15: Rung Seven - Her

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

Gobs of thanks go to my beta Southern Witch 69 and to my Brit-picker the amazing Saracen77.

15: Rung Seven – Her

June 30th, 3:05 pm

I walk quickly through a seemingly deserted castle.

I’m supposed to meet Severus at three to discuss our research project, and I’m slightly late.

We’ve only been having sessions once a month over summer hols, and I miss them. Therefore, I decided to go ahead and get ready for tonight’s Victory Celebration, wanting as much time as possible for our meeting. It simply took longer than I’d expected, especially since I ended up changing dresses three times. Which is strange – I never worry this much about clothes.

Right. And all of this so-called not-worrying is why I find myself now wearing a red dress when I’d meant to wear the silver.

I hope he doesn’t think it means anything. Because it doesn’t. Really. It’s simply a very flattering color for me.

Besides, he must have forgotten all about the ladder incident – look at the time he picked.

A blush heats my cheeks as I recall what occurred exactly one year ago.

It’s well worth remembering. After all, it was the best orgasm of my life.

Composed – I must be composed.

Remember his tongue? His finger stroking my G-spot?

Reaching his office door, I pause to adjust slightly damp knickers. My hand trembles as I lift it to knock.

“Professor Granger.” His greeting is perfunctory, but the tone of voice is neutral. I had expected sarcasm or coldness at my lateness.

“Professor Snape. I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“It is of no matter. I merely spent the time reviewing the notes of our last meeting.”

As if he doesn’t have everything memorized. He’s far too brilliant not to.

Moving to the desk, I take the chair I’ve come to think of as mine and pull a stack of parchment from my briefcase to add to the already impressive piles of earlier work.

He settles next to me, and my pulse jumps when his knee brushes mine.

Calm, calm, calm.

A slow breath and I’m ready. “Since we last met, I have run a variety of equation sets to determine if adding moonstone for its calming properties would be beneficial.”

“And?”

“Short answer – yes. Long answer – the best results were obtained when three powdered pieces are added between steps five and six of the traditional brewing process. Does that make sense?”

His immediate answer is to tap his lips thoughtfully.

Exactly one year ago those lips were pressed to my center.

I squirm a bit and hope he doesn’t notice.

The finger finally pauses. “Yes. It is early enough in the process that the moonstone can exert a stabilizing influence on the later, more volatile ingredients, yet after the aconite has finished reacting with the scarab beetles.” His eyes catch mine. “It makes perfect sense.”

My smile must be contagious because I’m suddenly facing one of his – the largest one I’ve ever seen that appeared genuine.

It transforms his entire face. My breath hitches.

He’s utterly striking.

And I’m staring.

Goddess, he’ll never be traditionally handsome, but he is … he is somehow all the more attractive and interesting for it.

“Well, good. That’s sorted then.” I glance at a parchment and clear my throat before meeting his eyes again.

His expression once again neutral, he answers, “Indeed. I will factor in your latest finding and brew the necessary batches by next month’s full moon. The arrangements with Healer Shoredom at St. Mungo’s are fully in place – eight victims of Greyback are willing to test our potion’s efficacy. How fares the design of the questionnaire they will make use of?”

“I’ve added in your two suggestions, so it’s ready. We should have them fill it out this month when they take their regular Wolfsbane in order to have a base-line reading to compare our potion against.”

“Precisely.” He looks pleased again.

“Any ideas as to what you’d like for us to do next?”

He gives me a rather intense look before answering. “I posit that we have gone as far as possible at this juncture with alterations affecting the ingredients alone. It is now time to switch our focus to the incantations involved.”

“That sounds reasonable. Are there any specific areas you’d like to look at adjusting?”

“I had something rather more ambitious in mind, if you will indulge me.”

“Go on.”

“It is a well known fact that all language is metaphorical with every word representing something that it is not.”

I know this – I’ve read it somewhere – some Swiss Muggle scholar – Saussure. “Oh, yes! That’s why we can have different languages. A rose by any other name actually does smell as sweet whether we label it using the English word or the French, Japanese, Russian, etc.”

“Precisely. In the Muggle world, that is the extent of the relationship between the word, the signifier, and the object it is meant to indicate, the signified. Magic, however, utilizes a person’s association of the metaphorical word with a concrete object to manifest said object. It cements the formerly tenuous and arbitrary bond between signified and signifier.” He pauses to ready his wand. “Therefore, I cast Incarcerous and rope, i.e., incarceration, manifests.”

Wrapping around his wrist is a rope, the other end of which tickles as it flows across my left palm. My fingertips curl automatically around it to hold it in place and repeatedly stroke its softness. Hypnotized by the rhythm of the repetitive movement, my mind dredges up a truth I’ve been avoiding.

I’m never going to be able to talk with Ron as I can Severus.

This somber realization startles me to awareness, and I fully notice the rope in my hand for the first time. The rope that wraps around Severus’s wrist. The rope he’s given me control of.

Circe!

The blush that rises to my cheeks flares hotter as my eyes meet his and I see an intensity I thought lost from his dealings with me. Yet it is a look tinted by something more than the lust of a year ago, something I’m not sure I want to suss out.

I fear the answering skip of my heart.

He breaks the stretched moment by continuing. “I am proposing, if feasible, that we use the Arithmatical system you have developed to aid in creating entirely new incantations for brewing Wolfsbane.”

Lost in thought, I mull over the possibilities presented. We’ll have to choose a root language – Latin probably – but the real work will be in selecting the specific words.

How amazingly brilliant!

I lean towards him, eager for more, the rope clutched tightly in my hand.

AN: ‘Some Swiss Muggle scholar’ is indeed Ferdinand De Saussure, the founder of semiotics. Besides the JKR quotation from the end of the previous chapter, my concept of how Arithmancy can be used for Potions work is also inspired by molecular modeling (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Molecular_modeling). I’ve done a double swot in this chapter – science and English nerdiness – forgive!