The Charm

Snape unwarded his quarters and took one heavy step into his living room. The sensation that gripped his insides was similar to that of falling off a precipice. All afternoon, as the snow covered the ground in a thick, crisp layer of cool insulation, he had been thinking about being with her alone in his room. Now that she was on his threshold, he was gripped with a mixture of annoyance and something similar to the jittery feeling he had experienced the night Yaxley's sister, Dominique, had insinuated herself into his dorm room and hijacked his virginity on his seventeenth birthday. Just like that night, he had no desire to send her away, but would have liked to have been more prepared. His quarters were tidy, but there were a few items he would have preferred to be hidden from curious brown eyes.

He glanced over his shoulder and noticed his young colleague still standing on his doorstep, immobile.

"What are you waiting for, an engraved invitation?" he inquired with a tinge of impatience and dread. He was not ready to play host. Were his living quarters not up to her superior, war hero standards?

She sighed, and her eyes looked upwards as if summoning the archway of his door for strength. "Perhaps now would be a good time for you to dilute the sarcasm."

"The conditions do not come into effect until the charm is activated. There is no need for me to dilute anything until then."

She followed him inside, and he suspected that she might have been rolling her eyes, but he had already turned back towards his quarters before that particular fact could be confirmed. He needed a drink...one containing alcohol...if he were to endure over an hour of her presence before the charm activated.

He heard the sound of her heels clattering behind him as he drank a quick, sharp mouthful of Firewhisky.

"I'll have one of the same," she said quickly, obviously not entirely at ease with the situation either.

They both let the golden liquid warm up their throats and ease the tension. He watched her quietly walk to his sofa and drop her brown, beaded bag onto the floor close to the armrest and the lamp. Their eyes caught, and her cheeks seemed to be a warm, blotchy red. He wondered if that was the result of the liquor or the realization of the upcoming activities.

"Perhaps you could show me around?" she suggested while her eyes scanned the periphery of his living room. "I will need to know where your bathroom is and..." she hesitated before continuing, "well, the sleeping arrangements we discussed as well."

He suddenly felt violated. How dare she invade his privacy this way? He should not have let her in early, before the charm was triggered, before her nosy brain transcribed the details of his apartment in her mind to share with the world. And why was it his role to play host and show her around? For a minute, he imagined her at the former headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, Grimmauld Place, sitting at the head of the large dining room table, the attention solely on her as she described the unfashionable way he had arranged his sofas face to face in front of the fireplace.

"Severus," she started after casting one last glance at his book shelf and the array of framed pressed plants and ferns hanging above the sofa, "your place is completely different than what I had imagined. It's really... warm."

A thousand Galleons to one she had meant to say 'cozy'.

"Well, yes, thank you; your approval means the world to me," he replied in his usual sarcastic tone."You may sit here to read your book, Miss Granger, until... " he could not make himself finish the sentence. Heat crept up from his neck to his ears, a tell-tale sign of his discomfiture. He felt both slightly disgruntled and aroused at the idea that he was asking her to sit where he had been jerking off to the image of her from behind the night before last.

She bent down, her hair tumbling down across her face, giving the appearance of weighing her down as she retrieved the multicoloured beaded bag from the floor where she had dropped it. He took the opportunity to observe her closely. He could not explain to himself...or to anyone who would dare to inquire...why he suddenly found her so appealing.

He conceded that Hermione Granger was an attractive woman...not a classic beauty like Lily, but attractive nonetheless. Granger had a natural kind of beauty that seemed to care nothing for embellishment or fashion. Her skin was fair and unflawed like the dermis of an angel of death mushroom...a comparison she might not exactly appreciate, but still accurate. Her brown eyes, seemingly always lit with questions, were framed by dark brows and long lashes that continuously moved to the rhythm of her different facial expressions. She had, of course, that brown curly hair that appeared to grow out instead of down, as if resistant to the laws of gravity, but still, it suited her. She had plump, wide lips that smiled often and easily. Miss Granger...Hermione, his mind corrected... also had an attractive figure with plenty of curves that seemed to dip and rise in the right spots. He was immensely grateful that she looked nothing like she had during her schoolgirl days. The only thing which remained from those days was the steely determination and keen intellect that continued to shine in her eyes.

She seemed to have chosen her clothing with care for the evening: a slightly off-the shoulder black top with a pair of cream-coloured trousers and black heeled shoes that were more easily heard than seen due to the length of her pants. He was no fashion expert, but he knew she looked... nice. Again, it irked him that she had taken away his chance to change into his other black trousers.

Everything hung heavy and silent between them. The way the top fitted her, he could see her collarbone. He was tempted to run a finger along its smooth length. Was her skin as soft as it looked? He felt the pull again, the attraction that made him want to start ahead of the damn charm. But that would be foolish. He knew that she would not be in his living room right now if it weren't for the promise of an amazing night of sexual activity with no strings attached.

"Do not make a nuisance of yourself," he said stiffly on his way to his bedroom. He felt her gaze following him as he left the room, but controlled the urge to look back.

~~~***~~~

Hermione sat on Snape's sofa, legs crossed lightly at the ankles, her book face down on her lap. She looked around the room again after Severus had disappeared into a room to the right that was most assuredly his bedroom. He had looked so discomfited in his own quarters, so unhappy to see her before the charm was triggered. What made her think this would be better than waiting in her own quarters by herself?

Well, she might as well take advantage of the fact that he had left her alone and free to absorb the details of his rooms. Upon entering earlier, she had walked through a narrow stone tunnel with an arched ceiling above her head. She wondered now, if this room was, in fact, a former dungeon. The small hallway led to a large, open, rectangular area that seemed to serve as both library, office, and living room. One wall was covered by a floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelf containing a remarkable assortment of books: botany texts, identification field guides, organic and inorganic potions lab manuals, biographies, and books on philosophy and history. In fact, there seemed to be a section for every subject taught at Hogwarts. The books were arranged in perfect order, but it still looked liked a bookshelf that was being used on a regular basis. There were bookmarks protruding and dutifully marking important pages in various texts, and there was no apparent dust settling on the top of the bindings. She was dying to cradle some of these books in the crooks of her elbows and glance at the marked pages to see what information Snape deemed important enough to make note of. But she felt it would not be right to do so right now. She had arrived early, and she would abide to the conditions they had agreed upon. But she knew, without a doubt, that the amount of Galleons she had spent on her coordinating blue lingerie was already worth it.

Her attention turned to Snape's desk, cornered between the wall of books and a wall with a rather large...considering the location of his quarters...arched window. She had barely had a chance to look at it when he was in the room. She imagined him sitting here, for a moment: head bent, reading; once in a while glancing up to watch the fire flames dance across the room where his fireplace was located. Did he ever get lonely in the dead of winter like this? From the amount of rolled parchment and notes, it didn't look like it, for he seemed to be researching something at the moment. She took a step closer to get a better glimpse of what he was working on. It didn't look like anything to do with potions. They were all sketches of brains, arranged in evolutionary order from simple invertebrates to primates. What the hell was he working on? She resisted the urge to sit in his chair and read the notes scribbled in red on top of the anatomical details.

She finished her tour of the room by studying the various healthy plants on the window still. She wondered how they managed to capture enough sunlight to be able to adequately photosynthesize. Her own plants were struggling with that, and they had plenty of light.

When she heard movement coming from his room, her eyes darted to his door as she hurried back to the sofa and pretended to be immersed in her book.

A moment later, a door creaked open slowly, and Severus Snape emerged from his bedroom looking like she had never seen him before. She felt her breath catching to the walls of her sternum at the sight of him wearing only a white shirt over black trousers and socked feet. She searched for something clever to say, but the shock of seeing him without at least three layers of garments covering his body left her speechless.

He was stunning in the way that an abstract painting could be, when one decides to accept the hard angles and shapes for what they are without trying to make sense of them.

The air around them was filled with a delicious kind of friction. Goodness, they still had about an hour remaining before the charm was to be triggered. She was ready to start now!

Hermione felt the need to say something...anything...to prevent herself from walking over and doing what she had wanted to do for the past two days.

"You look so different," she said breathlessly.

"Should I not make myself comfortable in my own quarters?" he replied as if her comment had been a reprimand. "I had planned on reading by the fire."

Hermione stood up promptly, sending her book tumbling down to the floor. "Oh, I'm sorry; am I sitting in your favourite spot?"

Snape did not reply. His eyes were fixated on her manuscript which was still lying face down on the carpet.

"I see that you've helped yourself not only to the sofa but also to my reading material?"

Hermione looked down at the book lying next to her feet with a puzzled expression. "No, that's the book I'm reading. The one I brought!" she said, still confused.

Snape, looking sceptical, walked around to the side table next to the sofa and reached under a folded newspaper for his own copy of the same manuscript.

"Oh, we're reading the same book!" said Hermione, surprised. "What a bizarre coincidence."

In lieu of an apology, Snape sighed as if fate were conspiring against him. He turned and grabbed two wine glasses from the oak cabinet behind the sofa.

"I believe wine is in order?" he asked as if they both needed fortitude of some sort. Hermione accepted promptly while bending down to retrieve her own copy of Reflections on Magic: Magical Philosophy, Implications on Modern Wizarding Society.

Without so much as glancing her way, he set her glass on the coffee table in front of the sofa and proceeded to sit down across from her in silence.

Hermione was still pondering the chances that they would both be reading the same book, especially on a night such as this. This was not a trendy bestseller newly off the press, in fact, this book had failed miserably with the critics when it had first come out during what would have been Hermione's seventh year at Hogwarts. The theories presented in this treatise had been greeted with scepticism and disdain by the Wizarding community. Hermione had not formed a concrete opinion on whether she accepted all the novel ideas presented by the author. She was, however, very curious to see if Severus agreed with the conclusions the author had reached in chapter three on the location and process of magic. It was ridiculous to sit here and not be able to talk about it. The hell with this fake silence, thought Hermione. True, the conditions had been written so that there would be minimal interaction (other than the physical act, of course) but it wasn't like they had made an Unbreakable Vow, was it? Surely he would not kick her out if she asked what he thought about the mental conversion of magic into physical, kinetic energy? Hermione recalled the diagrams of the brains displayed on his desk. It seemed that Snape was interested in the idea of magical ontology.

"Severus, it would seem from the diagrams displayed on your desk, that you agree with Blonk's theory of magical flow genetics."

"I am thrilled to know that I gave you sufficient time to snoop to your satisfaction," he said with a sigh. "And do you not consider discussing magical ontology a form of entertainment?"

Hermione ignored his question. The light in Snape's eyes had brightened when she brought up that particular theory.

"Do you really believe that everyone, including Muggles, has magical abilities?"

Snape stopped reading and placed his pewter bookmark back in the crease of the book, giving her a half-smile.

"I am shocked, Miss Granger; I have never heard you succinctly summarize three chapters worth of material into one sentence."

She laughed softly, remembering her long essays from her student days. Now that she had to correct her own, she could appreciate that sometimes less was more.

"Hmm, yes, sorry about that."

Snape refilled her glass, and she watched the reflection of the fire dance on the surface of the burgundy liquid. She was warmed by the small sip she took and tried again to get Snape to share his opinion.

"So, you don't think magic has a genetic component?"

"I have always enjoyed others putting words in my mouth," he said shaking his head slightly, but she could tell he was not really annoyed. He too continued to sip his wine, looking at her intensely over the thin rim of his glass, seeming to choose his words carefully.

"I definitely think that there is a chromosomal component to magic, but nothing as simple as the popular hypothesis that there is a gene that makes you either a witch or a wizard."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement. Whatever made them magic was not as simple as Mendel's pea plants experiments.

"We, humans, share 98% of our genetic material with chimpanzees, and to this day, no one has been able to determine what percentage magical individuals share with Muggles. Blonk believes that our genome is identical," said Snape, pausing as if to give her a chance to comment.

"Yes, and that's probably why his entire thesis has been rejected without further thought by the Wizarding community. The Wizarding community likes to think that there is a special, powerful gene that determines magical ability."

"Correct."

"But it seems naive to think that magic is simply an adaptation. Goodness, evolutionary speaking, everybody would be magic by now! I can't think of a better trait that would help with survival."

Snape smiled. "Valid point."

As they dove deeper and deeper into magical theory, they both seemed more at ease. Hermione had never seen him so relaxed, so accessible. It seemed like the charm had already started dissolving inhibitions.

"So what are you proposing? I'm curious to see why you are interested in brain phylogeny."

Snape looked at her as if determining whether or not he wished to share his ideas. Finally, he continued softly, "I am proposing that perhaps everyone has magical abilities, but that Wizards and witches have something biological...genetic or not...that transcribes mental, magical energy into physical, kinetic energy."

Hermione finished her wine and set her glass back on the table in front of her. Excitement flowed through her. She couldn't remember when she had felt this stimulated mentally or physically.

"You mean a sort of a tool..." she paused, trying to find the best way to put into words what she was thinking. "Like a remote control in the brain?" She laughed at her oversimplified analogy.

"Well, that is not an entirely absurd comparison."

Hermione wasn't sure what agent...the build up of the charm or having a tantalizing conversation...was acting on her psyche at the moment, but all she wanted to do was walk over to his side, straddle him, slide her arms under his unbuttoned shirt and continue discussing magical ontology in that position.

Snape was elaborating on his hypothesis. "I am still trying to make sense of it myself, but I imagine that there is some sort of portal in the brain where our thoughts are converted into 'magic'.

"Why would we ever need a wand, then?" she asked, still fighting the need to touch him.

"A logical question. This is undoubtedly just a model at this point. I have no proof of this, but I was thinking that a wand acts as some sort of magnet to attract the newly transcribed magical kinetic energy out of the body."

"Interesting."

"But, as you well know, a wand is not necessary. Think about the process involved when you are performing wandless magic."

Hermione blushed. She had never had the patience or focus necessary for wandless magic.

"I'm afraid that I have never been able to do wandless magic. The truth is, I just can't be bothered with it. I'm extremely efficient with my wand."

"Has anyone ever taught you?"

"Well, no, not really. I just assumed that you had to think very hard or something, and the magic would flow."

"It's more a question of visualisation than thought. When you are holding your wand in your hand, the magical thoughts are attracted to your wand, much like to a magnet, and flow naturally in that direction and out of your body."

How was it that Snape was making magical theory sound so damn sexy?

"When you are without your wand, you need to show your magical energy the path," he continued, his eyes never leaving hers. "I am positive a witch of your calibre will be able to achieve this task quite easily if you know what to do exactly."

"I'll try," she replied breathlessly. She felt completely swamped by desire. She had not expected the charm to activate by increments...slowly overtaking her senses and saturating them with a tantalizing, pervasive sensuality. She had foolishly assumed that at nine o'clock, the charm would be triggered and they would be suddenly thrown into a prolonged state of arousal. Well, that would have, indeed, been how the things might have unfolded had she not arrived almost an hour early. But she liked it much better this way; it was like slowly getting drunk on lust.

"Think of a simple action you wish to perform," Snape was instructing her, but in a softer, raspier voice than she had ever heard him use when teaching. It made it difficult to concentrate. Very difficult. "Make an image in your mind of what you want to do, and make a conscious decision to let it travel through your body and find a point of exit. I would suggest using your index finger for the first time, as it will feel similar to your wand."

He demonstrated as he spoke, pointing his finger at the wine bottle and refilling both their glasses without spilling a drop. The way in which he reclined on the sofa...looking childishly self-satisfied...both amused and warmed her. What a strange effect the charm was having on him too. As if this powerful wizard needed to perform a magic trick to impress her.

"Your turn, Miss Granger."

Why was he still calling her Miss Granger? Was he really unaware that it was almost nine o'clock?

The image of what she wanted to do painted itself easily on the blank canvas in her mind. She then consciously let the image flow downwards, meander down her arm and finally center itself on her index finger...clear and alive.

She pointed her finger at Snape and, without muttering a word, let the mental image transcribe itself into kinetic energy and twirl out of her finger like a physical force.

Snape's crisp white shirt elegantly unbuttoned itself in a gentle, cascading motion, revealing a flat, pale torso with fine black hair dusting his chest. Nice.

He looked stunned. His head dropped down low, and despite the fact that his black hair was hiding his face, it was obvious that he was staring down at himself. He stayed that way for what felt like an eternity to her. She rose, and he finally glanced up from his open shirt.

"Hermione." He sighed with a mixture of exasperation and desire.

Then he stood, and somehow she was in his arms. His lips were on hers, hungry and seeking, and all rational thoughts about magical theory dissolved into the air around them. Her mouth pressed into his with equal hunger, and her arms went under his shirt and held on to his back. In that moment there was nothing but the feel of his hard, compact body pressed against her, nothing but the incredible effect of the charm, rippling deliciously through their bodies. The kiss was long and deep, and Hermione felt like her insides were being drawn out of her. Snape's hands slid down her back until his fingers dug into her arse, lifting her up onto the hard, pulsing evidence of his erection.

She had never experienced anything like this before, this urgency to release the sexual tension. Her heartbeat was pounding throughout her body, her chest, her gut, and at the junction of her thighs. Her legs had the consistency of warm butter, and she was glad to be partially anchored on Snape's hips.

She dug her fingers into his hair, aware of a wild desire to rub her body against his and let her hands travel all over his flesh. She explored his shoulders and chest, fingers feeling the soft black hair around his breastbone, and skipped to his flat, concave stomach until she came up against the barrier of his waistband. She was pleased to hear his low groan when her hand stroked his erection through his trousers. Snape leaned into her hand, and the force of his movement pushed her back against the coffee table, her knees buckling against the edge of the oak wood. She landed flat on her back without breaking contact with Snape's mouth. They continued to kiss...two starving people with bodies unwilling to part in order to find a more comfortable venue.

When she had daydreamed about the power of the charm flowing through her blood, she had never imagined being taken on Snape's coffee table amongst burgundy stained wine glasses and philosophy books. She concluded that was what two days of pent up sexual energy and a powerful aphrodisiac charm did. She liked it--she liked that they were out of control and that everything was tinged with this sort of impatient energy. She liked the heat his body gave off and the feel of his hard cock against her belly. His skin smelled of cut plants and fresh rain. She tasted it, made a smooth wet trail on his shoulder, and the scent became a flavour on her tongue.

"You taste good," she said.

He shivered and undulated against her and only broke contact when the table scraped backwards. Finally, he cupped the back of her neck, pulling her ear up to his throaty whisper, "Let's move this elsewhere." His hands sought hers and wrapped around her wrists in a commanding grasp, pulling her up to a standing position.

He pulled her soft, black cashmere top over her head, and there he seemed to pause, perhaps realizing for the first time what a crazy pace they had set. "You call this blue?"

"Periwinkle is a shade of blue," she replied as she reached to lick his ear. A ragged breath fanned over the top of her head, and his arms came around hers again.

They tumbled onto the sofa, somehow wiggled out of their clothing, and frantically pushed it out of the way with the tilt of their toes.

Tangled together, they found a rhythm. Their breaths came in laboured gasps that seemed to echo against the stone walls of the living room.

She kissed his chin and felt his jaw move as he spoke in a voice thick and gruff, "This won't last long."

"For me, either."

In answer he only growled and rolled her flush on her back, entering her body. Her heels dug into his back. Hermione heard the sound of her own moans of pleasure as his cock slid in and out of her, creating a tingling sensation that radiated out and permeated her legs with a warm heaviness. She lifted to meet each thrust, watching Snape's face as he pressed his lips tight together and breathed heavily into her hair. Perhaps as a result of the charm, she felt the need to see what they looked liked together and peered between his extended arms to watch their bodies mingling.

When his beat accelerated, her head pressed back into the armrest of the sofa. She closed her eyes and rode the swells with him. He reached and spread her mound with his fingers and let his shaft stroke her swollen flesh. It did not take long for her body to quiver in response.

He grunted as his reached his own climax, coming hard and long and deep inside of her.

Snape fell across her breasts and lay there panting loudly. Had it not been for the charm, this would have never happened, but now they lay together, intertwined on a sofa like teenagers. She ran her hands down his back and buttocks, avoiding his hips, and murmured "wow" as much to herself as to him.

"Indeed."

This is so unreal, thought Hermione. She had never managed to achieve orgasm during intercourse; hell, she had never managed to take her mind off her list of 'things to do' during sex.

She wanted to stay this way, cocooned inside his arms, legs and the cushions of his sofa and enjoy the feeling of contentment that came after the release of what had felt like two days of foreplay. Ruminating on the minutes just passed, she thought of asking him about the charm and whether it had felt different this time around. But she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, the spell would be broken, and they would return to being 'Snape' and 'Miss Granger' to each other. So, instead, she shifted down a bit and curled up securely against his side, listening to the sound of heartbeat against her ear. Soon, in addition to the soothing sound of Snape's heartbeat, Hermione could hear the insistent rumbling of her stomach. It was no big surprise, as her excitement and nerves had kept her from doing much more than pushing her food around her plate earlier, but it was still somewhat mortifying. She was absolutely positive that he could hear it too. "It seems my stomach has something to add to the proceedings," she said laughing softly.

Snape stood abruptly, and she watched the defined muscles of his arse and thighs disappear as he rapidly climbed into his trousers.

"As per our agreement, I will ask Robie to bring you some food. You may shower after I am done," he paused and looked at her almost as if he wanted to add something else. In the end, he strode out of the living room, leaving her feeling disappointed despite the fact that they had, in fact, agreed 'not to cuddle post-coitus.'

A/N: Please forgive me for taking so long to post this chapter. Hugs to you all for your patience.

Also, massive hugs to my wonderful friend and beta, Lariope. Thank you for your constant encouragement and help. You have no idea how much that phone call cheered me up! ;D