The time for Dumbledore's anticipated fate would have to arrive soon, else there would be nothing left of the man who was planned to perform the dreaded duty. He felt his will crumbling through his fingers. He had just one last thing to try. He needed proof his mind was still his to own.
He sat in his office chair with his head in his hands and finally permitted himself to think of Lily. Bringing her to the forefront of his mind was an experience he had fought away so long. It demanded great effort from him, he kept his precious memories of her locked away so tightly.
He pictured what her expression might have been as she was struck by the Dark Lord. This vision had, in the past, filled him with a guilt and sadness so cutting that to extricate himself from lamentation took hours. Once, he had hurt himself to obtain release from it - a seared wand-burn still scarred his arm as an eternal marker of his grief. But now; try as he might, he couldn't break through the strong barrier to emotion that Hermione Granger had walled around his mind.
For years all he had wanted was the freedom to grieve for Lily's death, but now he allowed himself to feel it, all his powerful mind could muster was the image of the reddened mouth of Miss Granger an hour before. Her eyes watering, shining like crystal. She had been afraid, but her fear was reserved only for her feelings, and not him. That was something he had never witnessed before.
He banged a fist on his desk roaring in yet more frustration, ignoring the startled admonitions of the portrait dwellers about the room. How could he ever face the Dark Lord again with his mind so destabilised? Maybe it was he, Severus, that required obliviation. He paused. He certainly couldn't do that safely himself. Perhaps if he forced an admission of this perverse problem to Dumbledore he would understand enough to save him from himself? He wasn't so desperate just yet.
The next morning had been the day Dumbledore had discovered him in the tower. A fine coincidence indeed, or perhaps his presence had been calculated. Did he pity his potions master – had he worked it out without formal explanation? Dumbledore had mercifully disentangled him once before from the trouble his heart had led him to, perhaps he sensed Severus' repeated spiral into turmoil.
That evening, Snape dwelled further upon his predictament. The only weapon he had left in this war was control of his mind and emotion, yet each hour that passed caused him to feel even more robbed of it. He threw back glass after glass of firewhiskey but nothing helped. If anything, it worsened his ability to resist the flashes in his mind of Hermione Granger.
First, he witnessed an enhanced image of her slender, perfectly pale leg, length accentuated by her elegant heel as it peeked from the deep slit in her dress robe. He imagined himself sliding his hand from her ankle up towards her thigh as it wrapped around him.
The next flash was of the way she pressed against his body when she breathed heavily in their accidental embrace at the ball. Her scent filled his senses and he could feel the softness and the shape of her firm breasts as they moved against his chest.
Then, he could see how her eyes were burning into him as he pushed her hard against the corridor wall. She was glancing between his eyes and his mouth. He relived how she'd admitted she couldn't stand her feelings anymore. How he'd been too aroused to stay near her any longer. He couldn't take it.
He held his glass so firmly it shattered in his hand, but he felt nothing. He had to see her – no – he had to go to Dumbledore and have himself… fixed.
The cold of the dungeon corridors sobering him quickly, he stumbled up towards the gargoyles guarding the headmaster's office. He had no plan how he would explain this. Perhaps the old wizard could just siphon away his thoughts from him there and then, watch them and rid him of them – both an explanation and a simultaneous cure.
And that's when it happened.
He was summoned to the astronomy tower – it was time. The deed was done, and he was to flee.