Chapter Three: The Point of No Return

Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Harry Potter Universe; that honor belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. I thank them for the inspiration, however. Also, this story contains sexual and other adult themes, hence the M rating.

Ophelia set down the tray near the sink and took a few deep breaths as she glanced suspiciously about the large kitchen. She then moved across the room to stir the embers in the fireplace. "Lia, Lia…" she whispered and shook her head. "You are acting like a schoolgirl." She laughed softly to herself as she thought about the lighthearted giddiness she was feeling. Just having someone to associate with after being so long alone was a gift to her spirit. But to finally have hope of a potential release from her personal hell was more than she could bear.

She had felt those dark eyes taking in her features as she moved about. Normally she would be disgusted by being mentally undressed in such a way, but this time was different. She didn't feel violated, but instead found herself hoping the professor liked what he saw. She let these ridiculous thoughts pass after a moment and returned to her tasks.

After she was satisfied with the state of the kitchen, Ophelia approached the doorway to the cabin and turned the locks; three of them. She then closed her eyes and took several deep breaths, placing her hands softly on the smooth wood of the frame on either side of the door. She concentrated, expelling all thoughts from her mind until she could feel the hum of the magic that was the charms protecting the cottage. These spells had been put in place years ago by herself and her mother to shield them from harm. Each night, she tested the magic to ensure it still stood. The enchantment had weakened after the death of her mother, but somehow even without her wand Ophelia had managed to keep them from failing.

Softly, she mumbled strengthening spells under her breath. She had no idea whether this nightly ritual was truly ever successful, but it did allow her to sleep at night. She always imagined for an instant that she could feel her own energy mingling with the charms and a rush of security would wash around her.

Finally, she ended her routine by tracing the Ancient Rune for protection in the air over the threshold. As usual, she smiled and thought of her mother doing the same gesture each evening before tucking her into bed. Ophelia has even gotten in the habit of signing over her door in the dormitory at Hogwarts. Her roommates would tease her about it, but they would never let her sleep without first completing the task. Her fingers unconsciously stroked the necklace that hung around her neck. She stood quietly deep in thought for a long moment before retiring to her bedroom.

Ophelia awoke at sunrise the next morning. She stretched her arms overhead as she sat up in the large bed. She had not slept so soundly in over a week and reveled in the feeling of being well rested. She pulled her legs from the warmth of her bed and slipped into her shoes at the side of the bed as she pulled her light summer robes over the camisole and leggings she currently wore.

After a splash of water to her face and few quick strokes of a comb through her hair, she was in the kitchen placing a fresh cauldron of water over the fire. She tied on an apron and unlatched the locks of the front door. She smiled as the morning sunlight hit her face as she opened the door wide. Then she sighed as she looked around her property. Another day of manual labor was ahead of her. She frowned.

She closed the front door as she approached barn. She longed for the days when she had a trustworthy house elf and the use of her wand to accomplish the many tasks that she was now forced to do by hand. She felt as though she had been time warped back to an earlier century now as she dug through the hen nests looking for fresh eggs and dropped them into the pockets of her apron. For someone that had never so much as made a sandwich without some sort of magical assistance, adapting to this new lifestyle was painfully difficult.

She had once been accustomed to summering in America with her cousins where wizards and witches enjoyed many Muggle technologies as well as the use of magic in their day to day existence. She had even carried a cell phone and learned to drive a car at one time in the not so distant past. She was capable to using the internet and navigating the subway system of Chicago with ease. Now she couldn't even get access to a Daily Prophet much less check an email. Some days she was actually amazed that she had made it through the first few weeks after the death of her mother.

Ophelia laughed at the ridiculousness of her entire situation. Her life had turned into a regular "Little House of the Prairie." She used to tease he cousins for enjoying that show when they were growing up. They would brush her comments off stating she could never understand not being from the Midwest. If they could only see me now? Her heart ached for the use of her magic again.

When her apron was heavy with fresh eggs she headed to the garden to pick some vegetables and herbs for the day's meals. The rest of her morning continued in much the same fashion. She had goats to milk, fire kindling to gather, logs to chop, and laundry to wash and hang out to dry. Finally it was time for brunch. She made a quick work of whipping up some scrambled eggs and toast for herself and her patient.

The Professor was resting quietly when she went to check on him and bring him his brunch and a fresh set of robes. She left the tray on the nightstand and she quickly checked his vitals. He did not stir and his vitals were normal so she left him. Who knows when the last time was that he was able to just rest? She thought as she watched him from the doorway.

From that vantage point, there was nothing intimidating about him. She could almost forget the tales of the Bat of the Dungeon from her Hogwarts days. She laughed to herself as she left the room and went about her day per usual.

Hours later, after eating her own brunch, preparing a fish chowder and placing it over the fire to simmer for the afternoon, baking some fresh bread, and spending some time reading her charms book, she again checked on her patient. When Ophelia entered the room, she found Professor Snape sitting on the edge of this bed, his hand clutching his side over his injured rib cage. "Are you alright, Sir?" Her voice was full of concern. She approached the bed and sat next to her patient as her fingers instinctively reached out to feel the tensed muscles and tender flesh. He flinched in discomfort but did not pull away.

"Would you like something for the pain?" Her fingers massaged the area gently, careful to avoid the area of the rib fractures and bruises.

Snape shook his head. "What I would like is for you to repair this. I am sure you are plenty capable of such simple healing, am I correct?"

She was not sure if the statement was meant to be an insult or a compliment. She was plenty capable when properly equipped; she started to remind him of her lack of wand. He silenced her with just a look as he grasped her hand from his chest. She tried to pull away, suddenly afraid. Her eyes met his, and she raised an eyebrow in question as she held her breath.

He reached into his borrowed robes, pulled out his wand, and pressed it gently into her palm. He then curled his fingers around hers, grasping the handle as he stared intently into her eyes. She shuddered as she felt him analyze her. She was positive that he was delving into her thoughts. Almost like a static shock, she could feel her own energy reach out to the wand as he released his grip from her trembling hand.

Without a word he laid back, eyes still locked onto hers, studying her, reading her. She was shocked at the trust that had just been afforded to her as she felt the weight of the wand heavy in her palm. She tried to contain the energy that was now boiling up inside her core. It was almost as if the wand itself was begging to yield to her. She bounced the wooden rod slightly testing the feel of it. It felt good.

"I suggest you try something simple first, Miss Dyson. I do not wish to lose any anatomy due to your lack of recent experience." The sides of his mouth turned up slightly with a hint of a smile.

Ophelia nodded as she swallowed hard. The bandage on her hand stood as a reminder of her last attempt to use this wand. Her mind raced through the many options of basic wand magic before she whispered, "Lumos" under her breath.

A huge smile crossed her face as she felt a small surge of energy and the tip of the wand glowed brightly. It felt marvelous. Her pulse quickened. "Nox," she commanded and the glow disappeared. Snape studied her intensely as she aimed the wand at the glass on the night stand. "Aquamenti," she called out and a stream of water flowed from the wand into the glass. Her smile grew larger still. Oh gods, I have missed this…

She glanced down at the Professor, and he nodded his approval. She reached her left hand out and again palpated his tender ribcage feeling for the imperfection indicating the fracture lines. She waved the wand slowly over the injury and closed her eyes to concentrate on her task, "Episkey." She heard her patient inhale sharply but then felt him relax beneath her fingers,

Ophelia opened her eyes as she ran her fingers across the Professor's ribcage again. The imperfections from before had disappeared. "Your anatomy is now better than when I found you," she smiled.

She lingered for a long moment and then reluctantly placed the wand back into Snape's grasp, feeling an immediate sense of emptiness as she pulled away. She sighed. In his eyes flashed a momentary look of understanding as he nodded to her. She resisted the urge to brush a stray stand of hair from his face.

"Once again, I must thank you," he stated as he tucked the wand quickly back into his robes.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, other than Ophelia's constant fixation over the joy of using wand magic again. She could not get over the high that yielding the Professor's wand had brought her. She had been longing for the release of the magic within her for years. Those few simple spells were hardly enough to quench her thirst, but she was grateful for them none the less and wondered if she would ever truly be able to express her gratitude to the man that had given her this new found euphoria.

That evening, Ophelia assisted Snape into the kitchen to eat his dinner. They ate in silence, but she could sense his conflicted contemplations almost as if he was speaking his thoughts to her but in riddles she could not quite comprehend. It was clear that this man's life had not been a pleasant one, and she found herself wishing she could relieve him of some of the inner psychological suffering he was going through. He truly was the definition of a tortured soul.

After dinner, he joined her in front for the fireplace quietly reading from one of the texts she had brought downstairs from her father's library, as she sat flipping through one of her mother's healing herbology books and sipping some wine. She could feel his gaze shift to her occasionally, and it made her heart skip a beat each time. Even in his weakened state, he radiated with power.

Finally, she looked at him from across the hearth, firelight reflecting from his pale features. He no longer intimidated her. Such an enigma... A mysterious smile crossed her lips. He looked up at her then, locking eyes, and raised a dark eyebrow in a questioning expression. Her smile only widened in response as her thoughts made her giddy. My dear Professor, tonight I am going to seduce you… She licked her lips at the thought, their eyes still locked.

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What is this devious witch up to? Snape wondered as he attempted to read her expression to no avail. He tried not to stare as Miss Dyson stood from the chair she had moments ago been draped over so elegantly. She stretched her arms high over head with a yawn. The position resulted in her form being perfectly outlined by the thin fabric of her plum colored robes. His eyes momentarily fixed on the soft curves of her breasts but a familiar tingling in the pit of his stomach caused him to look away into the flames flickering in the fireplace, but he sensed her eyes upon him.

"More wine, Professor?" she asked casually.

He nodded without turning towards her, pretending to be deep in thought. He could smell her earthy scent as she approached to top off his glass. It infuriated him that she was able to cause him to lose control of his body and thoughts even if only for an instant. How is it that he had been able to control these urges for nearly two decades but was now becoming hyperaware of the feminine charms of this former student?

He had had plenty the opportunity in the past to enjoy such pleasures as a woman could offer, especially certain Death Eater women. And yet he never let them close enough to break down his defenses the way this young witch was now doing so gracefully. He would not allow himself to be vulnerable like that, not even for the shear ecstasy of a physical release. But that was before…

Snape then stared up at the shapely form standing next to his chair sipping her wine as she stared into the flames. "Thank you," he replied softly and tilted his glass to his lips. He looked back down at the book sitting open on his lap. "Are these your chicken scratches?" He pointed to the notes in the margins, noting it was even more difficult to decipher than his own penmanship.

She leaned in close to him, looking over his shoulder mere centimeters from brushing against him. "Guilty as charged," she whispered, her breath on his cheek. Then she smiled.

He swallowed hard. A simple turn of his face could potentially result in bring them cheek to cheek or perhaps lip to lip. His pulse quickened as her scent grew stronger. He nodded but said nothing as he pretended to focus on the text. His beautiful caretaker stood up again, still smiling. He could feel her eyes studying him. "What are you gawking at, Miss Dyson?" He questioned curtly.

"I am just wondering how you are feeling," she stated still standing close to him as she sipped her wine.

"I am old, tired, and bitter," he sneered as her eyes bore into him as if she was looking into his soul. "But nothing in your bag of tricks will heal me of that."

Her eyebrows rose in response and she laughed softly as she took another sip of wine. "You may be surprised," she purred as she licked her lips.

Snape felt a sudden panic was over him as he contemplated the chance that she may be offering herself to him. Why would this young beauty even consider a used up, worn out, shell of a man such as himself? The thought was absurd. Loneliness must be clouding her judgment or else he must be misinterpreting her intentions.

In spite of his attempts to do otherwise, he envisioned the curves of her nude body pressed against his own. He felt a twitch in his loins and almost groaned out loud as he suppressed the foreign urges. She never broke her eye contact, and her eyes sparkled in the firelight. He took another long sip of wine as he continued to undress her with his mind Do not tease me like this…

"Do you like what you see, Professor?" She questioned softly.

Snape almost choked on the wine. Had he been that obvious? He instantly regretted his momentary lowered guard. He was now reminded why he never allowed himself to give in to such temptations. They would only weaken his self-discipline that that taken decades to perfect. But as he continued to stare at those blue eyes he found himself wondering if that was necessarily a disadvantage anymore.

He was no longer acting as a double agent. The Dark Lord was dead for good this time so his life was no longer constantly threatened. The fact was that the charming woman standing before him was likely the only person that even knew he had survived the Final Battle.

"You are playing with fire, Miss Dyson." His dark eyes flashed with lust, as he hoped suddenly that her intentions were as they seemed. He would not resist her advances, but he was not comfortable making any of his own. He would not know how anyway…

She nodded slowly and took a step closer. "I know… I am hoping to be burned." She was practically purring. There was no mistaking her intentions now, but that didn't calm the doubt in his subconscious. She must be doing this out of pity. Did she know how deprived of female interactions he was? Or was she just desperately lonely and did not care who fulfilled her needs? He downed the rest of his wine and waited anxiously to see how the situation would progress.

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A/N: Interesting concept of just plain cheesy – you be the judge. Leave me some feedback. Thanks!