Visitations

Disclaimer: JKR wrote and owns the Potterverse, has great hair, and is a hell of a good sport. Long may she prosper.

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The corridor was long, stony, dim, and cold, but she knew what she sought was at the far end. It took forever and not very long to get there. A door, familiar but strange.

He looked down at his cold, bare feet. Yes. Thank you. I'll remember.

* * *

Hermione woke, and her face was wet with tears. Her left ear cuff was pinching her ear; she pulled both of them off and dropped them into their box. So thirsty. She reached for the water glass on her bedside table and drank deep, then fell back on her damp pillow.

The dream slipped away moment by moment, leaving behind little tremors of desolation. She was left with disconnected impressions: calling Severus; kissing him; losing him; music and discord; a bone-scraping fear.

She sat up, picked up her wand, and murmured 'Accio book. Lumos.' A small, mouldy book entitled Soule Darkenesse: Being a Studye of Divers Evildoers & Theyr Workes flew from her bag into her hand.

Perhaps she could get some insight into the Horcrux problem. It was worth a try. Because if this was the relief she could expect from sleep, she'd jolly well do without it, thank you.

Parvati's gentle snoring made a soft, almost pleasant buzzing sound in Hermione's ears as she began to read her way through the rest of this awful night.

* * *

It was nearly dawn when Severus allowed himself to give in to exhaustion. He pulled off his boots and lay down fully clothed on top of his bed. Within moments he was asleep and dreaming.

The house was familiar and strange. He was where he always was, in his meagre hiding place. Bare boards under and over him, rough and splintery, streaked with old dirt. Knees up to his chin, body tucked in small.

I'm dreaming this dream again, he thought.

Severus had been six years old when he discovered he could identify a nightmare while it was happening and, even though he could not change what happened in the dream, he could blunt its power by an act of will.

If he was chased by a monster, it would be because he had chosen to be chased by a monster. If the monster caught him and opened its jaws to devour him, he had chosen this fate. When he did this, the nightmarish nerve-scraping sensation disappeared and he was left in a dream that was still full of horrors but stripped of terror.

He emerged from his hiding place and watched the door shake as it was struck. Danger was near, on the other side of the wall, just beyond the door. He stood straight and defiant, choosing it.

Come, he said. I'm here. Come here.

And his ancient dream of horror and danger began to change.

The pounding changed to scratching...first a clawing, then a gentler scraping, as of horn or hoof on wood.

Isn't it? She walked towards him, her face and hands and feet aglow in the moonlight. She stopped when they were nearly toe to toe and her dark eyes shone up into his. My gille dubh, my darling, she said. I think this is your home.

Thank you, he said. I had forgotten.

Severus woke with a painfully hard erection straining against his trousers. His pillow was damp with sweat. Gasping, he fumbled open his flies and stroked his cock mercilessly fast and hard. Lightning exploded in his brain and electrified every inch of his skin, and he shouted as he came all over his trousers, his waistcoat, his bedclothes.

When the last tremor had passed, he lay panting and still on the bedspread.

The dream was whole in his mind for a few moments before its edges began to soften and fray, its centre to blister and blur. But shining through the drifting pieces of image and emotion was the memory of the girl. The nymph. Nimue. The Lady. Artemis...no, Aphrodite. She was no pale, distant huntress but a sweet and luscious girl, hot and hungry in his arms.

His spent cock twitched with interest. He regarded it incredulously.

Fuck a motherfucking duck.

Hermione Granger had invaded his oldest dream. She'd also, apparently, taken possession of his cock.

This is not good.

He Scourgified his clothes and bed covers, then rose and stripped bare. The clothing he left in a pile on the floor for the house-elves.

In the bathroom, he glared into the mirror at his thin, pale body and his bloody witless cock, which was bobbing hopefully about as if it had not just enjoyed the orgasm of the fucking year.

Get it the fuck together, Severus. Don't start with this kind of pathetic crap now, of all times.

His brief but punishingly cold shower did what cold showers are supposed to do: woke most of his body up while chastening part of it.

Back in his bedroom, he extracted fresh clothing from his wardrobe and put it on layer by layer: white pants, white shirt, black trousers, black waistcoat, socks, boots, black frock coat, black robes.

Most mornings, he did up his dozens of buttons in an instant, using magic. Today he fastened them all by hand...even though he would be undoing a number of them in twenty minutes when he met Minerva in the duelling chamber, and even though he would shower again after their match.

This morning's toilette was about control, nothing less.

By the time he was dressed, he was able to tell himself that it had only been a dream, albeit a powerful one. It was no wonder he'd had a strong physical reaction to it. These things could sometimes affect a person's mind, body, and emotions in unexpected ways.

He had nothing to fear about his connection with Hermione Granger. It was a perfectly routine, workable arrangement. In fact, the sooner they smoothed over last night's regrettable emotionalism and normalised their association, the better.

He would speak to her at his earliest opportunity today.

Holstering his wand, he set off for his appointment with Minerva.

* * *

'Well-fought, Severus,' said Minerva as he handed her back her wand with one hand and helped her off the floor with the other.

She was silent for a moment. It seemed so unlikely, but she had to ask: 'Severus, did you... did you build a Cushioning Charm into that last hex?'

'No,' he said indifferently. 'Not built in. Cast immediately afterward. I saw no reason to break your bones in addition to defeating you again.'

She snorted. 'In other words, I'm getting old. Well, thank you anyway, Severus. My coccyx does need a bit of a rest. But don't get too smug. I'm nearly done letting you win.'

They passed through the door and into the bright morning air. She felt him stiffen slightly, and followed his gaze across the Quidditch pitch to where Hermione Granger was standing on one leg to stretch after her morning run.

'Go on ahead, Minerva,' he said. 'I need to have a quick word with Miss Granger.' And he strode, robes flapping around his legs, across the rain-washed grass towards the girl.

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A/N: A gille dubh, or 'dark-haired lad,' is a sort of Scottish tree faerie, benevolent but shy.

Gosh, I enjoyed writing that chapter. :D

Thanks to greenstuff, hechicera, and lifeasanamazon. Your ponies, princess costumes, and five pound boxes of chocolates are in the post (no, really, they are). And thanks to you, readers, for sticking with my story.