Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, I just like to dabble in it and create a bit of silliness. To all my fellow SS/HG fans and anyone who's just having a look please feel free to leave as many reviews as you like, I absolutely love getting feedback on my work.
Chapter 2 – A Surprisingly Pleasant Encounter
Harry awoke to the soft prodding of Hermione. Apparently he had stayed asleep longer than he had intended, having already missed breakfast, and in danger of missing his first class. Silently dressing and hurrying to leave the confines of his bedroom, disturbingly empty without Ron, he charged head first into Ginny. He helped her up, with a faint colouration to his cheeks, undoubtedly due to his hurried state, or at least that is what he hoped she would believe. Mumbling something along the lines of "late", "sorry" and "shit", Harry rushed with even more haste to the dungeons, where he would most likely find himself with a detention.
"Where the hell have you been, Harry? I woke you up fifteen minutes ago! You are so lucky Snape isn't here! Why isn't he here, he's usually so meticulous?" Hermione whispered loudly into Harry's ear, with a faint glimmer of curiosity.
"It is Professor Snape, Miss Granger, and perhaps if your nitwit Gryffindor house mates had bothered to show some respect to a group of Slytherin students, I would have made it to this class on time," droned Snape snidely, looking around the class as he strode towards his desk. "But seeing as you all have not even bothered to pull out your work books, one would assume that my absence was not lamented."
Reaching his desk and turning towards the students with a ghastly glare he spoke slowly, "One would also assume that being as frightful as my reputation affords me, you would all have begun hastily doing that which I just mentioned. Or perhaps I am not as disliked as I hoped, and you would all be perfectly happy to spend more time in my presence."
With that, all those who didn't already have their workbooks on their desk, which Snape noted was everyone minus one know it all Granger, hastily removed their books from their bags and began to read any passage that would give the illusion of interest.
"Just as I thought," he sneered. "Now, all of you who have not completed yesterday's assigned task will be assisting their neighbour to finely chop their ingredients for today's lesson, and will catch up, including the practical components of both this lesson and the one they deemed necessary to leave uncompleted in their own time. This however will not be tonight, for I deem it necessary that you all should participate in some humbling activity with Mr. Filch. I will know if you are lying."
"Shit shit shit, I completely forgot, and I thought I could actually get some sleep tonight," whispered Harry into Hermione's ear.
"Hush or Snape will hear you. I did all the necessary work for you last night. Here is the parchment," she whispered back.
"But, Herm, how did you do it? It's in my hand writing and it sounds exactly like me?" asked Harry flabbergasted.
"Hush, a magician does not reveal her tricks," giggled Hermione, suppressing a devilish grin, whilst continuing to read over the work set for the lesson.
"Ah, Potter, not too concerned with the well being of Miss Granger's ear to complete the assigned homework I see," said Snape amusedly, snatching the cleverly-crafted phony parchment off Harry's desk, "exceedingly impressive."
With a few choice words whispered under his breath, Harry mouthed thanks to Hermione and started on the lengthy and boring task set for the lesson.
"How can he think this is furthering our education? If anything I feel I am getting stupider by the second. If I have to tolerate any more of this, by the end of this year I will be as dull-witted as Malfoy's two brainless boyfriends!" sneered Hermione, half seriously, unbeknownst to her, receiving a raised eyebrow from Professor Snape.
The day went reasonably quickly and Hermione thought she was doing a marvellous job at ignoring the aching feeling in her abdomen caused by her despair. That was up until dinner.
Scanning the teachers' table she could not spot Snape anywhere. What terrible and torturous activities was he planning for her lesson in an hour? Why, oh why had she asked him to assist her? On further analysis, Hermione could think of only one reason Snape would have agreed to such a preposterous notion – to torment her!
Making sure she dressed herself in what Snape would deem "appropriate" attire. Hermione descended the stairs towards the dungeons. She was not as courageous as she had felt when requesting these particular lessons, but at least she didn't feel like being violently ill.
Hesitating before knocking on the foreboding door of the dungeons, Hermione entered at the request of an ill-tempered sounding Snape.
"Good evening, Professor," Hermione managed, surprisingly keeping her voice steadier than she felt.
"Though it is evening, I doubt whether it is as you put it, good." Snape inwardly laughed at the expression of sheer terror on Miss Granger's face. Oh how he was going to enjoy tormenting her.
"Miss Granger, you will follow me to my potions laboratory and you WILL NOT snoop! After tonight you will use the floo network to come directly to the lab, and wait patiently for my arrival."
With a nod of assent, Hermione followed the Potions Master into a dimly lit room, smelling of malt ale and spiced potions ingredients, or perhaps Snape's choice of cologne, and sat herself a safe distance from the slightly intimidating man, only to have him round on her and sit directly opposite. Sucking in a sharp breath, she tried to steady herself.
"Miss Granger, no one is forcing you to be here. If you find my presence so repulsive, perhaps it would be prudent to return to your room. I will not lament your absence I assure you," said Snape with his poisonous, acidic tone.
Surprisingly his coldness gave her newfound strength and she stared deep into his eyes. To her surprise Snape diverted his and rummaged through his pile of parchment.
"What has your research into the subject of psychology led you to, Miss Granger, and I'm not revering to the Muggle concept of the word?" Snape asked, with seemingly genuine interest.
"I have learnt that when altering the minds of witches, wizards and Muggles alike, the craft is temperamental. The complete removal of certain events, people, or spaces of time can lead to sometimes drastic and severe consequences," said Hermione in a half whisper. "The reinstating of such memories can be even more detrimental to the fragile configuration of the human condition. Often people, especially Muggles, who are subjected to long periods of time without certain memories, can never regain knowledge or understanding of them. Even with continual stimulation of the mind, it is possible that the person's brain will reject the memories altogether and further tampering would lead to the person's imminent death."
Hermione hung her head, emotionally exhausted by the effort it took her to keep her voice steady and reject physical outbursts of her grief. Managing to compose herself once more, she lifted her head and was taken aback at the look of pity and genuine understanding etched across the usually lifeless face of her Potions Master.
Seeing the recognition in Hermione's eyes, Snape's defences snapped back into action as he pulled several pieces of parchment out of the significantly large pile and handed them to the quiet, bewildered student.
"Excellent work, Miss Granger, you managed to formulate an answer that was not a direct quotation from a text book. I am surprised," said Snape, feeling a slight ache in his heart as he saw the flicker of unguarded hurt pass over the fine facial features of the solemn witch.
Watching Hermione read over the pieces of parchment, Snape wondered why she could not simply let them be, why she would rather risk their lives than move on with hers, and why he had not seen her genuine interest in his subject before tonight.
The night went swiftly, with Hermione copying notes from the parchments and Snape sorting through the rest of the pile, fuelling her ever-ready brain. When the clock struck twelve, the pair moved in sync, quickly packing away the traces of their evening of research and vacating the area.
"Goodnight, Professor," Hermione projected, stopping at the dungeon door.
Without warning, Snape appeared in the dungeon classroom just as Hermione was about to open the door to leave. "Goodbye, Miss Granger," he said, with a peculiar sneer, or was it almost a smile threatening to creep onto his face. "Oh, and I do hope that tonight was challenging enough for you. I would not wish you to become as dim-witted as Malfoy's two, oh what were your precise words – brainless boyfriends?"
Snape marvelled at the way Hermione's face went from its normal cheerful redness, to ghastly pale and then almost violently purple in the space of mere seconds. Satisfied that he had regained some of his usual terror in the eyes of the girl, he turned and left in a curtain of black, whooshing robes.
Hermione landed on her bed with a long sigh, trying to decipher all the bits of information that she hoped would eventually start to make sense. The only problem that she faced was the man that she had asked to help her. The harder she tried to understand him, the more confused and agitated she became. One minute he was cold and criticising, while the next he was understanding and helpful, even if only for a few moments at a time. Closing her eyes, Hermione willed away the images of her parents floating in her head, not realising that it had been some hours since she had even thought of Ron. The grief associated with his death was slowly starting to release its hold on her.
Opening her eyes, Hermione was momentarily blinded by the painfully bright rays of sunlight that seeped through the curtains. When she had regained her sight she was startled by a pile of black, leather-bound books propped neatly on the chair opposite her bed, being sniffed by her curious ginger cat. Removing the covers she swung her legs gingerly over the side of her four-poster into a pair of pink, fluffy slippers, given to her as by Lavender Brown as a parting gift when she had left the dorms to take up her new living quarters. She made her way towards the chair and examined one of the books, the very essence of Snape seeming to emanate from the crisp, musty pages.
Fingering through the pages of the worn, but carefully tended pile of books, Hermione didn't notice the slight pop sound that accompanied Professor Snape's head appearing in her fireplace. Watching her as she read through the pile at an extraordinarily fast rate, Snape did not notify her of his presence, and for several minutes went unobserved, until Hermione turned to grab a piece of parchment, ink and a quill. Seeing a figure out of the corner of her eye, Hermione's defences snapped into action. Muffling a scream, she pulled out her wand instantly, letting the books fly to the floor along with an open bottle of ink, unheeded.
Realising what and who she was pointing her wand at, Hermione forced her breathing to fall back into its regular pattern and desperately wished her heart-rate would return to normal. Trying to regain her composure, Hermione bit her bottom lip and stared at the floor, feeling increasingly self conscious as she noticed the mess on the carpet in front of her, and to her utter revulsion, what she had on her feet. Lifting her gaze to Snape, she noticed his eye line lift from the floor, to her horribly embarrassing slippers and travel painfully slowly up her body, to finally settle on her eyes. Staring at her with an unreadable expression, Hermione continued to bite her bottom lip and tried to look as comfortable as possible. He was a visitor in her quarters after all, not the other way around.
Staring into Hermione's brown eyes, Snape was at a complete loss for words. Focusing on the thought of the ridiculous nature of her footwear, he managed to regain the ability to formulate a sentence. Deliberately trying to increase the level of distain in his tone he said, "I see that your tastes differ from that which you portray as Head Girl," glancing at her slippers, "I had thought that you would prefer less stereotypically feminine clothing, but judging by your choice of footwear, it appears I was mistaken."
Regaining the last of his composure Snape almost smiled at the expression that comprised both insecurity and fierce determination etched across Hermione's face. Receiving no answer from the girl, he took a more direct approach. "Miss Granger, forgive me for disturbing you. I see you have received the books I sent you and I expect you to have read through all of them thoroughly before tonight's lesson. I suspect this will be an easily attainable goal judging by the pace of your reading. Good day," Snape said, with a slight nod he disappeared from the fireplace.
Hermione stood for several minutes staring at the fireplace. Not even Crookshanks' attempts at getting her attention could snap her out of her shocked state. Had Snape just given her a compliment? Had he just looked her up and down without painstakingly obvious disdain in his glance? Had he just looked at her with something akin to attraction, or lust? Shaking her head vigorously she tried to banish the discomforting thoughts forming in her mind, the over-analysing nature of her brain rapidly becoming detrimental to her state of wellbeing.
Finally realising that if she did not remove the bottle of ink from its current position she would not only have no ink to complete her work, but also a huge black stain on the crimson red carpet, Hermione said a few quick charms and returned the mess on the floor to appropriate places, eliminating the stain of Snape's presence. Deciding to wash away the disturbing thoughts, she stepped into the shower and let the warm rush of water purify her mind and body.
Wrapping a towel around her form, Hermione returned to her room and noticed a vial of rose coloured liquid next to the books on her chair. Abandoning her previous notion of giving Crookshanks a much needed bath she examined the potion vial and read the label and instructions, written in the fine and elegant hand of none other than Professor Snape.
"Taming the Shrew, formulated ingredients designed to combat wild, unmanageable hair. Why the hell would Snape give me this? Perhaps he didn't find my appearance pleasing after all," said Hermione to herself, bewildered and slightly sickened by the thought of Snape ever finding her attractive.
Abandoning the bottle, Hermione dressed in her school robes and made her way down to the common room. She was not going to give Snape the satisfaction of having to help her with her appearance.
As she was descending the stairs she was ambushed by a hysterical Harry ushering her up into his room.
"Harry, Harry, what's wrong, slow down," Hermione managed, pulling her arms from his grasp she stopped and planted her feet firmly on the ground. "Harry James Potter, if you do not tell me what is going on right now I am not moving a single step further."
Looking at the immovable form of Hermione, Harry swallowed hard and stopped his frantic movements.
"Hermione, I just need to talk to you about something, just please come inside," he said pleadingly.
Following Harry into his room, she was pulled rather forcefully into a sitting position on his bed. Only slightly regretting her choice of friends, Hermione waited patiently for the admission that was sure to come at an alarmingly fast rate.
After several minutes of sitting in awkwardly buzzing silence Hermione decided to break the mood and speak first. "Harry, what is it, what's wrong? The only time you seek me out to talk is either to ask for help with, or to formulate a plan that involves breaking copious amounts of rules. I thought the latter would be over by now and you know perfectly well that I will NOT help you with homework you actually remember to do!" Hermione said rather irately.
In an attempt to steady his nerves and movements Harry grabbed Hermione's shoulders, slightly scaring her. "Herm, you're a girl," he managed.
Relaxing slightly, she said, "Well spotted there, Harry, any more epiphanies you want to let me know of? I'll be in my room studying." She got up to leave and he pulled her back down.
Bracing himself Harry started again. "No, what I mean is, you've had boyfriends and relationships, you know what girls think. I well I... SHIT. I can't do this; she's his sister for Christ sake. How could I even think of this, I'm such a..."
Hermione pulled Harry into a warm embrace, almost smothering him with her shoulder. "Harry, you've liked Ginny for years and she's liked you since she met you. Ron knew it and was just grateful you never did anything while she was young and didn't toy with her. Ron wouldn't want us to stop living, and although we might wish we could join him more times than not, we do have to keep fighting. Go for it, go get her, Harry. You've gone through so much and you need, deserve some happiness." Putting her hand over Harry's mouth so he was unable to protest, Hermione kissed him on the cheek and pushed him out the door.
"GO GET HER, HARRY!" she yelled after him, chuckling softly and then quieting as she became suddenly aware of the absence of Ron's bed from Harry's room.
A loud thumping noise disturbed Hermione's depressing thoughts, as Ginny ran up and pelted her with hugs and kisses. "What did you do, Herm? How did you get him to like me, to really like me?" Ginny asked in the middle of her frantic kisses and tears.
"Ginny, I didn't have to do anything except tell him that Ron would have wanted it. He loves you, and has loved you for an awfully long time. He deserves some happiness." Hermione smiled, the expression barely touching her eyes.
Ginny saw the way Hermione's face crumpled when she thought no one was looking, and recognised the signs of repressed agony, but she was unsure as to how to broach the subject with her. Deciding that being honest, and as unobtrusive as possible was by far the best course of action, she supposed that now was as good a time as any.
"You deserve happiness too, Hermione. Look, I know you think you can handle everything, that you must to be strong, but you don't always have to be. I'm here, Harry's here. We love you, we care about you. We want to see you happy," she said hesitantly. "We both miss Ron, I know it's not the same, but I'm not asking you to forget him, just to try and be happy." Ginny smiled reassuringly at Hermione, squeezing her hands lightly.
"I know, Ginny, but I think I might be getting there. I will never stop thinking of him, and there's not a day goes by that something doesn't remind me of him, but I think I am happy. Well, content at least. I know that he's out there looking at us, and he'd want me to be happy," she said, deciding to infuse the discussion with something more positive, "and will be jumping for joy that Harry finally grew some balls and told you how he felt."
Hermione reassured her that she was fine, and insisted that she go monopolise Harry, that she had mountains of homework, and wanted nothing more than a nice relaxing bubble bath. She walked arm in arm with her best friend, and walked into her quarters feeling lighter than she had all year. The truth was that Hermione was ecstatic that her friends were finding some happiness, and weirdly felt like her words to Ginny hadn't been false. Somehow, their happiness had made her feel less guilty for the contentment that she was sure her potion lesson had afforded her, although she had previously been unaware of the guilt gnawing away at her subconscious.
Focusing on her work, Hermione got through the day happier than she'd been in months, and thinking of her lesson tonight only made her even more positive. She was learning so much, and she loved it. To her surprise her teacher wasn't as bad as he was in class. He was reasonably tolerable and weirdly intriguing. What am I thinking? Intriguing, he is not intriguing, he is Severus Snape, and he is my teacher, loathsome, foul and so very intelligent. How can I actually like him, how on earth can I actually want to spend time with him, and how can I want to earn his praise and good opinion more than ever?
Running to her room after dinner, Hermione decided to wear more comfortable clothes rather than her stiff school robes. Hopefully Snape would not feel it was inappropriate. She made perfectly certain that they were not too tight but also weren't completely grotesque, showing no more than an exposed ankle. Snape could hardly object. Climbing into the fireplace she uttered the words – Snape's Private Potions Lab, and was instantly transported to the far dirtier fireplace.
Stepping out, she realised that her clothes were completely covered in soot, brushing herself down she unpacked her bags and resolved to fix this problem that would undoubtedly destroy all her clothes if she did not do something. Getting her wand out of her pocket, she uttered a cleansing charm in the direction of the fireplace. Instantly it looked cleaner and the smell omitting from it less toxic, the fire burnt brighter and seemed to add some sort of homely nature to the Professor's unwelcoming tastes.
Hearing the click of the door opening, Hermione sat herself in the chair she had occupied the night before and started re reading the information she had written notes on after her lesson. Entering the room with far less superiority, Snape still seemed to change the whole mood, although not in a wholly unpleasant manner.
"What have you done to my fireplace, Miss Granger? It seems to be burning brightly like your insipid spirits."
"Well, I cannot be flooing into a fireplace which is liable to destroy all of my clothes by the end of the year. I did a simple cleansing charm. I think it adds a bit of a homely nature to this cold, dark dungeon, although I'm sure you probably liked it better how it was before." Stifling a grin, Hermione peered at the teacher who had made her life and the life of her friend's hell for six years, and for some reason, liked him very much.
Spending another weirdly enjoyable night talking and listening to Snape, sharing their passion for Potions, Hermione realised something quite disturbing. She had more in common with her cold and insulting professor than even her two best friends, even, her beloved Ron. He thought like her, at least about matters concerning potions and, well no, that was it as far as she could tell, which was evidently not far, but somehow it fit. The one thing she had been missing in her life, an intellectual equal. This did not go unnoticed by Snape either. Why hadn't he noticed it before, and why the hell did she have to be in Gryffindor? Most importantly, why did he not rebuke her when she spoke disrespectfully towards him? Could it be that he craved companionship more than he'd ever feared possible, that he would let this insufferable girl worm her way into his affections? What was he thinking? What affections? It was all codswallop!
Hermione bolted upright in her bed. I did not just have that dream! I did not just imagine, Severus... Snape... SNAPE... Oh my goodness. She shook herself violently, trying to banish the disturbing thoughts that spilled over into her conscious mind.
Ripping the covers off her shaking form, Hermione leapt out of bed and into a freezing cold shower. Unaware that yet another bottle of the strange rose coloured liquid lay on the dresser, nearest the fire.
The weeks went by in relatively the same manner. Hermione's dreams were a mixture of tortured images of her parents and ever less frequently Ron, intermingled with the images of Snape that she never wanted to see again. Or maybe she did. Going through the motions was easy enough. Get dressed, have breakfast, go to lessons, study, have dinner, meet with Snape. All pretty normal aspects of student life, except for the last part of course. As far as anyone knew, Snape was simply punishing Hermione for being a know-it-all, inventing excuse, after excuse to give her detention. Little did they know that their little evenings of research were the happiest hours of both their days.
Snape awoke with yet another slightly warm sensation between his legs. Not even bothering to look beneath the covers, he removed his hand from its seemingly favourite night time position, pushing the palms of his hands into his eyes in an attempt to eradicate the images of a very lovely, very flushed Hermione Granger from his mind.
He ripped the covers off, and calmly strode towards the bathroom. Stepping into the shower, instead of thrashing himself with cold, unfeeling water, he stood there motionless, replaying the images of her glorious body, over and over again. His hand had begun to lightly travel down his chest, when he snapped out of his reverie, utterly ashamed with his lack of restraint and decorum, blasting himself with a stream of icy cold water.
Snape had no idea where these images had come from. Yes, he had developed a healthy respect for the girl, for the GIRL, his student, but nothing out of the ordinary. Yes, he had noticed she was not the gangly, undeveloped child he had remembered, but neither was she a goddess. He wondered irritably why she wouldn't accept his potion for her unmanageable clump of hair. Although, as he surveyed his appearance in the mirror, he realised he was not a paragon of self-preservation either. Deciding to rectify the situation, he strode out of the castle and Apparated to Hogsmeade, where he booked in for a haircut at the least feminine establishment he could find.
Walking swiftly to the dungeons, he surveyed his appearance for the second time that day. It was better. The woman had not been lying when she said it took at least five years off his complexion. He'd allowed her to apply some anti-grease serum to his now silky hair, and had even taken the time to shave. His hair now sat a few inches beneath his chin, and was pulled back into a short pony tail at the nape of his neck. He looked, ok, maybe not fantastic, but, well, not bad either. The bits of hair at the front, just beneath his ears framed his face, revealing the solid and masculine, rather than angular facial structure he possessed. Perhaps this was not such a good idea after all. At the beginning of his career, being as young as he was, there had been many a young girl who had developed an unhealthy liking for his subject, but mainly the professor teaching it. The image of Hermione's face appeared at the forefront of his mind. Idly he went about his day, subconsciously wondering whether she would notice the change, or perhaps even appreciate it.
Stepping through the fireplace, Hermione stifled her gasp of shock as she laid eyes on Severus, no SNAPE! He was, handsome. Shaking her head violently, she strode towards her usual desk and tried, unsuccessfully to continue with their research.
"Is there a problem, Miss Granger?" Snape asked, his tone seeming silky and seductive to Hermione's ears.
"Not at all, Professor, I was just, just."
"Just," Snape prodded.
"Well to be honest, Professor. I was just admiring your new hair style. I hope you do not find this inappropriate, but, well I think it suits you," Hermione said speedily, feeling a crimson blush rising to her cheeks.
Burying her face in her book, she hoped Snape hadn't seen her appalling display of self-control, and mentally thrashed herself for her disgusting behaviour.
"As much as that revelation enthrals me, it will not help bring your parents back, now will it, Miss Granger? Have you any worthy comments to make. Regarding our research, and not the state of my person, of course?" he asked, silently happy that she had noticed.
"No, Professor, I'm sorry I disturbed you."
Hermione continued to study the book thoroughly, trying desperately to avoid any replay of the images she had dreamt only the night before, until something caught her eye.
"Oh my goodness, Professor!" Hermione yelled ecstatically.
Snape rushed over to where she was now standing, with a painfully thrilled expression encompassing her face. Trying to stifle the smile that threatened to touch his lips, he spoke carefully, "What has gotten you into such hysterics, Miss Granger?"
"Listen to this. 'The French Potion, Restauration de mémoire, is a long discarded antidote for long-term memory loss, particularly for those who have sustained severe trauma to the hippocampus, or are susceptible to fragility of the mind in regards to replacement and/or removal of large portions of memory.' It basically says that due to the Muggle properties intermingled with complex Potions, it was discarded for more effective methods of restoring memories to strictly Wizarding society," Hermione beamed. "This is what we were looking for. The muggle rudiments make it needlessly time consuming for Wizards as they don't need the specific elements contained in the potion. This was used when Wizards still aimed at healing the Muggle world. It's a potion for Muggles, Severus," Hermione rambled, so lost in deep thought that the correct mode of address eluded her.
Choosing to let her use of his given name slide, he was lost in the look of utter thirst for knowledge etched across Hermione's face. Yes, if she was able to call him Severus, he would think of her as Hermione, not his Hermione, but Hermione just the same.
"I knew you had it in you, Miss Granger. That's a fine effort. You have finally discovered something we can work with. I am, proud of you. Hermione," Snape said, mentally cursing himself for being so unguarded with his emotions.
Hermione shot a momentary look of confusion, snapping into an expression of utter gratitude and listless happiness. She really is an amazing witch.
They continued to work on into the night, ignoring the clock as it slid hours past curfew, until Hermione fell asleep on her book. Snape sat there, watching the way her face looked so vulnerable and care-free while she slept. A stray hair slipped over her face, and he gently twisted it back behind her ear. An hour passed and he decided he was going to take the care of her hair into his own hands. Summoning the rose coloured liquid he applied it with a few flicks of his wand. Her hair fell gracefully into little ringlets, devoid of the frizzy nature they usually held. She looked even more beautiful than he could ever have imagined. This was dangerous, and he knew it, but still he couldn't bring himself to end this charade. He would never overstep the boundaries of teacher and student, never abuse her trust, but he couldn't stop wondering, if when she left Hogwarts, whether she'd miss the bat of the dungeons.
Lifting her lightly into his arms, he used the Floo network to transport them both into her quarters and laid her down on the bed. Without thinking he gently kissed the top of her head. Her eyes flew open, and her arms immediately wrapped possessively around his neck, her face inching closer by the second. Battling with his mind, he untangled her arms and forced himself to condescendingly pat her head, leaving the room in a swirl of black and seductively mysterious robes.
'Restauration de mémoire' is French for: Memory restoration. Just thought it added a bit of authenticity, and it was fun to look things up in the translator
Hippocampus: A ridge in the floor of each lateral ventricle of the brain that consists mainly of gray matter and has a central role in memory processes, especially long-term memory. I thought that doing a bit of research might also add to the authenticity, and perhaps make my explanation of how they can restore her parent's memory more believable.