Chapter Four

Disclaimer: Not mine, alas.

'You thought me then devoid of every proper feeling, I am sure you did.'

Jane Austen, Pride & Prejudice

Day Three

She found him in the kitchen making breakfast.

He consciously ignored her entrance and subsequent nattering, focussing his attention on poaching the eggs to perfection. He'd taken a hangover potion and was on his second cup of coffee; he'd girded his loins as best he could, but honestly, did the woman never shut up?

'So you plan to feed me?' Clíona asked, and he shot her an annoyed glance, immediately returning his attention to the eggs. He attempted to regulate his breath as he closed his eyes, praying she could not read the tension in his body. What the hell had possessed Cian to send all of Hermione's things? He obviously hadn't registered the part of the conversation that had touched on Clíona's libido; revealing, lacy lingerie was not what he needed to be dealing with right now. Especially when said lingerie was on Hermione's body. But then, what had possessed Hermione to pack such lingerie for a friend's wedding weekend? She had come alone, had she not? Weasley...but no, Severus put it from his mind; the eggs were going to burn if he went down that road.

'I asked you a question, Severus. Honestly, I don't know where your mind went,' Clíona was saying, and he inwardly cursed her. She knew exactly where it had gone.

'Of course I'm feeding you. Hermione would be most put out with me, were I to do otherwise,' he said, hoping he sounded unaffected.

'Mm,' Clíona murmured, and for a moment Severus entertained the notion that she might leave him to cook in peace.

'So how long have you been in love with her?'

He almost dropped the egg he was precariously balancing on a spatula. 'That is none of your concern,' he said, safely delivering the egg to its plate.

'Remember that I can see her memories. I know what's happened between the two of you. I know how badly you want each other. You do realise that the solution is sitting in front of you?' she asked, gesturing to her scantily clad body.

Severus set the plate in front of her with a thunk. 'It must be a shame to be an immortal, to not be able to comprehend that which transforms the physical into transcendence.' He took his plate in one hand, the coffee mug in another, and strode out of the room. He'd barricade himself in his office; after all, there was much to do, and the clock was ticking.

*

Mid-morning, he stretched his arms above his head and cracked his neck. He'd found nothing, and he needed a break.

A discreet spell informed him that Clíona was in the bathtub, and Merlin only knew the horrors she'd perpetuate if she knew he was out of his office. He cast a Silencing Charm and slipped out the front door. He couldn't run to Trevanaunce Cove...Cian had trapped him along with his tormentor, after all...but he could go for a walk on the beach just outside his front door.

He rolled up his trouser legs and walked, hands in pockets, along the shore, feeling the cool water slosh over his feet. Desperate to silence his thoughts and just be for a moment, he focussed his attention on the water's rhythm, in and out, on the grainy sand beneath his feet, revelling in the heat of the sun on his face.

He'd longed for her for a year, acutely aware of her absence in his life. How strange it was, to find himself under house arrest with her...only not her, something else, something perverting her body, her loveliness. Oh, he found her lovely, entrancing, even, all that unruly hair which ran so contrary to her disposition. It was cruel that he couldn't fully appreciate her form as she walked through his home, slept in his bed (his guest bed, he amended), bathed in his tub ... she was here yet not here, and perhaps most painfully, not by choice. This was not by her consent; it was not her desire. He was not her desire. That she desired his body...sex...it...well, anyone could desire it, given the proper circumstances. But was he, Severus Snape, her desire? He didn't think so, and that pained him.

He stepped on a smooth rock and picked it up, flicking it with his wrist so that it skipped across the water. He raised a hand and manipulated the rock that so that it skipped in circles, and then in a figure eight. The breeze sent a ripple through his white t-shirt, but it didn't distract him, not from this. A smile curled at his lips. This was the first bit of magic his mother had taught him; how to manipulate rocks as he sent them skipping down the stream behind their house.

He heard Clíona calling for him, and taking a deep breath, began the trek back to the house.

*

He spent most of the day in his laboratory, as every attempt to wander upstairs was met with struggle. Clíona had refused to change out of that damn outfit, had taunted him mercilessly. She'd stripped, struggled, wrestled with him.

Merlin.

He had needed a cold shower. He could not...would not...take pleasure in something that Hermione had not consented to. She'd be mortified if she knew how Clíona was using her body.

Best not to tell her.

*

He Summoned Hermione for dinner, but only after he forced Clíona to change her clothing. Clíona had driven a hard bargain, and he was dreading his end of it. But he hadn't been able to bring himself to Imperio Hermione, and that was the only other way he was going to get Clíona out of that lingerie.

As it was, Clíona had chosen jeans and a basic t-shirt, nearly matching his own ensemble. He didn't have to force her to take the potion, though she'd laughed wickedly as she reminded him that she'd be back before he knew it. The potion also wasn't laced with Veritaserum; his research suggested keeping potions to a minimum. Much as he would have loved to do so ... but then, he supposed that dosing her with truth serum was about on par with an Imperio where she was concerned.

Clíona downed the potion, and he watched as Hermione came back to herself, his heart leaping as he saw the softness return to her eyes, even as her entire body stiffened with tension.

'How are you feeling?' he asked softly.

'How has she been today?' was her response.

'Interesting,' he said, after a pause. 'I've laid the table for dinner. Salmon is the main course for the evening...care to join me?'

She followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table. 'As if I have a choice.'

He paused. 'You can take dinner privately, if you wish it.'

She looked as though she was choosing her words as carefully as he. 'I would be happy to eat with you, Severus. I know you're ... taking care of me.'

He nodded in assent as he buttered his bread.

'You didn't answer my question very well. How has she been today?' Hermione asked.

He ignored her question. 'Frankly, I'm amazed that you're able to ask questions like that when you've been buried in your own body all day. I expected...'

'That I'd be frightened? Terrified at the loss of control?' she asked with a nervous laugh. 'I am. That we have any control over our own lives is an illusion, of course, but being reminded of it in so harsh a way is ... scary. Look at this,' she said, gesturing to her body. 'Look at us.'

He stilled. 'I am sincerely sorry for how I treated you at the wedding. Please forgive me.'

She nodded.

'No questions?' he asked.

'I figure you've been stuck with an insatiable goddess all day and could do with some peace and quiet.'

'How do you figure?' he asked cautiously.

'You look exhausted. You've got scrapes on your face, and I've got rug burns on my knees and back, and I can smell the burn salve that's been applied to my wrist.'

He swore under his breath. 'I'm sorry.'

Hermione swallowed her salmon and looked at him somewhat crossly. 'I take it that I've been in ... less clothing ... today, given the location of the injuries. I'm trying to put this delicately, but why the hell are you letting her walk around like that?'

He pinched the bridge of his nose. Of course Hermione would notice such things. 'She's insistent. I forced her to change before Summoning you.'

'You better not have...'

'I didn't Imperio you, woman!' he said, his control snapping for the first time. 'I made a deal.'

'What were the terms?' she asked, fire flashing in her eyes.

He swore again. 'That she could spend the night in my bedroom.'

'Bloody hell,' Hermione said, looking at him with disgust. 'So much for me thinking your intentions were honourable...'

'You said you trusted me,' he said, his tone harsh. 'I would never take advantage of you. I will make a bloody Vow if that's what it takes.'

She was quiet. 'If you say so.'

'Let's just eat,' he said, weary from the goddess, weary from Hermione, weary from the bloody situation.

They sat quietly as they finished their dinner. Severus supposed he should have been grateful for the silence, which had been so fleeting during the day, but he found that he mourned the loss of her voice. Though Clíona spoke with Hermione's voice, there was a tone, an inflection unique to each individual ... she could not speak exactly how Hermione spoke any more than she could imitate Hermione's body language.

'I'm sorry,' she said, pushing her plate away from her. 'I shouldn't have doubted you.'

'Thank you,' he said, staring at his plate.

She reached for his hand. 'Is this what we've been driven to, Severus?' He met her eyes, and there were tears. 'We were friends, and now we're stuck in your house, and this stupid goddess is in me, and...'

Tears.

He'd known they would come at some point...he didn't know how someone could be possessed and not be emotional about it eventually...so he reached across the table for her hand and held it, tracing circles on her wrist with his thumb.

'Sorry,' she said, wiping tears.

'Don't apologise.' He silently Summoned the salve from his chambers. 'This should ease your discomfort.'

'Thank you, Severus,' she said, taking the salve.

She rolled up her jeans and rubbed the paste into her knees. She looked up at him with those guileless eyes and asked, 'Could you?'...and he swallowed hard. He nodded his assent and scooted his chair so that it was situated right next to hers. She turned in her seat and rolled up her shirt, baring her lower back, and he dipped his fingers in the salve, rubbing his fingers together to warm it, before applying it to her skin.

Unlike Clíona, Hermione did not moan, but she tilted her head and let out a sigh, and he knew an urge to suckle the juncture where neck and shoulder joined.

'All done,' he said, leaning back, tearing his fingers from her flesh, and she pulled her top back into place.

'I feel much better, thank you,' she said, turning to face him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes half-lidded. 'I...Severus, please...' she started, leaning towards him, and he stood abruptly, forcing her to lean back.

'No,' he said. 'I am grateful that the potion I brewed has lasted this long. But we don't know when she will return.'

'You'll hold her down and bind her and wrestle with her and Merlin knows what else, but you won't touch me when I beg you to do so, me who may at any moment go back under her influence, me who is desperate for comfort from you, who ...' She shook her head. 'You know, Severus, if you want me without wanting me, then just fuck Clíona while I'm not around, okay?'

She started to walk away from him, and something in him broke. He reached for her and pulled her to him, cupping her face with his hands. 'How could you possibly think that?' he asked, his voice cracking, and he bent to kiss her.

She met him eagerly, her lips pressing to his, so soft, then opening, gods, opening against his mouth, tongue seeking, and he groaned, his hands twining in her hair, pressing her body to his, and gods, it wasn't enough, he needed more, more of her...

'I want...' she started, her lips still brushing against his, and he looked down at her clothing and was reminded of that damn bargain, and Clíona's presence washed over him like cold water.

'We can't,' he said, forcibly removing his hands from her hair. He closed his eyes and she pulled away.

'No,' she started, 'Severus, please, I don't know how much time we have, and I want you to hold me. I'm so sorry I was harsh with you...'

He sat back down in his chair and put his head in his hands. 'Hermione,' he said, his voice barely a whisper. 'We don't know how much she's affecting you.'

At that moment a cackle emerged from Hermione, which he knew heralded the goddess' return. He bound her hands and, with a force of energy, sent her reeling back into his bedroom.

'How ... touching. And she told you to fuck me, Snape! Isn't that wonderful? You have her permission...'

He locked the door, a cruel smile curling his lips.

He'd told her she could sleep in his bed.

He never said he'd be in it.