Percipio Corium

Disclaimer: When you create such a fine, rich 'verse as the Potterverse, as Dame Jo did, everyone wants to play in it. Which is all I'm doing here, playing. (Yes, I know she's not a Dame yet. Could someone British please ring the Queen and ask her to work on that? Kthx.)

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Saturday, 10 May 1997

Late afternoon...

'Oh, Ron,' Hermione sighed. 'This is a good thing. A good thing. You know Ginny's been in love with Harry forever, and he's finally noticed her this year. Frankly, this would have happened ages ago if you weren't such an ogre. I'm sure Harry's been really worried about what you'd think.'

Ron gaped. 'What d'you mean? Ginny's been dating other blokes. She hasn't fancied Harry since she was twelve. And I'm not an ogre. I just don't like seeing my little sister snogging people like, like, like a...' he spluttered.

'Like a teenager?' Hermione rolled her eyes. 'You're going to have to get used to it, and I'd advise you not to behave badly and spoil their moment.'

They emerged from the cloister into the courtyard, and just then Harry himself walked in through a nearby door looking dazed and blissful.

Hermione squealed and ran to him, throwing her arms around him and kissing him soundly on the cheek. 'You!' she exclaimed, beaming into his eyes. 'That was the best thing I've ever seen!'

Laughing, he lifted her up and swung her round, and when he set her down he grabbed both of her hands and smiled radiantly at her. 'Was the best thing I ever felt, Mione.'

She looked over his shoulder towards the door he'd come through. 'Where's Ginny? She won't like you holding my hands,' she teased.

He kept hold of them, swinging them back and forth and grinning like a fool. 'Girls' loo. She's meeting me in the Great Hall for dinner. Thought I'd come out here and get a little air.' His eyes went to Ron, and the grin faded a bit.

Seeing that Ron seemed at a bit of a loss, Hermione dropped one of Harry's hands and held her own hand out to Ron. 'Come on, Ron, let's walk with Harry.' And linking her arms with them both, Hermione pulled her two best friends into the cloister, determined to do a little fence-mending before they went down to dinner.

As soon as he lost sight of Hermione under the overhang of the cloister, Severus turned from his vantage point at a second-floor window and stormed down the corridor and the stairs, scattering students before him. When he got to the entrance hall, he just kept going down, down to the dungeons. Fuck dinner. He would not sit there and watch Potter...Potter of all people...paw at the girl he wanted. He needed to be alone.

* * *

'Seamus! No! I...I'm sorry, I just don't feel like that about you.' Hermione braced her hand against his chest, pushing him away.

'Aw, Mione, couldn't you try? I think you're the cleverest, prettiest girl in the whole school,' he pleaded, reaching out to grasp one of the curls that lay on her shoulder. If he could just touch that hair a little more; it drove him mad thinking about burying his hands in it...

She shoved at him again, hard. 'Have you been drinking?'

Well, that's a stupid question; we've all been drinking. Merlin knew her own judgement was impaired, or she wouldn't be sitting in this corner with a soulful Seamus Finnegan, who, she now realised, had planned this.

Hermione stood up. 'I have to go. This is... I have to go.' And she pushed her way through the crush of celebrating students and out the portrait hole.

Boys! Merlin!

She stalked off down the corridor. Directionless at first, she soon bent her steps to her favourite window ledge, in the back stairway to the Headmaster's office.

Once there, she leaned back against the wall and closed her eyes. The truth was, if Seamus had not made that ridiculous crack about her being the prettiest girl in the school, she might have snogged him. She could have closed her eyes and thought about Severus, imagining it was him telling her sweet, foolish things and kissing her...

Damn it, damn it, damn it! She was just aching for him...had been since he'd apologised to her on Wednesday morning. And her newest realisation...that she harboured a hope for a future with him...didn't seem to be cooling her present ardour. At all.

Oh, god, she needed to be touched! Maybe she should go back to the party and corner Seamus.

Yes, but then there's tomorrow. Do you want to wake up to those consequences? She shuddered.

To hell with it, she decided, jumping down from the window ledge and beginning to run down the stairs. I'm going to do it.

* * *

'No, olivewood, Winky. And it has to be flat, not cupped like this one.' Hermione handed the wooden dish back to the house-elf, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice. She was a bundle of nerves, despite the lingering effects of three bottles of butterbeer.

Winky pointed at a spot on a high shelf and a flat wooden plate floated down into her tiny wrinkled hands. 'Like this, Miss Hermione?' she squeaked.

'Yes, perfect.' Hermione tucked the plate into her bag and sighed in relief. That was it, the last item she needed to cast the spell.

'Thanks so much for your help, Winky; I'll bring the plate back tomorrow.'

'Oh, no hurry, Miss! We is having lots of extras.' Winky gestured around the cavernous storeroom, which was filled with row upon row of floor-to-ceiling shelves stacked with every imaginable kind of serving dish and cooking utensil.

'Okay, thank you,' Hermione called, already making her way out through the main kitchen.

She'd decided it would be safe to use the second-floor girls' bathroom, having overheard Daphne Greengrass sharing a choice bit of gossip with Tracey Davis. Apparently Moaning Myrtle had abandoned her usual U-bend and was now residing in the Slytherin boys' loo, to the chagrin of every boy in the dungeons. It seemed Myrtle was very concerned for Draco Malfoy's wellbeing and wanted to be near him.

So Hermione could be fairly certain of being undisturbed during the forty minutes or so it would take her to brew her potion.

In the second-floor corridor, she ducked behind a tapestry and picked up the cauldron she'd hidden there earlier. The spoon she'd stolen from Severus's bedside, wrapped in one of her handkerchiefs, was tucked into the cauldron, as was a collapsible spirit stove.

Sitting cross-legged on the patch of floor just beyond the bathroom cubicles, she smoothed out the parchment and carefully reread the spell.

With smooth, deliberate motions that belied her inner tumult, she began to arrange her ingredients and equipment in a half circle in front of her.

Hermione's copy of Percipio Corium, rendered by the marvellous QalaChaki. For the high-res version, where you can enjoy the (animated!) details of the art and read the text of the spell, see link to her DeviantArt page below, in the Author's Note.

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In the course of the day Severus had come to realise that weekends had a certain disadvantage. Since there were no lessons, he could only count on seeing Hermione at meals, and that only from a distance. Today, since he'd had Potter in detention through lunchtime, he'd only seen her at breakfast.

So when he unexpectedly spotted her walking in the courtyard with Weasley, he felt a jolt of pleasure.

Then, the very next moment, Potter appeared, and she was running into his arms and kissing him, her face alight.

And Potter, whose usual suite of expressions ranged from truculent to vacuous to smug, was gazing at her with complete, luminous happiness.

And it was as though Severus were seventeen again, watching Lily Evans run to James Toe-rag Potter. And all the light and air had just been sucked out of the world and despair and futility flooded his body and mind and he wanted to smash everything everywhere to bits.

Instead, he went to his lab. He would work. Work would save him.

Five hours later, when he reached a good stopping point, his headache was like the tide on shingle...relentless waves crashing and rasping against the insides of his skull...and he was truly exhausted. He Suspended the two potions he was working on and stumbled off towards his bedroom.

It was a rare thing for him to take a sleeping draught, but tonight he needed oblivion in the form of heavy, blank, dreamless sleep. With no visits from brown-eyed succubi.

* * *

It's a piece of caramel, Hermione thought as she gazed at the little honey-brown shard in her hand. Enchanted caramel. She giggled at the absurdity of it...this exotic Russian love potion was essentially a recipe for burnt sugar.

So many Muggle pantry staples were magically significant, and so many Muggle recipes were really nonpotent versions of wizarding potions. She often thought that some of her more parochial wizarding friends would be aghast if they knew how closely the worlds mirrored one another...

She shook her head to clear it of distracting, digressive thoughts.

For this was the moment of decision. Right now, this confection was just that...a sweet. Once she focussed her intention on it and cast the final incantation, it would potentiate...it would become capable of giving her, in Alixter Joy's words, an experience unlike any she'd had before.

She looked up at her bed curtains. For months now they had sheltered her while she rode out a hundred fantasies, her hands travelling their familiar paths over her own skin, her mind spinning scenario after delicious scenario.

It just... wasn't enough anymore. Not even close. She needed something more, and if not this, then it was probably going to be Seamus. Or Cormac. Ewwww! She screwed up her face in disgust. Definitely Seamus before Cormac.

But she didn't want Seamus, and toying with him to take the edge off her physical needs was surely more reprehensible than what she was about to do. At least with Percipio Corium, no one would be the wiser, so no one would get hurt.

And she would get something she really, really craved: the knowledge of Severus's skin. Having the memory of him on her fingertips and in her palms...well, that would make every fantasy just... so much more real. Thinking about it made her clench her thighs together in anticipation.

Well, then, she thought. Let's get on with it.

She took a moment to focus her intention before touching the tip of her wand to the bit of caramel on her palm and murmuring the incantation.

She slipped the sweet into her mouth and closed her eyes as it began to melt on her tongue. The flavours of sea salt and tart rose hips sparkled around the rich, sweet notes of the browned sugar. She lifted her tongue up to the roof of her mouth and sucked on the caramel so that the dark, tangy sweetness flowed to her throat. She swallowed, then lay back against her pillows, rolling the caramel around inside her mouth, smoothing its edges and drinking it down as it dissolved.

When it was all gone, she whispered, 'Nox,' and laid her wand beside her in the absolute darkness of her curtained bed.

Now what? Joy had really been quite vague about how one actually... sort of... did it.

Hermione remembered something Professor Flitwick had said first year: 'Magic is nearly all in the wizard's intention. The words of the spell direct the intention, and the wand helps focus it, but the power originates within.'

Inhaling slowly, she lifted her right hand from the bed and stretched it out in front of her. She breathed out: 'Severus.'

Her hand touched warm flesh. 'Oh!' she yelped, and snatched the hand back.

A breath or two later, she tried again, heart hammering. She laid her right palm flat against an expanse of skin. There were hairs, and bone below the skin...a rib? She moved her fingers, and the pad of her middle finger brushed against... oh gods... a nipple. Which began to harden under her touch. She could feel a heartbeat, slow and regular.

Jesus Christ and all the saints. She was touching Severus Snape's bare chest.

She lifted her left hand, letting the intention flow into it, and set it beside the right hand. She splayed her fingers out so that her two hands were nearly spanning the width of his torso.

Though really, according to Alixter Joy, it was an astral projection of his torso. She had never worked with astral bodies before and was unprepared for how realistic it felt. It was... amazing. She could feel gradations in temperature in his skin, and his chest hairs rubbed against the pads of her fingers. And his... nipple... Her fingers retreated from that area. Too much to handle just at the moment.

So what happened when she shifted her intention slightly... downward... without moving her hands at all? Oh, my. It felt as if her hands were sliding across his skin, down past the crest of his rib cage and to the muscles of his abdomen.

Her thumb grazed an area of raised skin, and she concentrated on that, tracing its outlines with her forefinger. A mole, she guessed, or a small birthmark. Or a scar? Then, his navel and, below it, a line of hair trailing down... What would happen if she kept going? His nipple had been so responsive; did that mean that she could...

Flushing hot, she pulled her mind back and her hands lost the feel of him.

How can this be ethical? squawked an internal voice. It seems so invasive!

Old news, Hermione, she chided herself. You knew this crossed the line. Don't lose your nerve now.

In trying to convince herself to use the spell over the last several days, Hermione had vowed that if she cast it once, she would never cast it again. It was to be a one-time exercise, to be revisited only in memory.

Right. So. I am just... gathering memories.

Focussing her mind again, she began deliberately to move her hands over his face. His eyes were closed, as though Astral Severus were asleep. She traced the tender skin of his eyelids and allowed his eyebrows to tickle her index fingers as she moved them to the high, bony bridge of his nose. Brushing downward she limned its length and then explored the way his flesh stretched over his cheekbones before softening into the planes of his cheeks.

Hmmm. He needs a shave.

She was becoming more used to how this spell worked. She didn't need to reach her hands out. By moving her intention, she could 'move' her hands anywhere she wanted.

Just now, she wanted to touch... his mouth. She skimmed her finger across his upper lip. It twitched, and a puff of air escaped his astral nose. Again, she pulled back. This was just disturbingly corporeal.

She tried again, this time applying a firmer touch, so that her thumb dragged his mouth open a little and she could feel the soft wetness of his inner lip.

She moaned. This is the best spell ever invented.

Once more her hands began ranging eagerly across his skin, learning him inch by inch. She traced the whorls of his ears and her fingers slipped through his fine hair and down to his neck, warm and throbbing with the steady pulse of his blood.

She put one thumb into the little dip where his throat met his clavicle, then stroked both hands out along the bone to his shoulders and then down the cool skin of his upper arms. She lingered a moment to follow the definition of his biceps before trailing her thumbs to the crooks of his elbows and caressing the soft skin there. Then down his forearms, firm with muscle, the hair chafing her palms deliciously. And down to his fine-boned, strong wrists and, at last, his hands.

She took one of them between her own two hands for a moment before lacing her fingers through his and clasping his palm to her own. Wanting to feel more of the rough and smooth of his hand, she unthinkingly pulled it up to her face, and gasped.

His long, callused fingers and cool palm lay against her burning cheek. Which meant... if she wanted to, she could feel him with other parts of her body. Not just her hands.

'Oh, god,' she whimpered as a wave of pure desire swept through her. She moved his forefinger over to her mouth and pulled it across her bottom lip very slowly before taking it between her lips and resting its tip on her tongue. She sucked it ever so gently and released it with a soft kiss.

But what was she doing kissing his finger when his lips were to be had? And with that mental shift, her hands were cupping his jaw as she brushed her lips against his.

'Severus,' she whispered as she nuzzled his mouth, which had fallen open slightly. She planted light, slow kisses across the pillow of his bottom lip and in the corners of his mouth. 'Severus,' she crooned.

But he didn't answer, and his lips didn't respond to hers, and she felt suddenly sick. What am I doing? This is all wrong. This was so close to what she wanted, but also horribly off. She wanted to kiss and be kissed, not grope a simulacrum of the man she loved.

Just then, his lips moved under hers, forming a word. 'Hermione,' he whispered soundlessly, and again, 'Hermione.'

She winced and withdrew her touch. And now I'm imagining my Severus doll is saying my name. I am insane, and perverted, and pathetic.

Hermione lay supine, her hands quite still at her sides, as tears began sliding down into her hair.

She was totally unprepared for what happened next.

A hand rasped against her cheek, its long questing fingers splayed from her temple to her mouth. Another tangled in her hair, wrapping around the back of her skull and pulling her head up off the pillow.

Hermione snatched up her wand from the bed beside her. 'Finite Incantatem,' she hissed, panic-stricken.

The phantom hands were gone. Her head dropped to the pillow and she stared wild-eyed into the darkness.

Oh, Merlin! Wrong! Something just went very wrong!

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A/N: So, yeah. She did it. And it went awry. And left us with an ebil cliffie. *cackles ebilly*

Some time ago, hechicera (aka Qalachaki) gifted me with the first illustration for this fic; this is her third one and the best yet, I think. I really love her work and enjoy collaborating with her. Go see the high-res version at http://qalachaki.deviantart.com/gallery/#/d2bz0m9 and give her some props if you feel so inclined.

I am not a great student of the astral plane, but I decided that's how the spell must work: the incantation 'Somes Lucis' ('bright body'...see illustration) invokes an astral body associated with the beloved. I'll reveal more about just what happened when she cast the spell in future chapters.