Five: Take Me In, Tender Woman, Sighed The Snake

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

"Take me in, oh tender woman, take me in, for heaven's sake, Take me in, oh tender woman," sighed the snake...

"Circe's bird, Headmaster! What happened to the poor man?" Madam Pomfrey's face was strained, as she looked down at the twitching, sweat-soaked Severus, held in place with magical restraints. As he writhed on the infirmary bed, he groaned and muttered, his eyes wild, his skin paper-white and waxy.

Dumbledore looked grave. "He has been the victim of a dark curse, Poppy. The poor boy wasn't even aware of it. It only manifested itself upon his return to the castle."

Madam Pomfrey looked down at the Potions Master. He was so pale, he seemed to glow in the moonlight streaming into the infirmary windows. "Which curse is it? Is it something you know how to counter?"

"Only time will counter it, Poppy. He'll need to remain restrained like this for several days, possibly a week, until it works its way out of his system."

Poppy nodded at the Headmaster. She noticed that he had not deigned to answer her question. She licked her lips, and delicately asked, "Is there a potion that I can give him to relieve his suffering?" When Dumbledore did not reply, Poppy pressed, "Albus? If you won't tell me the curse, will you at least tell me what I can do to help him?"

Albus looked over at his Potions master, and thought for a moment more. "Votum Nexus should relieve some of the symptoms."

Poppy looked at him in shock. "Why? Votum Nexus is a potion to induce impotency!" She made a sound of puzzled incredulity. "Besides, Albus, that takes two days to brew. It's not exactly something I keep on hand here." They looked together at the twitching, moaning man on the bed. Poppy shook her head. "He'll go mad during that time." She huffed, frustrated. "What exactly is wrong with him, Headmaster?"

Dumbledore merely looked down at Severus. Madam Pomfrey shook her head, completely nonplussed. "Albus, why are you being so reticent? How am I to help the boy, if you won't tell me what has cursed him?"

"The curse itself is unimportant. His reaction to it is my chief concern. I may have to place him in an enchanted sleep, Poppy." The Headmaster turned and walked toward the door. He turned back, his eyes sad and thoughtful. "Keep him as comfortable as possible, my dear. I'll return momentarily. Professor Umbridge requires my attention."

Severus heard the muffled sounds of the Headmaster and Poppy Pomfrey, but it was little more than a buzzing inside his head. All he could feel was heat, and a desire so voracious, it threatened to drive him mad. He thought of her... The desire to take her was so overpowering, it was painful. When he stumbled into the Headmaster's study, he was ready to tear the school apart to get to her.

He had no doubt in his mind that he would have hunted her down and taken her where he found her, were it not for the powerful restraints that bound him to his bed. His body ached for her, his Muse, his charge, his lover. It twisted his allegiance to Lily; it diluted his pure love and devotion to his friend. He fought against it, but every time he tried to picture Lily, her image would disperse in a puff of smoke, to be replaced by -

He could see her... she would kneel at his feet, and her mouth would take him to heaven, sliding over his turgid, straining cock as he tangled his hands in her wild hair... she would rub against him wantonly, allowing him to fuck her in a thousand ways... if she wanted to conjure a cock of her own and bugger him, he would let her. He would let her make him her slave... he could hear her, smell her, feel her... she was his goddess, his mistress, his succubus, his lover. She would hide him away, where no one could see them...

No, she was not his lover! He didn't love her. You don't love what you want to crush and demean and fuck and rape and hurt... He whimpered. She's a bloody student! I do not desire students!

Please don't let me hurt her! he thought, praying to those cold, indifferent gods again. He honestly did not know why he bothered to beseech them. She was his goddess now. She was the only one who could give him what he needed to remain sane.

He could see her face, sharp with intelligence, and tender with compassion. She thought he was a good man.

He'd show her! Oh, Lily, why have I been made to suffer so? When will my peace come? When can I rest? Tears slid from his eyes, and he wept. Oh, I want to die so much... Oh, I want her so much...

The Dark Caress burned and twisted painfully through his system, threatening to reduce him to a sobbing, tortured wreck. Gods, I can't take this! The Dark Caress was at its peak now, riding him like a whipped horse, heedless of direction or destination. The humiliation he felt was crippling, like a Crucio that caused an indeflatable erection, mindless and consciousless, except for its target.

He was no longer a man; he was a driven machine, one that would chase her relentlessly until he had emptied every last part of himself into her, body and soul. That's all he wanted right now. He wanted it more than anything. More than his acceptance letter from Hogwarts, more than his first wand, more than his first set of fine dress robes.

More than Lily.

He wished he had his wand. He'd kill himself. It could only bring relief. The Killing Curse would be cold, as if stored in a block of ice... Yes, the Avada would feel like ice, cooling his fevered brain, as it sliced his body apart and he slipped away... Hermione? Where are you? Take me away, please... where no one can see me, no one can find me, where no one can hurt me... don't let them hurt me anymore... If you could just hold me again, I would be safe...

I have never lusted after a student. I'm not one of those shabby little perverts who... oh, gods, I am, I am! Oh, why has this wild-haired little swot of a girl done this to me?

He did not know that he wept in his fevered sleep, or that the Headmaster had heard his pleas for help, or that, deep in her sleep, Hermione had heard him as well, and had woken, frantic, frightened, longing for the arms of someone to hold her, and hide her away. She had tears on her pillow, and a feeling of complete and inconsolable desolation that caused her to sob unaccountably for almost an hour.

She had a guilty feeling that she'd called a name in her sleep.

By the following Monday, Hermione was almost frantic with worry over her professor. Potions class had been taught by Professor Sprout, with the explanation that Professor Snape was feeling under the weather, and would return in the next day or so. No one except for Hermione seemed to mind that their Potions Master wasn't present. Draco had been so insufferably smug she'd wanted to smack him, but she kept her own council.

After dinner, Hermione sat in the Common Room, pretending to study, but in reality she was reviewing the events of the previous weekend. Had it really been just three days ago that she'd been asked to stay behind in class to speak with Professor Snape? It seemed like she'd lived a lifetime since then. Her strange, hot dreams returned. She ran aimlessly, looking for Professor Snape, not knowing why, only that they could protect each other. She seldom found him, and when she did, their liaisons were so intense, she was afraid she might be moaning in her sleep; she tried to stay awake until everyone else was asleep.

She found herself desperately wishing she were older, or at least, wiser. She was already looking forward to the Easter holidays; she needed to talk with her mother. Mum always had a gift for putting these kinds of things into perspective.

Later in the evening, when she heard Professor McGonagall's voice in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione knew instinctively the woman was coming to speak to her. There was no doubt in her mind, and before the older witch walked into the room and said, "Beg pardon for the interruption, but I wonder, Miss Granger, if I might have a word?" Hermione was already drawing her school robes over her t-shirt and denims.

Together, she and Professor McGonagall left Gryffindor tower, disturbing a mumbling, none-too-sober Fat Lady, who'd been having a nightcap with one of the witches from the Macbeth portrait. Hermione and her Head of House headed toward the infirmary.

As they walked, Hermione glanced at Professor McGonagall from time to time. For someone who wished to have a word with Hermione, the professor didn't seem to be in a very big hurry to do it. Finally, as they walked, Hermione plucked up the courage to ask, "Professor? Could you tell me what this is about?" Her voice sounded ridiculously loud in the empty hall, and Professor McGonagall continued walking.

"The Headmaster will be able to explain things better than I, Miss Granger," she said, fixing Hermione with a look that made her feel absurdly guilty. "I will rely on your discretion on these matters, especially with Professor Umbridge and her Inquisition Squad skulking about."

Shocked that her professor would say anything negative about another faculty member, Hermione nodded. "Yes, of course, Professor."

They entered the quiet infirmary, and something of the stark, clinical look of the long rows of beds made Hermione's heart beat faster. It was as if the walls of the ward held old memories. It felt as though spirit chalices of anxiety and distress hung from the walls of the room. Hermione realised she felt like this in every hospital she'd ever visited.

"Wait here, Miss Granger. The Headmaster will join you shortly." With those words, Professor McGonagall gave Hermione a brief smile, and left her alone with her thoughts.

Hermione was standing at the end of the main ward, beside a door she had never noticed in all the times either she, Harry or Ron had ended up in the infirmary. Instinctively, she opened the door and looked inside. There was one patient there.

As if being led by an unseen hand, Hermione drew near to the figure on the bed. She was shocked to see Professor Snape lying on the narrow cot. He looked painfully vulnerable, in his sleeping shirt, his body covered in sweat, restlessly moving on the bed.

Tentatively, she stepped closer. There was a small basin of water on the table beside his bed, and almost automatically, she dipped a towel into the water, squeezed out the excess, and placed the damp cloth on his forehead. He whimpered in his sleep, and at the touch of the cool compress against his skin, he gave a little sigh, and opened his eyes. They were bloodshot and unfocused.

"Miss Granger?" he whispered. Wordlessly, she nodded. He closed his eyes, and Hermione felt sick with pity. He looked so helpless. Every time he was called to that madman, he had to suffer.

Her professor coughed, a sharp bark of a noise. "Am I dreaming?"

"No, sir. If you'll remember, you felt unwell and asked me to leave, but Professor McGonagall brought me here tonight. The Headmaster – "

"Listen to me!" His eyes were frantic, and he seemed to radiate heat. Hermione was starting to think he was delirious. "I need to speak with you, Miss Granger. You must help me."

"Of course, sir. Tell me what to do." Hermione leaned over, her troubled eyes gazing into his. He gave another of his short, sharp barking coughs. He closed his eyes, tightly, as if bracing himself for something unpleasant.

"So innocent. You are, aren't you? Such an innocent little girl," he murmured, and Hermione's breath caught. Something was terribly, terribly wrong. Her heart ached for him.

"I don't understand, Professor. Please try to rest. Don't distress yourself. You're not well."

Tears ran unchecked down her face, and when he opened his eyes, he frowned. "Why are you crying, Miss Granger?" His expression changed, became more knowing, sly. "Are you crying for me?"

She nodded. "You shouldn't have to suffer like this," she whispered, fearfully looking around, in case someone entered the room. "I'm sorry. This is my fault."

He licked his lips, and she poured a glass of water, and holding the back of his damp head, Hermione carefully put the glass to his lips. He drank it thirstily. Once his thirst was slaked, he collapsed back on the bed, his eyes a little clearer. "Your fault? Hardly, Miss Granger. I brought it on myself."

"What do you mean?"

He tried to rise, and that's when he must have realised he was restrained. "I would tell you, but I can't while I'm tied down." His eyes drifted out of focus, and a look of pain flashed across his face. He moaned, and again, Hermione's heart broke for him.

He turned to her, as if he remembered something important he needed to tell her. "Miss Granger, listen to me...."

She leaned in, closer. "Yes, sir?"

He smiled. "Closer, Hermione." There was a bright glint in his eye that didn't look real to her, as if he was a glamour. His voice was so tender, and when he spoke her name, it sounded like music, even through his tortured throat.

Obediently, she leaned down. As she looked into his deep, liquid eyes, he made a soft, little moaning sound. "Oh, Hermione." She felt her body tremble; and she leaned in closer to him, her body aching with this indefinable, overwhelming need for... what?

He shook his head, a soft smile playing about his lips. Sleepy-eyed and languid, he crooned, "Lay me low, where no one can see us, where no one can find us, where no one can hurt us..." His eyes were pleading, beautiful. The eyes of a lover. They were, at once, innocent and knowing, dark and light, gentle and wild.

Hermione gasped in surprise, as the words he had spoken in her dream came back to her. "What – where did you –"

He collapsed back on the bed as the Headmaster entered the room. Hermione guiltily stepped back from his bed; she felt as if she'd been caught sitting in his lap.

She turned to Dumbledore. "Headmaster! What has happened to him?" She looked down at her professor, concern darkening her eyes.

Dumbledore looked grave. His eyes followed hers down to the sleeping wizard. "Professor Snape has been cursed." He looked at her carefully. "Miss Granger, I need to ask you some questions, and I need you to be very honest with your answers."

Irrationally, Hermione's feeling of guilt increased. "Of course, sir." Although her voice sounded confident, she found it difficult to meet his eyes.

For a moment, Dumbledore seemed content to keep his gaze on his Potions master. Without taking his eyes off the man on the bed, the Headmaster asked, "Miss Granger, were you in Professor Snape's presence at anytime on the evening after he returned from his... meeting?"

Hermione hesitated. Dumbledore put an assuring hand on her arm. "Please understand, Miss Granger. You are not in trouble, I merely need to ascertain if Professor Snape made contact with anyone after his time with... " The Headmaster gave her a significant look, and Hermione dropped her eyes.

"Well, sir, I did see him for a short amount of time." She blushed. "I was worried about him. After the last time..."

A low moan made the two of them turn to the man on the infirmary bed. He twisted and turned on the sweat-soaked bed. Hermione turned troubled eyes on her Headmaster. "Sir, isn't there anything you can do for him? He seems to be in agony!"

"If his present course of treatment doesn't bring him peace, I will put him in an enchanted sleep, Miss Granger. He'll be able to rest easy then." Dumbledore gave her a piercing look. "You must tell me, Miss Granger. Did Professor Snape do or say anything, that seemed... inappropriate?"

Hermione stared at the Headmaster, shocked. Once again, she got the feeling that, whatever the Headmaster's agenda, it didn't include making his Potions master comfortable, or ease his suffering. "No, sir! He didn't seem quite himself, but he was a perfect gentleman!"

Dumbledore patted her shoulder again. "I never doubted it, Miss Granger. Now, you may return to your Tower." He turned away from her, and Hermione realised she was being dismissed again. Emboldened, she remained.

"Sir?" Dumbledore turned back to her, expectantly. She blushed again. "Could I help? I mean, he looks so helpless, and he's been so protective of me. Please?"

The Headmaster glanced up at Hermione. She was looking down at Severus with a mixture of concern and compassion, and her young heart was showing in her face. Whatever Severus Snape had ever done to this child, she undoubtedly cared for him. So she is the target, the Headmaster thought.

Dumbledore reached over the professor's body to Hermione. "Your wand hand, Miss Granger."

Silently, Hermione held out her right hand, and the Headmaster gently grasped her wrist, turned her hand palm face down, and laid her palm over her professor's heart. His body was shockingly hot.

Professor Snape jumped, as if he'd received an electrical shock. Then, his body relaxed, and a look of profound relief spread across his face. He made a soft sigh, and he settled into a deep, peaceful sleep.

"Fascinating," Dumbledore said, and released Hermione's hand. He muttered a spell that Hermione did not hear properly or understand. Professor Snape slept easily, and his entire body grew still and quiet. The only sound in the room was his soft, deep, not-quite-snoring breathing.

"You may remove your hand, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore said, startling Hermione out of her reverie. She found herself loath to take her hand away from the warm, moving chest of her professor. It felt right, to stand there, touching him. However, she knew she needed, for propriety's sake, if nothing else, to move away from the sleeping man.

Finally, as if in slow motion, Hermione took her hand away from her professor's body, and was surprised to see her fingers tremble. She looked up at the Headmaster, a look of complete bafflement on her face.

"It is apparent that you have some feelings for Professor Snape, Miss Granger." He cocked a stern eye at her. "I must ask you if your feelings are entirely suitable."

Stunned, Hermione felt her temper rising. How bloody DARE he say such a thing? "Sir, I can assure you that my feelings for Professor Snape are the feelings that any student would have for a teacher they admire – deep concern and esteem. With all due respect, I find your insinuations insulting, sir."

Dumbledore turned to Hermione, a mixture of concern and warning in his eyes. "Miss Granger. You are dealing with a man who must risk his very life for our cause." With a sweeping gesture toward Professor Snape, he continued, "To distract him is to make him vulnerable to this sort of treatment on a regular basis. He is under tremendous pressure."

Hermione listened quietly, feeling her blood heating to the boiling point. Up to now, she had always admired, almost revered Hogwarts' Headmaster. Now, she did not like what she saw when she looked into his eyes. Eyes that witnessed her anxiety about Sirius, and dismissed it; that had watched Professor Snape suffer, and looked elsewhere; had regarded Harry's frustration over so many matters regarding Voldemort, and had not explained himself. And now, he was telling her to leave alone the one person who needed them both the most.

Through gritted teeth, she answered, "Professor Snape is under tremendous pressure because you bid him to prostrate himself before a madman in the name of your cause. I don't see evidence of your concern, other than how to use him for your best advantage.

"If I am a distraction, sir, then I will find a way to use that to his best advantage. Professor Snape has never done anything or said anything inappropriate, but I cannot say the same for you, sir!"

"Miss Granger, I must warn you - this is not the time – "

"Then when is a good time for you to listen to the fact that the only person making inappropriate statements or gestures to me is Harry's godfather? You were only too ready to believe the worst of Professor Snape, but you all but accuse me of lying about the unwelcome advances of Sirius Black? You are more prejudiced than You-Know-Who!"

Hermione raised her head defiantly. "I will be by tomorrow evening to see after Professor Snape's health, sir. Until then, I bid you goodnight."

She turned on her heel and stalked away, shaking, gulping for air. When she reached the door, she fled.

Dumbledore turned to his master spy, lying helpless and pitiful on the infirmary cot. His eyes were thoughtful. "She has all but sworn allegiance to you, Severus," he said softly, to the sleeping form. "And you are sworn to protect Lily's son. She will be a formidable ally in preparing Harry, if you will but only treat her as such."

He sighed heavily. "And if you will not repay her infatuation with one of your own."

After a more-or-less sleepless night, Hermione spent the next day in a haze of exhaustion, wondering how to convince her friends to leave her alone with her thoughts. Ron was nagging her to help him with his Charms essay, which actually meant he wanted her to write his Charms essay. She finally plucked the messy parchment from his hands with an irritated, "If I do this, will you please leave me alone?"

"You're a star, 'Mione! Thanks!" Ron said, then proceeded to ask Harry and Neville to join him in a game of Exploding Snap.

"The last time, I swear," she muttered under her breath, as she jotted down the salient points on Ron's parchment.

As she looked over Ron's hopeless essay, Harry approached her quietly. "Hogsmeade, this weekend." He dropped his voice conspiratorially. "Sirius is sneaking out of Grimmauld to meet us in the Shrieking Shack. I promised him we'd get him some chocolates from Honeyduks."

Hermione felt a sickness pooling in the pit of her stomach. She gave Harry what she hoped was an apologetic smile. "Actually, I wasn't planning on going to Hogsmeade this weekend." She gave a little shrug. "I've got a mountain of work to do."

Both Ron and Harry began to protest. "C'mon, Hermione – "

"All work and no play – "

"You can't miss Sirius. He wants to see us."

Hermione rose. "Look, I'll try, okay? Now, I have to go to the Library." Before either boy could respond, Hermione was heading out the door of the common room.

As she stormed down the hall, she heard the sound of someone calling her name behind her.

"Hermione – wait up!" She turned to see Harry running to catch up with her. He fell into step.

"Hermione, is anything wrong?"

She turned and looked at him shortly. "What do you mean?"

Harry caught her arm, and pulled her to a stop. "Hermione, we've known each other for a long time." His expression was earnest. "I know something's wrong. Can't you tell me?"

Hermione looked into his tired eyes. This had been a hideous year for Harry. He'd spent a huge part of it being accused of lying about Voldemort's return. He'd been tortured by Dolores Umbridge, denied the chance to play Quidditch, and forced to take a large group of students in hand to teach them defense.

In an attempt to prevent Lord Voldemort from looking into his mind and discovering the plans of the newly reformed Order, he had tried, and failed, to learn Occlumency. Harry had so few joys in his life, and Sirius was one of them. Hermione realised she simply could not tell him what Sirius was doing. She would have to protect herself as much as she could. Professor Snape or no, she had to learn to take care of herself – after all, what was the DA about, if not learning to protect yourself?

So she smiled, and tried to put her friend at ease. "Nothing's wrong, Harry. I'm worried about my O.W.L.s, not to mention Umbridge's goon squad trying to shut us down at every opportunity." She gave him a little hug. "I'm going to do a little solitary studying in the Library. I'll be back later, okay?"

Harry gave her a quiet, contemplative look, and Hermione knew then he didn't really believe her. "Sure, Hermione. But give Hogsmeade some thought, yeah? You could really use the break."

She smiled. "What time?" she asked in a tone of resignation, but she kept her voice light. Harry returned her smile.

"He's going to meet us there around three o'clock. He's going stir crazy over at Grimmauld." He looked hopeful. "So you'll come?"

"I'll think about it, okay?"

With a nod, Harry turned and headed back to the Common Room, leaving Hermione to continue her journey alone.

The infirmary was quiet, as Hermione slipped into the large ward. Madam Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen, and Hermione walked rather hurriedly to the private ward that held her professor. Her footsteps sounded unnaturally loud on the stone floor, and she felt like a fugitive, stealing into the room, long past visiting hours. She already had an excuse ready should Madam Pomfrey appear –

"Miss Granger! What are you doing skulking around the infirmary? It's almost curfew!" The mediwitch's voice was pitched low, but Hermione jumped like a scalded cat nevertheless.

She whirled around and put on a bright, false smile. "Madam Pomfrey! You startled me!" She took a deep breath.

The older woman put her hands on her hips. Narrowing her eyes, she retorted, "I may remind you, Miss Granger, you're the one sneaking around – I believe I'm the one who's supposed to be startled!"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione replied, meekly. Trying to remember her cover story, she smiled uncertainly. "You see, I'm feeling a little bit – well, it's sort of embarrassing, but –" She gulped and tried again, growing flustered at the mediwitch's increasingly disbelieving expression. "Ginny Weasley is feeling a bit under – that is, she's not – "

Madam Pomfrey huffed, and something like a smile played about her lips. "Honestly, Miss Granger! You may be the smartest little witch in this school, but you are the worst liar I've ever met." Her expression softened, and she gave the door a quick glance. "If you wish to see Professor Snape, why didn't you just say so?"

Hermione, gobsmacked, stammered, "I – I didn't think you'd allow it."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. "Well, normally, I wouldn't. It's highly irregular, you know." She sighed, and gave Hermione a pitying look. "But just between you and me, my dear, I'm not entirely happy with the Headmaster at the moment. He's making me work with my wand hand tied behind my back on this."

Hermione visibly sagged. "I know! Professor Snape was in so much pain when I came in, and the Headmaster just seemed so, oh, I don't know, reluctant to help him."

The older witch nodded. "I never wish to speak ill of Professor Dumbledore, but his behaviour has me puzzled." She looked at Hermione appreciatively. "I saw how Professor Snape reacted to you. You have a knack for healing. A witch doesn't have to earn a degree from St. Mungo's to be a natural Healer."

Madam Pomfrey straightened, and nodded to herself, as if she'd just made an important decision. "He's been very restless, even in his sleep." She gestured. "Come, child. Perhaps you can help where I cannot."

Hermione wordlessly followed Madam Pomfrey into the private ward, and together they approached the bed of her professor. In the soft moonlight, he looked like marble, if marble could frown and scowl and move, as if unable to get comfortable.

Softly, Madam Pomfrey leaned down and smoothed his hair from his forehead, in an unconscious imitation of the Headmaster. It was a tender gesture of affection, as if he were a small boy. "He's just so uncomfortable. Professor Dumbledore is having the necessary potion made for him, but until then..." the mediwitch sighed, and gave a little shrug. Hermione understood. It was hard, watching him suffer. Her mind went back to Grimmauld, on the night this all began, and the pain and humiliation she'd been witness to. All she'd wanted to do was to make him feel better, to give him some comfort.

Hermione pulled up a chair and sat down beside her professor's bed. Without thought, she laid her hand over his heart, as she had done with the Headmaster, and Professor Snape's shoulders relaxed, and he sighed in his sleep. It was a pitiful sound that tugged at the hearts of the two women. They looked across his still form at each other.

The mediwitch sighed. "He has suffered so much. He never complains, never says anything. But oh, sometimes he cries, Miss Granger. He doesn't even realise it." The older woman gazed at the wizard. "He's very proud. It would trouble him to know we were fussing over him like this."

A silvery Patronus, in the shape of a badger, appeared in the room with them, and the two women turned from Professor Snape to watch it. It opened its mouth and Professor Sprout's voice said, "Poppy, I've had a little accident with one of my flowering Crown of Thorns plants, and I'm in a bit of a snare here! Can you come down and bring some Essence of Dittany?"

Madam Pomfrey sighed. "The woman is going to be the death of me! Her plants cause more injuries than the Quidditch pitch any day." She looked uncertainly at the sleeping man, then back to Hermione. "Well, I suppose leaving you here won't hurt, and you do seem to be able to comfort him." She gave Hermione a smile. "I'll be back in two ticks."

And just like that, Hermione was alone with her professor, for the second time.

The chaper title and lyrics are from the song, The Snake.