SNAPE

Chapter Thirteen: SNAPE

It had been quite a day. Snape sighed as he sank into the armchair in his sitting room, pinching the bridge of his nose tightly, trying to stem the migraine he could feel pushing to the forefront.

He didn't want to take a potion for it, because he needed to be clear-headed to think.

Nothing had gone today as he thought it would, starting from the time he woke up, to his reluctant return to his own lonely rooms.

Tomorrow he was going to kiss Hermione.

She had been after him all week to do it, of course, trying to drive him over the brink with her soft touches and trembling lips, her theories that perhaps she was living in some type of fairy tale.

He knew it wouldn't work. His kiss would not wake her up – she might be beautiful, but he was no one's Prince Charming.

The very thought made him smirk darkly.

He knew what she was trying to do, and he honestly couldn't blame her. Being trapped as she was, with no means of release and limited physical contact, would be terrifying. She had convinced herself that she wanted him – him of all people – and it didn't seem he could dissuade her otherwise. Not that he really wanted to.

It was hard denying himself the very thing his heart yearned for. After tomorrow, he didn't think he would be able to do it for much longer, if at all.

Putting off his desires, while at the same time trying to ignore hers, had been hard enough over the last week, and he hadn't even kissed her yet.

She really was a remarkable woman. Closing his eyes and leaning his head back on his chair, he remembered her sweet voice, 'I love you, Severus... You're the best part of this whole mess – you're my silver lining.'

As long as he could remember, no one had ever loved him before. It scared him to the very depth of his being, more so than those last horrifying months as Dumbledore's spy had scared him, more so than facing down Voldemort in that final battle. She had power over him no one else had ever had and he was terrified of losing her.

What if he did manage to free her? What then? Despite her protestations of love would the sudden reversal of the curse, coupled with her freedom to have her pick of young men, change her interests? He couldn't help but think that it would.

The irrational, bitter part of himself indulged in the scenario that might play out if he played the part of what everyone seemed to think he was – a horrible monster. In that case he wouldn't free her at all – he would keep her all to himself and no one would ever be the wiser except him. Then he wouldn't need to worry about losing her. The thought, while briefly tantalizing, was one he could never truly consider. He loved her enough to let her go, if it came right down to it. He couldn't contemplate living without her any longer, yet it was a chance he had to take. He couldn't leave her like that.

He sighed again and decided a small glass of firewhiskey wouldn't be amiss. His thoughts were maudlin tonight, tinged with uncertainty and a deep aching loneliness. He needed her. He felt more real inside her mind then he did at any other time, and leaving her there to come out and face the so-called real world was becoming more and more difficult.

It didn't help that the only person who really seemed to believe that he had found Hermione was Nettie Pomfrey, of all people. He had been startled to realize that he had – perhaps – found a friend in her, a confidant as it were.

Potter didn't believe him – that was a given. Snape knew the younger man showed up every day to visit with Hermione and grill Nettie. Neither woman had told him this, of course. He had simply overheard Potter talking to Hagrid about it a few days ago. He hadn't meant to eavesdrop, but he had heard his name – and old habits die hard. He had been a spy, for Merlin's sake! That would never change.

He had been in the library, retrieving a book on ancient Latin curses, when he had spotted Potter and Hagrid sitting at one of the larger tables. He knew what Hagrid was doing there, of course – the giant man had asked him just that morning if he knew of any books that described the proper care for sick Chimera.

Snape, of course, didn't. 'I would suggest you look in the library, Hagrid,' he had suggested coldly. 'Although I doubt they'd have anything there either. Those – things – are an outlawed creature, remember?'

Hagrid had looked at his thumbs and tried to effect an air of innocence, 'I'm not sayin' I 'ave one! Jus' curious, is all, as to wot I would do if a sickun ever came in my possession, see?'

So, Hagrid had taken Snape's advice, and Potter – well, the brat was obviously there to stir up trouble.

'She does look better, Hagrid,' Potter was saying, 'but how do we know Snape wasn't the one in the first place to make her look so ill and then reverse the charm afterwards to make her look like she was getting better because of him?'

'But 'arry,' Hagrid rumbled at the younger man, 'why would 'e do it, eh?'

'I don't know, but I don't trust him,' Potter replied. 'I'm not saying he purposely wants to hurt her or anything. Albus said that Snape was telling the truth about talking to her – but he could've just made her up in his head. He could really believe he is talking to her, in which case Albus would say he's telling the truth, right? I think he might be going crazy.'

'But the test, 'arry.....' began the giant, before being interrupted.

'That so-called test was a joke. Albus asks everyone if they want lemon drops – and he never did make Snape specify what else he had said. Even Hooch and Minerva agree with me on that.'

'S' true...' Hagrid amended, slowly.

'And," Harry plowed ahead, 'Madame Pomfrey told me herself that she's never heard of a case like this, and that it should be impossible for someone to be alive in their head and only one legilimens can talk to them. Doesn't that sound suspicious? Don't you wanna know what Snape's up to?'

If the half-giant answered, Snape didn't know. He had stopped listening by then. He didn't need to hear anymore.

He was used to being the subject of gossip and speculation, but that didn't make it any more palatable. Two decades of subterfuge had worked against him, and even though he had won an Order of Merlin, First Class for Services Meritorious to the Light, he was still seen as an evil ex-Death Eater far too familiar with the Dark Arts for anyone to be truly comfortable in his presence. Even Albus, at times, seemed to doubt him – and Albus knew him better than anybody else – or had, until Hermione.

The problem, it seemed to him, was not only that no one seemed to believe him, but that no one wanted to believe him. He couldn't really fault them for that – it was bad enough thinking Hermione was lost to them, but to learn she was trapped; that she could hear and see everything going on around her but couldn't make contact; was deeply horrifying.

Snape resigned himself to the rumors spreading throughout Hogwarts and was determined to only allow himself to gloat only a little when he finally saved Hermione and everyone learned the truth.

Albus spoke with him almost daily to discuss his progress, but the rest of his colleagues avoided the topic of Hermione and her return to the point of irritation. They never asked him how she was doing, what he was doing – nothing. But he knew they talked about it behind his back. Their lack of forthrightness shouldn't have offended him, but it did. He had never given them reason to distrust him or think he would hurt anyone under his care, yet their speculation remained.

Only Nettie Pomfrey seemed to trust him. Snape found this vaguely disconcerting – that a woman he barely knew and hadn't been overly pleasant with seemed to know he wouldn't hurt Hermione, when people who had known him for years questioned his motives in helping her.

His talk this evening with Nettie had been illuminating, to say the least. He had been amazed to see her defending him against her sister, of all people. He had assumed they were thick as thieves, sharing the gossip and innuendo with each other like the nattering hens he had thought they were. It was amazing to him that she had managed to see through his shields and pretenses to the very core of him – and that what she saw hadn't disturbed her in the least.

"I think he's probably the only one here who understands what true solitude is all about,' she had said. 'That man wears his isolation like a shield, and no one else seems to want to break through it. Why shouldn't he want to talk with Hermione? She probably knows him better than anyone else, at this point.'

Knowing where she stood on the matter had made talking to her easier. Hermione had been correct in saying that Nettie could be a friend. At the very least, Snape now felt very strongly that she was on their side. When he had told her about Hermione's idea, she had laughed and said she knew her charge was smart. That had been it.

So, Snape was going to kiss Hermione Granger tomorrow and Nettie Pomfrey, the de facto chaperone of the woman in question, was not only not going to tell anybody about it, but she was actually in cahoots with him for planning it.

Incredible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

His stomach was in knots. He didn't think he could do this – not because he didn't want to, but because he knew it wouldn't work. And even though he knew it wouldn't work, he also realized he would still be disappointed when it didn't. Damn it all!

He had been in Hermione's suite of rooms for 30 minutes already; had downed three cups of hot tea with lemon while nervously sitting in the armchair beside Hermione's bed. Nettie had informed him earlier she thought 'the kiss' would be easier if Hermione were reclining in her own bed and not sitting awkwardly on the sofa in the front room.

It lent a surprising intimacy to the situation Snape hadn't been anticipating.

Hermione had been excited to see him. 'I thought I would have to send Nettie to get you,' she had teased when he had first arrived.

'I'd like to see you try,' he had retorted dryly. 'Before we do this, we need to lay some ground rules.'

'Ground rules?'

Snape had shifted uncomfortably, pulling at the cuffs on his frock coat, 'I won't be in your mind when I kiss you.'

Hermione had frowned at that, 'Why not?'

'I need to be totally focused on what is happening,' he replied. 'I need to be able to analyze it and I don't think I'll be able to think properly if I'm in your mind while I'm kissing you.'

'Am I that distracting?' Hermione had queried, her voice sweetly innocent and seductive at the same time.

He had merely stared at her, his gaze hard, 'You know you are.'

'Fine,' she had smiled back, 'but I want a full report when you return – that is, if it doesn't work.'

'You could never disappoint me,' she returned, biting her lip as she did so. 'I don't expect miracles.' She reached out and ran her small hand against his cheek, 'Now go and kiss me, before you lose your nerve.'

Easier said than done. He felt quite uncomfortable, sitting there with Nettie standing guard in the doorway. She had asked him if she should leave, but he had requested her presence in case anyone burst in and tried to punch him in the nose, as had happened the last time.

He shifted to the side of her bed, sitting gingerly and facing her, his hip pressed against hers. Her hands, which had been lying across her stomach, had shifted when he sat down, one falling to her side and the other into his lap. He picked it up carefully, studying the dainty fingers and the small, square palm, before bringing it to his lips and kissing the back of it.

Her hand was exceedingly cold. Leaning forward slightly, he studied her face, lifting the hand that wasn't holding hers to trace the contours of her chin and cheekbones, his index finger running lightly over her eyebrows. The desire to look into her cinnamon eyes and fall into their depths was overwhelming. Shutting his eyes against her, he took a deep breath before allowing his hand to continue its deft exploration. Her lips felt soft and plump against his finger as he traced the little dent in her upper lip. Freeing his other hand from hers, he ran it gently up her arm and into her hair, cradling the back of her head in his long fingers.

'I'm going to kiss you now, Hermione,' he whispered, leaning forward and allowing his lips to brush lightly against hers. He was surprised at how cold they were.

Applying a bit more pressure, he waited for something to happen.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Sighing internally, he went to pull away and suddenly felt a strong arc of electricity – a jolt which caused him to jump slightly and open his eyes again, looking into her own. Something had grabbed him.

He was falling.

Her lips were cold.

Her lips were warm.

Beneath his hands, she lay motionless.

She was pressed against him, her sweet mouth opening under his.

His lips were dry and tight.

Wet, so wet. Gods, her tongue was delicious.

Nothing was happening.

He was being swept away on a current of desire so intense it left him reeling.

His hands were still in her hair.

His hands were no longer in her hair, but wrapped around her waist tightly.

Her hands were still, one on the bed, the other on his knee.

Her hands were on him, running through his hair, running around his back – pressing tightly against his chest.

He was silent.

He was gasping her name, 'Hermione....'

She was unresponsive.

She was a firecracker in his arms, 'Severus! Please, don't stop kissing me!'

He was going crazy.

She was driving him mad.

Gasping, he pulled himself away and out of her mind, his sudden movement almost making him fall off the bed. His blood was surging hotly through his veins. He wanted to dive back into her mind and finish what she had started when she had pulled him in.

He was furious she hadn't listened to him.

He was ecstatic she hadn't listened to him.

She was as still as death, lying there on the bed. His kiss had not woken her up.

'Are you all right, Severus...sir,' he heard Nettie inquire as if from a great distance, and his shoulders slumped.

'It didn't work, Nettie.'

'You didn't expect it to,' her voice was calm, reasonable. He turned his head slightly and looked at her, his expression grim.

'I wanted it to, though.'

She didn't say anything to that, just smiled at him sadly. 'I suspect Miss Granger is just as disappointed as you are. Go talk to her, Severus. I'll get you a cup of tea.'

Entering her mind was becoming easier and easier. The first time he had done this, it had been like falling through mud – sticky and uncomfortable – yet, each successive visit became easier and easier. Now, it was simply a matter of looking into her eyes and stepping through air.

Hermione was waiting where she had left him, her face flushed and her hair wild above it. Her lips were rosy and plump from his kisses and she reached out for him the minute she saw him.

'Severus.'

He wanted to grab her. He wanted to continue where he had left off. He could still taste her against his mouth, still feel the heat of her pressed against him. Instead, he glared at her.

'What was that?'

She looked confused, 'What was what?'

'You weren't supposed to pull me in. I was trying to be objective.' His voice was harsh with suppressed anger and thwarted desire.

Hermione looked stunned, 'I didn't pull you in. You were kissing me – my lips – I could feel you. Nothing was happening. And then you were suddenly here kissing me, and it was....wonderful!'

'You pulled me in,' he reiterated. 'I felt it, Hermione.'

'I didn't,' she retorted, moving closer to him. He could feel her heat radiating from his in waves. 'I swear I didn't. I wasn't even looking at you, just – feeling. You felt so good, Severus.' Her voice had dropped an octave, the seductive whisper trailing up his spine and making him shiver. 'Please, kiss me again.'

Her arms were reaching out to him, her face flushed. He watched the rapid beating of her heart in the hollow of her throat with fascination.

'Hermione,' he whispered, allowing himself to grasp her hands and pull her to him, 'we shouldn't be doing this.'

'Yes, we should,' she replied as her mouth met his again, gently this time, and so sweet it made his knees buckle. 'No one is here but us, there's only you and I. I've wanted this for so long, Severus. No one will ever know.'

He was weakening. He knew he was, but Merlin's balls! She was so addictive.

'No one will ever know,' he agreed, as her hands pulled free of his, her fingers finding the clasped buttons on his frock coat and quickly undoing them before, before sliding under the dark material to his back.

He thought his heart would burst from adrenaline and joy as he wrapped his arms around her and leaned in to kiss her once again. 'I love you, Hermione.'

'I know,' she replied.

He had stayed with her the rest of the day, enjoying their conversations and their silences. They had picnicked in the garden and walked along the lakeside before returning to his study, sharing a camaraderie tinged with such acceptance and affection, he had a hard time believing it was directed at himself. She was a wonder, a shiny prism refracting the light around her and shining into all the dark places of his soul.

The tea Nettie had brought for him had remained cold and untouched on the night table, as had the sandwich she provided. Snape hadn't even heard her return. Finally, as the sun was sliding down beyond the horizon, he pulled himself from Hermione's arms, despite her protests.

'Stay.'

'I'll come back.'

Now, sitting in the Great Hall, staring forlornly in to his soup, he realized he was... content. It was a foreign concept for him – he had never been content in his life. Hermione loved him. He didn't doubt it any longer – he couldn't. Curse or no curse, she loved him and he – well, suffice it to say he felt lost without her. Just knowing that he could return to her, slide into the sweet haven of her mind and converse with her, hold her in his arms... the very thought made him smile.

He glanced around nervously to see if anyone had seen him grinning like an idiot at his soup spoon and sighed when he realized they were all to busy with their meals to notice him.

Unless... was that Sybil Trelawney, staring at him? What was she doing out of her tower? Her eyes looked excessively large through the thickness of her glasses, her brow pinched in concentration as she studied him. He frowned at her, but she just smiled that dopey smile of hers before leaning across Sprout and letting her beads drag into her soup.

'Professor Snape... Severus,' she began, in that high lilting tone he so detested, 'What have you done to yourself?'

'I don't know what you're talking about, Sybil.' His voice was cold but he shifted in his seat uncomfortably.

'There's something different about your aura today,' she continued, as if she hadn't heard him. Her myopic eyes continued to study him. 'It's full of color.'

Snape rolled his eyes at her, and Sprout tittered, 'Color, Sybil? Whatever do you mean?'

'Don't get her started, Sprout,' Snape hissed, but it was already too late.

'Everyone's aura is a different color,' Sybil turned her glance towards Sprout. 'You, Pomona, are always shades of green, with other strong earth tones mixed into it. Your aura represents you – your love of nature, your ability to grow things...your love for the outdoors. Our dear Albus is mostly purple, the wisest of the aura colors, with flecks of gold overlaying it. The purple represents his strong magical powers and the gold shows he is always working for the highest good – Albus has a very powerful aura indeed.'

She paused and turned squarely back to look at Snape, her eyes no longer quite so vacant but shrewd and assessing. All the other professors were listening now, leaning forward in anticipation.

'Professor Snape here, almost without exception, has almost always been black – the color of anger, resentment, unhappiness and pain. He's also had flashes of purple to indicate his strong magical abilities – but now! My dear young man, are you in love?'

Snape almost choked. To his left, he could hear Hooch cackle and Minerva was gazing at the back of his head with such ferocity he thought she might sever it from his neck. He scowled at Trelawney. 'Pardon me, Madam?'

'Your aura is pulsing with life,' she replied, in her irritating droning nasal, 'it's full of color! Red, clear and intense, for passion. Pink, for love and sensual bliss. Orange, for stamina and creative or sexual energy and yellow for contentment. Your aura tells me you are – happy.'

Her pronouncement was met with silence. His colleagues were staring at him with various expressions of shock and amusement on their faces. No one said anything for a minute and then Hooch asked, her voice full of insinuation, 'Did you visit with Hermione this morning, Severus?'

Snape didn't even take the time to glare at her. His mind was whirling – colors, Trelawney saw colors around him. Merlin's balls and Circe's teeth! Colors! Looking up at Trelawney, he pinned her with his eyes.

'What does gray mean, woman?' he barked, his jaw tight with intensity.

'Gray?' Trelawney echoed, 'gray is the division of self from spirit. A blocking of energies and soul. Gray is the color of unfulfilled life.'

Snape rose abruptly as she spoke, pushing his chair away from the table with a loud bang as he reached out and grabbed Trelawney's arm. He needed to take her to Hermione right away. The divination dingbat had embarrassed him beyond all endurance, but she had given him a clue to the curse – the biggest clue yet.

Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes

in your eyes in your eyes