Animal Magnetism

Disclaimer: I, sadly, own nothing of the Harry Potter 'Verse. I just like to play with them time to time. Especially Severus.

Chapter 5

Reality filtered down through the rays of light, at last piercing the waves of inky darkness that kept her prisoner, and dust motes wafted with them and touched down on closed lids, sparking a strange electrical reaction. And suddenly the young woman came brilliantly back to life, though all too aware of the hammering in her skull, the biting ache in her belly, and the fact she was all alone. Her eyes cracked open, almost hating the light that stung them. Where was her protector? Where was the soothing voice in her ear and the warm strength that had kept her going? Not that she needed the warmth now. A stifling heat had awaited her upon waking, a direct opposition to the hoarfrost of yesterday. Or what she believed to be yesterday.

Her veins now boiled with it, tiny flames licking just under the skin and radiated outwards, coating the moonlit flesh with an iridescent glow. The same fire that burned in her eyes, turning them a warm, golden amber instead of the chocolate hue of old. Those curious eyes perused the room around her [long tidied since her previous spell of wild magic], objectively taking in the sharp, crisp detail apparent in each potion bottle and cot and curtain. Surprisingly new sounds echoed in her ears and a plethora of new smells met her nose as well. Flowers. Fresh linen. The sting of something like bleach. She made a face at that.

Whether it was a new appreciation brought on by a near death experience or the physical side effect of oxygen deprivation [half-drowning] combined with a mild concussion and severe blood loss, it was amazing. Hermione rose from the bed and, heedless of the usually drafty hospital gown and the riotous mass of curls tumbling down her back, she padded over to the window. From her vantage point, through the dark, she viewed the carpet of colorful leaves on the ground that added to the ambiance, the half-bare trees, and touch of rime on the sill. She almost lost her balance. Fall has started. She'd been in this ward for weeks already? Two weeks, she noted, focusing on what appeared to be a fresh copy of The Quibbler.

So much precious time lost. How many had died without her to safeguard or prepare them? Ron, skilled in combat but physically weakened and devoid of magic, maybe? Harry, immensely powerful but sleep deprived and reckless? Any number of the young, still somewhat innocent [and naïve] charges of the school? And all the research time she'd missed. Research vital to the cause. What would her friends think? She tried not to care so much, but the hormones rushing through her left her dizzy-headed and she couldn't identify half of them. But they left her open to attack. Caught in the confusion, she missed the movement behind her until it was close enough to send a soft breeze in her direction and a flash in the corner of her eye. A heightened awareness and startling, newly honed instincts had her spinning around quicker than a blink, grabbing her potential opponent roughly though blindly.

One sharp-nailed hand was raised to strike [the other around their throat] and she looked at him, entirely unfocused yet snarling, fingers sparking with wild magic. Shock and a touch of fear radiated from the tall, gaunt young man as well as hurt. She reveled in it for a moment without recognition of what was happening. "Mione?" he whispered shakily. It was a long moment before the fog lifted, Hermione gaining control over the primal impulses, and she smiled weakly at Ron before releasing her grip. Pulling him close in attempts to mask her perplexity and avoid his, she wondered what was wrong with her as he spoke again. "We were all so worried… you were so pale and cold, and there was so much blood…"

His voice was choked with tears. "We were afraid you wouldn't wake up." It was probably the most she'd heard him say since they recovered him. She was warmed by it. "I know exactly how that feels." Touching his face was like a catalyst. She looked into his eyes with amazement that turned into something close to hunger, unaware that colors swirled in her own, flames leaping between them. The young witch breathed in his scent that was like sun-kissed earth and woods as she subconsciously pressed closer, not understanding the sensations coursing through her. Oddly enough, she'd realize later, his touch alone seemed to alleviate a lot of the lingering pain and discomfort she awoke with. It evaporated in a blaze of desire. The fact that 'they' were long over didn't enter into her mind. Hermione licked her lips, eyeing him under thick dark lashes with new appreciation.

Something almost feral in her still wanted to leap, and it scared her so she closed her eyes, swallowing heavily and willing it away. But shutting off one sense only seemed to sharpen others, she noticed quickly, a strange forceful tugging flaring up as her fingers stroked across the care skin at his nape. It didn't matter then that something key was missing, there lacked a certain tingle of electricity or enchantment. Another part of her was demanding to be fed- and not the pastries he had brought in. one of them gasped, him or her she wasn't sure, but just as soon as it happened it was over, them breaking apart in surprise as the medical wing doors swung open, Madame Pomphrey rushing in, panting. "I was all the way across the castle when I felt the change in my wards. I came as soon as I could- Hermione! You're awake! Oh my stars!" The words were choked and she saw the mediwitch's eyes glisten wetly.

"We had no idea- I mean- We thought-" The older woman cleared her throat, giving her a quick hug. "But you're with us now. Oh, thank Merlin!" "She almost wasn't," a deeper, rougher male voice rasped from the doorway. Hermione's head shot up, her startled gaze searching the shadowed area to find Harry's lanky form leaning against the doorjamb. An almost angry sneer [rivaling Snape's own] set off the harsh planes of his face and the bottomless mossy depths of his eyes. She shivered and held her breath as he slid fluidly into motion, moving towards them with a panthers' grace. "Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomphrey, who she'd worked endless months with apprenticing, gasped at hearing him, having jumped up in surprise. "Shame on you for just popping in like that without a warning! And with Miss Granger here in such delicate condition!"

As if feeling her shiver again [being so close] from all the energy in the air, her mentor looked towards her with concern, obviously thinking her cold or sick still, and was reminded of her current attire. Flushing, whether out of shame at her oversight or the room suddenly filled with virile men, Hermione didn't know, but with a flick of her wrist, Pomona transfigured her hospital gown into robes. "With your level of pain and extensive injuries you shouldn't even be out of bed anyway, young woman! We had to put you in stasis, even temporarily bind you, to properly heal you without you constantly aggravating the wounds with all that thrashing!" The healer's eyes narrowed suddenly, thinking. "But how did you get out of the bands?" A glance to Ron had him shaking his head, first in puzzlement then in clarity. "I didn't." Hermione, eyes clouded, shrugged, heart racing. She didn't want to over-analyze what she considered a blessing.

"Maybe the magic wore off or didn't seal properly?" she offered, eyes darting around. The theory went unquestioned for the moment as the focus became Harry's stormy countenance once more. Guilt and anxiety swarmed about her. He was going to remind her of her foolish, thoughtless actions, and how much she's scared them and let them down. She knew it. Yet instead he swept her into his arms as well. "Nearly two weeks in this limbo, fighting to keep you alive yet fearing it was too late." Admonishing yet not entirely. Worried. Angry and grief-stricken yet caring apparent. "What prompted you to venture near the Black Lake at night? Or even to leave the main grounds?" Slightly disorientated by the shifts between caring, concerned and thunderous, she struggled with the void that existed in lieu of memory.

"I don't know… can't remember. I was really upset, I don't know why, but I heard a child scream and ran. Then it gets really fuzzy. Like a dream." Dream. That conjured up a whole different set of images. Her head was swimming . Senses seared, pulse galloping at break-neck speed, heat pooled in her stomach and she couldn't understand it. Harry got her attention again, making her aware of the fact she'd drifted off a second time. "Do you think it was a trick, an illusion? Perhaps involving Voldemort?" he persisted. Her brow furrowed, trying to concentrate through the haze of desire that washed over her, barely cognizant of Pomona shooing Ron back to his room in the ward, worrying over his weakness.

"I don't think so. I mean, it was so real… I touched her, held her as she slipped off that cliff edge. But I don't want to talk about it anymore." Hermione shuddered, the memories turning scary and dark after that. Now those had to be a trick of her mind, right? Uncertain, her arms tightened around the wizards' neck as she buried her face into his shoulder, seeking more of the relief he so readily provided. He'd been so distant for the longest time, first with Cedric's death, then Sirius's and onward... and she wanted to enjoy this while she still could. She missed her friend, not so much 'The Boy Who Lived' aka 'The Wizarding Worlds' Savior.' Two very different people in her mind. She inhaled deeply, surrounded by the scents of wind, rain, and a static energy that was oddly soothing. Harry sighed, relenting [thankfully brushing aside his avengers' streak that 'scented' blood], and she smiled softly, tiredly, gesturing for them to sit.

Snuggling against his side, she murmured that he'd worried her too when he was closing himself off with all his training and barely eating, though she'd done a lot of the same. He brought up the irony of her concern despite being so close to death for a fortnight but quieted when she reminded him of all the times he was at deaths' door. She traced the lines on the palm of his narrow, slightly tanned hands, pausing on all the faded white curse scars she knew covered more than his hands. "And how are you and Ginny doing?" she ventured carefully, curious. A tough subject to broach for either party, but one that had previously bothered her, knowing how close they'd been. Though recently they'd been having a lot of trouble. She wouldn't be surprised if the youngest Weasley was avoiding the medical reason for the sole reason that Harry would be here, which made sense despite the sting it brought.

He shot her an indecipherable look that could've meant he didn't want to discuss it, he didn't know yet, or something else. "Still not talking. I'm pretty sure it's over for good this time," he shrugged. "But maybe it's better this way. She can't deal with all the distance and my extended time away training or studying, among other things, and I can't deal with the possible risk and her limitations." The erstwhile hero didn't elaborate and she didn't push, just offering a silent reassurance he probably just took half-heartedly. But she felt the muscles bunch in his left arm as the hand tightened into a fist, a sign of helpless aggravation that almost emphasized his tension and exhaustion. Yet it inspired a completely different reaction in her. Her fingers curled around his strong forearm and the heat from that contact set off an incendiary spark that doubled that which had been burning in her since awakening, feeling changed.

Closing eyes that were [unbeknownst to her] shimmering an unnaturally hot, golden color, she leaned in further and he reflexively closed his arms around her. It was an old, familiar gesture that used to be about comfort but now, at least for her, was about something different. His ever-tousled dark hair [worn longer these days] tickled her nose, which made her laugh and nuzzle her face against his neck. Intoxicated by all the new sensations, liquid fire flooded her and his heady aroma had her feeling light-headed. "Harry," she breathed. Feeling his heart rate kick up under her palm and his jaw clench and unclench in an emotional whirlwind, she traced a path up his neck to his ear with the tip of her tongue before nipping a tender lobe.

He jolted back in what looked like shock, touching his ear. The sheer power radiating from him though was like a beacon that drew her in further, making her drunk, a potent aphrodisiac that had her own pulse skyrocketing. Odd- just a few weeks ago she'd never even noticed one's magical aura, and now it was not only blaring out at her, but it was irresistible. Hearing a sharp intake of breath, the young witch smoothly stretched forward, molding herself into his lap and shoving her hands through the silky black locks that fascinated her. And, no longer really herself [the ever-logical, brainy student] but a passionate, feeling, instinctive creature, she followed with nipping kisses along his jaw line… tasting him before working up to his lips. 'Want me,' her mind whispered to his.

His reticence faded with the shocked call of her name and the hands that had come up to push her away instead decided to hold her closer. The moment with Ron completely fizzled out of memory. This was where it was at. Now, if only he were taller, like- "How sweet a reunion- should I leave you to your puerile entertainment then?" A snide voice queried drolly from the doorway. Her head broke away, turning around slowly, frustrated at having been interrupted when she was so needing… Eyes foggy with desire and lips puffy from kissing, a snarl revealing sharp white teeth was aimed at the Professor… and it grew fiercer when she felt Harry scoot back, eyeing the older man with reproach. Running her hands down her robes to keep herself from hexing [and meanwhile straightening her clothes], she fought the shiver that wracked her upon hearing that purring tone.

'There is absolutely nothing sexy about his voice!' she growled to herself, angry at the flood of hormones. Nothing! Yet the flushed, heavy, out-of-control feel of her body didn't even subside with Snape's entry... just got worse. "Well then, if you're through, I am going to need a moment to talk with Miss Granger," the surprisingly soothing baritone rolled out. Apparently in spacing out, focused on her body's traitorous responses, she'd missed what was pretty much a whole conversation- and the cool glitter of Snape's charcoal eyes told her he knew it. Her companion still looked lost- perplexed by her actions, aggravated by the Potion Masters' presence, and uncomfortable with the implied order given. His distaste was overruled by the other males' authority and the respect due as Dumbledore's chosen, he nodded slowly and stood- leaving his friend alone following a short goodbye.

Traitor. Though everything in his emerald gaze promised a talk later. Which wouldn't get him off the hook, her own gaze flashed back. But she nodded reluctantly to reassure his unspoken questions of her safety and comfort, even if it was a lie, and watched the door swing shut again with trepidation greatly rising. Especially since she found herself wishing for closer contact with the older man. "Forgive me if I don't follow the example of the others and give you a 'welcome-back' hug. I find myself struck by another case of utter disgust for such foolishness," he sneered. Like she was even thinking about it, she thought crossly, folding her arms with an eye roll.

"Not to mention there is the much more pressing matter of the Black Lake incident." Dread colored her thoughts as she tried to swallow passed the knot in her throat. "It's foggy, I can't remember." Her eyes darted away from the obsidian orbs that seemed to peer into her very soul. They probably did too, she noted with a scowl. He was an extremely intelligent, powerful and a skilled Leglimens [Occlumens too actually]. And intimidating, she added last-second. No matter that Dumbledore seemed to trust him. The hairs on the back of her neck stood as almost a warning in response to his movement, even though he still remained on the edge of some imaginary boundary. "I don't believe you," he said, an octave or two lower.

"You don't remember what gave you the inch-deep, half-inch wide gouge marks spanning the length of your arms? Or all the broken bones and massive bruising? You skin looked like someone took a cheese grater or it in come places!" His voice was incredulous, every nuance suggesting she'd had to have suffered major brain damage as well not to remember such trauma. And it was his tone she focused on then- a ferocious, angry light in her eyes as she glared at him, fingers gripping the sheets to keep from tearing into him. Did he forget that according to the mediwitch, she did suffer major brain injuries? His casual mention of a simple kitchen utensil escaped her notice. "I suppose you wouldn't be able to explain to coagulating agent in your system that slowed your healing process either, would you?"

He sneered. "If it hadn't been for the careful observation of Madame Pomphrey, on top of numerous batches of Blood Replenishing potions and healing salves, I doubt you would've made it at all. And you can't give us any more information as to how you even ended up there?" Feeling under attack, Hermione glowered, wrapping her arms around herself as if to ward off the sudden chills running down her back. "I don't know!" she gritted defensively through clenched teeth. A whiff of sandalwood and spice drifted to her on a billow of tailored black robes and her head snapped back up, eyes shot with panic and something else as her stomach clenched with a painful familiarity. 'No no no,' was the resounding thought as the witch felt strangely compelled to move closer. She moved backwards instead, taking a deep breath. She instantly regretted it.

His scent surrounded her, circulated inside her, now, and she licked her lips, suddenly feeling feverish. 'No!' She blindly gulped down the restorative on the side table to keep from saying something she'd kill herself later for. Unfortunately, however, the medical draught wasn't mixing well with her empty stomach and her face quickly took on a sickly hue. "I can see you are going to require some… refreshments," Snape acknowledged smoothly. She could swear she saw amusement in his gaze a second before he snapped his fingers and she almost cursed him. Almost. Until the food appeared. Including a nice, juicy, rare steak. For her protein and iron deficiencies, he said. But she didn't care about the health factor as long as it ended up in her stomach.

What further surprised her though [as if Snape feeding her wasn't enough to make her head spin], was the ginger-root drink for nausea. And as she saw it, she muttered various means of torture; sure he knew the reason for her greater discomfort and was mocking her. But she bit into the steak rather than follow through with any of it. He'd suss out her intentions and have her pinned to the floor before she could make it halfway, she decided. She tried to ignore the inappropriate connotations. "I'll leave you to your meal then, Miss Granger. But believe me- I will be back within the hour," he said, lip curled. And with that, he swept from the room.

Next Chapter: The heat inside her grew and she shifted uncomfortably on her stool. A whiff of sandalwood and spice teased her nostrils and she inhaled deeply, feeling oddly light-headed. An unexpected hunger gnawed in her gut, and as if in direct correlation, she started gnawing on her lower lip, wondering if maybe Pomphrey was right when she'd said she wasn't ready to leave the ward.