Fame and Misfortune

Summary -- Severus and Hermione agree to disagree. Lockhart makes his move.

A/N – As always, I am indebted to my betas, Kathy Rose and Larilee. A very special thank you goes to Lana for creating such magnificent details from my muddled descriptions. She was kind enough to do another scene from chapter fifteen – the one where Severus tells Hermione that he loves her in the mirror. It can be found here.
http://perselus.livejournal.com/42448.html. Please let Lana know what you think. She really does put her heart and soul into these pictures. Thanks to all who have reviewed. Those reviews inspire the bunny to type faster.


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Chapter Sixteen

--

Stroking the curve of Hermione’s hip possessively, Severus nipped the soft flesh of her shoulder. “You heard the headmaster,” he murmured, licking the spot he had just teased. “Sybill was drunk before breakfast. The ‘prophecy,’ if that is what it was, has nothing to do with you and I.”

Even though she was replete with passion, he could sense her worry. He had tried to exorcise her demons, but the fear clung to her like a second skin. She was plotting again. He didn’t need to enter her thoughts to discern that.

Her bloody Gryffindor courage was going to be the death of him. She was driven to protect the ones she loved. It was as natural to her as breathing. “You cannot leave me,” he stated softly. “I will follow wherever you go.”

Hermione exhaled.

He had expected an argument, but there was none. His concern grew, not only for her physical safety, but for her mental well-being too. If they were to ever move forward, Lockhart had to be dealt with.

Hermione shifted, turning to face him and weaving one of her legs between his. “Well then, that’s settled. Since I can’t leave without you and you can’t leave without me, we’ll have to go after Gilderoy together.”

“That is out of the question,” replied Severus, capturing her lips with his. He could taste the escalation of the argument on her lips, so he deepened his possession and pushed her onto her back, pinning her down with his body.

She was breathless by the time the kiss ended, fire flashing in her eyes. Or was it desire? Wiggling beneath him, she dug her fingernails into his arse and silently demanded he join with her.

“You’re being unreasonable,” she moaned, opening her legs in welcome.

Severus smirked. Making love to her while arguing with her was exhilarating. “You shall never leave me again,” he murmured coercively as he teased her moist core with his weeping tip.

Thrusting up to meet his flesh, Hermione keened.

Backing away from her, Severus licked his way down her body and buried his face in her delectable musk. He ached to claim her, but he needed to ensure her cooperation first. Opening her with his long fingers, he flicked his tongue across her clitoris. “Promise me…that you…will never…leave me,” he murmured between driving his wife crazy and lapping her silken moisture.

“No,” she rasped huskily, thrusting her hips up to meet his attentions.

Thrusting his fingers into her tight sheath, he tested her readiness. He knelt in front of her and pushed her knees apart. He didn’t know who he was tormenting more – her or himself, but he had to have her cooperation.

Severus stilled above her, poised to take her. “Please,” he whispered solemnly across her lips. “Promise me.” The slow agony burned deep within him as he completed their union.

--

This promise was more than the Wizard’s Oath. This promise would set the stage for their future. She felt the compulsion to say yes, but her Gryffindor heart shouted a hearty “No.” He rested within her, trembling above her and pleading with her.

“Promise me,” he rasped, rubbing his cheek along the delicate skin of her neck.

“I can’t,” she gasped as Severus lifted one of her legs onto his shoulder. She was vulnerable, at her husband’s mercy. “I love you too much.”

Setting the rhythm, beads of sweat dripped from his body. “Noble Gryffindor,” he chuffed in aggravation, lengthening his strokes. “Please honor my request.”

Gods, she was so close and he knew it. He was using sex as a weapon. “I can’t,” replied Hermione, trying to entice him to move faster.

Severus groaned, his frustration over his young wife’s stubbornness etched in every line of his body. “Then you leave me no choice,” he growled.

“Wh-what are you d-doing?” she whimpered as he stilled above her and started chanting.

He stopped chanting and kissed her, pulling her bottom lip between his crooked teeth and suckling the accessible flesh. Letting it go, Severus gave her a furious look. “I am binding your powers.”

“You can’t!” gasped Hermione. “I have never harmed anyone.”

“But you shall.” As Severus sat back on his haunches, he clutched her hips and arse and pulled her with him, maintaining their intimate connection.

She had never felt so exposed before. “No, I won’t. It is not my intent to harm Lockhart.”

Sneering, Severus plucked one of her nipples lazily. “You are more generous than I, little one.”

She didn’t know which was more dangerous, the fact that she wasn’t furious with him or the fact that she couldn’t read him. “Severus, please.”

“Swear, Hermione!” he commanded, sliding his thumb between her folds and caressing her swollen sex.

He was so deep, his body and soul demanding compliance. “I swear!” she cried, tears of frustration spilling down her cheek as she came undone around him.

--

“You are a right bastard,” his reflection commented as he mimicked Severus’ manner.

Buttoning one of his cuffs, Severus sneered. First, he needed to go into Hogsmeade and retrieve some Potions’ ingredients he had ordered, then he would go about making things right with his wife and ensuring her safety. “Yes, I am. But it worked.”

“Do you honestly think she’ll honor the promise? After all, she broke the last one.” The mirror’s disapproving black eyes stared into Severus’.

Looking at the empty bed, Severus frowned. Hermione was furious with him. “I am sure she shall find some loophole. It was an inspired bluff, actually. I cannot believe she would believe that I would actually bind her powers. Binding one’s powers is an archaic absurdity, an urban myth.”

The mirror scoffed. “I can’t believe you bluffed a Gryffindor.”

--

“Oh dear,” Hermione said as she dabbed potion onto the back of a third-year Hufflepuff. “I’m afraid you have Dragon Pox, Priscilla.”

“I’ll be able to play in next Saturday’s Quidditch game, won’t I?” Priscilla asked worriedly.

“We’ll see,” she replied calmly, feeling guilty for giving the student false hope. Capping the potion, Hermione pulled Priscilla’s pajamas back into place. She patted her shoulder, helped her lie down, and tucked the covers around her. “Look on the bright side, Priscilla. At least you get out of Potions.”

The freckled girl giggled and settled into bed. “Thanks, Madam Snape.”

“You’re welcome,” replied Hermione as she walked to the supply cabinet and stored the potion. She hoped Poppy made it back from Hogsmeade soon. She wanted to talk to Severus when he had a free moment today.

Walking to the desk, she sat down and stared out the window, letting her anger over last night simmer. If her overbearing husband thought she was about to honor a promise made to him through coercion, he had another thing coming.

“Binding my powers,” jeered Hermione as she grasped a quill and started writing in Priscilla’s medical record. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

--

“Good morning, Severus,” Poppy greeted the dour looking Potions master as she walked up to the counter at the Apothecary. The man did not look pleased. In fact, he looked rather ill. She had patched him up too many times to count to not be able to recognize his closely guarded look of pain. “Is something the matter? Are you feeling well?”

Severus’ cold dark gaze turned toward her. “Yes, it is,” he complained. “I ordered some ingredients last week and they Owled me that my order was in. It would seem that they have misplaced the items. To make matters worse, I am late for class.”

Poppy studied him closely. He looked pale, paler than usual. “If you like, I could wait here for you. I need to pick up a few things myself.”

“Thank you, Poppy,” he replied. “I would appreciate –”

Wincing, Severus clutched his left arm and dropped to his knees. “The Dark Mark,” he groaned through the pain. “It can’t be! Oh, gods!”

Kneeling in front of him, Poppy ripped the sleeve of his robe and shirt, exposing a marble-hard alabaster splotch where the former Death Eater’s skull-and-serpent mark was.

Looking in to her colleague’s eyes, she could see his retreat into himself. That had always been his defense against long bouts of the Cruciatus Curse. The marbling effect spread, encompassing his wrist and hand, and steadily crept up past the material of his clothing.

Poppy tore at Severus’ clothing, revealing the speed and severity of the curse.

Severus groaned, shuddering as the pain swept though his arm.

“We must get you back to the castle, Severus,” Poppy said, trying to keep her tone calm and soothing. “There’s dark magic working here. The wards in the castle will stop it from spreading,” I hope.

The Druggist came toward them then, saying, \"I apologize, Professor, but I can\'t find the order-- Oh, my!\" He rushed to their side. \"Should I send for help?\"

Hearing the crackle of bone and tissue turn to stone made Poppy cringe. She had to stabilize him quickly before the curse claimed a vital organ. “We need to use your fireplace.”

“Yes, of course,” the man replied, motioning toward the back room.

“Hermione,” Severus rasped, his eyes reflective pools of searing pain. “Save Hermione.”

“First, I’m going to save you,” Poppy argued and waved her wand over the infected area. “Finite Incantatem.”

The infection continued to spread, slowly creeping toward his shoulder.

“Of course it wouldn’t be that simple,” she mumbled under her breath. Poppy looked around the shop to see if anyone other than the shopkeeper was near. Someone was near, someone with hate in their heart.

Holding the cold, marble hand of her friend, Poppy swore. “Severus, I have to treat this, but I won’t know how until I study it more closely.”

As she raised her wand to cast a healing charm, Severus tried to grab her wrist to stop her. “No!” he protested. “Lockhart…Hermione…”

His shoulder was turning gray, soon to turn to stone. Any illusions that she may have had that Gilderoy Lockhart was harmless dissolved. The ugly reality of his vengeance was lying on the floor, struggling to live. “Severus, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to do this. Hermione will be fine. I promise.”

The skin of his shoulder crackled as it hardened.

Poppy waved her wand and closed her eyes. She had never seen Severus in such agony before. “Victus Mortis Suspensum.”

--

“Come to me, my love,” a soft voice called to Hermione. Peering through the hazy fog of her dream, she felt the cold fingers of fear strangle her soul.

“Severus!” Her voice echoed, the sound of crashing waves nearby. “Where are you? I can’t find you?”

“You are free,” a lover’s voice whispered in her mind. “Come to me.”

Groping her way along the damp wall of earth, a sense of panic smothered her normally reckless courage. “I can’t find you!”

“Come to me, Hermione,” the masculine voice commanded, a note of desperation clinging to it.

Hot tears spilled down her cheeks as she searched for her lover. Then she fell, tripping over something so large she was lying on top of it. It was cold, hard, and lifeless.

“You’re free,” the chilling voice kept repeating. “Come to me!”

Crawling off whatever she had fallen on, Hermione shivered. Bits and pieces of marble peeked through the haze. She could make out a hand, and then an arm. It was a statue of some kind, one that had been tipped over and was now lying on its side.

The fog rolled away, like a curtain revealing a treasured prize. It was a statue of a man, one posed as if he had accepted his fate, yet he continued to fight it. It felt as though strings were attached to her heart, strings that were pulling her away from the beautiful statue. She clung to it, desperate to study it, feeling the compulsion to stay with the statue.

“You are mine,” the voice whispered harshly, growing closer.

She cleaved to the cold stone.

“Let him go.” The voice drew closer. “You belong to me now. You are my one true love. I have forged the eternal bond. We shall never be parted again.”

She cried, tracing the familiar face and wanting to share in the statue’s fate. An orange light flashed and the marble began to disintegrate in her arms.

Hermione jerked away, a blessed noise rescuing her from the horrible nightmare. The green flash was already gone and she could see Poppy backing out of the fireplace, her packages obviously very burdensome.

“Hermione!” Madam Pomfrey shouted.

“I’m right here,” replied Hermione, still unable to see what her mentor was struggling with.

“Thank the gods!” The matron heaved a sigh of relief.

Puzzled, Hermione drew closer. “Can I help you with your packages, Madam Pom –?”

The nightmare had become reality as she saw, not what Poppy struggled with, but whom. Severus hung in mid-air, being levitated toward the nearest bed. His face was serene, a peaceful slumber etched into his features. His robe and shirt were torn, revealing a white hand and arm that did not belong to its owner.

“Is Professor Snape going to be all right?” Priscilla asked from across the room.

Having settled Severus on the bed, Poppy knelt down and checked his arm and shoulder. “Thank the Gods, it has stopped.”

It was as though Hermione had been kicked in the chest, her heart aching so painfully she would have wished for an end to it. Her training dictated she remain calm, but her soul felt as though it were shattering into a million pieces.

“You there!” Poppy called to the matron in the portrait. “Fetch the headmaster, quickly!”

The matron ran out of the frame, and Madam Pomfrey pointed her wand toward the bookcase of medical journals and summoned a thick book. Holding Severus’ stone arm, the matron chanted over the book, which quickly opened and hovered in front of her.

“There has to be a curse!” she hissed in frustration as the pages fluttered as though aggravated by the school nurse’s accusation. “Try potions, then.”

“You are free!” a voice chanted in her head. “Come to me, my love!” Looking out the window, Hermione fought the compulsion that tore at her soul. She wanted to go to Severus, but couldn’t move.

Another book flew off the shelf. Poppy mumbled a quick incantation and the book opened. She kept checking to make sure the stone did not claim any more of Severus’ life.

Unable to move, Hermione took comfort in the knowledge that Madam Pomfrey was tending to her husband’s needs.

“He is no longer your husband,” the voice hissed.“Come to me, Hermione. I need you…your touch.”

Albus Dumbledore swept into the ward, his normally serene blue eyes cold and hard. Hermione watched as the headmaster approached the bed. “Have you found the cause, Poppy?”

“No, no, no,” the matron conversed with the diagnostic book of Potions. “Find another potion. It can’t be that one. The ingredients are too rare. Medusa’s blood no longer exists.”

“What is it, Poppy?” Albus asked, his voice wary, yet calm.

She watched the interplay between school nurse and headmaster, her interest in Severus’ health waning.

“I’ve looked through both diagnostic books,” answered Madam Pomfrey. “According to this, Severus is under the effects of the Medusa’s Kiss. But he would have had to ingest it. The ingredients just don’t exist. This potion is nothing more than myth and legend.”

Professor Dumbledore summoned the book and read the passage. Turning toward Hermione, his eyes narrowed. “Hermione?”

She tried to answer him, but she couldn’t. There was no air in her lungs. It was though someone were kissing her, taking her breath away. She was suffocating. She could feel the desperation of the entity that held her hostage. If it couldn’t have her, no one else would.

Seeing her struggle to answer him, Albus unsheathed his wand and moved around the ward, casting protective charms and defenses.

Air rushed into her lungs as the beast’s hold on her was broken. Collapsing on the floor, Hermione coughed and sputtered, her throat raw from the attempt on her life.

--

Having felt the weight of the castle’s protective wards buckling under the pressure of powerful hatred, Albus had done his best to fortify them. He should have guessed Lockhart was behind this. The mad wizard was undoubtedly far away, using one of the crudest, oldest magics known to wizarding kind. Gilderoy’s hatred of love had afforded him great powers.

Dumbledore knelt next to Hermione, offering support as she gasped for air.

“Tell me, Hermione,” Dumbledore asked quietly. “Did you hear him? Do you know where Gilderoy is?”

Her voice was raspy when she replied, her wide, sad gaze lingering on her husband. “Severus –”

“I have reinforced the wards,” he assured his former student. “Poppy acted quickly. As long as he sleeps in death, the curse shall not touch him.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and tears spilled onto her cheeks, silent testament of her anguish. “He’s dead,” she whispered the words.

Unable to lie to her, Albus gazed into her moist brown eyes. “Not yet. But if we do not find the effigy and remove the curse, he will be.”

“Effigy?” Poppy was confused.

“Yes,” Albus explained. “Gilderoy is paying a heavy toll indeed. He is using magic that demands an exacting price.”

Hermione was pale. He could feel her fear and guilt as he traversed the depths of her panicked thoughts. Walking to the other side of the bed, she knelt next to her husband and touched his forehead much like a mother would a child. “I did this. He was calling to me, telling me that I am free. He wanted me to come to him.”

“Albus?” Poppy waited patiently for an explanation.

“I believe he is using Vodun, or Voodoo as it is commonly known,” Dumbledore hypothesized. “Since it is highly unlikely that Severus ingested the potion –”

“So he is under the influence of Medusa’s Kiss?” the matron asked in hopeless alarm. “How could that be? Gorgons are extinct. One would need a drop of a Gorgon’s blood.”

“It would seem that he acquired just that, Poppy,” he stated. “As I was saying, since he didn’t ingest the potion, I can only assume that Severus was affected once he left the protective wards of Hogwarts. It would seem Gilderoy has an effigy of you as well, Hermione. Judging by what you were feeling earlier, he has cast a love spell on your effigy.”

“Albus!” a voice thick with worry shouted outside the Hospital Wing.

He looked at Poppy expectantly, waiting for the matron to shush Minerva as she called for him.

“Albus!” the voice drew closer.

“Professor Dumbledore!” another voice called out.

--

Harry burst into the ward, his gaze searching frantically for Hermione. Professor McGonagall was behind him, panicked over the news he had brought with him. Hermione was kneeling next to a bed, her head resting on Snape’s chest.

“They’re dead, Professor Dumbledore,” panted Harry as he tried to catch his breath. “They are all dead.”

“Who?” Dumbledore asked, his voice serene. Harry had always envied that about Dumbledore – his ability to stay calm in the most trying times.

“All the Death Eaters in Azkaban,” Harry replied. “They’ve turned to stone.”

*****