What The Future Holds

Chapter 1

By Ehann

Hermione had often wondered what Potions class would have been like, had she been sorted into Slytherin instead of Gryffindor. Unlike Harry, the Sorting hat had decided her fate without a waver. Almost the instant it touched her hair, the shout of ‘Gryffindor’ had filled the hall. At the time, it had been a huge relief, the weight of Atlas off her shoulders.

And there were still times when she questioned the judgment of the Hat, although in the past seven years they had become fewer and much farther between. Her courage stayed put more often than it faltered, and besides being a girl of not inconsiderable intellect, she was possessed of strong emotions as well. A very Gryffindor quality, she was told.

But when Professor Snape said things like that, it sounded more like an insult. He had a brilliant mind. She knew that. She thought sometimes that she could listen to his lecture—minus the insults, naturally— forever and never be bored. He knew…so much stuff! And that fascinated her.

Curiosity.

It was her own personal demon, and drove her to such lengths at times. Perhaps there was a mistake in her very being, she often mused, to make her so concerned with why things happened. Things had to make sense, she felt, and if there existed a problem that she didn’t understand, well…How could she possibly rest?

Later, when she had time, it was this flaw in her nature that would send her over and over the events that took place in Potions that day.

Potions

She couldn’t believe professor Snape had done something so unbelievably stupid. First, today apparently was one of those days that he was feeling particularly vindictive, having paired up every student with a member from the other house. Harry was with Goyle, while Neville was paired with Crabbe. Hermione’s heart went out to her usual partner—he certainly didn’t deserve the likes of Crabbe. Ron was stuck with Pansy, and Hermione herself must have been high on Snape’s Most Hated list this morning, for he had left her with Malfoy. Ugh!

She diligently copied down the instructions for the Sight Out of Mind Potion they were preparing today. She wished again that it had been a regular day—this was a very exciting Potion! It allowed the drinker, for a short time, naturally, to be able to see what another person was seeing at the exact same moment. Interestingly enough, it had some similar ingredients as a Polyjuice Potion; requiring Boomslang skin and a piece of the person who you wanted to use it on. Of course, a bunch of the other ingredients seemed to be quite unlikely: Dropping of a Blast Ended Skrewt—Hermione winced—one needle from a Desert Rose Cactus, and the most unstable component of all—this is really gross, she thought in disgust—a single drop of human menstrual blood. Though she tried to remain dispassionate, human menstrual blood still added up to eew.

At his place next to her, Draco was turned around on his stool murmuring to Goyle who sat behind them with Harry. The Slytherins all tended to sit up front right under Snape’s watchful glare, so Hermione had been forced to share Malfoy’s work space in the first row. Glancing over at the blonde boy, Hermione rolled her eyes, and got busy.

Looking up briefly, as it was always smart to know where Snape was and whom he chose to hover about at any given time, she saw the Professor staring at her with an inscrutable look. Her heart leaped, and she forced herself to look back down at her Skrewt Dropping—chopping it precisely into the minutest particles for easy distribution and diffusion in the Potion. After a few minutes, when she considered it safe, she chanced another glance up, and again, found Snape inexplicably boring his eyes through her head. Her hand faltered on her knife and the blade slipped, slicing neatly into the pad of her left index finger. The knife clattered on the table as she hissed in pain. Automatically, she brought the injured finger to her mouth—

“No! Miss Granger,” he seethed, stalking down from his place at the front of the room, “Have you learned nothing at all about asepsis in seven years? Do you really want to taste…that?” He indicated the Dropping.

Her face flamed. “No, Sir,” she said quietly, wishing she could simply fall through the floor and die.

With exaggerated patience, he said, “Your hand, if you please...”

For a moment, she was unable to figure out why he made such a request. Was he going to slap her hand? Oh, don’t be stupid, she chastised herself.

As if speaking to a particularly dumb child, he warned, “Now, Miss Granger.”

She held out her hand, and was surprised by the fact that he did not, as she expected, treat her roughly at all. His fingers were warm on hers, and firm, but that was all. He tapped her index finger with his wand, and her wound vanished. Perhaps it was her imagination but she could have sworn that his thumb brushed the back of her hand just before he released it.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” he said sternly, “for not observing safety precautions any reasonable student would take. Now, get back to work. We will test your Potion at the end of class, Miss Granger, so it had better be ready.”

Hastily she added the Droppings. Beside her, Malfoy hissed, “Aww, Granger, such a shame you didn’t spill more of your mud blood. How nice of Snape to kiss it and make it all better for you.”

“Shut up, Malfoy,” she shot back. “Since you’re all talk and no brains anyway. Otherwise you’d know that adding more than one Desert Rose Needle would make this Potion strong enough to turn what’s left of your cerebral cortex into oatmeal. There’s a good chance you’ll have to drink this too, you idiot! Don’t screw us both just because you hate me.”

Draco looked at her appraisingly. “All right, Granger.” He withdrew his hand, which had been dangling more than a few Needles over the cauldron. “Since you put it that way…”

Some forty five minutes later, after their cauldron had simmered for the appropriate time, Snape approached them, coming up behind them silently. “Well, Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy, the time has come to see if you two have indeed learned anything during your tenure here. Or if you are, as I suspect,” he glared down at Hermione, “as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.” He drew out a ladle from the deep pockets of his robes and produced a drinking glass. He filled the glass halfway, black eyes narrowed alarmingly. “Miss Granger, yes, you will do nicely, I think, since you are, as everyone knows, simply brilliant.” His voice could have cut diamonds,. “Let us all learn from your example this day.” He held out the glass. “Drink. Then regale us with your experience.”

Hermione hesitated. It wasn’t that she thought she had done anything wrong; it was more the feeling that she felt there was something missing. She racked her brain, trying to remember if she had forgotten any ingredients. Let’s see…she ran through the mental list, until suddenly her brain hit a bump. “Um, Professor?”

“Too late for regrets,” Snape said with a chilling smile. “Drink.”

Knowing there was no hope for it; she tipped her head back and swallowed the contents.

Then the world went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

She drifted in darkness, not frightened, but curiously calm. She felt as if her mind had split in two—one part apprehensive and tense, the other part comfortable and relaxed. Half her mind informed her she was in danger. The other half announced quite clearly that she had never been safer.

Slowly, sensation returned to her body. Her feet rubbed against something soft and cool. Her legs rested in comfort, seemingly suspended on a cushion of air. Her cheek lay on a down pillow—that she was sure of, as she heard the slight rustling from its innards. She lay on her right side, and the whole of her back felt gloriously warm, and supported. She listened. The not quite silence was interrupted by deep, even breathing. Her own, quite possibly.

She shifted against the bed. This must be a glorious dream, for surely she had never felt this free of tension in her life. Something moved against her back, but Hermione did not care. This must be a dream of perfection, she thought sleepily.

Gentle caresses, so feather light they nearly tickled, ran up her arm, to her shoulder and neck. She felt warm breath there now, against her nape, and shivered in response. Her nipples tightened and it was that precise moment that she realized she was naked. No problem, she thought. Dream, remember? This is all good.

As if by telepathy, her dream lover moved on to her breasts, squeezing them with his palm, then paying particular attention to the taut peaks, playing with them nearly— but not quite— to the point of pain. Hermione wanted to cry out, but she had never had a dream this vivid before and she was afraid if she made a sound that it might all fade away into the night, as dreams often do. Lost and forgotten.

She felt a hand under her thigh barely lifting it, then a strange shifting behind her and—a rush of air spasmed into her chest as she gasped reflexively. The center of her body had somehow turned to liquid. She felt strangely full between her legs and oh, it felt so good… She pushed back against him, she couldn’t help it. He caught her jaw with one hand then, turning her neck almost all the way around.

She opened her mouth to say—I’m not an owl—but he kissed her, and then all thought was lost. His tongue danced against hers, and she wished that this feeling could go on forever. He let go of her chin, but kept kissing her. His hand drifted down her stomach, passing her navel, tangling in her curls, finding…oh, my God. She moaned into his mouth, and he pulled back just a fraction. Just enough so she felt his smiling lips brushing across her mouth. The hand between her legs never faltered, never lost its rhythm. And still he filled her from behind, over and over.

The explosion caught her unprepared, and she bit down on her fist hard, trying to stifle the cry that wanted to escape. Waves of highest pleasure washed over and through her until she felt sure she might die. Might die if it went on, might die if it stopped.

In the end, though, the waves faded into almost gentle pulls, aftershocks that flexed her hips and made her gasp a little. Her body floated again, and there was one thing…something important, that she needed to know.

“Who…who are you?” she whispered.

He chuckled low and deep in his chest. “Why, you know the answer.” He leaned closer and whispered in her ear, “Someone who loves you.”

Then the dark captured her again, and this time refused to relent. She drifted in shadows until the black became blue and lightened further to grey. Grey lightened quickly after that until— between one breath and the next—brilliant, blinding sunlight streamed over her, warming her face and setting her eyelids on fire.

With closed eyes, she stretched, feeling very cozy, indeed. She had no idea where she was, but she imagined it was the most comfortable place on Earth. She sighed deeply and snuggled into the covers when she felt a heavy weight fall over her waist. She froze, her entire being shifting from boneless to breaking point in an instant.

The unknown— but familiar somehow – voice said, “What is it?”

She came up on her elbow, hesitating. Slowly, she twisted her upper body and peered anxiously over her left shoulder. Her eyes widened and she hastily yanked the covers up to her chin. “Pro—Professor Snape!” she squeaked.

Chapter 2 >>