This story is a sequel to Tonight You're Mine Completely (Part 2).
Hermione, exhausted and emotionally drained by the evening’s activities, allowed her robes to puddle by the bedside. Lethargically, she carried out her bedtime rituals. Her aching limbs protested when she crawled onto her four-poster bed. Staring out the long, arched windows into the darkness, she fretted over her embarrassing behaviour.
“Aww,” moaned Hermione, smacking her hand lightly against her forehead. “I did everything wrong. I made a dog’s breakfast out of helping Professor Snape.”
’If I hadn’t gone to that stupid supper, I would not have been put in the position of having to escape McLaggen,’ she thought irritably, remembering the out of control feeling she had experienced while talking with Melinda Bobbin. ’I should have made better choices,’ she admonished herself. ’It never once occurred to me that the punch might be spiked with elf wine.’
She closed her eyes and willed herself to fall asleep. Snippets of conversation forced their way into her mind and made her relive the inappropriate moments shared with Professor Snape. She felt her face flush at the thought he could have taken her comments the wrong way. ’What were you planning on doing tonight?’ Why had she not let it go at that? No. She continued to make a fool of herself. ’I could help you move the boxes.’
Hermione unconsciously wiped her hand on the coverlet at the memory of the phallic-shaped urinal. ’What made him whirl around at that precise instant and descend on me like a raving lunatic? He must have eyes in the back of his head.’
The replay of the evening continued to flash through her mind. She knew she should have mentioned to the professor the first time she saw images of him and Lily, but she did not know how to approach the subject without making him feel uncomfortable and not humiliate her own self in the process.
“Was I dreaming when I saw a mysterious, green glow surround the professor?” Hermione whispered softly, not wanting to awaken her dormitory mates.
“You were not dreaming, girl child,” replied a soft, feminine voice. “Your destinies intertwined before your birth, and the Fates have finally brought you together to reunite the Houses.”
Hermione started at the sound of the unfamiliar, disembodied voice coming from the vicinity of the foot of her bed, and she instinctively pulled the coverlet over herself.
“Please, if it is so important for me to understand, tell me what you know about Professor Snape and Lily,” she pleaded.
Hermione’s breathing quickened; the rapid pounding in her chest echoed loudly in her ears as she waited an interminable amount of time for the ghostly denizen to manifest itself. Hoping the spirit would satisfy her curiosity with an answer, she strained to hear, but the only response was a tinkling laugh, sounding in the distance.
Eventually, she turned over onto her tummy, and after what seemed like hours, she fell into a restless sleep punctuated with flying potion bottles and chamber pots.
She awoke suddenly to the feeling of walking across a stone floor.
In her half-awake state, the logical part of her brain reasoned that, because she was experiencing this sensation, she was out of bed and sleepwalking. Immediately, the right side of her brain took umbrage and argued that although there had been a sensation of movement, she was indeed in bed. It was not possible she was walking.
She felt a slight tug at her temple and groggily raised her hand to investigate.
’Perhaps I have fallen and bumped my head,’ she thought, as her fingers sifted gingerly through her unruly curls, probing the side of her head at the hairline. It was the oddest thing. She could not feel her fingers touching herself.
Before the intuitive side could interject, Hermione noticed a silvery spider web dangling from an ebony wand - a wand with intricate detailing. Her eyes travelled the length of the wand upwards to long, slender fingers and a pale hand, which disappeared into the sleeve of a teacher’s robes.
Sucking in her breath, she watched as the wand tip dangled over the lip of a large, decorative bowl. Curiosity got the better of her, and she leaned forwards to get a closer look. Peering over the rim of the basin, into the murky liquid, she saw a hazy, unidentifiable swirling essence.
She plunged headfirst into the bowl and landed in a dimly lit classroom with a stone floor. A girl, her nose in a book, perched on a high stool, caught Hermione’s attention.
As the wispy image began taking on a solid form, the Potions classroom slowly materialised. When a cauldron zoomed around the room, Hermione realized she was watching her memory self practice the Accio spell and smiled with pride at her achievement.
Suddenly, the smile vanished from her face as Professor Snape, a dark look on his countenance, bolted into the picture brandishing his wand. The flying cauldron disappeared in an instant as he shouted, “What ARE you doing, Miss Granger?”
Furrowing her brow, Hermione puzzled over the sequence of events unfolding in front of her eyes. She deduced this was a memory that Professor Snape had placed in a Pensieve. However, she did not remember the evening of detention ending that way. She tried to recall how the evening had ended, but the memory of fifth year was diminished. Being Snape’s assistant had forced her into a level of maturity far exceeding that of her peers.
All the evenings she had spent in the dungeons were a blur to her now. Her mind was a total blank. The only part she remembered was receiving a detention. She could not recall any of the details.
‘Oh well. It probably was not that exciting anyway,’ she decided.
She focused her attention on Snape’s memory and was surprised to see her memory self and the professor having an intense conversation.
“...You said yourself, when you took Professor Lupin’s class, that we were behind in the subject. And....”
“Miss Granger, the hour grows late. Would you kindly make your point, so that we may both retire for the evening,” snapped the professor.
“To pass our O.W.L. exam, we need someone who can teach us to use defensive spells. You are a member of the Order...I’m asking as a friend...to a friend....”
Hermione shook her head in disbelief. She had entertained the thought of asking the professor, but she had instantly crossed it off her mental list. Now, here was Snape’s memory depicting she had had an absurd conversation with him on an extremely personal level.
’I am going to sort this later,’ she resolved, turning her attention back to the image.
“You have a lot of nerve, Miss Granger, throwing Lupin in my face. How dare you compare me to Lupin! That manoeuvre will not work with me! Is that what you are trying to do — manoeuvre me into doing your bidding?”
Hermione was relieved to see that she at least had the decency to look apologetic, but the glare Snape was giving her indicated he had taken no note of her contrition.
“Because of my affiliation with The Order, I am forced to tolerate the company of Lupin and Black. Outside of the Order, I do not appreciate references comparing either of them to me. NOR DO I APPRECIATE BEING MANIPULATED. HAVE I MADE MYSELF CLEAR ON THAT SUBJECT? DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME, GRANGER?”
His eyes were glinting, and there was a crazed look on his face as he raised his wand. It frightened her now, looking at this scene, just as much as it had that night at the Shrieking Shack.
Hermione flinched at hearing the verbal lashing. Simultaneously, she watched her memory self flinch and reach for her wand pocket.
A bottle teetered and fell upside-down.
Something tugged on her whole body. Caught up in watching the dramatic spectacle, she ignored the feeling, hypnotised by what she was witnessing.
His angry demeanour seemed to dissipate as his shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure what I could do.” His face was ashen. She saw the haunted look in his eyes before he closed them, covering his face with his trembling hands. His wand clattered to the stone floor of the classroom, echoing hollowly.
She watched her memory self point her wand at the bottle.
Thoroughly confused at hearing her memory self utter a command of which she had no knowledge, she watched in amazement as the bottle righted itself.
”Accio Professor Snape’s wand.”
The professor’s wand flew into her hand. Now, she was certain someone had altered this memory.
Hermione could not make head nor tail of what she was seeing.
She realised she must have missed something crucial because what she was seeing now made even less sense to her than the earlier argument.
She shivered visibly. ’What have I done?’ she asked herself. ’I thought it was only a dream, but maybe.... Dear, Merlin!’
Captivated, she looked on as Professor Snape brought his arms around his young student and drew her to him, hugging her tightly.
’This is weird to watch. It reminds me of when Harry, Ron, and I used the Time-Turner to rescue Buckbeak.’
Hermione gasped audibly when she saw her memory self entwine her arms around the professor’s waist and look up at him with a smiling, expectant look on her face. She had a full view of the professor, and the burning desire she saw reflected in his dark eyes caused a lump in her throat.
“Oh,” breathed Hermione. “Professor Snape,” she said, softly, “you look...like...like when you were...oh, my...those images I saw last year...when you were holding...Lily....” Hermione felt her airway passages tighten and her legs tremble. “Oh, Professor Snape...what is happening?”
How could she return to his classroom after seeing that?
’It is only an embrace of reconciliation,’ argued a little voice in her head. ’You have been going to Potions class for a year. Has Professor Snape indicated he considers you anything other than a pain in his arse? You, my dear, are jumping to conclusions. You must start thinking like an adult instead of a hormonally charged adolescent.’
Just as she was about to agree with the logical voice inside her head, she watched her memory self’s hands slide languorously down Professor Snape’s back. She felt her cheeks grow hot as she watched the slow, deliberate movements.
Before she buried her face in her hands to block the embarrassing scene, she caught a brief glimpse of the professor’s reaction to the witch’s lustful attentions. Eyes closed, head tilted slightly, he lowered his arms to grasp her even closer.
“Dear, Merlin! Surely, it can’t get any worse than this,” she exclaimed, peering between her fingers.
She watched as the professor moved her unruly hair aside...
“I don’t want to....”
Thankfully, the tug she had ignored earlier became more insistent, and she felt herself yanked backwards.
Hermione landed with a hard thump and found she was staring down at the hem of a wizard’s robes. She surreptitiously glanced around and saw that she was in a clearing surrounded by Death Eaters.
“Sev-erusss, my faithful ssservant, give me your report on the young witch,” lisped an eerily familiar voice.
“My Lord, I followed your strategy for disciplining her,” replied a reverent, silky voice.
Upon hearing the rich, velvety tones, Hermione felt a shiver run the entire length of her body. She bit back a gasp.
“The young witch is well-known for disss-obeying rules. What progressss have you made? I want to sssee it.”
“Yes, my Lord. Last night she came to my laboratory. I gave her a series of instructions, and her reactions demonstrated that her mind can be easily manipulated,” responded the silky voice.
Hermione felt the sound resonate throughout her core at the same time she felt a cold, slimy feeling cut through her midsection. Stiffening with trepidation, her hands clenching the bed sheets, she tried to subdue the trembling in her limbs. She forced herself to relax and not hyperventilate. On tenterhooks, lest he detect her presence, she pressed herself hard against the headboard, trying to make herself as little as possible. She knew very well what was going to happen, and her stomach was already churning in anticipation.
She was not ready. Dumbledore had neglected to explain this gift could forcibly awaken her, with no notice, from a deep sleep. In the experiment with Professor Snape at the Three Broomsticks, she had known what to expect - this was different. Her nose wrinkled in revulsion as the slippery sensation slid through her gut, and bile welled up in her throat.
Hermione, her eyes screwed shut, recognized the small, dimly lit room immediately. She watched her memory self hoist the cartons and obediently follow the billowing wizard through the doorway into a small, dark room. As the events of that evening played out before her, she relived the humiliation of being spoken to as if she were a first-year.
She watched the hazy image and saw her memory self bend low and yank open the cupboard door. Only now, she had a different view. Whereas before she saw only the inside of the cupboard, this time she had a broader view of the room and realized she was seeing the scene from Professor Snape’s perspective.
“Is that what my bum looks like from behind?” she asked aloud, then quickly clamped her hand over her mouth.
She watched the brownish water flow as Professor Snape gave the pump handle a furious final pump. There was a sneer on his face as he asked, “You do know how to use a broom, do you not, or do I have to demonstrate that, as well?”
“Yes - sir. I know how to use a broom."
A wispy scene floated into view. When Hermione saw the barely controlled rage on the professor’s face, she gasped audibly.
“What I should do is deduct one hundred points from Gryffindor for your insubordination by defying my request not to use magic in this room.”
She watched her memory self, eyes wide in disbelief, shake her head and say, “I didn’t use magic, sir.”
“The force I was subjected to was a result of the residual magic in this room being ignited by a pristine spark of magic, Miss Granger. I know you can do wandless and non-verbal magic. Since you and I are the only two people in this room, it stands to reason that it was you.”
She watched her memory self stare back at the professor in amazement, mouth open, and confused.
“That will be all for tonight; you are dismissed. You may return tomorrow morning after breakfast and finish your cleaning,” he said, with a slight sneer, turning away abruptly.
The young witch turned towards the doorway, head down, shoulders slumped, the very figure of defeat.
She felt the release as the cold, slimy feeling left her.
“Well done, Sev-erusss. You have made sssignificant progresss with the recal-sssitrant witch. She has been a minor annoyance, and I thought her expendable after the incident at the Ministry. However, I have reportsss that she is brilliant in the field of Potions. I am willing to forgive past transgressions. Use whatever means necessary to guarantee the young witch’s complete obedience.”
“My Lord, if I may be so bold, the use of Unforgivables may render her potion skills worthless.”
“You are a clever persuader, Sev-erusss. I do not doubt your abilities, but we may lack the time it takes to accomplish the task without the use of...shall we sssay...certain...spells.
“My faithful ssservant, you are not only loyal but you provide wise counsel, as well. Sev-erusss, you have unselfishly put my best interestsss ahead of your persssonal pleasure, and I will reward you when the time comes. My beloved companion, Bella, thinks first of persssonal revenge. Bella jeopardized our last mission,’ he hissed.
Hermione saw the flash from the wand, accompanied by a high-pitched laugh, strike the unsuspecting Bella, who fell to the ground immediately, rolling and shrieking in pain.
“Sev-erusss,” hissed the voice, softly caressing each syllable, “I will reward you in due time with whatever you desire: wealth, jewels, mansions, ssservants, companionship....
“To show my good faith, I have a small token of my appreciation awaiting you.” He motioned to one of his minions standing in the outer circle.
The Death Eater disappeared. When he returned, the Death Eater was using wandless magic to float a young woman in the air. He rolled her repeatedly before allowing her to drop to the ground with a thud at Snape’s feet.
“Sev-erusss, she is yours to play with for the rest of the night.”
Snape looked down at the bound and gagged creature. A deep feeling of revulsion welled in his throat.
The only motive for treating this poor, wretched creature inhumanely was she had been born a Muggle.
The clanking of a steel grate sounded. Hermione felt the heavy shove against her body.
“He has found a way to prevent me from intruding.”
Her hand grabbed the edge of the coverlet, and she sank back on the pillow and fell into a deep sleep.
1. Mugglenet.com and hp-lexicon.org were referenced on storyline and characters.
2. I am grateful to septentrion for her help with this chapter.