hermione compared the two and drew up short. Even though they'd journeyed through six rings, they hadn't explored a fourth of Slytherin's hell.
Tapping his wand, Professor Snape duplicated Callum's map so the four of them could study it.
And Hermione realized the place was riddled with gates.
Simon adjusted his glasses and said, "You've noticed by now a gate appears any time one of Slytherin's quests are defeated."
Hermione nodded.
"So far, I've determined, there are twelve gates for each level after the City of Dis, and all of them require solving puzzles of some kind."
Hermione focused on the city, and its gates. The place was peppered with them. "Where are we now?" she asked, not seeing Elysium on the map.
Callum shook his head. "This place is 'unplottable'. We have our suspicions, though, that this place is the center of it all."
"You said Elysium is what waits at the end of the trials," asked Professor Snape. "What happens when you reach level nine?"
Callum and Simon shook their heads.
Hermione studied the map closely. "Level nine seems to be largely unexplored."
"There's good reason for it, mistress," Callum said solemnly. "The City of Dis is child's play compared to what awaits you there, making it practically impossible for one to find a gate."
"But you've done so."
"Yes."
"Well, then," she said, "if we no longer have to worry about unlocking the gates, we can focus on the 'rogue' spirits."
"We'll have to go into all the remaining levels to do so," Simon said, gesturing to several blank places on the map. "These are the areas we've yet to really explore, you see? The ones we think there's a rogue.
"We've lost many of our number along the way exploring as we've done," Callum said solemnly.
"I don't understand," Hermione said, shaking her head. "If it's nearly impossible for you to die, why then, would people become 'lost'? Can't you find them?"
"There are those you don't want to find," an oily voice said from behind her as Herpo the Foul approached them. "There are those that have succumbed to madness, my dear. Have you not heard their screams?"
Hermione paled. "But that means there were once thousands of you…"
Herpo looked at her significantly and said, "The Chamber of Secrets has been around long before the Earth began to cool from its inception. Long before Slytherin himself was born. This place is a magical conduit." He looked at her and said dryly, "After all, what did you think powered the castle situated above, hmm?"
"Well, I've never thought about it, really," she admitted.
He tsk'd. "This is why the Founders chose to build here, not that three of them knew what Slytherin was about. And though he may have added window dressing to this little Dungeon of Horrors, all who've stumbled upon this place are damned for the Chamber of Secrets exists eternally, dwelling in a place within places without time or space. It is essentially—"
"—a black hole," Hermione said, dread filling her voice. "So even if we were able to make it out…"
"I don't know about this 'black hole', but if you were to escape this hell, you'd be the first person to do it. And there's no telling what time or place you'll arrive when you leave. It could be in your time, or it could be hundreds of years in your past or future. It could be in Scotland or Timbuktu. When you crossed the River Styx, you forfeited your right to time and space, and the only way to measure both is in the turning of the days." He gestured to the sun above, and it seemed to mock them.
Hermione looked up at Professor Snape, feeling lost. "Alright, this place may not all be Slytherin's doing, but why would he choose to make a hell of what so easily could've been heaven?" she asked softly.
Herpo the Foul's lips twitched, and the expression he gave her was lascivious. "You are an innocent lamb, aren't you? Even after all the depravity you've witnessed, you still don't understan—"
"That's enough," Professor Snape hissed, glaring at the dark wizard. "This area here," he pointed. "This is where we found the Jackal. This is also where Medusa, the demons, and the three furies reside. How do we defeat them in order to collect the rogue?"
Simon answered, "It's not really a matter of 'defeat', really, as much as it is distraction." He pointed to several of the gates within the city. We've had success when we've had a number of small groups enter the city from its different gates. They can't focus their attack on all of us, so they split up."
"And they're a hell of a lot more manageable when they do," Callum interjected.
Simon gestured to the map. "We've never counted the 'rogue-ones' before. Never having an exact number to compare them to. But now that we do, I see a pattern. Look, there are approximately three unexplored areas on our map for each of the remaining levels. Three areas for level seven, three for level eight, and then nine is mostly a mystery."
Professor Snape studied Simon, "Back in the swamp, you called these rogue beings 'apostles', Simon. How do you know of such things?"
"That would be my master, actually," he said, sitting up straighter and adjusting his spectacles. "You see, I arrived here from the year 1348. My parents, brother, and sisters died during the Great Sickness. I became an apprentice for a wandmaker who was a very religious man, very devoted to the Church.
"Late one night, he shared with me a tale concerning the twelve apostles of hell and the twelve Seraphim of heaven. The twelve apostles are each guilty of the seven deadly sins: pride, greed, gluttony, lust, heresy, wrath, and sloth. And their Earth-bound spirits are forever damned, choosing to torment and destroy. These are the apostles of hell. They are mirrored by the twelve apostles of heaven—the Seraphim which represent the seven virtues: chastity, temperance, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, and humility. And according to Catechism, each heavenly apostle is the exact opposite of its hellish counterpart."
"But there's Christianity again," Hermione shook her head. "As far as I know Slytherin isn't Christian."
"He modeled this hell after a poem that is," Professor Snape said. "And it would make sense that each tormented apostle has a heavenly acolyte."
Hermione bit her lip, a thought niggling at her.
She'd never read poems two and three of The Divine Comedy, but she regretted that shortsightedness now.
However, she wasn't completely unversed in Christianity.
She'd read the Bible the summer before her fourteenth year; her gran had gifted it to her on Easter. And since her mother and father were vaguely Christian, she thought she'd try to understand its doctrine.
She'd done her research, especially after reading The Inferno, and now understood that all of this sensationalist canon of angels and devils: seven deadly sins, seven heavenly virtues appeared right around Slytherin's time when he was crafting the final touches to the Chamber of Secrets. And all of this was right around the time of the Plague.
A thought niggled again, and she tilted her head, trying to catch it.
Alright, all of this religious sensationalism appeared right around Alighieri's time when Salazar Slytherin was crafting the Chamber of Secrets and religious zealotry was at its peak. There were three poems: one of hell, one of Earth, and one of paradise.
Here dwelled twelve demonic spirits representing the seven cardinal sins. And these were countered by twelve Seraphim representing the seven heavenly virtues….
But where did Earth fit?
There were three poems in The Divine Comedy. Slytherin would value symmetry, and he wouldn't want to let the middle canto go unacknowledged. Obviously, there was some symbolism with the number three. Perhaps she should run some arithmantic probabilities….
Angels and demons, apostles and acolytes, the number twelve and three epic poems…. Hell, Heaven, and Earth… And since heaven and hell had twelve apostles, Earth would need twelve, too, to maintain symmetry... Twelve Apostles…
Oh, holy Crimminy! Her eyes widened.
"Professor," she addressed, her tone eager. "Could I borrow your wand for a moment?"
He looked at her curiously but did not hesitate in giving it to her. She performed a quick 'accio', and the book she wanted leapt neatly to her hand. She absently gave him back his wand and began thumbing through it, going to the part she thought she remembered.
"Hermione, what is it you've uncovered?" Professor Snape asked her lowly in English.
She bit her lip and looked up at him, speaking English as well, "It's just a hunch, really, regarding the word 'apostle'. There are twelve in Slytherin's hell and now perhaps twelve representing heaven. But what of Earth? Alighieri's masterwork had three poems: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso…"
She found the passage she sought in the book of Matthew and said, "Christ had twelve apostles. I don't think that's a coincidence in Slytherin's Christian hell."
He gave her a pointed look. "You do your best work when given an assignment. Tonight, while I'm brewing your salve, I want you to write down each bit of intelligence we've gathered so far."
Blushing at his praise, she nodded, and the two turned their attention back to the conversation between Herpo and Simon.
"Slytherin will not be pleased you killed his pet, Master Snape," Herpo the Foul said, amused.
"Pet?" Hermione asked.
The dark wizard grinned. "Pet. That Acromantula has been nurtured in this place from the time I arrived. I remember when it could fit neatly into a salt box. And you killed it using dark magic." He laughed, and it was wicked. "You best pray to the gods you hold dear Slytherin stays far away from this place, boy-o. Pray hard."
Professor Snape raised a lone brow.
Hermione changed the subject, asking Herpo, "How did you know it was there? That part of the map has never been explored—"
Herpo's smile slid into a smirk as he injected, "—by them, not by me."
And Hermione realized two things at that moment: Herpo the Foul knew more about this place than he was admitting to the people here, and he was ruthless enough not to tell them even if it meant being trapped here for eternity.
Bastard.
"Mr. Prentiss, tell us more about the seven virtues. When did you learn of them and what are they?" Professor Snape asked the boy.
He was silent, and curious, she looked and saw Simon's expression was hungry, and he was staring at her book.
"Simon?" she asked.
"What?—Oh, the virtues. The seven virtues, right." He pushed his spectacles up on his nose. "They're what Slytherin makes you exemplify. Every trial, you must practice a heavenly virtue, be it chastity, bravery, charity, diligence, patience, kindness, or humility. Once you do, a gate is opened. This last trial had us practicing bravery and diligence in facing the dementors. Well, you two did. We hid at the gate you opened. Thanks for that by the way," he said bashfully. And at that moment, Hermione missed Harry so much, it hurt.
She stood abruptly. "I apologize. It's been a bit of a long day, actually. Please excuse me."
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She left them without a backwards glance before anyone could say another word.
God, how she missed Harry, Ron, everyone who was familiar, everyone she loved!
In many ways Professor Snape had been a wonderful companion, but he wasn't a replacement for those now missing. And at the moment she missed them all fiercely.
And to forever be eighteen and not age a day…. to never be able to leave this hell… to never have children.
She was young, yes. Too young for such things, but she'd hoped to one day have them. And to have that choice taken from her if they couldn't age and were stuck here with their days and nights ALWAYS the same!
But they wouldn't be stuck here, they wouldn't… she chanted this to herself over and over, trying to believe it. No matter what Herpo the Foul said.
Her limbs started to shake as her breathing grew labored, and she realized she was very close to having a panic attack.
Finally reaching the cabin, she closed the door and tore off the homespun dress, standing there naked and trembling. To never see the sun—the actual sun again. To never again see the rotation of the stars.
One tear fell, then two, and then the dam broke.
There was nothing worse than feeling self-pity, but she indulged a little. This past year had been filled with fear and terror, and not for the first time she wished she was normal. Just a normal girl graduating from ordinary muggle school, about to attend university this coming fall.
That was a reoccurring question of hers. What would've happened had magic not come crashing into her life, upending it. She sometimes asked herself if she would trade being a witch for normalcy, and many times the answer was 'no'.
But just now….
She needed to see a familiar face.
Not that Professor Snape didn't suffice, but she needed someone else from her past—someone who had been kind. Because, even though she was seeing a different side to him more and more with each day that passed, he was still Professor Snape.
Haughty, taciturn, vitriolic, and demanding. She didn't think he had it in him to be comforting in matters such as these. In fact, she had a feeling he wouldn't understand or tolerate it, and right now, she could use a little bit of both.
A thought occurred to her, and she dove into her beaded bag and pulled out Ron's tatty undershirt. It smelled like him, and she closed her eyes and breathed deep. She didn't miss him romantically, but she did miss him.
After slipping on the shirt and making certain she was decent, she took out the portrait of Headmaster Black. Professor Dumbledore was still there; he hadn't moved one inch from when she'd seen him last.
It was so strange to think time was completely stopped for her, and she would be spending days and days here, but for him barely a second passed since they last spoke.
"Professor Dumbledore?" she asked.
He smiled at her and bowed his head in acknowledgment. "And how many days have passed while I've been standing here, Miss Granger?" Professor Dumbledore asked, concerned.
"Errm two, sir. Until we finish Slytherin's quest, it looks like we're stuck here. And, professor, we may not ever be able to finish." Try as she might, she couldn't keep the dismay out of her voice.
His smile dimmed. "In matters such as these, I've found it's best to plan for the worst but expect the best, my dear, for expectation does have a way of manifesting itself. And how are you faring with Severus?"
Hermione couldn't stop herself from blushing. "We… errm, we've been a bit thrown together, sir, and we're learning to rely on one another…."
"Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore's smiled gently, "Severus is one of the bravest, most honorable men I've ever known. That being said, he isn't the easiest friend to get to know. In fact, he's a right pain in one's hind-end."
She chuffed a laugh, and his eyes twinkled.
"Professor Snape, more than anyone, needs a friend," he continued. "And it sounds like you both are well on your way towards friendship…" his blue eyes studied her, "perhaps even more?"
Though Albus Dumbledore was dead, his blue eyes still saw so much; either that or she was transparent as glass. She stopped just short of burying her head in her hands. "It's ridiculous, isn't it? The two of us… together."
Her professor shook his head. "While I lived, I saw many ridiculous things, but Hermione, if you'll permit me?" he asked, and she nodded on a smile. "Hermione, seeing you and Professor Snape together and happy would not unsettle me.
"You see, the world has not been kind to Severus, and his temperament is a direct reflection of that. I'm not saying this to excuse him. Quite the contrary. Severus is, in fact, the cause of much of his misery. But life has afforded him fewer opportunities than most to find happiness. To love a man such as he is a life-time calling, my dear. He's not one to give his affection easily, or even willingly, but once you have it, you will always have it. Do you understand?" he asked.
She thought she did and said, "He's loyal."
"Fiercely so," Dumbledore agreed.
"And protective."
He looked amused. "That goes along with loyalty. I'm afraid once you've earned Severus Snape's regard, you're in for a lifetime of overprotection, and it will be a lifetime for Severus will be loyal until he breathes his last."
She swallowed, her throat suddenly tight.
Giving her a pointed look over his spectacles, he said, "And so, I trust you understand with a man like Severus, his affections are not to be trifled with. He doesn't know moderation; his way is all or nothing."
Still blushing, she admitted softly, "It sounds like a great responsibility, holding Severus Snape's… regard." She couldn't say 'heart'. Not yet.
He looked amused. "It is. But Hermione, Severus would not give his regard to just anyone. Remember that."
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Severus watched her surreptitiously as he brewed, feeling contented.
He'd engorged and multiplied as many of her potions ingredients as he felt he could without sacrificing their magical potency. As it stood, they had enough Ashwinder skin, thistlewart, and toadstool cuttings to last for several years of heavy use.
And he dreaded it would come to that.
But if it did…
Again, he studied her.
Quill in hand and deep in thought, she caressed her bottom lip with the feather, and Severus felt his groin tighten.
If they were here for eternity, then it would not be too much of a hardship, he had to admit. For although this place was hell, in some respects, it was somewhat enjoyable. And the one responsible for his joy was studiously sitting by his side, quietly doing as he'd instructed. Not that she was always biddable. Oh, far from it.
He gave a soft snort, and she looked up, her concentration momentarily broken.
Placing the quill in its inkpot, she scrubbed her face tiredly before pillowing her head in her hand and watching him work.
At length, she said with a soft smile, "Those were always my favorite lessons, you know: when you'd exemplify the brewing of a potion. Watching you work is like watching a master painter paint. One can easily tell how much skill as well as devotion you have for your craft."
"Many, if not all of your classmates would disagree," he said lowly as he stirred.
"It's their loss then for not appreciating what's right in front of them; I hope I never make that mistake."
Her words filled him with warmth.
She was very good at making him feel warm… and welcome.
Tonight, she was dressed in a boy's undershirt that barely covered her arse and two mismatched socks—one pink and one green. Nothing else, and her outfit was unintentionally erotic. But then, if it was as he suspected, he'd no doubt feel this way if she was wearing potato sacking.
His thoughts were being consumed with her: her health, her safety, her mental strength.
It had not gone unnoticed when she'd left earlier, she'd been upset. At the time he'd wanted to follow, to offer comfort if he could, but he didn't know how. He'd never sought to comfort anyone before, and he wasn't quite sure how it was done.
And so, he'd stayed with the others and observed.
It was obvious Mr. Prentiss was eager for knowledge. The boy had an able mind and would probably have made a half-way decent apprentice had he been given the opportunity to complete his education.
And there was no doubt Herpo the Foul knew every trial and pitfall in this place. After all, he'd know better than anyone what the sign of The Black Zodiac represented.
The dark wizard knew, and he wasn't disclosing any of that knowledge.
However, Slytherin had Herpo the Foul's horcrux… and that was significant.
Soul magic was hardly an explored field. As far as Severus knew only the dark wizard and The Dark Lord had ever attempted to split their souls; no one else had come close to knowing and understanding such things.
Perhaps there was yet one more piece to this puzzle they were missing…
The puzzle that she was working out…
'What are your findings?" he asked when she seemed to be at a stopping point.
She shrugged and said, "I don't want to think about it tonight; I've got a rather bad headache. Tell me what you're doing."
Rising, she came to stand beside him, and Severus gestured to the small pile of willow bark that needed to be shredded.
"Work while I instruct," he countered, counting to forty under his breath.
She dimpled up at him and said, "Yes, sir."
He felt his cock twitch. Merlin, he was finding everything about her arousing. And he needed to stop this, but he couldn't. He'd known the moment he'd kissed her today he couldn't. And she'd be surprised to learn protecting her soul had been his secondary motivation for kissing her. Because at the moment when death was a near certainty, he'd wanted his last act to be kissing her one more time.
He began to instruct, softly intoning his reasoning while subtly correcting and guiding her technique. She was not gifted in potion making, and never would she be. But she was inquisitive and gifted in the art of preparation, which, combined with his skill, was all the two of them needed, really.
She's all you need, his thoughts urged him.
That kiss had given him acceptance and with it, purpose. Severus Snape was going to take his time in making love to one Hermione Granger. Not that he'd had much experience in these matters, but through the years of celibacy, he'd developed patience and a vivid imagination. And in his varied imaginings, the thoughts of another woman began to be supplanted with thoughts of Hermione. He decided he would approach her as he'd always wanted to approach a lover: with gentleness, passion, and bold desire.
Now that he'd made up his mind, Severus was going to enchant her senses, inspire within her such passion, and stretch it out into eternity if he could manage in order to make certain she would never want to leave his side.
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"Come here," Professor Snape said softly, once he finished compounding the salve.
Hermione did so, coming to stand at his side, and his hands spanned her waist, playing with the hemline of the undershirt she was wearing. Her eyes met his and what she saw there had her body instantly becoming aware.
His fingers traveled under the hem.
"I'll need you to take it off," he said and lifted.
She did as well and stood naked before him except for her socks.
This time was different. It was in his expression, specifically his eyes. They were trained on her, solely her. She was the center of his focus, and he wanted her to know it.
Oh, yes. He wanted her to know.
Chills swept over her skin, but it wasn't from the cold. She'd never seen him look at her before… really look. His eyes swept over her from head to stocking feet, and she felt all at once shy and aroused.
She gulped.
"Lay down on your stomach," he said softly, indicating the bed.
She complied with anticipation, getting as comfortable as she could.
He knelt beside her and said lowly, "This is going to hurt."
Without waiting a moment, he cast a cooling charm, and she gasped at the numbing cold before she felt the white-hot slash of pain as he used a cutting curse like a physician would use a scalpel. And she bit her lip to stifle a scream when he began packing the incision he'd made with salve.
Her vision darkened as he began to chant, and she had to fight to stay conscious. Her life was measured in heartbeats and breaths. Focusing on that, instead of the pain she was feeling was difficult, very difficult.
He began to chant, and she could've wept in relief as his healing magic began to suffuse her.
"Rest on your side for now," he told her lowly. "I thought it best not to warn you of the pain beforehand. We'll have to treat your back once more tonight for the salve to fully repair the bits of tendons and muscles that were lost."
"Will it hurt that bad again?" she asked, her voice still unsteady.
His expression told her it would. "The pain will diminish to a shadow of itself, but yes, it will be just as intense at first."
"Thank you, professor." She closed her eyes and drew a calming breath, saying, "Will you come lay beside me?" Her words took him off guard, she saw that. But he barely hesitated before coming to their bedding mound and laying down. Hermione turned, careful not to lay on her injured side, and faced him.
Reaching, she moved his hair behind his ear before caressing his cheek. "What was your worst subject in school, professor?"
His eyebrows rose, but he answered readily, "Care of Magical Creatures."
She laughed; she couldn't help it.
"Second favorite subject in school besides potions?"
He looked amused. "Charms."
She smiled. "Predictable. Amortentia smell?"
She saw him look slightly uncomfortable, but he answered her, "Fresh-cut sage…" his eyes met hers, "ambergris and lavender."
Her perfumed soap was lavender with an ambergris base. She blushed delicately and ducking her head, asked, "Favorite Shakespearian play— and don't say Macbeth! It's too hackneyed."
He rolled his eyes at her pun and said, "As far as 'hackneyed' goes, then Julius Cesar. The tragic history of a tyrant that receives his —"
"—due by those of his court weary of his tyranny," she finished, grinning. "I can see why that would appeal… being of Voldemort's inner circle."
His eyes glinted their approval. "Just so. Did your parents name you after the character in A Winter's Tale?" he asked.
"Verily," she quoted softly, "You put me off with limber vows; but I, though you would seek to unsphere the stars with oaths, should yet say 'Sir, no going.'" She grinned and said wryly, " 'Verily, you shall not go: a lady's 'Verily''s as potent as a lord's. Will you go yet?" Her smile faded as she ran her hand along his jaw and met his stare.
She continued, "Force me to keep you as a prisoner, not like a guest. So you shall pay your fees when you depart, and save your thanks." Her eyebrows rose, and she asked, "How say you… my prisoner or my guest? By your dread 'Verily', one of them you shall be."
"Oh, verily," he intoned dryly, "I am you guest. Captive no longer and no longer unwilling."
"Really?" she asked, her smile bright.
"Really." Lifting a hand, he found a curl at her shoulder and played with it: straightening it before releasing it to instantly curl again. "What have we done together that's given you the most pleasure?"
Hermione blushed, but met his eyes and said honestly, "I love the sound of your voice when you speak lowly in my ear. It's very erotic. And you?"
He started to shake his head, but she said, "No fair. Turnabout's fair play!"
"Very well." His skin flushed, but he said, "You have a very shapely backside; I enjoy cupping it in my hands."
Hermione felt a blush travel down to her cheeks. Yes, THOSE cheeks. She bit her lip, but said softly, "I'd like to think you and I would've gotten together eventually, you know, sometime in the nascent future. But I know that would've been unlikely—especially considering we were in the middle of fighting a war.
"And one of us, if not both, would've probably been killed. And if that's the alternative, then I'm glad we're here." She looked up at him shyly and admitted, "And I never dreamed I would find someone so… kindred. And all it took was being put through hell."
He looked amused, his fingers still playing with one of her curls. "Likely you'd feel the same if another were here in my place."
She gasped, feeling hurt; the only thing stopping her from sitting bolt upright was the twinge of pain at her side. Her cheeks scalded. "If you'll recall, professor, I was in a situation like this with not only one but two others, and I never felt this way about either of them." She cringed. "Good Lord, what you must think of me!"
Shaking his head, he said, "It's not that I think anything bad of you. It's only… I have a hard time believing anyone, especially someone as lovely, would be attracted to—" he gestured to himself.
Her lips twitched. "The toga does leave something to be desired, admittedly." She grinned. "Your teeth are full of gangles, and your nose is a bit beaky." He scowled at her, and she rubbed a thumb between his brows, dispelling it. "Do you want to know what my favorite part of your body is, professor?"
He cocked a brow.
"Your hands."
She drew one of his hands to hers and examined it. "I noticed years ago how steady they are. These are the hands of a man that knows intricacy. These hands know how to be careful; how to add volatile ingredients to a cauldron one breath away from exploding to neutralize it. These hands know how to execute a complicated charm flawlessly. You make it seem so effortless when I know better." She held his hand up to hers, and his quite eclipsed hers. "Such elegance, strength, and steadiness. Just like the man himself." Her eyes met his. "And you ask why I'm attracted to you."
He swallowed thickly, and Hermione realized she'd rendered him speechless.
For many moments they lay there holding hands, the two of them basking in the silent glow of thoughts left unsaid but deeply felt. She grew dozy and a bit drowsy floating as she was.
But all too soon, he reluctantly released her and said solemnly, "It's time for your next treatment. Roll onto your stomach."
Gulping, she did so, trying to prepare herself for the pain.
He didn't have her wait long.
Once more the numbness of his cooling charm took effect, and then he was slicing open her back and packing the incision with the healing salve. Though she tried not to, she cried out. The pain was exquisite, almost as bad as the cruciatus. She could feel the tendons and muscles at her back re-growing; she could feel them, and oh, God, it was torture!
But with every second that passed, the pain was lessening until she could breathe again. Her heartbeat slowed, and she found she could focus on what she was hearing….
"—know how much I'm looking forward to losing myself in the taste of you," he intoned, his voice dark and deep, and she shivered, arousal momentarily overcoming the pain. He brushed her hair aside and said lowly in her ear, "I want to worship every bit of you, Hermione. I want to know you intimately."
The pain at her side was forgotten completely as his hands brushed down and back up her sides in slow strokes, careful not to touch the newly-healed flesh at her back.
On his next pass downward, his hands cupped her arse in two handfuls.
He ducked his head so his mouth was right near her ear. "We'll take our time in this; I'm in no hurry." He gave a firm-handed massage, and she moaned, her mind absently replaying what he'd just said.
"But wait…" she interjected, her mind clearing slightly as his words registered.
He kissed the curve of her neck, lingering there.
She moaned, forgetting what she was going to say.
He intoned softly in her ear, "We are going to take this slowly, Hermione. You deserve nothing less."
So saying, he released her and rose, returning to the table and the cauldron waiting there.
.
.
.
For many moments, Hermione lay there unwilling to move and blissfully contented, feeling drowsy and more than a little euphoric with the turning of the day's events.
Her lover worked with careful attention at his craft: cleaning and polishing his utensils— stirring rods, tongs, cauldron. All of it spotless with each and every ingredient itemized and packed carefully away.
His eyes were intent on his work.
And she now knew to be the subject of this man's scrutiny was incredibly intense…
To be the holder of his regard even more so.
Severus Snape was a man that never let anyone in. And the fact that he'd done so for her was more than significant. He was offering her his trust, and for him that was akin to bearing his throat. She was determined to cherish it like the valuable gift it was.
At length, she asked, "So tomorrow, are we going to face Medusa and the Furies?"
He looked at her frankly. "Yes, but Hermione, you'll be staying here with the other—"
"—Oh, do not even think to finish that sentence, Severus Snape, or so help me, God! If you do, I will leave this hut and go live in the other." She sat up, noticing that for the first time in two days, she did so without any pain. "I'm going with you, and that's the end of it."
He looked like he was going to argue, but she raised her eyebrows, daring him to try her.
He narrowed his eyes but conceded, "Very well. But you will—"
"—do as you say at all times, professor." She dimpled at him. "Absolutely. As you say."
.
.
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A/N: Why do I think there's an 'unless' in there somewhere…?
And see—what did I say about the unintentional s&m sesh? D'oh!
As unpolished as I know it is, I'm really trying to finish this one, so I'm uploading a lot faster than I normally do. Forgive the type-o's, the dubious grammar, and the not-so-fleshed-out ideas. I'll come back 'round to it and tidy it up one of these days. That being said, I'm trying to keep myself to a deadline of a chapter a week thereby adding structure to my mad scribblings.
And you guys giving me encouragement is the best gift I could ever ask for.
So, thank you. Thank you so much for reading, following/favoriting, and reviewing my work!
Cheers and good wishes for your health, everyone!
—K