Chapter Text
He was parched. Throat as dry as baked sand on a hot, summer day. Water did nothing to alleviate his thirst. Nor did any of the potions he had been toiling over all night. Sighing heavily, he glanced at the old grandfather clock, squinting at the dark hands moving across the dial through the dust on its pale glass. It was almost time for his first class of the day, and he had yet to discover the antidote for his curious, increasingly maddening affliction.
Goddamn Lucius Malfoy. The spiteful prick was jealous yet again of the favor the dark lord bestowed on himself, a death eater working secretly for Dumbledore. Favor he had taken great pains to earn, thank you very much. It was not easy pleasing he-who-must not-be-named when he had such limitations, ones he had placed on himself. Yet he had managed to be toasted at their last gathering for information he had worked tirelessly to obtain and … twist to his needs. Lucius, though he hosted the event, had simply been ignored.
Later that night as Snape had been about to apparate back to Hogwarts, Lucius made his move. In a fit of rage, shocking only in its raw, transparent display, he had hexed Snape with a gleeful smile, a smile that promised great future pain, or at least great inconvenience. Snape froze and instantly strengthened his shield charm, at first assuming that whatever idiotic attack Lucious threw at him had missed its mark.
He quickly took stock of his person. He felt nothing, no pain, no sense of sickness or discomfort. Yet the bastard had had a look of such smug satisfaction, that he knew something had changed within himself. A whisper of wrongness, deep in his bones though not yet making itself know, had taken hold of him. Whatever it was could not do deadly harm to his person, as he was impervious to most of the worst curses when he had his shields up. No … something … else, slightly less malevolent, had been able to slip through his defenses.
Lucius chuckled darkly. “Severus, I doubt you will ever find the cure for this one, as clever as you are. And even if you do, it won’t come easy. For it can only be obtained from the purest of sources.”
At this Lucius slowly approached, speaking so softly and evenly it was as though he were repeating sacred lines of a spell. Snape remained silent and waited for the fool to finish, hoping that he would say too much, give the antidote away or at least point him in the right direction. Lucius always did love the sound of his own voice.
“A fountain untouched by darkness. It must be tenderly, and carefully harvested with an adeptness and single minded devotion. You must assure that it accepts you and welcomes your attentions. For only then will it give forth its fruit. Once found, you must partake directly from it thrice a day for a week. Thereafter, will your thirst be quenched.”
Lucius paused for dramatic effect and Snape fought the urge to roll his eyes. His voice strengthened in volume. “You will soon find yourself desperate for relief. But nothing will satisfy your ever increasing craving but this one, precious source.” His smile was cruel.
“Not even magic can help you now, Severus. I only wish I could watch you fail and become almost insane with this insatiable thirst. You will be reduced to nothing. You will beg me for mercy, and I will not give it.” He was now nose to nose with Snape.
“Enjoy.”
And with that, Lucius had vanished.
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The day dragged on and on. He felt drained and useless, his voice a cracked, ugly thing. Worse than usual after a day of giving out detentions and threats. He was bone weary, having not slept much the last three days. He had tirelessly searched for the antidote, spending two nights out in the forbidden forrest. He had even asked Hagrid for assistance at one point. Apparently -- and thankfully -- spider venom was not the answer. Neither was centaur urine or slime from giant slugs. Thanking Merlin yet again that it was Friday, Snape straightened his spine and with sheer willpower alone, marched down the candle lit dungeon corridors towards his last potion's class. He threw open the doors with a loud crash and practically flew towards the front of the class, his robes billowing out behind him like the wings of a bat.
He always loved the startled, fearful faces of the students, but not even Potter’s black eye from another fight with Malfoy could lighten his mood. He stood looking across the classroom, taking a moment to glare at each individual student’s wide eyed face. He was about to launch into his lecture when he noticed Granger was not at her usual spot. That was odd. The Gryffindor saint never missed a class, nor was she ever late. Putting his mild curiosity out of his mind, he began giving out instructions on the potion they would be making sad attempts at today. The little bunglers had already gotten out their caldrons and half of the ingredients when she burst into the room, hustling over to her spot as though the whole dark army were on her heals.
Snape huffed and slowly approached the girl, who was apologizing and making ridiculous excuses in between pants of breath. She had obviously ran here. He grudgingly admitted to himself that the fact she bothered to enter at all as late as she was, took a hefty amount of bravery. She knew he did not tolerate tardiness for any reason. He stood before her silently until she finally stopped babbling.
“Miss Granger.”
He glared at her without speaking until he saw her shrink in on herself a bit.
“SO kind of you to join us, as I’m sure you have more important things to do with your time.”
Hermione bit her lip and seemed about to say something before wisely remaining silent. He wished she’d stop gnawing at her own lip like some dog, It was distracting. He cleared his throat and winced at the pain. It took several moments before he could speak without coughing.
“Since you clearly see yourself as above attending the entirety of my class, you can take over guiding these amateurs through today’s potion. The draught of peace.”
He smirked as this was an advanced potion few students are ever able to get correct.
“See to it no-one blows themselves to little. disgusting. bits.”
She looked down a moment, and a blush rose to her cheeks. One would think she would be used to his ire by now. He found himself admiring the gentle hue contrasting delicately with her pale cheeks. Startling him from his ridiculous train of thought, she suddenly looked back up into his eyes with that familiar, determined look.
“I’ve studied that potion, sir. I believe I can successfully do it. And. Well, hopefully help my classmates as well. Thank you for your confidence in me, Professor.”
The little twit.
“Twenty points from Gryffindor and see me after your classes are through for detention at eight sharp. By all means, arrive late. I could use an extra hand this weekend cleaning out cauldrons as well.”
“Y-yes sir. I mean, no sir! I won’t be late. Again I’m so sorry! I was reading about the lost enchantments of Merlin and….”
She finally noticed the fire lighting his eyes with silent and increasing anger.
“I’m sorry. Sir. I understand.”
“Excellent.”
He moved away and fought down another cough. His throat was quickly leaving pained into the realm of excruciating. He conjured a drink of warm, honeyed water and cursed himself for not resisting the urge to lecture her. He had been careful to speak sparingly all week, but her sudden and shocking tardiness could not be ignored. He simply was unable resist tormenting her. A bit. At least he shouldn’t have to speak any further in this class. Despite the fact that her unwavering confidence rubbed him the wrong way, he had no doubt she would do … adequately.
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Hermione quickly hurried through the castle, hoping to arrive for her detention a couple minutes early so Professor Snape could not possibly have an excuse to keep her hostage this weekend. How could he even suggest such a thing?! She was always on time, always did her homework and got excellent scores. The ONE TIME she was late and he jumped down her throat. She still didn't understand how she had lost track of time like that...
She couldn’t help but smile at her triumph though. Almost everyone -- excluding poor Neville, who Snape had banished from the classroom after somehow making a mixture so god awful that the whole room of students started gagging -- was able to create the potion with her help. Well, they were able to not kill themselves in the process or make a mess at least. It was passable if not perfect. But how thrilling to be working on something so challenging!
She almost wished she could be his teacher’s aide in classes. Yes, he was a difficult man and seemed to hate her especially. But he was also obviously brilliant with a mysterious air about him that just begged to be examined. She would do almost anything to pick his brain. To have time spent, just the two of them, so she could glean all he had hidden inside. He was also very powerful. A warmth spread through her at that thought and she blinked at herself. What would it be like, to be trained by him one on one. The idea was strangely arousing. Trying not to overthink her reaction too much, she continued on to her detention.
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Snape was sitting at his desk trying very hard not to think about the insatiable longing that was suddenly his life now. His hair was a bit mussed from unconsciously running his hands through it in frustration. He had scoured through the library, even the restricted section, looking for any text that mentioned his strange ailment.
Nothing.
He sighed heavily. His work was cut out for him. He wondered how long he had before his mind was affected. As it was, he could barely keep his eyes open, could barely concentrate, yet the dryness of his throat and that deep, soul wrenching desire for something yet unknown, would not let his mind, or body, rest.
“Enter.”
His voice barely registered above a whisper, but she evidently heard him.
“Hello, professor. I’m early.”
Snape took in her casual outfit and hair pulled up in a messy bun. It suited her. It always looked so out of control when she let it down, as free spirited as the girl herself. That suited her as well. He stared for a moment. He would have loved to verbally spar with her, to perhaps see that lovely blush again, but he had no energy.
“So you are. Now remain silent and clean every caldron in this classroom.” He was going to say more but was suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing.
“Professor Snape, are you all right?”
Hermoine was alarmed. Her professor was not quite acting himself today. She noticed it earlier but didn’t have time to consider what was wrong as she had to take over his class. She rushed over to his desk, grabbed an empty glass and whispered, “Auguamenti.”
“Here professor, take it.”
Snape tried to glare at her for coming so far into his personal space, uninvited, so close that he could smell the faint soap on her skin. Was that also… perfume? The tears in his eyes from coughing made his glare completely ineffective.
He took the glass, careful not to brush her fingers, and moved away from her disconcerting and sudden closeness. The water helped with his cough and the dryness, but it did noting to sooth him. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to be civil.
“Thank you, Miss Granger. Now if you please …” He pointed vaguely to the caldrons.
“But sir, what’s wrong? You seem... Unwell. Should I call for Madam Pomfrey?”
She followed him back to the corner where he was trying to look busy sorting ingredients. He felt positively trapped, which was ridiculous. He towered over her. He was also fearless and …oh gods, she was putting her hand against his cheek, trying to ascertain if he was feverish. He literally gulped at the touch, so light yet insistent. What in Merlin’s name… Without thought he grabbed her wrist, trapping her hand against his cheek. They stared at one another in shock. Something about her was affecting him. He felt almost… desperate. He took several deep breaths and then wished he hadn’t. What was that scent? Something about her was … mouth watering. He immediately let her wrist go and she dropped her hand. He had to get control back from this situation. He could not, would not, appear weak in front of her.
“While I appreciate the concern. Or at least the facsimile there of. I assure you, I am fine.”
His body swayed and her eyes widened.
“Professor Snape, you are not fine! Let me help you. ... just tell me what to do!”
Something in him snapped. The exhaustion, the insufferable desire for something unnamable as well as her confounded closeness was finally too much.
“You can’t help me!” He bellowed, now advancing on her. She scrambled back but he did not back down.
“If I, a seasoned wizard and twice your age, have not figured out how to cure myself, then how can a young, slip of a girl, a student, be able to do anything.” He sneered, “Do you think yourself my intellectual superior, Miss Granger?”
She was now backed against the wall and he leaned down until their noses almost touched, placing his hands against the wall on either side of her pale face.
“Little. miss. know it all,” he continued softly now, as his voice was all but gone. He chuckled bitterly. “If only this once, you actually knew something worthwhile. If only you could explain to me why I thirst but am not satisfied. Why no potion or ingredient or incantation has been able to stop this … this overwhelming need for. . for… oh hell, Merlin knows what! But I crave it! I can’t stop thinking about it!”
He panted, staring deep into her eyes. Hoping against all common sense that maybe she could help. But that was ridiculous. He suddenly held his breath as her eyes, at first alarmed, became curious and then— something else. She was now looking at his face, his forehead, his cheekbones, nose. His lips. As though she were trying to memorize his features. When they returned to stare at his own, her eyes seemed to burn right through him.
He flinched and turned away from her. He knew he wasn’t a handsome man, and it had been years since someone had looked so closely at him—had seen him at all. He was suddenly self conscious. He should never have said any of that, but she just had a way of getting under his skin.
Her soft fingers on his cheek.
Her maddening scent.
He stopped himself. No, he would not think of her as anything but a self-serving obnoxious student. He took another deep breath.
“Go.”
“But professor!”
“I said go! Get out! Before I change my mind.”
She turned and left without another word, and Snape felt so alone.