2: Messengers

Chapter 2: Messengers

Hermione hurried to her room in Gryffindor Tower, rushing past people with little more than a greeting. It was all she could do to keep the tears out of her eyes as she rushed up the stairs and threw herself onto her bed. Lavender...the wench...was, no doubt, in the hospital wing snogging Ron while Parvati worked on divination homework. She was, for the moment, alone and thankful for it.

What had just happened? How could she feel so suddenly THAT for her dreaded professor? It wasn't that she hadn't always respected Professor Snape. Even when he was at his worst, she respected him. She respected him both because he was a professor and because she knew he was under tremendous pressure to keep the Order informed of Voldemort's plans without compromising himself with the Dark Lord.

He put his life on the line every time he showed up at Voldemort's side, and she appreciated what he was going through, even if she had no real understanding of it. Also, this year he had taught his students more to help them against dark wizards than any other Defense teacher had. Not that it would take much to outdo other professors. Lupin had been pretty good, and the fake Mad-Eye Moody had taught them a few interesting things, but the other three had been complete rubbish.

But respect doesn't turn to this kind of emotion, not like that. It was completely ridiculous to think the sudden rush of longing, the desperate attraction, had popped from respect. . . Wait. She remembered the conversation they had over dinner about Fred and George's newest treat, the true love chocolate. And hadn't they said they planned to visit Dobby in the kitchen on their way back to work that afternoon?

Just what had they done to the biscuits? The thrill of knowing she had found her love, her soul mate...if she was right...was squashed by the huge scowl her true love had worn when the contact was made. His demand that she leave him at once both thrilled and terrified her. Did it mean he was as strongly affected by the potion as she? She tried to deny the way she felt, but the draw to Professor Snape was too powerful to ignore or pretend it didn't exist. Despite how hatefully he had behaved toward her.

They had just sentenced her to a life of loving the worst-tempered person any of them knew.

She was going to kill them.

*****

After sending a whale of a Howler to the twins, without divulging who her soul mate was, Hermione forced herself to return to her rooms instead of going down to the dungeons where she knew Snape still resided. He had said she mustn't leave her room that night, but she hadn't followed orders to the letter. At least she managed not to run into him while she was out. There was little hope any homework she pulled out tonight would go well. Her mind was far too focused on the man several levels below her to see straight.

If only he had been someone nice like Seamus. Not that she had any particular interest in Seamus, but at least he was nice. To tell the truth, she had seen herself with Ron, if the prat ever quit being . . . well, himself, long enough for things to happen. Now that would never happen. She couldn't quite bring herself to be unhappy about it. The grinding disgust and jealousy she once felt about him and Lavender seemed far from important now.

Of course, she still expected to find Lavender's high-pitched giggle and calls of 'Won-Won' irritating. Anyone with ears and a modicum of taste could find that obnoxious. Even 'Won-Won' seemed to find it tiring.

Hermione looked down at the piece of parchment on which she was supposed to be writing a history of the Goblin rebellion of 1745. Doodled on the surface instead were the words 'Hermione Snape' written dozens of times in different styles and sizes. Disgusted with herself, she ripped the paper in half and tossed it in the nearby fire.

She was still shaking her head at the chocolate chunks in the biscuits being infused with love potion. What were they thinking? Why would anyone in their right minds want to find out they were the true love of the surly Professor Snape? Not that he seemed half so bad, now she thought about it. After all, he was tall, imposing, his voice had a rather sexy quality to it she had never considered before. His hands...oh, his hands had such long, dexterous fingers. He obviously had some strength under that robe, or he wouldn't be able to keep up with the things she heard about Voldemort's meetings. And some of those cauldrons were really heavy, but he seemed to handle them with little trouble.

And though his nose was hooked, his skin pale and his hair long and a bit greasy, she was sure those qualities were highly underrated by the majority of the student body. The fact was, she was more disgusted at herself for not being disgusted than anything else.

Hermione flung herself back down on the four-poster bed and let her mind wander for a few minutes before forcing herself to pull out her school books again. Whether she accomplished much that evening or not, she ought to at least try to get something done. Come morning the twins should have returned her note with instructions on how to solve her dilemma. Maybe it wasn't them after all. Or maybe it was a different product. Maybe it would wear off on its own in a day or so. After all, 'Won-Won' was in the hospital indirectly because of a love potion that wasn't so long lasting. Maybe she was mistaken about this particular potion.

She could only hope.

The question was whether her hope was for the potion to wear off or not.

*****

Snape was striding back and forth across his living area, trying to work out a solution to his problem. He had already made up a standard antidote to love potion and taken it. There had been no improvement. He didn't understand. I'm a dirty old man lusting over a student half my age. Albus will have a fit and be well within his rights. It had to be lust, what else could it be?

Not that the compulsion he felt for her was all physical. A great deal of it was physical...a very great deal, but he also wanted to be near Hermione...Miss Granger...to talk, to discuss Potions, dark magic, Transfiguration, Charms, having a family, and how many babies she wanted. He pushed that thought from his head and tried to focus on the problem before him. He had never even considered the idea of babies before. Being surrounded by children all day tended to remind him why he didn't want a family. Suddenly the thought of half a dozen babies, of seeing Hermione's...Miss Granger's...belly swell with his child, held an appeal he had never anticipated.

He shook his head, trying to rid his brain of the tempting image. It was the spell or potion, or whatever happened to them in the library. What could it have been?

Most love potions worked only one direction. The person dosed with the potion was the only one affected, but he had seen it in her eyes, the returned ardor he was feeling. Somehow they had both been hit with a spell or dosed with the potion, however it was they had ingested the stuff, and it had turned them toward each other. She would certainly never have looked at him like that without some kind of coercion.

The trouble was, he hadn't heard of a spell that worked so completely, not that one of the idiots he taught might know. He hadn't eaten anything that the rest of the school hadn't imbibed as well. Which meant it could have been in the students' food. All of the students' food. The whole school could be having a wild orgy at the moment, and no amount of antidote, should he have cauldrons enough to make it, would work.

He supposed he better make a whopping dose of birth-control potion, but by the time he had it made, half the school would be beyond help anyway. He only hoped Poppy kept enough on hand to prevent too many children this night.

Another thought occurred to him then. This potion seemed to work off touch. That was the only reason he could have imprinted on Hermione...Miss Granger. He had seen many other females between dinner and pulling the book from the shelf. That, at least, cut down the number of potions that could have done the job. Still, he would have to do some more work to pinpoint exactly what had caused the reaction to Hermione...Miss Granger's...soft, supple lips. Could it have been something he ate in his office earlier in the day? No, that was all prepared by his own hand. A mist in the air? The diaphanous wafting of her perfume as he stood near her? He shook the memory of her scent from his mind, focusing back on probabilities.

His well-developed sense of smell would have alerted him to anything in the air. The only thing he could figure was dinner.

Perhaps most students wouldn't get that close to someone of the opposite gender and be spared. Everyone under fifth year, at least, he hoped. He imagined Hermione...Miss Granger...oh, sod it, Hermione, and half the other girls secluded in their rooms. It could happen. Then he imagined her with someone else. Maybe the potion only temporarily imprinted on someone. Maybe the reason he was still thinking of her was because he had touched no one else. What if some other male now had his hands on her?

The thought made the pulse pound in his head, and he could see a red haze forming in his eyes. No fumbling youth would lay a finger on her. He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. He couldn't allow that; she belonged to him now. She was his. The fact that the thought was irrational, and he knew he might not feel the same way in another day, didn't change the way he felt now.

He stood at the threshold of his door, trying to curtail the desire to rush up to her rooms and be certain she wasn't touching anyone else, knowing it would be nothing but trouble. He heard the crack of a house-elf and turned to see the small tea-towel draped body dropping off more bath towels in the cupboard under the sink. Then the answer came to him.

"House-elf," he called, a little louder than necessary.

"Yes, sir," the elf said, bowing until her nose nearly touched the floor. "What is sir needing?"

"Go to Gryffindor tower and be sure that Miss Granger is in the sixth-year girls' room. If not, I need to know if she is alone or with a boy. Do not let her know I have sent you to check on her, then return and report." It was entirely insufficient, but the best he could do if he didn't want to get canned over the little chit. He had to think clearly over the situation. If only he didn't remember the soft scent of her perfume wafting over to him in the library, the way her full lips shone softly from the clear lip gloss she had been wearing, beckoning him. He shook his head, trying to regain control.

"Yes, sir. Tilly is doing it, sir. Right away, sir." She bowed again, then disappeared with a crack.

Snape strode across the room again, then back several times before another crack was heard, announcing the return of the house-elf. "Sir, Tilly is telling you Miss Hermione is in her room studying, sir. Alone, sir. Is sir needing anything else?"

Relief galloped through his system and he shook his head. "No, Tilly. Thank you. That will be all." The house-elf Disapparated and Snape turned back to his desk. He didn't know that he would be able to focus on his corrections, which was just his luck when he was already behind. If the pull on Hermione was half as strong as on himself, he doubted she was getting much studying done.

He hissed as his scar burned, and he reached into his closet for his cloak and mask. Of course, tonight when he was nowhere near his best. Tonight would be the night he would be called. He walked down the hall to the back exit of the castle, focusing on putting the effects of the potion away in a neat compartment. The last thing he needed was for the Dark Lord to know about this.

When he apparated at the Dark Lord's side, he dropped to his knee and fought to focus on the things that would keep him alive.

*****

Hermione arrived at breakfast the next morning frazzled, with stacks of homework she had barely touched, little sleep to her credit, and frustration weeping from every pore.

A glance at the High Table showed Professor Snape had made an appearance. At least he looked a little worse for the wear, and Hermione wondered if he had as bad a time of it last night as she had. He was so strong, not exactly handsome, but so striking and powerful. She didn't realize she was staring until he looked up at her, his obsidian eyes meeting her brown ones. In them she saw a hunger equal to hers. She tried to be disgusted by her feelings, by his, but she couldn't. His interest in her only seemed to increase her need to speak with him, and she feared she wouldn't make it through the day without at least brushing her hand across his again. The compulsion was overwhelming. Yet she didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts class that day, and she didn't know how she would manage a chance to speak with him.

An owl flew down and perched at the side of her plate, dropping an envelope on her eggs and bacon before taking off to join the other owls in the owlery. Aha! A letter from Fred and George. At least it better be from them, or she was going to kill them with her bare hands. She'd skive off classes and take a ride on the Knight Bus if she must, but she was going to get some answers from them. Soon.

When she got the letter open it was, in fact, from Fred.

Dear Hermione,

Yes, it would be our special chocolates you ate. They were cut into the biscuits last night. You didn't say who your soul mate is, but congratulations on finding him!

At this point Hermione was ready to send another Howler. What were those two thinking, messing with people's lives like this?

Um, I'm pretty sure she sent the Howler because she wasn't happy, Fred. Right you are, George. Sorry you don't seem too thrilled with your love connection. Hermione. I take it then that it is some serious git...like our little brother...and not a charming chap like Neville. Sorry to tell you, but there is no known cure for the Amoriata, nothing to dampen the effect except working things out with your one true love. Having a good snog wouldn't hurt.

She was going to flay them both alive. Have a good snog with Snape! They had to be kidding. She glanced back at the Head Table and saw Snape looking at her again. Not that she wouldn't like to have a good snog with him. Her face burned with heat, and she returned her gaze to the page in her hands.

In short, your have little choice but to live with it...so take the time to enjoy it instead. Unless Snape is willing to find a cure for you. If worst came to worst, it wouldn't kill you to marry ickle Ronnikins.

Fred (and George) Weasley.

With a low growl, Hermione folded the letter to stash in her bag, though she would rather have burned it. What would be the best method, and which of the twins would she kill first? She hadn't decided when Professor Snape swooped down and grabbed the letter from her hand, rubbing his fingers across the back of her hand in the process. She felt chills from the brief contact, and it seemed to feed the longing, both satisfying it and making it grow. How was that possible?

"Writing love letters, are we? Let's see who your correspondent is?" He flipped the pages open despite indignant protests of those around them and began to read. His face grew more and more taut and angry as the letter progressed until he looked over the top of it to glare at the younger Weasleys.

"It's not their fault, sir," Hermione said quickly, not wanting to get her friends in trouble. She lost what appetite she had before and stood now, pulling her rucksack onto her shoulder. She fought every instinct to lean into the thin form of her professor. To soak in his presence and smell the musky scent of his clothes.

Professor Snape turned his malevolent eyes on her, folding the letter and tucking it away in his breast pocket. "You will meet me in my office after dinner tonight to discuss this . . . missive."

"Yes, sir." Hermione turned and hurried from the Great Hall before she gave into her desires to pull him out with her and follow George's suggestion to snog her professor.

This would be impossible.