Chapter 13

Hermione sat in Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts class, her brows furrowing as the man paced before them. His magical eye rolled eerily in its socket as he spoke about the Unforgivable Curses, specifically the Imperius Curse. She couldn't help but remember her original fourth-year experience with this same class, except now, everything seemed cast in a new light, given her knowledge from the future.

"I've been instructed by Dumbledore to demonstrate what it feels like to be placed under the Imperius Curse," Moody announced, extracting his wand. "We'll be practicing your resistance to it. Line up."

As students moved and formed a queue, Hermione felt discomfort settling in. How had she— how had they all— been so accepting of this as students before? The ethics of it all seemed suddenly questionable.

Her turn came soon enough. "Granger, step forward," Moody commanded.

Gripping her wand tightly in her pocket, she stepped forward. She felt a little dizzy as the realization washed over her—she was about to let herself be subjected to an Unforgivable Curse, willingly. Moody raised his wand.

"Imperio!"

A soothing haze swept over Hermione's senses, attempting to mollify her willpower. It whispered, tempting her to listen, to obey, to surrender control. Yet, despite the magical compulsion, she felt an uncanny ability to resist it. The sensation was like treading on the edge of a cliff but knowing you had the power to step back.

"Jump onto the desk," Moody's voice filtered through the misty euphoria that the curse was trying to drown her in.

With a sensation like pulling her feet from sticky mud, she willed herself to mimic obedience. Jumping lightly onto the desk, she heard Moody's satisfied grunt and felt the fog lift as the curse was lifted. No one else needed to know she had the power to resist; that would only raise questions, questions she didn't want to answer yet.

Harry was next. Just like in the original timeline, he resisted the curse, shaking it off with a visible effort. Moody seemed both impressed and wary, a reaction Hermione could relate to. But before anything more could happen, the door of the classroom swung open, revealing Severus.

He strode into the room with his characteristic sweeping gait, his eyes scanning the room before landing on her. To any other observer, he looked as imposing and emotionless as ever. But she saw the barely concealed alarm in his eyes, and she felt a tug, a pulse within their bond. It was a sensation that suggested concern, a silent inquiry asking if she was alright.

"Moody, I need to borrow Miss Granger," he declared in a tone that brooked no argument.

Moody eyed him warily but nodded, dismissing Hermione with a wave of his wand. She quickly gathered her belongings, feeling the weight of her classmates' eyes on her, and followed Snape out of the room.

Once they reached his office, he closed the door behind them, locking it with a muttered incantation. He turned to face her, his usually inscrutable expression tinged with concern.

"The bond alerted me that you were in danger. What was happening in that class?" His eyes were piercing, searching hers for the truth.

Hermione sank into one of the chairs across from Severus' desk, her muscles aching with a kind of tension that went beyond physical exhaustion. "Moody was putting us under the Imperius Curse, as a demonstration, he claimed. But something was different this time."

"In what way?" Severus' voice was calm, but Hermione could see a sharpening of his eyes, a minute flicker of concern that broke through his stoic demeanor.

"I could resist it," she explained, meeting his gaze. "I felt the urge, the compulsion, but it was as if I had the choice not to give in."

His eyes seemed to deepen in color, like dark ink spreading in water, as he considered her words. "The Imperius Curse doesn't offer the victim a 'choice.' Resistance requires a form of mental strength, often bolstered by certain magical skills or experiences."

"Do you think some of your natural abilities might have... transferred to me through our bond?" Hermione ventured, her pulse quickening with both curiosity and a touch of apprehension. "I know you're skilled in Occlumency. Could that help resist the Imperius?"

Severus paused, his eyes still locked onto hers as if searching for something within her. "It's plausible," he finally said. "My skills in Occlumency do give me a natural resistance to such spells. If our bond has somehow enabled you to share in that skill, even subconsciously, it could explain your newfound resistance."

Though his words offered a logical solution, a mix of relief and discomfort swirled within her. The idea of sharing even more with Severus—a man as interesting as he was intelligent—both fascinated and unnerved her.

"Should we test this theory?" she found herself asking, considering a point of research as well as curiosity.

His lips tightened into what might be construed as a frown. "Given that it has practical application, particularly for you, I believe we should begin your training in Occlumency as soon as possible."

"Very well," she said after a moment, trying to settle the thrill of anticipation that buzzed through her veins.

"Return after dinner tonight," he instructed.


Hermione had a small window of free time between Moody's Defense Against the Dark Arts class and dinner. Her curiosity about the chest in her dormitory had been gnawing at her. With a determined look on her face, she decided to head to the library and do some research.

The library was mostly empty, with a few dedicated students poring over books and scrolls. She made her way to one of the long wooden tables and settled down with a few parchment rolls and a quill. She had a feeling that uncovering the chest's origins might hold valuable clues.

As she delved into the dusty tomes and scrolls, her eyes widened with each discovery. It seemed that the chest had belonged to none other than Godric Gryffindor himself. She read about his close ties with goblins, how he had assisted them in forming Gringotts, the great wizarding bank. In gratitude, the goblins had gifted him with various magical artifacts, including the famed sword of Gryffindor.

But there were other items, too—items that had been lost to history. Hermione couldn't believe her luck. Gryffindor's chest was known to contain treasures that could only be claimed by those who served the House of Gryffindor with extraordinary bravery. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

She continued to pour over the texts, jotting down notes and trying to piece together the mystery of the chest. Before she knew it, the library was closing, and Madam Pince was shooing students out. She reluctantly gathered her notes and made her way to the exit, her heart filled with excitement and a sense of purpose.


The atmosphere in Severus' dimly lit office was saturated with an almost palpable tension, a heavy energy charged by the magic that clung to the room's every surface. The usual scent of parchment, ink, and an undercurrent of potions wafted through the air, a comforting landscape that felt familiar now. Hermione took a deep breath as she closed the door behind her. The click of the latch sounded unnaturally loud, a punctuation in time that marked a clear before and after.

"Sit," he commanded, pointing to a high-backed chair on the other side of his desk. He did not look up from the parchment he was scrutinizing, but Hermione felt his gaze momentarily flicker over her before returning to his work. She sat down, acutely aware of the space between them, and waited.

Finally, he laid down his quill and turned his dark eyes upon her. In that gaze, she felt a myriad of unspoken sentiments—curiosity, caution, even a shred of vulnerability. Her heartbeat quickened, a nervous fluttering in her stomach making her hyperaware of her own corporeal existence within the room.

"The art of Occlumency," he began, his words measured and slow, "is not merely about shielding oneself from external penetrations of the mind. It is an exercise in control, discipline, and above all, deception. You must learn not only to block but to mislead."

She nodded, her eyes never leaving his. The weight of his gaze was like an invisible touch, a sensation she felt but could not define. He picked up his wand from the desk and gestured for Hermione to do the same.

"Ready yourself," he said.

She tightened her grip around her wand, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Then, with an almost imperceptible nod from Severus, the lesson began. His eyes darkened, narrowing into slits as he uttered the incantation. A sensation of cool mist seemed to encircle Hermione's thoughts, as if his magic was a fog, seeping into the cracks of her consciousness.

The first memory he encountered was the recent Welcome Feast. He saw Hermione seated at the Gryffindor table, her eyes darting toward the staff table where he sat, veiled by shadow. A split second later, another memory flickered—a hearty laugh shared with Harry and Ron on the Quidditch pitch, the wind playing with her hair. The images shifted again, this time to Hermione alone in the library, poring over an ancient text about magical soul bonds. The emotions tied to each memory fluttered through her like leaves caught in a gust—excitement, joy, curiosity.

Then the atmosphere changed. Severus delved deeper, sifting through layers of her thoughts until he found what seemed like a private sanctuary. He saw them together—potion-making sessions where she sensed his eyes on her, watching her every stir and swirl. They were alone in a quiet room attached to the infirmary, where the air felt thick with unspoken words. Even deeper, the memory shifted to a moment of vulnerability—both of them a tangle of limbs, hidden from the rest of the world.

Flustered and disoriented, she abruptly shoved him out of her mind. The mental contact severed with a jolt that left both of them breathless. He looked flustered, the veneer of his usually impassive expression cracked by what he had seen and felt.

"Isolating the intruder is not enough," he said, regaining his composure with visible effort. "You must also learn to manipulate what they see. It's not merely about locking doors; it's about leading them down hallways filled with distractions and dead ends."

Her cheeks flushed. She realized that he was all she could think about now. His presence, his touch, his gaze—they filled her thoughts, muddling her focus. And he saw it—the flicker of emotion that flashed across her eyes before she could conceal it.

"Focus, Hermione," he chided, but the words lacked their usual bite.

With a deep breath, Hermione tried to gather her scattered thoughts. She attempted to pull other memories to the forefront, her childhood home, her parents, her friends, anything but him. But each time she tried, her mind would betray her, slipping back into those hidden corners where thoughts of him resided.

She could feel his arm around her waist, the warmth of his skin seeping through her nightclothes. His dark eyes, a universe of unreadable expressions, locked onto hers as if challenging her to look away. The sensation of his breath gently fanning her neck as they leaned close over a cauldron, his body pressed ever so subtly against her back. His fingers lay atop hers, guiding her hand as they both held the stirring rod, his electric touch, the air between them filled with an unnamed tension. The memory was tinted with the hue of desire, both acknowledged and suppressed.

"May we pause for a moment?" she asked, her voice tinged with embarrassment.

He lowered his wand, nodding. "Very well."

The tension in the room was a palpable thing, almost a third entity existing alongside them. It hummed with the unspoken, the undefined, and the thoroughly confusing.

"You need to focus," Severus reiterated, his voice softer now, "Your mind wanders."

"It's hard," she admitted, "My emotions seem to interfere with my control."

He looked at her incredulously, as if the very notion of her having emotions tied to him was inconceivable.

Without another word, he ended the lesson. "Read more about Occlumency. Study the fundamentals, and begin daily meditation," he instructed, his voice tinged with a newfound frostiness. "We will try again another day."

As she stood up to leave, she looked back at him one last time. His own walls were back up, his eyes once more the unreadable black pools she was so accustomed to. But something had shifted, a boundary crossed, and a new layer of complexity added to their already unique relationship.


Hermione sat down at her desk, the one she had tucked into a corner of Gryffindor Tower, shielded from curious eyes by a silencing charm and a low-hanging canopy. The inkwell before her was full, and a crisp, clean sheet of parchment lay flat on the desk, waiting for her quill to dance across it. She had always found comfort in the act of writing, of capturing thoughts on paper to better analyze and understand them.

Hesitating for a moment, she finally dipped her quill into the ink and started to write.

"Log Entry 1: First Occlumency Session with Severus Snape."

The words seemed stark on the paper, too simple to capture the complexity of what she'd experienced. She paused, thinking of how to articulate the tangle of emotions, the flicker of images and sensations that had filled her mind when Severus had used Legilimency on her.

"Our first session was filled with an array of unexpected outcomes. As Severus cast the Legilimens spell, I felt an initial invasion, akin to a wind rushing through a hall of memories. I'd read enough to erect rudimentary mental barriers, but he found them almost instantly."

She paused, remembering the bewildering sensation of him inside her mind, probing through her thoughts. She remembered her inner struggle, the fight to control which memories were shown, especially those concerning him. The experience was intimate in a way she'd never imagined.

"The emotional content of my memories seemed to interfere, causing distraction. Yet, when I managed to refocus, Severus noted an unusually swift development of my defenses, possibly enhanced by our bond."

Hermione realized that she wasn't just writing this log for herself or for academic pursuit; she was documenting a phenomenon that could reshape the understanding of magical bonds.

"As for the bond," she continued writing, "Severus seemed to recognize its influence in our magical interactions but was understandably cautious to jump to conclusions. Whether our magical synchronization stems from the bond, or it's simply a side effect of our frequent magical interaction, is yet to be determined."

Completing her thoughts, she looked over the words she'd written. It was a starting point, a record for herself and for whoever might one day read this log. Who knew what they'd discover together, Severus and her, as they delved deeper into this unparalleled magical relationship?

Satisfied, she capped her inkwell and carefully stowed her parchment away in a locked drawer. This was the first entry of many, she knew.