Soul Searching

Soul Searching Soul Searching By Quillusion   Chapter 17 I awaken slowly, with the odd sense of disorientation that comes from sleeping in a strange place. I open my eyes at last and scrutinize my surroundings for a long moment, completely unable to place anything.   I'm lying on a sofa in front of the fireplace, the fire now nearly gone to embers, the faint orange glow providing hardly any light. Most of the illumination in the room is from a window on the opposite wall, high up and filled with the most lovely stained-glass pattern, only the glass is not colored. It's frosted, pebbled, lined, treated with textures that soften the light as it emerges from the glass. It casts the most gentle glow on everything, and I turn to look at the other furniture in the room.   A green leather armchair across from me and a table near the immense walls full of bookshelves are the only furniture I can see without sitting up; the walls are soft, mellow stone, with torches set in brackets of hammered copper. There is a rug on the floor, woven in sinuous patterns of green and silver and indigo, and there's also a heavy wooden door at the end of the room.   I slowly sit up, feeling memories sift neatly back into place as I do, and then I can see the bed at the other end of the room.   Severus Snape has a studio apartment, it would seem. I had neglected to observe that fact last night. The couch upon which I had been laid after coming back from the henge must have been in the Potions lab; I remember holding onto a doorframe when I got up. And there's a door just visible in the shadows beyond the mantelpiece of the fireplace that must lead to said lab. I'm not surprised to find that the Potions master has a couch in his lab; he's just the sort of man who would want to be close to his brewing projects even while he was taking a quick nap.   That bed draws my attention again. It's set off from the rest of the room by a long curtain of dark-colored velvet that hangs from the ceiling, pooling slightly on the floor in rich folds. Must help keep the warmth in, I think absently as I silently get to my feet and slip closer, ignoring the voice that suggests this is invasion of privacy.   Hypocrite, I tell it firmly with a flickering glance at the wardrobe. Where were you that night, hmm?   It's a four-poster bed, like all the other beds in Hogwarts, and it has the same bed curtains, only Snape doesn't seem to ever draw them shut. They're neatly tied to the posts, and the folds have the sort of permanent appearance one expects to find in a museum or theatre where things are more for show than use. The hangings are a soft green color again- what else would one expect from the head of Slytherin House- and the bedding looks like it matches.   I slowly let my eyes drift to the mattress, where I am rewarded for my trip with the rather touching sight of the room's habitual occupant, fast asleep.   He does not appear to be what one could call a neat sleeper; given what I know of his life, that's not surprising. I suspect he has more nightmares than any other ten people I know combined. The sheets are rumpled and pulled free from the foot of the bed, and one pillow is missing entirely.   Which reminds me- I did a good part of the rumpling of this bed last night. Heaven knows I wouldn't have bothered changing sheets at 4 AM just to get a few hours' sleep, so it's good odds these are the same ones the house elves replaced while he was in the shower.   That's when I notice the second pillow.   I'd thought it was missing, but I wasn't quite right. I can see the edge of it poking out from under Severus's arm. He's lying mostly on his left side, but partly turned onto his stomach, and his right arm is tucked around that second pillow, holding it close to his body.   And his face is pressed into the exact spot where my head was last night.   He shifts in his sleep then, just slightly, and I feel jolts of alarm and desire shoot from either end of my body to clash in the middle when I hear a soft inhalation. Is he going to wake up and catch me watching him this time? I think in a faint panic.   But no, he's not waking up. He's pressing his face just a little more into the pillow, nuzzling it a little, and sighing with pleasure. I can see the smile on his face, and this time, I'm so close I can hear him as if he's speaking into my ear:   "Hermione…"   No nightmare tonight, I realize in startlement as his body snuggles up against that other pillow that carries my scent. As he shifts slightly, I can clearly see the outline of his body beneath the sheet- for he has kicked off the comforter. And there's no question in my mind that he's in the middle of a lovely erotic dream.   Starring me.   Flattery and Desire are definitely winning in my body right now, but with a sudden surge of strength, Responsibility seizes control.   This man has been to hell and back in the last twelve hours, and at noon he and everyone else I love in the wizarding world are setting out to seek and destroy Lord Voldemort. The last thing he needs is to have his sleep interrupted- especially as they have decided to attack before the bastard is his weakest, in case they need more time to reach and defeat him.   My practical side is nearly impossible to ignore; another quick glance at the window tells me it's no later than 8 AM. I habitually wake up at 8 even when sleeping late, and even when I'm short on sleep; it's no wonder I'm up. But Snape clearly is exhausted, and perhaps he's enjoying his dream. I smile to myself and tiptoe back to the fireplace.   I settle back on the cushions and draw the sheet up over me, the sudden hum of intense desire flickering under my skin like electricity. It's shockingly arousing to know for certain that he wants me, that he feels the same pull that I do. To know that it isn't just in the books, just part of a fantasy. It won't make it any easier to take the leap, for him or for me, but it might give me the courage to do it and not back down.   That's a question for later, though.   I draw my knees to my chest, wishing for my copy of The WIKTT Archives; I know he has one somewhere, but I don't know where, and I don't want to pry. I've pried enough into this man's life without his knowledge.   Then I see my bag at the foot of the sofa. The house elves must have brought it; I'd forgotten it as soon as my conversation with the Headmaster revealed that Severus was in danger.   I have it in my lap in an instant, and with only a few moments' rummage, I have it.   I've used a Shrinking Spell on it to store it, for it's larger than ever, and I don't want to risk leaving it in my apartment where my roommate might find it and start a rumor that would surely make life at SCAI hell for me- Hermione Granger took her name from a book of dirty stories! Either that or she's inspired one, and the stories are all true!!   A whispered spell sets the book back to its normal size, and I immediately crack it open to browse. And discover, to my delight, that there are color plates in the book! They must be new. I'd have seen them and gone for them first thing if they'd been there before. But no use wondering- time to browse!   The first plate is color, and it's at once eerie and beautiful. A cloaked figure with shoulder-length hair stands at the outside of a circle of indistinct people bathed in firelight; there is that in the figure's stance which suggests hesitation, uncertainty. I know it's Severus, and it's a very heartrending sight. The artist has completely captured the air of reluctance mingled with wanting that must have hung over the young man at his first Death Eater gathering. I look at the name- Silene Acaulis. That sounds like the name of someone who might actually visit the wizarding world, even if I know from what Mr. Nooke said that she's from a parallel universe of sorts.   When I can tear my gaze from that image, I turn the page and find several portrait-like images of Snape, laid out as a sort of photo montage. An artist named Snaples has drawn a picture entitled A Younger Slytherin, and the portrait captures what I imagine he must have looked like in his younger days. I'll have to visit the library for yearbooks to find out for certain- I make a mental note to do just that, if we're all still alive by this time tomorrow. There's another drawing, this one by an artist name Adi Das, which is done in a rather anime-inspired style. It depicts a young Snape as well, smoothed and tidied and made intimidating and dark by the straightness of the lines of his face, rather than the imperfections I see in real life. The paradox is intriguing. An artist named SnogMonkey has drawn Severus in a much more… well… severe style, which also captures part of his essence. It's a thoughtful pose, dark and brooding, and yet intellectual and careful as well.   Claudia has a drawing in the book which comes startlingly close to what Severus really looks like. It's alarming in a way, and I wonder if perhaps, in their alternate universe, these women know Snape. If they know me. That thought gives me chills, and I decide it's too solemn a topic for consideration right now.   The next drawing bothers me a little. It's dreadfully unflattering, a portrait of Snape with scowling face and arms defensively crossed like a bat. His nose is nowhere near that size or shape, and his hair looks nothing like. The drawing's eyebrows bear a startling resemblance to Rowan Atkinson's eyebrows- which, while fine on Mr. Atkinson, look horrid on Snape. I look for the author's name, but the caption says only "JKR's original sketch of Snape."   Well, who is this JKR person, and what does she know anyway? I think rebelliously. Perhaps she was going for the negative side of the Potions master; after all, I know as well as anyone else that he has one, but I hardly think he is limited to negativism. He's nowhere near as two-dimensional as this drawing of him. It's the first criticism I've had of anything in this book, and I find myself feeling as though I'm skating on the borders of sacrilege in doing so. After all… it certainly seems to know a great deal more than I do. This may just be one of those things that one must accept on faith.   The next page introduces illustrations from scenes in the stories I've read, and I instantly recognize Esme in Jen's drawing of a scene from Pawn to Queen. Then Silene Acaulreseresents a series of illustrations from Falling Farther In, each one of which brings me near to tears as I relive the moments in the story. Crystalline Temptress has a piece in the book that is done with the lyrics to a Sarah McLachlan song I know I've heard in this world- only until now, I hadn't thought about them quite that way. "Definition of Love" will always remind me of Severus now.   Then I see what appears to be a tee-shirt design, judging from the labeling, and snort with laughter at the sight of a cauldron simmering with golden steam, proclaiming what could be the ultimate summary of Anna's Roman Holiday: 'Illuminata. Does a Body Good.' The instant I snort, I freeze, suddenly afraid I've awakened the sleeping man in the next room; I don't want him disturbed by my little caprices. And I'm not sure I'm ready to have him catch me reading this particular book.   Despite my resolve not to awaken Snape, I laugh again a moment later. I've turned the page, and heranotanother tee-shirt design. This one says "Snog Snape. You Know You Want To." Yes, I do, I do indeed- but I don't think I should wear this shirt around Hogwarts just yet. McAmy's come up with this one, and it's a keeper. As is her other piece, a Valentine's Day card which displays a surly Potions Master with the words, "One hundred points from your house… if you're not my valentine." I know without a doubt that the sight of this would give most Hogwarts students a fit of nervous hysteria, but I find it rather compelling. Humorous, romantic, and utterly in keeping with the undoubtedly Valentines-Day-allergic Professor Snape. I turn the page, still smiling and shaking my head.   Whoa.   There's a portrait of me in here. I'm stunned by this, even though I've long since accepted that these stories are about me. An artist named Jenserai has captured a likeness of me that matches very well with the Hermione who went to school here; I'm a few years older than that now, but it's a good sketch, and I'm almost taken by surprise when I realize the face on the page before me is quite pretty. I never would have thought that of myself when I was in school.   I wonder if Snape's seen this yet?   Next page. There are several drawings that look like they're meant to be put onto coffee mugs. With a blank mug lying in my office, these tempt me considerably; I pore over them, delighted with "I'll have what she's having" - Severus looks at once isolated and curious, peering out of the corner of his eye at me while maintaining that distant, superior Slytherin posture. This one's drawn by an artist named Resmiranda23, and it's both funny and sweet. The other mug that catches my eye is another work by Silene Acaulis, this one called Sleeping Draught. In it, Snape stands behind me, arms wrapped around me as I sleep at a desk, a sleeping potion nearby. I laugh softly to myself- my mugs usually contain the opposite of a sleeping draught, but it's great inspiration anyway. And I love how Snape is just barely drawn in behind me, only his mouth and nose visible amid the soft fringe of his hair as it brushes my head. If you didn't know it was him… you'd never know it was him. It doesn't make sense, but it's still true. Mmmm….   Another page turned, another set of drawings to enjoy. This page has a comic book layout, and indeed that's what it appears to be. It's called Anything, and according to the page was done by an artist called trixiethedeified. It's hysterical, and I bite my lip to keep my laughter inside at the reminder that Snape is sexy, he's snarky, and he's still a Slytherin.   Then, a moment later, I turn the page and see something that rather takes my breath away. This piece, by an artist named howlingmojo, is comic-inspired as well, but bursts with eroticism. It's called Brewing Trouble, and that's exactly what we're doing. I'm standing at a lab bench, idealized hair and face radiating desirability… and Snape is standing behind me, one arm wrapped around my waist, palm pressed against my lower abdomen, drawing me back against him in a primitively possessive manner that comes off as unbearably erotic. His other hand rests on the benchtop, and my hand twines around his. His hair is falling slightly forward, obscuring the sweet expression of want and confidence that curves those lips into a faint smile.   This, what I see in this picture, is what I want- right now. I want Snape to look at me that way, and know that he's welcome- to know that he can have me. I want to erase all the tension and hesitancy and uncertainty from his face, replace the lines of worry with that softly knowing smile and the warmth of acceptance glowing in those onyx eyes.   I want to strip away the stiff rigidity of the wary Head of House and see the sinuous, fluid lines of the serpentine creature he is underneath.   That's done it. I lazily flip through the color plates again- there are so many more, but I've suddenly developed other plans for the moment. I look over the drawings on the pages, letting their subject soak into my brain, and at last I return to Brewing trouble. My eyes settle on Snape's face, on that lovely hand curling round to press me back against him, and in that instant, I know how it would feel.   I close my eyes and imagine it- suddenly we're both black and white, ink and paper, and there's nothing outside the borders of this image that we must consider. I let myself imagine how it would feel.   That hand is pressing me back into his body, and the heat of him is incredible. Even more incredible is the feel of his erection pressing into the backs of my thighs. I lean forward just a bit, pressing back against him as I pretend to focus on my work, and am rewarded by the faintest exhalation of pleasure. His hips rotate, slowly and gently- he doesn't want me to spill the contents of the flask clutched in my hand- and his hand slowly slides downward to press against a place he knows I love to have touched.   I add one last thing to my flask, swirling it unevenly as he moves against me, and then he brings his other hand up to cover mine as it grasps the neck of the flask, steadying it. Then, gently, he lets the rhythm of his hips against me swirl the potion forming in the glass, and a moment later everything is dissolved.   Including my concentration. He knows it, too, because he pries the flask out of my hand and sets it back in its rack, then turns me round.   Those eyes are afire with want, and I smile a coquettish smile at him. His mouth is a tight line, his cheeks washed with color, his expression one of intent. With a faint answering smile of his own, he lifts me up and sets me on the benchtop. I wrap a leg around his hip to draw him in, and then I feel the delightful heat and pressure of him between my thighs.   That's when I realize something you couldn't see in the original drawing that's started this fantasy. Howlingmojo has drawn me without knickers.   Wonderful artist, I think fuzzily as Severus's fingers find my folds and begin to tease me, coaxing wetness forth and sending whimpers tripping between my lips. It's incredible, and I can't resist actually running my own fingers along the sensitive flesh, doing what I wish Severus was really doing.   It dissolves into a long blur of fantasy and self-pleasure then, and I arch into my own touch, softly biting back cries as Severus teases me nearly to the point of climax, only to withdraw his hand and replace it with his cock. He pushes into me with a deft movement, sheathing himself entirely in my body and kissing my neck when I wrap my legs around him. Then it's my turn to grasp him, framing his face with my hands and kissing his mouth with all the skill and focus I can muster. His tongue is soft and hot, and the velvet flicker of him is intensely arousing; it's all I can do to cling to him as he begins to move.   I look up into his face, and the expression there- delight, arousal, intensity, and something else I'm too hopeful of seeing to allow myself to name- turns me on more than I can withstand- and that's all it takes.   Stretched out on the couch before the fire, fingers dipped into the center of my own arousal, legs parted in wanton acceptance of what my mind is offering, I catapult right over the edge and climax. It's all I can do to keep the hoarse cries from escaping, and they do still emerge as little choked whimpers, but it's quiet, and that's all I can hope to manage. When the waves of pleasure recede and I can relax and breathe normally again, I go limp against the cushions and sigh softly.   "Severus," I breathe, hardly letting the word form in sound as I wish with all my heart for the man himself.   Now, I can sleep a little more, before it's time to get up and face the future.       A/N: Pawn to Queen belongs to Riley. Falling Farther In belongs to Kaz. All drawings belong to the artists to whom they are credited in the text. This time I thought I'd credit as much as possible in the text, so as to more directly advertise the drawings and their creators. I ought to have done the same with the fics, but it didn't occur to me till later! I hope you enjoyed this taste of lemon- there's more still to come.