Chapter 5

These characters belong to JKR

Master of Enchantment

Chapter 5

Hermione sat on her bed, the one farthest from the door, hugging herself with her arms and rocking. The tears had passed again; she was tired of crying, tired of scheming and planning, and tired of trying to manipulate the man into her life and her arms and her bed. The irresistible force had finally met the immovable object and the irresistible force was ready to admit defeat. Perhaps it would be best to cut short her time at Hogwarts and send owls to Beauxbatons and Durmstrang to find out if the proffered positions had been filled. Britain held no appeal for her now.

Feeling quite tired again, she stretched out on her bed and drifted to sleep.

The sound of the door opening jerked her back to consciousness. She was on her feet, with her wand in her hand, before Tonks had the door closed.

"Chill, Hermione!" the Auror said, locking the French door behind her and falling onto the nearest bed with a beatific expression on her face.

Hermione stepped over to the other bed and looked down at Tonks, whose hair was even more mussed than usual, whose lips were all puffy and bruised looking and whose swimsuit appeared to be wrong-side-out.

Breaking into a tender smile, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed. "Remus found you, I see," she commented.

"Oh, yeah." Tonks looked at her. "He said you told him I said he was gorgeous. I should hex you."

Hermione snorted. "If you weren't too addled to hold your own wand, I would be scared now."

Tonks sighed happily. "I tried to deny I ever said it, but he got all..." Tonks' voice trailed off dreamily.

Hermione prompted her, "He got all...what?"

Tonks closed her big eyes and smiled a secret smile. Hermione patted her cheek softly. "I love seeing you like this, Tonks. I'm so happy for you."

Tonks sat up suddenly. "We're supposed to be getting ready to go out to for dinner and dancing!"

Hermione moved back over to her own bed. "Well, you had best pop into the shower, then. What are you going to wear?"

Tonks hopped up and headed for the bathroom. "Remus says we're going to dress up tonight, so I thought I'd wear the little black dress. How about you?"

"I am not going anywhere, silly," Hermione said.

"If you think I'm going to go out on my first date with my new boyfriend and watch Severus Snape sulk all night long, you are wrong, missy," Tonks said airily. "Pick out something sexy and get changed."

Hermione glared at her. "Leave him here, then. You and Remus deserve a nice romantic date on your own."

"Last night you're drooling on him and today you won't eat dinner with him?" Tonks said, obviously confused.

"Things have changed since last night, Tonks."

"Like what?" Tonks went into the bathroom and began to run the water in the shower, leaving the bathroom door open to speak with Hermione.

"Like I slapped him hard enough to give him a black eye and slammed the door in his face. He'll never speak to me again. Slytherins aren't too keen on humiliation."

Hermione was shocked when Tonks' infectious laugh floated out of the bathroom.

"Hermione, didn't you see him sitting on the terrace and staring at the door all afternoon?"

"WHAT?"

"He sat there like a roosting bat or something and never took his eyes off the door all afternoon. Remus and I occasionally looked out the window and saw him doing it." Tonks giggled.

"Oh, between bouts you had time to look out the window?" Hermione asked, then squealed when the wet face flannel sailed over the shower rod and smacked her on the shoulder. For some reason, the news of Snape's vigil lifted her heart.

"Hurry UP, Hermione! Oh, I forgot! Severus said I should tell you to wear the green dress and to wear your hair down."

"Oh, he did?"

Tonks smothered her laughter as she rinsed herself and turned off the water. She knew very well that nothing would serve to get Hermione dressed more quickly than for her to be told what Snape's instructions were.

Thirty minutes later, Tonks was putting the finishing touches on her makeup when the French doors rattled. Hermione slipped her shoes on and walked over to throw the doors open. Lupin grabbed her up and whirled her around in a burst of exuberance.

Hermione laughed out loud. "Put me down, you nutter!"

Lupin grinned at her. "Can't help it if I feel like hugging everyone I see, Hermione."

A drawling voice spoke from the bottom of terrace steps. "It's true. He tried to hug me, and I had to curse him."

Lupin moved past Hermione into the room, and she was able to see Snape, who was watching her from the bottom of the terrace steps with an unreadable expression. He was wearing a beautifully cut charcoal grey double-breasted silk suit with a blindingly white shirt and a forest green silk tie. His ravens-wing hair, threaded with silver, was swept straight back from his forehead. Standing there gazing at him, Hermione thought he looked like some aristocratic lord.

Snape snickered to himself when he saw how she was dressed. Hermione stood in the doorway, wearing a short red dress with a demure, high neck and high-heeled red pumps; her hair was smoothed and styled in an elegant chignon. So much for the green dress with her hair down. When Lupin whirled her around, Snape saw that the back of the dress was cut nearly to the small of her back; he also saw the lacy black knickers she was wearing beneath the short skirt.

With calm deliberation, Snape began to climb the steps up to the terrace; Hermione turned and fled back into the room, where Lupin appeared to be snogging off all the makeup Tonks had applied. Hermione stopped uncertainly, half-way across the room; she wasn't quite comfortable with interrupting the couple, who were oblivious to her. As she stood considering what to do, she was alerted to Snape's presence behind her by the sudden crackling electricity in the air. He placed a hand on her elbow and turned her toward the French doors, saying sotto voce, "We may never make it to the restaurant if we wait for those two."

With some vehemence, Hermione jerked away from Snape and moved onto the terrace. "Keep your hands off me, please," she said.

Snape smirked and stopped to pick up a flimsy red scarf from the back of the chair.

"Is this your wrap?" he inquired, following Hermione out into the summer evening and closing the door quietly behind him.

"Yes, thank you," she spat, snatching the scarf from him. How had she gone from a steady refusal to make up one of a party of four, including Snape, to being alone with him on a dinner date?

Snape waited patiently for her to precede him down the terrace steps onto the walk, being careful not to follow closely enough to touch her. "Lupin made reservations at the restaurant in the next hotel," he explained conversationally, gesturing for her to walk with him.

Hermione walked as quickly as she could in her high heels, trying to remember why in the world she had chosen to dress herself like such a tart. Wear the green dress indeed! She would bloody well wear whatever she wanted. She was so angry with him!

She was a bit startled to hear Snape, who was effortlessly keeping up with her pace, say in his silkiest voice, "Say it, Hermione."

She whirled on him, her fists clenched on her sheer red wrap. "I'm FURIOUS with you!"

He stopped when she did and turned to face her, his expression open and unguarded. A tendril of her hair had flown across her face when she turned so abruptly; with infinite tenderness, Snape used his fingertips to move the tendril out of her face. "I know you are."

In frustration, she stomped one foot. "Don't you DARE be nice to me, Severus Snape! Just don't you DARE." She glared up into his face.

"I apologize for what I said about Lupin," Snape said, suggesting with a gesture of his hand that they continue walking to the hotel restaurant.

"Oh, well, THAT makes up for everything," Hermione said sarcastically, beginning to walk again.

"It was out of line," he continued.

"I can't imagine why you would say such a thing to me," she raged at him, walking faster.

"I saw Lupin pick you up and whirl you around – I was jealous."

She threw him a scathing look. "Oh, please. He just did it again, for Merlin's sake."

"Yes, but I had already cursed him for trying to hug me, so I didn't like to curse him again so soon," he explained apologetically. "I'll do it the next time I see him, though, if you like."

Hermione stopped again. "You're making fun of me! I can't believe you're LAUGHING at me when I'm so ANGRY."

Snape stepped in front of her so that he could make full eye contact with her. "I'm not making fun, Hermione. You have quite a lot to be angry with me about. I just thought I'd address the slapping-offense first, so that we can move on to the things you're REALLY angry with me about."

To her amazement, she could clearly see that he was serious. He was not sneering or smirking or snarling; he was speaking to her with complete sincerity.

How totally unnerving.

"First of all," she snapped, walking around him to continue towards the hotel restaurant, "you have no right to be jealous of me. Second of all, it's obvious to a FLOBBERWORM that Remus is totally gone on Tonks."

"Lupin is indeed quite taken with Tonks," Snape agreed, ignoring her first statement.

Hermione, in all good conscience, had to admit to herself that he had given her a comprehensive apology for the 'bestial appeal' remark. "I accept your apology," she stated stiffly, as they arrived at the hotel entrance.

Snape placed the tips of his fingers on her elbow for a fleeting moment, only to direct her steps, as a liveried doorman swept the door open for them and they walked across the lobby to the formal restaurant. Snape gave Lupin's name to the maitre d' and they were seated at a table for four, elegantly laid with crystal, silver, and china. Snape took a moment to shoot forbidding glances at the two strangers who had watched Hermione's progress across the room with far too much interest; he had the satisfaction of seeing both men avert their eyes from his dangerous glare.

Hermione was oblivious to this exchange; her own eyes were sweeping the stately decor of the room. She was very impressed with her surroundings, as well as a bit intimidated. "This place looks quite expensive," she said hesitantly.

A waiter approached them with menus; Snape forestalled the young man by saying, "Would you object if I ordered our meal, Hermione?"

Hermione was completely out of her element, and for the first time in a while, she felt the twenty-year difference in their ages. "No, not at all," she said politely, looking down to spread the linen napkin across her lap. She bit her lip and wondered who this polished gentleman was and what he had done with Severus Snape?

To cover her confusion, she lifted the crystal water goblet and brought it to her lips. On his side of the table, Snape had quickly perused the menu and placed the order for their dinner, including a bottle of wine, in fluent French. In amazement, Hermione forgot what she was doing and accidentally swallowed an ice cube.

Snape watched her sputtering across the table with wicked delight, reflecting that it had been a wise decision for him to study the restaurant menu in the room before using the strange telephone to call and place the reservations for four in Lupin's name. If he could continue to keep her off-balance this well, things might go more easily for him when it came time to discuss her remaining complaints against him.

Hermione used the cloth napkin to dab at the water she had dribbled on her chin. She had no idea how he had done it. An hour ago she had been enraged with the greasy, infuriating, and uncouth Potions master; now she was confronted with the immaculate, debonair, and refined stranger across the table, who was watching her with an alarming new mien. How could she be angry with someone she didn't even recognize?

The efficient waiter returned to their table with the wine bottle, swathed in a pristine white cloth. Hermione watched in fascination as the young man presented the bottle to Snape, who looked at the label and nodded his approval. The waiter then used a corkscrew to open the wine, which he poured into a wine glass and offered to Snape. Snape took the glass and swirled the wine, sampling the bouquet with his over-sized nose; then, he took a sip. The waiter seemed on edge until Snape nodded to him curtly, which caused the anxious young man to break out in a relieved smile. Snape indicated that the waiter should leave the iced bucket on its stand by his chair and waved him off, leaning to pour the pale liquid into Hermione's wine glass.

"I think you'll like this vintage," Snape said graciously, "it is very light, and will complement the fish quite nicely."

Hermione hoped she wasn't looking as disoriented as she felt. Grasping for some remnant of her reason, she sat up straighter in her seat, and said, "Professor Snape..."

He lifted his brows enquiringly. "I thought we agreed on first names, Hermione," he chided.

She plowed on, ignoring the interruption, "Please don't try to change the subject. The discussion last night in the pool enclosure –"

"Yes, quite right. We must consider those issues very thoroughly. But not during our meal, perhaps? Shall we agree to cover that topic when we have left the table?"

Was she committing a faux pas by wishing to hash this out at the dining table? Hermione felt her face flush in embarrassment, which she attempted to cover by drinking from her wine glass.

Snape gave himself mental congratulations for how well he was handling her, thus far. Look at that face – the little Gryffindor was actually feeling wrong-footed for wanting to give him the total telling-off he so richly deserved! It wasn't really a fair fight; she was half his age and did not have nearly the weapons in her arsenal that he possessed. However, he was a Slytherin, so the lack of fairness did not prevent him from enjoying her discomfiture at his hands.

As smoothly as glass, Snape initiated a conversation regarding French poetry, which sparked Hermione's interest, and they whiled away the wait for their food by comparing Baudelaire and Rimbaud. He knew she spoke French and thought it might impress her to find out that he spoke it also. How else did the silly girl think he stayed abreast of the Potions studies in other countries?

Hermione sipped at her wine, marveling at how well the flavor blended with the fish she was eating. This man was full of contradictions and depths she had never suspected. She had developed a crush on him in her sixth year, which she successfully recovered from when she and Ron attempted a romance in seventh year. Then came the night her parents were targeted by the Death Eaters, when she got squiffy in the kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, and clung to him like a limpet. In the years since then, she had fantasized many things about Severus Snape, but imagining him as some urbane man with worldly savoir faire had never entered her mind.

Hermione heard the unmistakable sound of shattering glass and looked toward the sound, not at all surprised to see Tonks apologizing to a harassed waiter while Lupin quietly urged her on toward their table. Hermione thought that Tonks was looking very pretty, even without any makeup, in her smart black dress and shoes. Lupin was wearing a nice Muggle suit of a muted taupe, which blended with his hair – well, his hair could have used another swipe with a comb, perhaps, but at least none of their clothes were on inside-out, which Hermione counted as a victory. She smiled at them in welcome.

Snape watched the Metamorphmagus and the werewolf arriving late for dinner and congratulated himself again on his impeccable timing. He stood as they approached, placing his folded napkin on the table.

"Sorry to be late," Lupin said with a small smile, holding the chair for Tonks as she sat down. "We were unavoidably detained."

Tonks stifled a giggle at that, then cast a shrewd look between Snape and Hermione. Before she could speak, Snape walked around the table and stopped beside Hermione's chair. "As you can see, we did not wait for you," he said. "We can, however, recommend the fish – wouldn't you agree, Hermione?"

Hermione looked up at Snape with some confusion. He was clearly waiting for her to stand up – perhaps they were going to be tactful and leave the new couple alone? She saw Snape's small nod, and she stood, a tremor running through her as he draped her scarf across her shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment too long on her bare flesh.

"Yes, the fish was lovely," she said.

"You're not going?" Lupin asked in surprise.

"Only into the lounge," Snape replied coolly, inclining his head toward a doorway leading into a darkened area; Hermione looked that way and saw a dark bar, the movement of couples dancing, and for the first time, she heard the music.

The lounge was at the back of the hotel, with the glassed-in walls giving a view of the beach. Double doors at the far end of the room led out onto a wooden pier that jutted out over the water. At the opposite end of the room, a DJ worked at a large stereo system. The polished dance floor stretched from the far side of the bar to the double doors, which were open to the soft breezes of the summer night; between songs, it was possible to hear the surf washing up onto the shore.

Snape chose a table along the glass wall and waited for Hermione to sit before he took his seat across from her. He signaled to the waitress and ordered a gin with lime, while Hermione asked for lemonade; the waitress returned quickly with their drinks, then left them alone.

Hermione looked around the pleasant bar, noted the sun setting spectacularly over the ocean, and then glanced across the table at Snape, who was studying her intently. Her earlier righteous indignation had fizzled out somewhere between the ostentatious wine-tasting and the discussion of French symbolist poetry. She was young, but she was not stupid; she fully realized that he had manipulated her expertly from the time he showed up at her door dressed like a hawkish James Bond imitator, right down to this moment is this extremely civilized lounge – perhaps he was banking on her reluctance to cause a scene in public?

"Swearing off the margaritas?" he inquired warily, noting the expressions flitting across her face. She gave him a scornful look and lifted that determined chin; Severus' eyes darted quickly from side to side to see how many strangers were about to become familiar with the intimate details of his personal life.

"Would you please just stop with the courtesy and civility?" she snapped. "You're freaking me out."

The lounge was fairly empty for a Saturday night, Severus reflected. No doubt more people would come as the night wore on. He supposed it had been enough of a victory to put off her tantrum for as long as he had. He swallowed a judicious amount of gin and leaned forward slightly, making eye contact with her and holding her gaze fearlessly.

"You can ask me anything you would like to know," he stated calmly. "I will answer any question you have without evasion or prevarication."

Hermione, who was gathering her wrath for a tirade, was taken aback. Nonplussed, she opened her mouth to speak, when he held up one hand to stop her.

"But first, dance with me."

She glared at him with narrowed eyes. "I do NOT want to dance with you. I want answers."

Snape stood and waited imperiously for her to rise. "I thought Gryffindors were renowned for their courage. Are you afraid to dance with me?" He let just enough venom leak into his tone to goad her. He wanted to hold her again, hold her before they quarreled. When she heard everything he had to tell her, she might choose to walk away from him, regardless of the Enchantment.

Hermione's lips tightened, and her glare intensified. "You know what will happen if we touch."

Snape allowed himself a sneer as he leaned over her, placing his palms flat on the table. "You are afraid, then," he whispered provocatively.

Hermione knew she was being baited, but there was a traitorous part of her that wanted to give in to his request, that wanted to feel his arms around her – that wanted to feel the power surging between them. Quickly, she stood and walked onto the dance floor, just as a slow number began to play.

Severus followed her onto the dance floor, taking her small hand in his and placing his other hand lightly at her waist on the silken fabric of the red dress. They stood for a moment without moving, wide brown eyes locking with intense ebony eyes, as the energy joined and thrummed through their veins. With what little presence of mind he could muster, Severus led her into the dance. As they moved together, their eyes remained bound until, with a shiver, Hermione closed the distance between their torsos and tucked her head beneath his chin as she had done on that long-ago night. She let go of his hand and both of her arms snaked around his narrow waist; Severus felt the increased contact with a swooping sensation in his belly, and he placed his free hand on the bare skin between her shoulder blades, pressing her to him, closer still.

Dimly, beyond their microcosm, the words of the song filtered into their minds.

Lying beside you, here in the dark

Open arms

As the song came to an end, Severus rallied his strength and stepped back from her. The look on her face was delicious. Her eyes were glazed and unfocused; he wanted nothing so much as to catch her up into his arms and kiss her.

Abruptly, he said, "Thank you. Shall we go?"

Hermione struggled to clear her mind, conscious only of the acute feeling of loss when he released her. She walked back to the table to retrieve her scarf as Snape stepped up to the bar and paid their tab. He walked back to her at the table and indicated they should exit through the double doors onto the pier.

"What about Remus and Tonks?" she asked him.

"They'll find their way back. Come." Snape led the way down the wooden stairs to the sandy beach. Hermione slipped off her high heels, then they set off across the sand back to their inn.

When they reached her door, she looked at him uncertainly. Snape opened the French doors and nodded for her to enter. Hermione did so, putting space between them quickly, tossing her scarf onto the bed and picking up her wand from the bedside table.

Snape followed her in and closed the doors behind him, placing his wand on the bed closest to him. "I only want to speak to you, Hermione." He stood there, his hands held out, empty, before him.

Her brow wrinkled at she studied him. His face still looked so different. He was not sneering, snarling, or frowning. The nakedness of his expression was interesting, she thought. Then she noticed he was approaching her.

"No." She pointed her wand at his undefended chest. "Don't come any closer. I – I can't think if you get too close."

Snape froze, keeping an eye on the wand, and raised his hands again where she could clearly see them. "Hermione, I'm unarmed. I can't hurt you."

Her laugh was not pleasant. "You have never yet hurt me with your WAND, Severus Snape."

"I deserve that." He looked into her eyes, his own expression completely open and unguarded. "I'll sit in the chair by the door. I'll leave my wand on the bed. You sit where you want, keep your wand – just please let me explain to you. I'll answer any question you have. I'll tell the truth."

Hermione looked skeptical, but even in her hurt and anger, she could see what this attitude and these words, were costing him. As she watched him, he backed, step by step, to the chairs by the doors; reaching one, he sat down.

"May I remove my jacket?" he asked her. Hermione shrugged at him indifferently, wishing that she were wearing something other than this skimpy red dress. Snape draped the suit coat over the empty chair beside him and quickly removed the forest green necktie, unbuttoning the top buttons of the shirt.

Hermione sat down on the edge of her bed, with Tonks' bed between them. "Okay, go ahead and get it over with. Say what you came to say." She stared at him stonily.

Snape took a deep, somewhat shaky breath. "That night, on Grimmauld Place..." his voice faded, almost as if he hoped she would pick up the narrative and begin speaking. Instead, she continued to stare at him with an unchanged expression.

"You were my student!" He knew it was a cowardly defense, but couldn't help the urge to dodge her unwavering regard.

"Former student."

"You were a child!"

"I was of age."

"You were on your way to Bulgaria! To Krum!"

She stood so quickly that he actually cowered back in his chair before he caught himself. "I was on my way to UNIVERSITY. Viktor just happened to BE there. And you KNEW I would never... After feeling that ... and you LET ME GO ANYWAY!"

He let the words hang between them for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was steady and unruffled. "I let you go. Yes."

"You didn't want me." It was presented as a statement, but he heard the hurt, the uncertainty.

"Whether I wanted you or not was immaterial."

She stared at him. "Immaterial to whom, exactly?"

She had the satisfaction of seeing his lips tighten, and some vestige of his usual scorn. "Oh, use your brain, girl! What thirty-eight year old heterosexual male with a PULSE would not want a beautiful eighteen year old female?"

Her look became contemplative, and in the manner inimical to all the members of her sex, she chose the one extraneous word in his entire question to pursue. "Beautiful?" she asked.

The annoyance left his face, his mouth relaxed, and his lips parted slightly, his eyes warming to a searing gaze as he slowly looked his fill at her wondering eyes, her trembling lips, her proud breasts in the crimson dress, down to her embraceable waist, her mesmerizing hips, all the way down her shapely legs to her pretty feet. Then he took his time, letting his eyes make the return trip up her body, letting her see every emotion and desire upon his face as it crossed his mind, until he was looking into her eyes, unmasked and unreserved.

"Beautiful," he reiterated, his voice hoarse.

He could barely breathe as he watched her crawl across the bed, and then he had an armful, and a lapful, of crying, laughing, caressing, kissing Hermione. Severus put a hand to the back of her head and returned her kiss very thoroughly, slipping his tongue through her parted lips, teasing and tasting her mouth, caressing her tongue with his own, showing her how it felt to be wanted by him – how it felt to be so beautiful. The shared pulse was pounding in them, her sweetly timid tongue was in his mouth, her hands in his hair, her delicious little bum resting on the hardest erection of his entire life; when he gently sucked her tongue, she moaned audibly into his mouth, and it took all of his self-control to tenderly end the kiss. He embraced her trembling body for another moment, then he stood and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Her voice made a small sound of protest as he broke the contact between them, pressing a final, wrenching kiss on the palm of her hand, and stepping back away from her.

Her impassioned gaze questioned him without words. "We haven't said all the things we need to say," he said softly, letting her hear his own longing, not trying to hide from her the evidence of his arousal. "If I'm touching you, I won't be able to speak to you coherently."

Her wanton scrutiny left little doubt of her immediate opinion of talking versus snogging.

Taking a deep breath, Severus spoke again. "Hermione, after Grimmauld Place, I spent two years studying everything I could find about the Enchantment. I couldn't find an example of a couple who rejected the imperative."

Studying a subject? Research? Hermione forced herself to focus for a moment, dragging her gaze away from his erection and back to his face. "Who would want to reject it?"

Severus, who had moved behind the chair, gripped the back of it. "You may wish to."

She looked at him in confusion, and actually shook her head, as if to clear it. "Severus – I had maybe five minutes of an unreciprocated hug three years ago. Since that time, I have been unable to force myself to think of another man, and you may be assured that I tried." Hermione bit her lip and looked rueful. "For about six months, I must have sent you a minimum of one owl a week." Snape nodded his agreement with her assessment at this point; he vividly remembered the letters he had never answered – the letters he saved, and reread in drunken moments of maudlin self-pity. Hermione was continuing, "I refused to even see Viktor until after Christmas of that first year. By that time, I was so angry with you, and so angry with myself, that I spent the next two years trying very hard to make myself want Viktor. He's intelligent, he's accomplished, he's sought after –"

Severus made a derisive sound and she turned questioning eyes on him. "Enough of Krum's attributes, perhaps?" he suggested dangerously.

"I'm trying to make a point! Viktor wasn't some pathetic loser –" another disdainful snort – "he was everything a girl could want, and I didn't. He loved me, he wanted to marry me, and I tried very hard to love him back. I even tried to sleep with him and –"

"YES, yes, I think I get your point," he ground out. She had those wide, inquisitive eyes fixed on his face again, and he mustered his patience for her. "I beg your pardon, Hermione. It is – difficult for me to hear you speak about Krum." He struggled with himself for a moment. "I am very possessive, and I am a jealous man. If we come to some kind of agreement, I'm sure I will, in time, be less – sensitive – to the subject of other men." Considering the murderous feelings he harbored toward the Bulgarian Seeker at this moment, he sincerely hoped his words were more than a vain promise.

"All I'm trying to say is that I don't think of other men, and I don't want to think of other men. This Enchantment between us is precious to me, Severus. Every girl dreams of this kind of magic with the man she – chooses." Hermione stood, and moved to the chair between them, kneeling on the seat and looking up at him; he stood gripping the back of the chair harder than ever to keep his hands from her body. "What kind of agreement will we come to?" she queried, reaching out and tracing a line across his white knuckles with the tip of her finger.

"We can discuss that. Before we do, I think it's important for you to know – to know about me." He walked away from her, walking along the pathway between the foot of the two beds and the dresser. Hermione turned, and sat in the chair, watching him with some confusion.

"What do you want me to know, Severus?"

He reached the vanity, now as far away from her as the small room would allow. He turned his back to the mirror and looked across the room at her. His senses were clearing, his erection diminishing, and his brain was almost functioning. In some removed part of his mind, he was amazed to find that he was more afraid now than he had ever been when kneeling at the feet of the Dark Lord. What was the worst Voldemort could do to him? Torture him with Cruciatus, or kill him. What was the worst Hermione could do to him? She could remove his very soul, and leave him breathing, forced to endure year after year without her light. Damnation, how had it come to this? And the hell of it was, even with the full knowledge that he was flying in the face of forty years of careful living, he was not able to step back from this precipice.

"I have done despicable things, Hermione. I was not a nice person when I was in school at Hogwarts, and after school, I became a Death Eater." He stood, ramrod straight, across the room from her and awaited her judgment.

"And then you went to Dumbledore and you became a spy for the Order. You asked for, and received a second chance." Hermione shrugged. "I don't know what you're on about, Severus."

"I am not a nice person now. I am not fun-loving and I am not pleasant. I am hell to get along with. Passion is marvelous, and sex can be transcendent, but one must also live a day-to-day existence." He began to slowly approach her, holding her gaze. "I can – if you permit me – show you."

Hermione considered him speculatively. "Show me how?" she asked.

Severus now sat down on the edge of the bed across from her chair, their knees separated by mere inches. "With Legilimency. I can open my mind to you, and you can see. I – I won't hold anything back."

"By turn, then, my mind will also be open to you?"

He nodded.

Hermione leaned toward him. "If I do this – look into your mind and let you look into mine – will you believe me without reservation if I tell you that I accept all of you, including your past?"

A snarky Snape-smile curled his lip. This little Gryffindor was shrewdly backing him into an untenable corner. She was a worthy partner, indeed; perhaps the Fates weaving their Enchantment paid attention to such detail.

"Yes," he answered her. "If, after you have seen my past, you say you accept me, I will believe you without reservation."

Hermione sat up straighter. "Then do it. Cast the spell."

A/N: Lyrics to Open Arms written by Jonathan Cain/Steve Perry, performed by Journey (and many other artists since then).

Severus' comment about "The Fates weaving their Enchantment" is inspired by a line from a poem by a Forgotten Poet, which properly reads, "How many fates have kept over us, weaving us together"