Chapter 3

Or to take Arms against a Sea of troubles,


And by opposing end them

Hermione stepped into her tent and was glad to see Ronald already asleep. She didn't want to explain the mud on the hem of her robes, the hoarseness of her voice, or her inability to make eye contact. She'd spent the entire day with the ghost of her old Potions professor, and was beginning to suspect that something highly abnormal was developing between them. Yes, he was a ghost, but the more time she spent with him, the more she longed for his corporeal self. She imagined the sound of his footfalls in the grass, the drag of his robes over stone, the depth of his voice resonating through flesh. He'd been a commanding man in life, and seeing him as an imprint was as depressing as it was beguiling.

That day he'd led her to the lake so they could discuss the dynamics of the camp and the logistics of rebuilding the castle while the staff taught classes around the periphery of the Hogwarts grounds. As she was describing Professor Slughorn's inferior approach to Potions, she was struck with a clear memory of a moment in life when they...she and Severus...had touched. It was after class. She was returning a book he'd reluctantly lent her, and their fingers had slid over one another's in exchanging the tome.

He'd dismissed her cordially without making eye contact, and she'd replayed the moment, stricken with shame, for weeks. It was her fourth year...she'd just been discovering her body. She'd lain awake in bed, replaying in the dark the process of touching him and then feeling instantly drenched with shameful desire. She'd replayed it while running her palms down her abdomen. She'd replayed the way the pad of her thumb had run over the book's leather cover as his forefinger slid over hers. She caressed her inner thighs as she changed the course of the memory into carefully constructed fantasy. He licked his bottom lip...a habit she had proof of after watching him raptly in class in the preceding weeks...and hungrily met her gaze. In the fantasy, he'd bent her over the desk, pressing his pelvis against her, and uttered the words she'd written herself, but somehow felt were more his than anything else: "I hope you know how bad you've been. You must be punished."

She'd then imagined being spanked again and again by the book until its title gleamed in a welt on her reddened flesh. She could imagine three things: first the spanking, then the insistent hold of his hand on the back of her neck (replicated by her own hand as she writhed in bed), and finally his musky scent, consuming her nostrils like a nose bleed. Shoving her face into her pillow, she'd experienced her first (and third and ninth and twentieth) orgasm to the tune of her professor's commanding presence. She'd been stricken with embarrassment in class, but also busied herself with finding details of his behavior to augment the fantasy that would carry her swiftly into womanhood.

And now, lying under the canvas ceiling, she felt the insistent heaviness of desire. Her hips twitched but she refused to succumb. Night after night of this torture had transpired, and she was no closer to sleep now than she had been on the first night she'd encountered Severus at the lake. It was strange...while he, of course, was his own man on his own path, he also was an artifact of her youth and subsequent awakening. He was the one man for whom she was never good enough. And now, as he became the receptacle for her fretting, flitting thoughts, she was finally beginning to mend the wounds of curiosity she'd sustained after years under his power.

She opened her eyes in the dark, allowing it to coat her irises. She mouthed his name: Severus, Severus, Severus. With a few deep breaths, a gentle twitch to arch her back, and the press of her cheek to her inner arm, she again was in her dormitory bed, pressing gingerly and silently against her bed frame to slide across her sheets. Severus, Severus, Sev...

"Hermione?" Ron asked, shaking her. "Hermione, you're having a bad dream. It's okay. Wake up. It's just a bad dream."

"Thanks, Ron," she said. If only he were right.

Sleep came and dragged her down. In her sleep she seized and twitched, never at rest. Morning crept in through the canvas, and she wrinkled her nose at the light. She threw on her loose, dirty robes and shuffled out to breakfast, wondering if she would see him again. She made herself a mug of tea...black...and sipped at it while watching the others file in. First Harry, who stretched and grinned at her. Ginny followed, hugging him from behind and placing a kiss on his cheek. Arthur and Molly Weasley prepared breakfast. The Malfoys emerged bat-like from their tent, bemoaning the cold.

Though she knew she had orchestrated Voldemort's downfall, though she knew Hogwarts was hers to rebuild, she still felt astonishingly exhausted. It should have been exhilarating...resurrecting the Wizarding World. But instead of counting the living, she was much more interested in dwelling on the dead. Months into the reconstruction of the castle, they still found faceless bodies, horribly disfigured corpses, children's limbs wedged between boulders. It was sick. Today she would escape again.

Without a sign of Snape, she struck out towards Hogsmeade. The town was silent this early in the morning. Chairs were on the tables in the Three Broomsticks; Honeydukes lacked its usual sparkle. It was as though here, too, the magic had been drained. She cast her eyes down empty alleyways...here she'd kissed Viktor Krum, there she'd caught Ronald in a good light. Love, too, had faded from Hogsmeade. Or maybe it had faded from the whole world. Why love if evil simply waited to tear your family to shreds?

Several mornings ago, overwhelmed with work, Molly had dropped baby Teddy into Hermione's arms. One moment he wasn't there, and the next he was. Born into a moment of horror and uncertainty, the baby had barely discovered the world before his parents were yanked out of it. He grabbed her finger somberly, his eyes shifting to grey as they met hers. They stared for a moment before the baby began to giggle and a warm amber color bloomed in his irises. She ran the backs of her fingers across his cheek, sharing a grin with him.

She shook away the image of the baby as she surmounted the hill and arrived at the Hogsmeade Cemetery. She walked through several rows before arriving at the headstone she sought. She kneeled and silently conjured red-tipped white roses at the grave. With her hand she wiped the engraved letters clean.

SEVERUS SNAPE

She wondered if he'd seen it yet. She wondered if it had been in his will to be buried here in such a humble place. She supposed it would have been wrong to bury him at Godric's Hollow, despite his longing for the place. She wondered when and if he would reveal himself to the others. She wondered if she was simply imagining him. How would she ever know?

As the sun crested the Hogsmeade shops and began to warm her face, she lay down between dewy shadows and imagined the press of his body, the touch of his large, dry hands to her forehead. Her chin quivered with her lip and tears threatened to fall. What was life but mourning?

"Those are beautiful," said a voice. She sat up abruptly and saw Severus's slowly appearing imprint.

"Oh," she replied.

"I didn't know you came here," he told her, averting his gaze as she wiped her eyes.

"Sometimes."

"Ah," he said. "Do you know anyone else buried here?"

She shook her head, standing and brushing herself off.

"Did you sleep last night?"

"Barely," she replied, smiling a little.

"You need to sleep. You look terrible."

"Terrible?"

"No, just a little pale."

"Now that's the pot calling the kettle black." They shared a chuckle.

She sat up and they walked in silence through the humble graveyard. The morning light settled coolly over the thatched roofs of the smaller homes at the top of the hill. One could feel the chill swept off the lake by the morning breeze. Severus sighed and Hermione caught the urge. They didn't look at each other.

"Do you suppose Slughorn would let us into the Potions room?" Severus queried, "I have an excellent recipe for a sleeping draught."

"I'm sure we could break in," she said, again adopting the air of mischief that was often at the ready in his presence.

"Lead the way," he said.

She did. Trotting down the Hogsmeade main street and waving to a groggy Madam Rosmerta as she went, Hermione wondered with excitement what his alterations would be. She missed academia. Despite her pending acceptance to the academy of Magical Law enforcement, she saw the career path as a way to kill time until Hogwarts was rebuilt. She longed for the classroom and always had.

After a quick Alohomora charm and a lot of herb grinding, Hermione began the potion. Under Severus's watchful eye they worked among the fragrant fumes to bring the potion to its climax.

"Stir clockwise, girl, clockwise," Severus barked, hovering so close behind her the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She dropped the spoon.

"Pick it up," he commanded. "Keep at it. Yes."

She then sprinkled in the lavender she'd crushed, closing her eyes just momentarily, involuntarily imagining her youthful fantasies.

"Keep focused, now," he said. "Just a few more ingredients."

She added a sprinkle of toasted moth wing, his secret ingredient, and the potion turned a calm lilac. She turned and grinned after shutting off the heat to allow the potion to cool.

"Perfect, girl," he said, looking past her to the steaming potion. "Well done."

She snorted.

"What is it?" he asked.

"Oh, it's just...I don't remember you ever praising me." She sat on the desk. He edged closer.

"Well, you were so damn annoying." He glanced at her thigh, still sheathed in her robe. She ran her hand over it and their gazes met. Hunger. He moved his own ghostly hand over her thigh, and goosebumps rose on her skin. She let her head fall back with a sigh of pleasure and painful longing.

"Girl," he growled again, "don't you realize..." At that instant a key was thrust into the door. Severus disappeared and in a moment Horace Slughorn was staring at a frizzy-haired and flushed Hermione.

"Oh," he said awkwardly, "I didn't..."

"I'm just brewing a sleeping draught, Sir."

"Right-o," he said. "I'll just..." And with that, he stepped back out. Severus remained invisible, but the two of them burst into relieved laughter.