DISCLAIMER: The Harry Potter universe and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling. No profit is being made from this story and any copyright infringement is completely unintended. Other characters created for this story are mine and should not be used in other materials or at other websites without my permission.
WARNINGS: Consensual non-graphic M/F sex; consensual non-graphic M/M sex; some strong language and violence.
PAIRINGS: Snape/Hermione, Harry/Ron, Dumbledore/?
Reflection[]
The brandy, Snape decided that evening, had been an excellent idea.
None who knew him would have recognized the disheveled man nestled before the fire in a messy pile of quilts. He was barefoot and shirtless, clad only in a pair of dark blue silk pajama bottoms he'd clumsily changed into after three rather large drinks - all downed in quick succession on an empty stomach.
His haphazardly discarded clothing was scattered all about his rooms, dropped wherever he'd happened to be standing when he removed it. On his desk sat the untouched dinner tray brought by a house elf (this time not the loquacious Dobby, Snape had noted thankfully).
Heat from the fireplace kept the brandy bottle by his head at the ideal temperature, so the rich vapors rose to fill his nostrils when he lifted it to his lips. He breathed in deeply, savoring the mixed aromas of brandy fumes and burning wood. The air moved in and out of him like warm syrup, and every motion of his skin against the soft fabric resonated gently throughout his body.
Perfect, he thought, stretching luxuriously and burrowing his face into the quilt with a huge sigh. Absolutely bloody perfect.
This was what he'd been waiting for - that golden moment when everything was in balance, and he was neither too sober nor too drunk. Now perhaps he could sink into the oblivion of sleep and stop thinking about everything. About her.
He'd spent the entire day alternately pacing and trying to work (he'd decided he needed something to do after all) as the hours crawled by until sunset, and the highly-anticipated opening of the bottle now beside him. He let his eyelids fall and pushed out a final sigh, relaxing into his makeshift bed. For the briefest of moments, he wondered how Hermione had spent her day. Studying, most likely. Oh, well. That wasn't his concern. His breathing grew slower and deeper, and at last he settled limply into the quilts, fast asleep.
"Ahem."
Snape opened his eyes in groggy annoyance to see a cloaked figure standing between him and the fire. Who the hell was waking him up? And why?
"Well," said a feminine voice. "I see you've saved me the trouble of undressing you."
Snape lifted his head a bit and frowned up at the woman, not sure he'd heard correctly. "What?"
She let the floor-length cloak slide off her shoulders, revealing that she was nude underneath. When it hit the floor, she kicked it aside and stepped over to where Snape was lying.
"Aren't you glad to see me?" she asked playfully.
He sat up quickly. "Who are you? How did you get in here?"
"I have my ways," she whispered seductively, lowering herself to kneel beside him. "Besides, does it really matter? You're the one who wanted me here in the first place."
"My god ... " Now Snape could see her face. "Miss Granger?"
"Hermione, please," she corrected, stretching out on the quilt next to him. "If we're going to be friends, we should be on a first-name basis, don't you think, Severus darling?"
He was speechless. All he could do was gape at her body - it was amazing, just as beautiful as he'd always thought it would be. Hermione arched her back, thrusting her breasts into the air teasingly.
"What are you waiting for, Severus? Don't you want me?"
"Yes," he finally managed to whisper. "Oh, god, yes ... "
Her hand came up and snaked around the back of his neck, pulling him down on top of her. The feel of her skin on his was beyond description, and Christ, her mouth was so sweet, it almost drove him mad. She writhed under him, moaning as he ran his hand down her body, over the curve of her hip -
With a gasp, Snape jerked awake. When he opened his eyes, he saw only the fire and what little of the room it illuminated. No cloak on the floor, and no naked Hermione.
"Fucking* hell!" Roughly, he rolled over onto his back, raking his hands hard though his hair and letting them flop angrily onto the quilt. After taking a moment to calm down, he sat up unsteadily and reached for the brandy. It was empty.
He set it down and flopped onto his back again, not noticing the bottle as it tipped over with a glassy clunk and rolled noisily on the stone floor. This wouldn't do at all. He needed deep, dreamless sleep, not a night filled with useless erotic fantasies.
I *knew* I should have used a bloody sleeping draught, he thought angrily - but his current state of intoxication made the use of such a potion too risky. Clearly, more brandy was called for.
He rolled his head to the side so it faced in the general direction of the drinks cupboard and concentrated as much as his alcohol-fogged brain would let him. "Accio!" he whispered, stretching out his arm. With a wooden thud, the full bottle inside butted open the cupboard door and flew across the room at him.
Slowly, slowly, that's it, he told the bottle, and watched as it hovered, then settled into his outstretched hand. Grasping it firmly, he lurched into a sitting position and pulled the stopper. This time, he decided, he would keep going until he lost consciousness. He threw the stopper into the flames and watched it catch fire, then upended the bottle and took a huge swig, coughing a little as he lowered it and swallowed the mouthful of burning liquid.
As it had done so often of late, his mind cast itself back, calling up images and emotions he rarely allowed to surface. He watched yet again as Hermione made her way up the steps to be Sorted, her nervous eyes lingering on him briefly, then flicking away. Since that day, he could never think of her without also thinking of light - always light. They were one and the same, it seemed to him. Especially now.
Over the years, she'd riveted his attention with her sparkling eyes, her eager intelligence and skill, her passion for all things magical. Like the facets of a jewel, new aspects of her surfaced and caught the light, sending tiny brilliant rays to pierce his heart. No one, least of all Hermione herself, would have guessed that she was far and away his Favorite from the first time he laid eyes on her.
But for many reasons, he could never let it show, nor allow himself to praise or coddle her. As hard as she worked, he drove her harder, secretly pleased as time and again she rose to the challenge. Outwardly, his manner towards her grew ever more harsh and dismissive, at times even cruel. He sneered in her face while his heart wept at the distress he caused her. So many times he'd opened his mouth to say, "Well done, Miss Granger," - wanting just once to see her look at him without fear - and instead watched her wounded eyes as he tossed out yet another scathing remark.
Not until the middle of her fourth year had his feelings begun to change, and so subtly that he was caught completely off his guard. One day, when she raised her hand to answer a question, he'd found himself mesmerized by her rosy lips, wondering how they would feel pressed to his own.
"Miss Granger!" he barked loudly, making her jump. "Kindly lower your hand. Contrary to what you may think, you are not the *only* student in this class with something to say!" He'd hated himself for the hurt look on her face as she put her hand down and sagged back into her desk.
But he had to do it, to drive away the sudden overpowering urge to walk over to her and trail his fingertips down that soft, soft face. He'd made himself concentrate instead on the Malfoy twit, whom everyone assumed was his *real* Favorite. Brilliant and greedy and cold as his powerful father, the boy practically purred like a cat under Snape's attentions. In truth, the only attentions Snape wished to give him were a series of smart slaps to his smirking face, followed by a solid kick to his cowardly little arse.
On that day, Snape's inner struggle had begun in earnest. As Hermione's womanly charms increased, so did the restlessness of his nights, filled with forbidden images as he tossed in his bed or endlessly paced his rooms. More than once he'd had to resort to potent sleeping draughts.
Summer holidays left him torn between relief and aching emptiness. It was then he realized how badly the days dragged without at least one glimpse of her face. He took most meals alone in his quarters, filling his time with potion-brewing and lesson plans for the coming school year.
Nights often found him walking the grounds aimlessly, studying the stars and calculating the number of days until he'd see her again. And of course, there was no shortage of evenings where he sat with a glass of wine or brandy, mentally berating himself for even harboring such feelings.
Still, his spirits lifted and his heart fluttered every start of term as he waited anxiously for his first glimpse of her, knowing she would be even more beautiful than when she left. He looked forward to meals in the main hall, during which he was free to stare openly at the Gryffindor table as much as he liked. It worked in his favor that Harry Potter - who conveniently enough was always seated near Hermione - believed *he* was the target of Snape's apparent glowering.
This term - Hermione's sixth - had for some reason been the most difficult so far for Snape. His emotions seemed to have a mind of their own, running amuck when he most needed to keep his wits about him. Eventually, his long-fought battle had driven him to that pivotal night alone in his rooms with two small bottles, each of which offered its own solution to his problems.
Pulling himself with some effort back to the present, Snape gazed blurrily at the considerably larger bottle now in his hand. So lost had he been in his thoughts that he'd downed half the brandy without even noticing. And he wasn't even close to passing out yet. He knew he'd have one hell of a hangover the next day, but if it bought him a night of blissful nothingness, then so be it.
Suddenly, he remembered the fresh batch of blue potion he'd made to replace the one he'd broken. His brandy-sodden mind wrestled with the same questions:
Why it that bottle still there? Why have I never drunk the potion?
And what if he had? What would have happened when she sent that glorious flood of light into him? Would he have felt nothing?
Ah, but Severus, old boy, he reminded himself as he took another swig, You *know* better. Don't bother trying to fool yourself.
Again he replayed the moment when the forbidden book from Hermione's bag had fallen open to the following text, which even in his drunken state was burned into his brain:
"The Lumos Cardia is one of the few Ethereal incantations for which there is no known counterspell. However, it is rarely used, as it can be successfully performed only under certain conditions. The caster of this spell must, without exception, be pure of heart and intention, and capable of unconditional love and self-sacrifice. The Lumos Cardia cannot be performed with negative intent; any attempt to do so will have no effect."
"Since this spell involves the projection of one's own life force, recovery time is usually required, the length of which depends upon the strength and skill of the caster. Performed in turn upon the weakened caster by a more powerful person who meets the above requirements, it restores the depleted life force, and recovery is immediate. However, strength is not an issue if the healer is the caster's own Geminus, as he or she will experience no weakness as a result of the healing process."
The text continued, detailing the physical and mental effects experienced by both caster and target. But all that was beside the point. Certain hard facts stared him in the face, impossible as they seemed:
First, Hermione Granger, of all people, had successfully cast the Lumos Cardia on his behalf.
Second, he himself had successfully performed it in the hospital wing to heal her.
Third, and most important of all - he had experienced no weakness or drain of energy in doing so.
"Geminus," he whispered slurrily, staring into the fireplace. "My Geminus."
Even hearing the words spoken aloud made them no less fantastic. How often did something like this happen, and to the likes of Severus Snape, no less? Trying to reason out how one bearing the Dark Mark could possibly meet the stringent requirements of this spell was currently beyond his abilities. It was just as well, he decided. Thinking was exactly what he was trying *not* to do right now.
Besides, he had unfinished business with a certain brandy bottle.
Several floors above Snape's dungeon quarters, Hermione Granger lay in darkness with the bed curtains pulled tightly shut. It was pure hell, being stuck in her dormitory all day. Studying was nearly impossible with the crazy mix of emotions rushing around inside her. Mostly she'd stayed in bed, more to avoid her roommates' questions than anything else.
The book bag she'd left in Snape's office had been sent up that morning. Naturally, the first thing she'd thought of was her stealthily-conjured copy of Advanced Ethereal Defenses for the Quaternary Post-Graduate Levels. A few handfuls of dust and a quick duplication spell had put the forbidden information in her possession for three days, after which her copy was supposed to disintegrate.
From the look of things, it had - at the very bottom of her bag was the dust, along with the pieces of parchment she'd used as bookmarks. Neither Snape nor Dumbledore had said anything about it, and that meant they hadn't found the book. Or if they had, they'd decided not to pursue it.
Although relieved, she was also puzzled by their decision not to punish her for using the highly advanced Lumos Cardia, let alone question how she'd learned it. And then there was the matter of how she'd recovered so quickly. Snape was right in saying she could have been killed - so how was it she was up and about the next morning, none the worse for wear? Dobby had said that Snape "made her well" - what exactly had he done?
Hermione rolled onto her back and stared up into the darkness of the canopy that overhung her bed. This day had created many more questions than it had answered, that much was certain. With a sudden burst of energy, she sat up and shoved aside the bed curtains - she had an idea where some of those answers might be found. Her trunk was at the foot of her bed, and inside at the very bottom was a packet of parchment containing every spell she'd managed to copy from Advanced Ethereal Defenses.
Hermione worked quickly, looking around in the semi-darkness to make sure she was alone. When her fingers touched the packet hidden underneath her neatly-folded clothing, she drew it out and shut the trunk, once again securing herself within the dark confines of her bedstead. Pulling her wand out from under her pillow, she made a light just bright enough to see by and opened the crackling parchment, paging carefully through it until she came to her notes on the Lumos Cardia. She lowered the pages to her lap after reading them over a few times and let her vision blur as she lost herself in thought.
This can't be right. She shook her head slowly in disbelief. Snape couldn't stand the sight of her. In fact, he treated her with the utmost contempt at every opportunity. But how else could all this have happened? There's only one way he could have healed me - and that means there's no way he could possibly hate me. In fact, he'd have to -
Hermione's hand flew to her mouth as she gasped in sudden realization.
He loves me? Her surprised brain blurted. He loves *me*?
With a start, Hermione realized that her eyes hurt, and she was blinking back tears of pain. The light on the end of her wand had grown so bright she couldn't see anything else, and her knuckles were white with the force of her grip. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, relaxing her fingers. Footsteps sounding on the stairs told her that several girls were on their way up, and there was no time to get to her trunk. She'd have to do it tomorrow, after everyone else had left the dormitory for breakfast.
"Nox," she whispered, extinguishing her wand. In the dark, she folded and put away the parchment packet by feel, hiding it under her pillow along with her wand as her roommates trooped in. None of them approached her bed - the closed curtains made it clear she was either asleep or wished to be left alone. She snuggled down into her pillow and pulled the covers tightly around her as the other girls bustled about, laughing and talking as they got ready for bed.
Long after they were quiet and all the lamps were out, she lay awake, her mind turning over the events of the past two days. It was all too confusing - she couldn't decide what to think about Severus Snape. He made her life miserable, then turned around and saved it; showed uncharacteristic kindness in the hospital wing, then turned back into an arse the minute he knew she was alright.
Could a man like that really be in *love* with me? she wondered. Could he ever be in love with *anyone*? A sudden frightening thought jolted her heart, making it beat faster. He had to know all the things she'd just read in her notes. That meant he had to have figured out by now that she was in love with him. And that meant Dumbledore had to know as well.
Oh, god ... she moaned in miserable silence, pulling the covers over her head. They must think I'm such a fool. How can I ever face them again?
Tomorrow being Sunday, she had another full day to agonize over it. Her entire Saturday had been spent in exactly that manner - she hadn't slept, and had barely touched the food trays brought up to her by house elves. But even upset as she was, in less than ten minutes Hermione Granger was sound asleep.
Far below her in the dungeons, Severus Snape lowered his near-empty brandy bottle for the last time and toppled gratefully into unconsciousness.