Magical Mystery Tour

Chapter 9: Magical Mystery Tour

Hermione stood in an empty field on the outskirts of Oxfordshire, awaiting her first flying lesson with Severus. The interval since their last meeting had been the longest three weeks of her life. He had occupied her thoughts far too often. She convinced herself that she'd imbued their previous encounter with a great deal more scintillation than had actually existed. Surely, he hadn't looked as handsome as the image that kept creeping into her dreams. She'd never found him the least bit attractive when she'd been his student. Then again, she'd never seen him smile so easily, and she'd certainly never seen desire upon his face. She'd fallen asleep each night with the memory of his lips on hers, hungry and possessive. Each day, her mind drifted back to their encounter, recalling his arms around her, his lean body pressing her against that wall, burning her flesh. His mouth on her neck, his hips grinding into hers, his hands...his amazing hands...on her thighs, skimming ever higher...

With a frustrated sigh, she shook her head. Such daydreams had been her constant companions, making it almost impossible to concentrate at work. Which, she supposed, wasn't entirely a bad thing. She much preferred to indulge in lovely fantasies than listen to gossip and taunts from Lavender Brown and company. Unfortunately, this had likely contributed to her embellishing the memories of her meeting with Severus. Certainly she'd always admired and respected him, never more so than once the truth of his role in Voldemort's downfall had been revealed. But Severus Snape, an object of desire?

I've gone mad...it's the only logical explanation.

At the sound of a sudden, cracking noise, she turned and watched Severus appear. Her breath caught. His attention had been focused on the newspaper he carried, but he lifted his gaze and found her immediately. Her soft sigh floated on the air. It was a relief to realise she hadn't exaggerated her image of him after all. If anything, he was unfairly adding to her fantasies by wearing a pair of small reading glasses that he removed as he strode towards her. He looked sexy and scholarly and confident, and she knew at once she'd been wise to take that frightening leap of faith by suggesting a relationship.

"Have you been waiting long?" he asked when he stopped before her. His eyes studied her face.

"Not at all." She watched him fold the newspaper and tuck it inside his robes. "You read while you Apparate?"

"I was just finishing an article," he replied. He sounded defensive, as if she had accused him of something taboo. "Why? What do you do?" he asked with a frown.

"I close my eyes and try very hard not to vomit," she replied.

He smirked but wisely refrained from commenting.

After their last meeting, she had determined that any discussion of a potential relationship would need to be instigated by her. Severus might be older, but she suspected she held the advantage in dating experience, however slim.

"Have you decided yet whether you wish to pursue me?" she asked.

"Pursue you? Were you intending to flee?"

"Certainly not. I meant 'pursue' in the more intimate sense of the word."

"Ah, the more intimate sense." His gaze strayed to her lips as he leant closer. "In the more intimate sense, there is one thing I'd very much like to pursue."

She ignored the innuendo, but his sultry tone was harder to dismiss. Forcing an innocent expression, she asked, "Does it involve flying?"

"It could, I suppose." He looked away and tilted his head, as if pondering. "I'd have to perform some calculations and test the logistics to ensure such an act could be supported, physically..."

"You really are impossible, aren't you?"

"Not at all. I'm far too clever to be impossible."

She rolled her eyes. "Don't forget arrogant, as well."

"You say that like it's a bad thing." His lips twitched.

"Not entirely, I suppose. But a little chivalry wouldn't hurt."

"You've already depleted my reserves of chivalry, madam."

She blinked. "How so?"

"By requiring...and receiving...a death-defying rescue when last we met."

"I really don't think 'rescue' is the correct term."

"Semantics aside, you cannot argue how chivalrous the act itself was."

"Quite so," she said with a smile. "You win a point for chivalry. But what about charming? Have you depleted those reserves, as well?"

"I'm surprised you have to ask. Have I not been the epitome of charming?"

"Yes, what woman could resist the charm of being propositioned for mid-air sex?"

"Need I remind you the airborne position was your idea? I have no aversion to beds. Or walls, for that matter."

She had opened her mouth to argue, but she couldn't help laughing, instead. His teasing manner felt so natural, and the appeal of his roguish grin was too much to resist. The past melted into oblivion...it felt as if they'd always engaged in familiar banter. Her logical nature demanded she examine the ways their relationship had changed, but she hesitated, determined to enjoy the ride for however long it lasted.

They grew serious as the actual flying lesson commenced, and within three hours, all vestiges of humour were forgotten and all memories of enjoyment had vanished.

The sun dipped towards the horizon and danced upon the treetops. Frustration settled upon Hermione, along with the bitter taste of failure. She was no closer to achieving flight than when they'd first begun and had failed to lift her body more than a few inches into the air. Her success in leaving the ground on those occasions was the result of her hopping about like an overgrown rabbit. Not an auspicious beginning.

The only positive note had been Severus's extreme level of patience. She'd never considered him a particularly nurturing teacher; he had always seemed so irritable and angry. And yet he had spent the past three hours attempting to train her without once scowling, frowning, or saying anything the least bit snarky. Somehow, she found this even more disconcerting than her lack of progress.

"Just concentrate, Hermione," he said for what had to be the hundredth time. "Focus all your thoughts into one spot."

"I am," she lied. The ability to focus had proved impossible. Although her efforts were genuine, her attention kept straying, captured by his scent, his voice, his hands on her hips urging her aloft. It was pointless. The only thing she'd managed to accomplish thus far was making herself very aware of her body's reactions to him.

"Are you concentrating?" he asked.

"Sure." Sort of.

"Good. Now... lift!" He placed his hands on her waist.

Oh, my!

She jumped, but she imagined they both knew the result was completely devoid of magic. Her boot stomped into the ground. Never one to be pleased with a poor performance, the fact that she had wanted to impress her former professor only compounded her anger.

"It's just a matter of manipulating your power, your body, and the space around you in perfect harmony," he said.

"Oh, is that all?" She sighed.

He had attempted to explain the almost metaphysical process required to achieve flight, and she had devoured every morsel of his information. But even with his vast knowledge, he seemed to have difficulty articulating exactly how the phenomenon was accomplished.

"Everything around us has mass and depth, whether it's visible or not," he told her. "One mass cannot shift without displacing another."

"Okay," she said. She was a bright witch...why was this so difficult?

Already, his explanations had surpassed everything she'd found in the few books that referenced the magic of flight. Her insistence on being able to learn without the use of a book hadn't stopped her from exhaustive research prior to their lesson. But little had been documented on the skill. Although unrelated, she had uncovered countless tomes about non-magical aerodynamics. She now understood the science behind Muggle flight, and she possessed a deep appreciation for the combination of thrust and lift needed to propel jet airplanes. Somehow, this had only made it harder to accept a similar feat being accomplished magically, without the aid of wand or incantation.

"Is this how you learnt to fly?" she asked.

"No," he replied, too fast.

"How many sessions did it take you to learn?"

"Three." His voice rang with a note of finality.

"Well, if not like this, then how did you learn?"

"It's unimportant. Stop allowing yourself to become distracted. Focus on the task at hand."

"I won't be able to focus with unanswered questions in my head."

He sighed. "Then perhaps we were wise not to wager money on these lessons."

"Don't try to change the subject."

"Drop it, Hermione."

"Why won't you tell me how you learnt?"

"Because it doesn't bear repeating!" His patience had evidently found its limit. "The Dark Lord did not tolerate failure, or have you forgotten? I drowned during the first lesson and suffocated at the second. I learnt just in time to avoid being burnt alive by his teaching methods." He swiped his hand down his face, as if he could erase the memories. His voice sounded raw. "I still have no idea whether he would have spared my life that last time. Fortunately, I flew away and never had to find out."

She tried to swallow past the dryness in her mouth. Her throat constricted, refusing to cooperate. He would likely shun her sympathies, but she couldn't hide her sorrow for making him relive the nightmare experience. Her stomach twisted. "I'm so sorry, Severus," she said and touched his arm. "I'm such an idiot to not consider how horrific it must have been to learn from someone so twisted."

"It hardly matters anymore."

"Of course it does," she whispered.

He shook his head and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, his expression was even, and he appeared calm once more. "May we proceed with the lesson now?"

"Yes," she told him, still fighting guilt. "But I really am sorry."

He acknowledged the apology with a nod before asking, "Now, where were we?"

"You were explaining ascension, and I was finding it impossible to focus," she replied, pleased with the opportunity to provide a correct answer.

"Then that is the first thing we should address." His long strides brought him very close, very fast. He raised his hands so his palms faced her, as if he desired a game of pat-a-cake.

Her curiosity was piqued. His hands moved closer, until they were perfectly framed in her line of sight. There was nothing to distract from the sight of his lovely fingers, inches from her body.

"Now, concentrate on my hands," he said.

Absolutely. She eyed the long, elegant fingers and memorised each centimetre of perfection.

"Empty your mind of everything but the sight of my hands and the space around them."

Happy to tackle such an enjoyable task, she focused her thoughts as instructed.

"Excellent," he said. "Now, channel your energy into pushing my hands back, using only your mind."

She studied the intricate lines and swirls of his fingerprints, the small callous on his middle finger where he held his quill, the smooth expanse of his palms. Push him away? Never! All she could think of was the way those strong hands would feel on her body. She pictured his palms resting on her shoulders, sliding down...

"Think of my hands, and the space around them," he said.

... his fingers caressing her throat, slowly moving down her chest ...

"Concentrate. Push my hands, Hermione."

... his hands cupping her breasts, rough skin brushing against her nipples, coaxing them to tighten and tingle...

"Move my hands. Move the air."

... his fingertips on her hardened nipples, teasing and rubbing, soft strokes and light pinches...

"My hands... the air. Hands... air."

His hands twitched once, then flew through the air. They rocketed across the small distance and latched onto her chest, one hand squeezing each breast. The speed and force caused her to stumble back, yet still he held fast.

She gasped. A mixture of shock and awareness heated her cheeks.

"Hermione!" he shouted and yanked his hands away as if he'd been burnt.

"What?" she asked, bewildered.

He stared at her, his expression scandalised.

The realisation hit her like lightning. "Did I do that?" She clapped a hand over her mouth, just in time to stifle a rather inappropriate giggle.

Whatever embarrassment she might have felt was quickly replaced with relief for having accomplished the task he'd assigned her. Sort of.

"You were supposed to be pushing, not pulling."

She waved him away. "Oh, hush! I need to think about how I just did that." She turned her back and stared into the empty field.

Many thanks to Karelia for her beta efforts on this story. I owe her!!