This chapter turned out quite differently to how I thought it may go; it's different to what has been before, but I think tells us an awful lot about Severus and how he perceives himself and relationships. It's not an easy one in some ways - very sparse on the smut front (that may please you or not, depending on ... you!) - ( having said that, there are a couple of quite vivid moments) but lots to think about and I think quite a realistic sort of chapter. Strangely enough, I think it moves things on quite a long way. It's quite encouraging to me to know I can write stuff apart from sex!

Thanks for the reviews - you are all outstanding! x


When Hermione awoke the next day in her room, she turned over to find Severus sleeping peacefully beside her. In the foggy moments of slow awareness after a deep sleep, she had briefly forgotten she was not alone in her bed, and the sight of him before her concentrated the heavy sensation of relaxed happiness that throbbed through her limbs as she lay in the early morning light.

With a deep sigh he awoke and initially looked equally surprised but enthralled to find himself in her bedroom in Gryffindor Tower. Hermione said nothing but reached over to kiss him deeply. Despite the fact that she had slept little during the night, she felt more rested than she usually did on awakening. Their kiss deepened, and instinctively, almost subconsciously, she rolled over onto him and slipped her moist warm body down onto his already erect member. He groaned into her mouth. She continued to lie flat on him, not breaking the kiss, and moved her hips fluidly, languidly and tightly along him. It was not long before they both came quietly and exquisitely.

Hermione lay her head on his chest, tracing over one of his many raised scars.

"How did you change into that boy last night?"

"I used a potion I derived many years ago. It is similar to Polyjuice Potion but allows one more control over the changes."

"Thinking about it now, I could see a little of you in that boy from the start."

"You would have done. The fundamental nature of the true person can never be completely eradicated."

"Is he a real boy – the one you impersonated?"

He paused before answering.

"Was."

He spoke with little discernible emotion and unnerved her slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"He died." His words were stark.

Hermione felt a chill run through her, but did not want to show him. "Oh ... I see ... when?" She tried to sound as casual as possible, but knew the tension in her voice was apparent. He answered fluidly and freely, but his voice was still strangely clinical.

"Many years ago, shortly after I first started teaching here. The potion only works properly, giving me full control over the transformation, if I use the essence of a dead person."

Hermione was silent.

"Why don't you ask what it is you want to ask?" His low voice broke the air between them.

She tensed somewhat. "What do you mean?"

"You want to know how he died."

She did not respond for a while, but could not deny that she did. At length she spoke, "Go on then."

Severus started talking , his voice still flat, but with a tinge of poignancy Hermione had never previously heard. "The boy was talented – bright ... and curious. He became very interested in potions, and I rewarded his inquisitiveness by giving him extra tuition. Foolishly, I had not realised that he was also developing an even greater interest in the Dark Arts. I also had little idea that his mother, to whom he was devoted, was mortally ill. He combined his knowledge of the two realms of deepest magic to produce a potion which would cure her disease.

"The price for his foray into the Dark Side was that he had to give of his own life force to save her. This was achieved, this amalgam of his life into the potion, with the deepest and darkest magic. It was an extraordinary achievement for one so young. If successful, he would be weakened for a while, his mother would be cured, and he would then gradually recover. At the time, I of course, had no idea he was doing this."

Hermione listened with rapt attention. She had never heard him speaking so freely about his past, let alone with regard to his concern for another human being. She feared what he would say next, but was intensely curious and in thrall to his deep throbbing discourse. "What happened?" she pressed him.

"He underestimated the toll the experience would take on his own body and soul. His mother did indeed recover, but he was left broken and beaten by the process, and instead of growing stronger in the following days after returning to school, he grew weaker. It was then that he divulged to me what had transpired. I cursed myself for not being more aware. I should have seen all too well the signs of a brilliant young wizard being swayed by the Dark Arts." She heard clear bitter regret in his tone, and knew he was speaking about himself. "I myself tried to restore him to health, but it was too late. The darkness had invaded his body to such an extent that there was nothing that could be done. He died here in school a few weeks after administering the potion. His mother, whom he had saved with his own life, then faded away into despair and grief and succumbed to the same fate as her son a few short months later."

Hermione listened in stunned silence. She could not fully take on board all he had said. The tragedy of the boy's tale was in itself deeply moving, but what affected her yet more was how Severus had clearly felt responsible for his death, and how he now had felt ready to impart the tale to her with integrity and honesty. She was profoundly humbled by his words and could only turn her head to plant a tender kiss on his ravaged torso.

"What was his name?" She could not hide the emotion in her voice.

"Laszlo Treworgan."

Hermione found herself thinking back to his earlier words. They confused and worried her. "You said you needed to take the essence of a dead person to make your potion."

"Yes." His voice was strangely empty again.

"What do you mean by ... essence?"

"I had to take his blood." He was chillingly candid. Hermione felt her blood running cold.

"Wh ... when?"

"Within an hour of his death."

The sentiments of care and regret he had stirred were suddenly and starkly tempered by the reminder of how dispassionate and clinical he could be. Severus felt her tense.

"Remember – I am a Master of Potions. As such, I have to take as and when I can. The deepest magic requires profound solutions. The blood of a person recently deceased is one of the most potent ingredients known to the wizarding world. I could not ignore the opportunity."

Hermione was silent. The complexity and contradictions of the man struck home with disturbing force. The thought of what he had done after having described the tragedy of the boy with such sincerity troubled her. This unease was compounded by the image of the boy's intense face staring at her in the common room the previous night, made ever more intense by Severus's soul looking through his eyes. She could no longer talk about it.

"I think I'll go to breakfast."

She kissed him noticeably quickly and lightly on the chest and rose off him, not looking back. Severus watched her after she had returned from the bathroom. Awkward tension was clearly written on her lowered face. He broke the silence with measured tones.

"You have been exposed to darker things."

"Yes." Still, she did not look up, but did manage to speak. "It doesn't matter. It's just ... I can clearly see his face before me now ... sitting in the corner ... Remembering it now ... it is as if he was back from the dead."

"You know that was me sitting there. I could not have come here otherwise. There is always a price to pay for pleasure."

At last she looked up at him. He was staring at her with calm curiosity. His words did nothing to soothe her unease; they simply added guilt to the troubled feelings she was already experiencing.

"How will you get back?" She knew the answer, but asked it nonetheless.

"The same way I was able to get in."

Hermione sighed. She did not want to see Laszlo in him again. She adopted a formal, perfunctory tone. "Right. I'm off to breakfast. How about another walk later?" She was not sure she sounded particularly enthusiastic.

She glanced up at him. His stare was piercing. She swallowed hard.

"I would like that."

His easy acquiescence to an entirely ordinary suggestion comforted her somewhat. She smiled as warmly as she could. "I'll be in touch later."

Hermione then left the room, allowing him to do whatever he had to do to maintain their deceit.

_______________________________________________________________________

She rushed to breakfast and was aware that she felt relief to be with her garrulous, ebullient friends.

"Hi, 'Mione," Ginny greeted warmly. "You're a bit late ... you OK?"

"Yeah ... fine," Hermione lowered her flushed face.

"I know that look," grinned Daisy, one of their more brash friends. "You look completely ... shagged out!" she laughed loudly.

Hermione darted her head up, glaring at her friend's coarse humour. She may have been correct in some ways, but it was far from the reason for her tinged cheekbones now.

"The thing is," Daisy continued with a smirk, "Laurence Filmore has been sitting over there for over an hour, so ... who's the lucky boy?" She looked at her with teasing expectation.

Hermione did not humour her with a response. She glanced up at Ginny who was looking at her intently but sincerely. Hermione now blushed crimson with true shame. Ginny sensed her discomfort and changed the subject with some news.

"I had an owl from Harry this morning. He and Ron are coming for a visit at the end of the week."

Hermione's face broke into a broad genuine smile. "Really? That's brilliant. Oh god, I can't wait."

She was so delighted and transported back to her feelings of their time together at Hogwarts, that she forgot for a moment that she was having a relationship with Severus Snape. When the reality of her situation forced its way back into her mind, a feeling of dread filled the pit of her stomach and her happiness faded. There was no reason for Harry and Ron to find out about it, but the thought of having to deceive them as well made her sick to her stomach.

After breakfast she took herself quietly outside and walked around the castle ramparts. She knew she wanted this man, was prepared to venture into her future with him, but the reality of who he was, as a wizard and a man, and of who she and her friends were, suddenly hit home. It was not going to be easy. She had no doubt that Harry in particular would be politely tolerant of their relationship, although she could not doubt that he would secretly be shocked to the point of horror. Ron would be another matter entirely. Although they were no longer together, she still felt a part of her beholden to him. She knew she should not, but her nature dictated it.

As she breathed the air in deeply, she remembered that she had told Severus that they would go for a walk. After all that had happened that morning, she was not sure she wanted to. She needed time to herself, to process her feelings, think through the conflicting emotions he himself presented. Hermione felt that the conversation of the morning had deepened their relationship; she felt closer to him than ever in many ways, certainly felt he had made a huge step towards her which she found humbling and stirring. She did not want him to think she was at all less ardent than before, but she knew equally that her body and mind needed time to adjust.

Hermione could not deny that his words had disturbed her earlier, but equally knew that she could cope with it, given a moment of settling.

She walked steadily to the dungeons and soon found herself outside his classroom. Immediately she could see him within. She knocked and entered. He looked up surprised to see her so soon, but rose swiftly and came over to her, shutting the door with a wave of his hand. He grasped her hard on the arms, and without a word, pulled her into him and pressed his lips forcibly to hers. His passion took her by surprise. Her insides jolted and she felt the familiar leak of wetness between her legs, but her mind was determined to resist. She had not come here for this. His tongue was exploring her mouth urgently and his hand had reached down, undoing her jeans and slipping two long fingers into her warm, wet folds. She groaned and instinctively pressed against his hand. It would take all her self-control to resist him. His mouth had now moved from hers and was travelling down her neck. Her pleasure and need were mounting and she knew she would have to act now if she was to stop him or herself.

"Severus ... Severus ... stop ... not now."

His fingers stroked around her aching clit, and she moaned before reaching her hand down to try to pull his out of her underwear. "Stop ... I mean it ... stop."

He broke away and looked at her with annoyed confusion. "What?" he hissed. "I want you now."

He was like a little boy being denied candy.

She brought her hands up to his face and stroked him. He tried once again to reach for her mouth, but she pulled back. "No. Listen ... I just ... have some things to do this afternoon ... I don't think I can go for a walk after all."

He looked shocked and desolate. She lowered her head in shame. "I've got work to do for my exams."

"No you don't. You could do them in your sleep," he spat out angrily.

She looked up at him boldly. She had to be honest. "Severus. I just want some time to myself. To clear my head. We all do sometimes. You know that surely."

She had never seen him look so wounded. He turned his head away sharply. "I should not have been so honest with you this morning. I should know the folly of speaking openly. Fool that I am!" His words were cold and bitter.

She tried to pull his head back round to look at him. "No, no. That's not it at all. What you said me this morning was extraordinary – I am honoured that you felt you could tell me. That's why I want just to take time to process it – to take on board your ... your ... candour."

He met her eyes, but still looked pained. "I want to be with you," he spoke low and urgently. His need overwhelmed her.

"And I want to be with you, but this is important to me. I need to sort my head out properly, for want of better words. You must not feel threatened by that. It's completely normal."

"Don't patronise me!" he hissed at her suddenly. "Poor Snape – never having had a proper relationship – whereas you with all nineteen of your years of knowledge and expertise can teach me how to lead my life with sensitivity and tolerance!"

"Severus ..." She stood shocked at his sudden outburst. "I didn't mean it like that."

"If that is your attitude, you can go ... go to your solitude ... at least you have the privilege of being able to choose when to be alone."

Her shock deepened; the extent of his emotional desolation becoming increasingly obvious. She stepped up to him. "Alright. I won't go. We'll be together."

He glared at her. "I don't want your pity. Leave now." She stood firm. His face was bristling with anger, but she held his stare. "I said, get out!"

She shook her head slightly, a feeling of nausea welling up inside her. But there was no point pursuing things with the mood he was in. Her heart ached, but she turned to leave and walked towards the door. On reaching it, she looked back at him. She wanted to tell him how much she wanted him, how much she needed him in all his paradoxical complexity, but he stood so barricaded by bitterness in the middle of the room, that she could only afford him the time she had requested of him – to think through the multitude of new emotions coursing through his mind and soul.

She knew him to be a brilliant man; a man who could solve the most complex conundrums of the deepest magic, but hoped now he had the raw ability to deal with this most profound subtlety of the human condition.


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