Professor Snape's hidden weapon

I have watched her for years. From the moment she first stepped foot into my classroom—so eager, so insufferably brilliant—I knew there was something different about Hermione Granger. She was not just another foolish Gryffindor, bumbling her way through spells without a thought. No, she was meticulous, determined, and utterly devoted to the pursuit of knowledge. I could mold that. I could shape that relentless intellect into something far greater than what Dumbledore or that fool Potter could ever offer her. But she would never come willingly. Not yet. That is why I have spent months perfecting Somnus Imperius. A spell of my own design—subtle, elegant, and devastatingly effective.

The incantation hums on my lips as I trace the last of the runes in my private chambers, the dim candlelight casting jagged shadows against the stone walls. The magic coils and writhes, eager to be unleashed. Unlike the crude and immediate control of the Imperius Curse, this will be a whisper in her thoughts, a gentle hand guiding her toward the inevitable. There will be no suspicion, no sudden shift to alert her friends. Only a gradual unraveling of what she believes she wants, replaced by what I have chosen for her. By the time she realizes it—if she ever does—it will be too late. She will belong to me, not by force, but by desire.

Tomorrow, in class, I will test the final piece. A subtle brush of my wand, a murmur beneath my breath, and the spell will take root. She will go about her day as she always does, none the wiser, but something will have changed. A lingering thought, a new ambition, a sudden shift in priorities. Over time, she will find herself drawn to me—not through fear or compulsion, but through a conviction she will believe is her own. And when she stands before me, eyes bright with newfound purpose, it will not be obedience. It will be devotion.