Seventeen

When Hermione awoke the next day in her room, she turned 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 appeared equally surprised to find himself in a 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 slowly 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 with fluid, languid tightness along him. It was not long before they both came quietly and perfectly.

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

"How exactly 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?"

There was a slight pause before he answered.

"Was."

He spoke with little discernible emotion; Hermione found herself oddly unnerved.

"What do you mean?"

"He died." His words were stark.

A sudden chill ran through Hermione despite all the horror she had confronted in her short life, but she tensed against it, not wishing to show him. "Oh ... I see ... when?" 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."

Hermione did not at first respond, but curiosity eventually got the better of her. "Go on then."

Severus started talking, his voice still flat, but with a tinge of poignancy Hermione had never previously detected in it. "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 terminally 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 Severus speaking so freely about his past, let alone with regard to 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 process 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. If he had recently been showing signs of emotional regrowth, she herself had still not considered it of him in his younger days, so wrapped up had she been in the here and now. The thought that he may have been an emotionally sentient person, with hope and affection and regret, before she had found him, even with reason telling her that it must have been the case, had not occurred to her.

She was at once profoundly humbled but oddly dispossessed by his words.

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

"Laszlo Treworgan."

Hermione paused. "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 that cold prickle course through her again.

"I see ... when?"

"Within an hour of his death."

An image of her lover bending over the dead boy's body, piercing his side with his wand, draining blood from the now lifeless wound flashed before Hermione's eyes. Her stomach lurched. 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 remained silent. The complexity and contradictions of the man struck home with disturbing force. The thought, so vivid in her mind's eye, of what he had done after having described the tragedy of the boy with such sincerity troubled her. This unease was compounded by the memory of the boy's intense face staring at her in the Common Room the previous night, made ever more intense by Severus' soul locked within.

For the first time since they had come to each other, she wished she was on her own.

Hermione deliberately emitted a little sigh, exaggerating its normality and knowing she had failed. It sounded flippant and false.

"I think I'll go to breakfast."

She kissed him noticeably quickly and lightly on the chest and rose up, 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. "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, genuine and deep this time. She did not want to see Laszlo in him again. But it was not simply the death of the boy and the approach Severus had taken to it which had unsettled her; it was the thought that there had been people other than her who had influenced him, who had tapped into his soul. She closed her eyes briefly, turning away from him. The face of Lily Potter floated into her mind: beautiful, smiling, adored ... Amidst all the feelings evoked that morning: despair, regret, disgust, there was yet another – jealousy: faint, irrational, Hermione knew, but there nonetheless, and adding to the torment already besetting her.

And as ever when Hermione was confronted by a whirl of conflicting emotions, she wanted time to think, even if it meant being away from him. Adopting a formal, perfunctory tone, she turned back to him. "Right. I'm off to breakfast. Do you want to go for a walk later?" She was not sure why she had suggested it and knew she did not sound 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.

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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 Rose, 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," Rose continued with a smirk, "Lawrence 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 but glanced instead at Ginny who was staring at her intently. 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 that her feelings suddenly transported her back to their time together at Hogwarts before the war. For the merest moment she forgot that she was in 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 merely added to the malaise which had already taken such a firm grip that morning.

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 should not, of course, but her nature dictated it.

Breathing in the crisp morning air deeply, she remembered that she had told Severus they would go for a walk. The feelings she had experienced that morning were foolish, she knew it, but a little space to clear her head seemed necessary. With time to herself, she would settle again, take stock of her situation.

Hermione felt that the conversation of the morning had in fact deepened their relationship, that the myriad of disparate complexities were beginning to be aligned in their lives. 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. But the alignment, the shifting towards understanding and compatibility, needed space to settle. 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 walked steadily to the dungeons and soon found herself outside his classroom. Immediately she could see him within. She knocked and entered. Severus 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 spread of damp anticipation between her thighs, but today 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 him. It would take all her self-control to resist him. His mouth had now moved from hers and was travelling down her neck. Hermione's 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."

A look of shock and desolation immediately took hold of his face. 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 angrily.

Hermione 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 stared into her, his eyes narrowing, his jaw clenching under the tight skin. Then he turned away sharply, wrapping his robes tight about his person, his hunched shoulders drawing his body into itself. "I should not have been so honest with you this morning. I should know the folly of speaking openly, fool that I am!" The cold recrimination of his words pierced her through.

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."

Severus met her eyes, agony still evident in his. "I want to be with you." He spoke low and urgently, his need overwhelming 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. He repeated himself. "I said, get out!"

Hermione shook her head slightly, that feeling of nausea threatening to upend her. But there was no point pursuing things like this. Her heart ached, called for him, but still she turned to leave and walked towards the door. On reaching it, she glanced back. 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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A difficult chapter both for Hermione and Severus. We all need time to process emotions and changing relationships. Like all human complexity, things are not always able to be fully understood, but I hope this chapter helped to illustrate the emotional depth and, equally, the fragility of both these characters.

Thank you for the eloquent and thoughtful reviews. I do so enjoy and appreciate them. LL x