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/?
Intent[]
Tuesday was one of the days on which Professor Snape presided over two Potions classes. On *this* particular Tuesday, both seemed to drag by at roughly the pace of a frozen snail. Though he appeared intimidating as ever, his mind was caught up in both dread and anticipation of Hermione's evening Defense lesson. He couldn't guess how she might behave after his rough treatment of her the night before.
And then there was his late-morning meeting with Dumbledore. Eager to hear the results of Hermione's first lesson, he'd insisted on being told everything. Snape described what he had done, taking care to omit what happened after he lowered Hermione from the wall. If the Headmaster sensed this, he made no mention of it - but then, one could never tell about such things when it came to Albus Dumbledore. At any rate, he hadn't pressed the matter. When Snape's narrative ended, Dumbledore sat for a long while in his chair, staring into the fireplace.
"Miss Granger's potential is greater than you know," he finally said. "However, it remains untapped, and it falls to you to remedy that situation as quickly as possible. You spoke truly when you told her that Voldemort will soon seek her out. I sense that our time grows short."
"Then how should I proceed?"
Dumbledore spread his hands with a sad little smile. "Unfortunately, I cannot guide you in any specific direction. That is for you to determine."
Snape raised a puzzled eyebrow and waited.
The Headmaster sighed and settled further back into his chair. "Will you indulge me, Severus, and accept a bit of unsolicited fatherly advice?"
Snape cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. "Your advice is always welcome, Headmaster."
Dumbledore thought for a bit before continuing. "I need not remind you, Severus, that a man faces many battles in his lifetime. You have faced more than most, and there are more still to come. Many more."
Snape pursed his lips and looked down as Dumbledore went on.
"Often such times call upon aspects of one's character that, until that crucial moment, are unknown even to oneself."
Snape's hands tightened on the arms of his chair at the memory of healing Hermione in the hospital wing; of speaking the words and feeling for the first time his own essence flow into another person.
"Furthermore - and hear me out, Severus, for this will fall strangely upon ears such as yours - " Dumbledore sat forward and looked intently at him, "in every battle, there must be a victor. But there are times when victory is possible only through surrender."
Snape tilted his head to the side and frowned. What the hell was *that* supposed to mean? Surely the Headmaster was not advising him to simply give himself up to Voldemort.
"I don't understand."
Despite his serious expression, Dumbledore's eyes shone with affection.
"You will, dear boy. You will."
"Define for me the term 'incantation'".
It was now Tuesday evening. Snape and Hermione stood once again in the deep dungeon room he'd chosen for their secret lessons in Advanced Defense. He'd begun abruptly this time, with no preliminaries and no mention of what had taken place the night before.
Truth be told, his mind was not fully on the proceedings at hand - it still worried at Dumbledore's mysterious words (which the Headmaster had left unexplained), turning them over and around in a vain attempt to get some kind of grip on them.
For her part, Hermione recalled nothing after nodding off as she hung on the wall. Her last clear memory was of an unruffled Snape seated comfortably before her in a conjured chair. She'd awakened in the morning feeling amazingly well rested - energized, even, despite the length and frustration of the previous night's lesson. She hadn't dared to bring it up, in case it set him off again, and she found herself stuck to something more unpleasant than a cold wall.
She frowned, a bit confused by his current request - of course, she knew the correct textbook answer. He *knew* she knew it. But why -
"Come now, Miss Granger." Snape clasped his hands behind his back and tilted his head imperiously until he looked down his nose at her. "We don't have all night. The definition, if you please." He started pacing slowly back and forth, his eyes trained on her face as he awaited her answer.
"An incantation," Hermione began in her best classroom voice, "is the ritual recitation of verbal charms or spells with the intent of producing a magical effect."
"Correct," said Snape, coming to a stop before her. "And what is the key word *in* that definition?"
She frowned again and shook her head. What the hell was he getting at? The corner of Snape's mouth twitched with what looked like irritation, and Hermione suddenly found herself once again flattened against the wall.
"Tell me, Miss Granger," he continued as though nothing had happened. "What have I just done?"
Not knowing what else to do, she answered literally. "You've stuck me to the wall again." She barely managed to keep the annoyance out of her voice.
He paced a bit more, then turned to face her. "Now think, Miss Granger. What was missing?"
A heavy vase to the side of your head? she thought indignantly. "I don't know." Her tone was a bit more biting now. She didn't see the point of all this ridiculous hanging about on walls.
"Very well, then." Snape considered her for a moment before going on. "The definition again, please."
"The ritual recitation of verbal spells or charms with the intent of producing a magical effect."
"And once more - the key word in that sentence?"
Hermione looked up at the ceiling. "I don't know."
"Do pay attention, Miss Granger!" he barked, crossing his arms in front of him. His mouth was a tight, impatient line. "The definition ... again."
Hermione swallowed and cleared her throat, her eyes flicking nervously over Snape's face. "The ritual recitation of verbal charms or spells - "
"Have you," he cut in, "at any time since we entered this room tonight heard me speak a single spell?"
"No, sir," she answered slowly, after a moment's thought.
"Yet you find yourself once again immobilized against the wall. By what means did I cause this to happen?"
Now Hermione was *really* confused. She opened her mouth to speak, but could think of no answer she hadn't already given.
"Your renowned intellect seems to have taken a holiday," he murmured, narrowing his eyes. He studied her intently for a few seconds. "Perhaps this will help - repeat to me the *second* half of the definition."
"Uh ..." Hermione began hesitantly, trying to remember exactly where he'd cut her off last time. "The ... uh, with the intent of producing a magical effect?"
"Now," said Snape, his tone slightly sarcastic, "using your formidable powers of deduction, tell me how I managed to put you on that wall."
Hermione's eyes moved rapidly back and forth, unseeing, as she focused inward and sorted through her brain for the right answer. She could almost see it, almost ... it was so close. Again and again she ran through the definition, examining each word. Then it hit her. Her eyes widened, alight with realization.
"Intent," she whispered. "You never spoke a spell ... but the *intent* was still there."
Snape's eyebrows went up as he gave a small, slow nod of acknowledgement. "There may yet be hope for you." With a dramatic sweep of his robes, he turned and strode abruptly to the large, padded chair he'd conjured the night before. Once again, he settled in to watch her as she hung motionless against the chilly stone.
"The lesson is concluded," he said, steepling his fingers before him. "You may come down."
Oh, no - not *this* again ...
Clearly, there was nothing to be gained by arguing or pleading - one quick attempt to speak told her that Snape had again stricken her dumb. It went without saying that, just like last night, she would stay right where she was until she found a way down on her own.
Or until I fall asleep and bore him to death, she thought. I don't have *time* for this. I have two reports to write, and a test to study for.
Snape had to know that this little game of his was causing her to fall behind in her work. How could he *not* know?
I was wrong about him. How could he *possibly* care about me? This isn't how you treat someone you love.
She glared down at him, her irritation turning to anger. How smug he was, the bastard, sitting there still as stone, just staring at her. He was probably enjoying every minute of this. Why, she'd like nothing better than to conjure that bloody chair right out from under him.
What a treat it would be, watching his pompous wizard's arse connect with the floor. Hermione closed her eyes and pictured it in detail, almost laughing at the sight. A sudden gasp from Snape's direction caught her attention, and her eyes flew open.
The chair was gone.
From his new seat on the floor, Snape stared up at her in wordless amazement. Hermione's expression mirrored his own.
Did *I* do that?
"Well done, Miss Granger." With great dignity, Snape got up and straightened his robes. "But it seems my lack of comfortable seating has not changed your situation. I suggest you try again." The chair reappeared behind him, and he resumed his former position in it.
Oh, bloody hell, she thought, closing her eyes again. I'll be on this fucking wall forever. I might as well have all my owls sent here from now on.
"Tell me," said Snape, "How exactly did you make my chair disappear? You may speak."
"Ahem." Hermione cleared her throat, testing her voice. "I ... I thought about it, and it happened."
Snape closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. "That much is *obvious*, Miss Granger. Now, in full detail, please - what did you do?"
Hermione felt her face go red. How would he punish her for admitting that she was angry with him? Even worse, for acting on it, however unintentionally? She swallowed hard and opened her mouth to speak. There was no choice but to obey him - otherwise, she could count on another evening of useless dangling while her homework sat untouched.
"Well ..." she began hesitantly, scanning his face for any sign of disapproval. "I, uh ... " Hermione stopped to clear her throat nervously.
Snape heaved another great sigh. At this rate, they'd be here until bloody morning. Obviously, she was afraid she'd be disciplined for what she'd done; putting her at ease was the only way to speed things along.
"I assure you, Miss Granger," he said, trying very hard to sound more patient, "you will not be punished for anything you do in this room, nor will your house be penalized in any way. What happens here is strictly between the two of us. It has no connection whatsoever to any other school-related activity. Is that understood?"
Forgetting she was immobilized, Hermione tried unsuccessfully to nod. "Yes, sir," she finally whispered, not quite believing him.
"As you are well aware, time is an issue here," he continued. "It is therefore essential that you speak freely during our lessons. Again, you will not risk punishment by doing so, as I have clearly requested it. I will continue, as I always have done, to speak bluntly as well." Snape rose elegantly from his chair and moved to stand before her suspended figure. "That being said, you will now answer my question." He clasped his hands behind his back and waited.
Hermione cleared her throat again before replying. "I was angry," she said simply. "I was angry that you put me back on the wall. I didn't see the point of it."
Snape's face showed no change, so she went on.
"I felt you were ... mocking me."
"I *was* mocking you. That was *precisely* the point." Hermione's mouth formed the word, What???, but Snape cut her off before she could voice it. "You were angry with me."
"Yes," she answered quietly.
"You were angry - and then?" He made a prompting gesture with one hand.
"I, uh - " In spite of his assurances, Hermione still swallowed nervously. "I wanted to - get you back, I guess."
Snape raised an eyebrow in amusement. "You ... *guess?*"
It was Hermione's turn to sigh deeply. "Alright, then." Her voice had a definite edge now. "I wanted to get back at you for treating me this way. I thought it was stupid and unfair. I wanted to humiliate you, teach you a lesson. Is *that* what you want to hear?"
He stared hard at her before answering. "What I want to hear, Miss Granger, is how you managed to do what you did."
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I just - *pictured* it happening, and then it *happened*."
Snape nodded slightly and regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Let us review, and perhaps bring things into perspective, shall we?" Turning on his heel, he paced slowly as he spoke.
"You were angered by my treatment of you. You wanted very much to punish me for it. You pictured in detail the manner of that punishment. You were unable to speak, gesture or use a wand." He stopped in front of her, scrutinizing her face. "Now - combining these various elements, what would be your conclusion?"
Once again her vision turned inward, her eyes doing their habitual back-and-forth motion as her mind calculated. After a moment, she looked back up at Snape, apparently ready to speak - but she stopped herself.
What if I give the wrong answer again? she thought. What if I just can't see what he's trying to *make* me see? "Well?" Snape tilted his head and waited.
Hermione licked her lips nervously and plunged in - what was there to lose? "You purposely made me angry, so my intent would have strong emotion behind it, and make me *want* to do something." She paused and waited for him to say something, but he simply gestured for her to go on. "So ... even though I didn't use a spell, my intent was enough to make it happen."
Snape stood quiet and unmoving for what seemed an eternity. Finally, he gave an almost imperceptible nod, and Hermione could have sworn she saw the beginnings of a smile, just barely tugging at the corners of his mouth.
"Bravo, Miss Granger," he said, almost under his breath. "You've taken your first step." Though he tried, he couldn't disguise the touch of pride in his voice, and Hermione's heart swelled at the sound of it. It was then that she took a really good look at him. He stood at a slight angle to her in the torchlight, dark eyes glittering, lips curved in that almost-smile. The herbal scent she recalled from her trip to the infirmary was there - just a whisper - and one small tendril of black hair was out of place, resting on the pale skin just over his cheekbone. The effect was devastating.
Her anger forgotten, Hermione's heart pounded as she imagined standing before him and reaching out to tenderly brush that stray tendril off his face, perhaps even press her lips to his ...
And suddenly, she was there, rocking backwards on her heels as she fought to stay upright. Instinctively, she grabbed at the front of Snape's robes to steady herself. His hands whipped out to grip her shoulders, and they stood face to face, mere inches apart as they gaped at each other in total amazement for the second time that night.
Snape felt the tingling begin as soon as he touched her, so strong this time it made his hands feel as though they were vibrating. Hermione was so close, he could have kissed her without much effort. In truth, it was taking more of an effort *not* to. The shock of finding her in his arms was almost too much to bear. Her eyes, big with surprise, hovered before him like two dark jewels in the firelight, and his chest buzzed with energy in the spots where her palms rested now that she'd let go of his robes.
I have to get away from her, he thought desperately. Now, before I do something foolish.
He forced himself to concentrate, making the dungeon walls fade and the interior of his office reappear around them. When they had safely Apparated, he released Hermione roughly, shoving her away and stepping backwards so quickly he had to grab the corner of his desk to keep from losing his balance.
"Well done. Professor Dumbledore will be most pleased," he said somewhat breathlessly, not meeting her eyes. "You may go." His hand moved in a distracted gesture of dismissal.
Hermione stood there dumbly, stunned by what had just happened. Snape seemed to be in some kind of distress or pain, and her concerned eyes moved up and down his trembling figure, thinking to discover the source of his discomfort. They stopped just below his waist, lingering there for a moment before Hermione gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth in sudden understanding of what she was seeing. She forced her eyes back up to Snape's face and noted gratefully that he was too preoccupied to notice her staring.
"Thank you," she gulped, taking her hand down. "Tomorrow night, then ... right ... see you then ... " she babbled weakly, backing towards the door and blushing. "Thank you ... good night ... " And she was out the door, slamming it behind her and taking off at a half-run to her room.
Inside, Snape gripped the edge of his desk and made his way to the chair, letting himself drop limply into it. With a tiny gesture, he locked his office door, then bent down to rest his forehead on the desktop, lacing his fingers together tightly over the back of his head.
This was impossible. He couldn't do it anymore. He'd come within a hair's breadth of giving in, and that was simply unacceptable. He grabbed two handfuls of hair and gripped them tightly, giving a sharp tug - he hoped the pain would help bring him around a bit. True, he reasoned, he hadn't actually *done* anything. But what if he *had* kissed her? Would he have stopped himself from going further? Would he have been able to? Clearly, he was no longer the right person for this assignment - embarrassing as it might be, Dumbledore had to be told.
In the morning. He'll be wanting my report on Hermione's lesson. I'll tell him then.
There it was - the decision was made. With a sigh of relief, Snape sat up and leaned back in his chair to look around his office before Disapparating to his quarters. Certain ... uncomfortable matters required his immediate attention if he expected to get any sleep tonight.
In her closed and darkened bedstead (to which she'd rushed without even undressing), Hermione lay curled on her side with the covers tucked securely around her. Almost as an afterthought, she kicked off her shoes and shoved them with her feet to the edge of the mattress, letting them slide to the floor from underneath the blankets.
Her head was still spinning with the events of those few seconds between coming down from the dungeon wall and rushing out of Snape's office. She couldn't stop thinking about Snape's odd behavior after they'd Apparated, the way he'd shoved her away from him, and what she'd seen afterwards. Although still a virgin, Hermione was old enough and educated enough to know what it meant when the front of a man's trousers looked that way.
But that, in and of itself, was not what shocked her - it was the fact that the trousers in question belonged to Severus Snape, and that she herself was the cause of his ... condition. Impossible as it seemed, after years of fruitless fantasizing, it was quite literally staring her in the face - he *wanted* her. Add to that everything that had happened between them over the weekend, and it was almost enough to drive her mad.
Hermione flopped over onto her back, then her other side, trying to get comfortable. It was bad enough, she thought, having to deal with her own unrequited desires. Now there were *his* to think about as well. And that maddening vibration, electric in its intensity, when she'd touched Snape in the dungeon. She'd barely managed to keep herself from kissing him.
What would he have done? she wondered, shifting her position again. Would I be in his bed right now if I hadn't stopped myself?
She closed her eyes and shuddered deliciously at the thought of undressing in front of him, letting him touch her bare skin ... and what would that tingling feel like without clothing in the way? Come to think of it, she could do with less clothing right now - she was practically burning up in her bed.
With great caution, Hermione rolled over and parted the bed curtains. Seeing no one else about, she leapt up quickly and changed her school clothes for a short, light gown, then lay down on top of the covers to cool off a bit and get some sleep. It was no good - all she could think about was the Potions Master, and the things she wanted to do with him.
Homework, she thought suddenly, sitting up. I have homework. I can do that, and then study for my test. *That'll* take my mind off him.
And it did - for a while, at least. She concentrated well enough on the written reports, but when it came to studying, she found herself unable to stay focused. At last, she gave up and closed her book with an exasperated sigh. There was nothing for it but to lie there with her heated thoughts and wait for sleep to take her.
What's he doing right now? she thought. Is he on fire like this too?
Had she seen what was happening that very moment in *his* bed, she would have had her answer. And she would have been right.