Hermione was curled in his chair when he came back from his meeting with Miss Granger and he smiled in satisfaction at seeing her legs curled up and her hair splayed against the back of the sofa. She looked up and smiled at him.
�Hi, Severus, how was your day?�
He paused in the doorway and looked down at her.
He could get used to that, someone asking how his day had gone and who greeted him with that delicious smile.
�Not too bad,� he said as he dropped into the chair opposite her. �Thrice be-damned staff meeting followed by terrible dunderheads.�
She giggled at his exaggerated ire and he let a smile slip, �Then of course a lesson with Miss Granger.�
Hermione grinned, �Ah, I wondered at the dance in your step. Talk!�
�You know you get awfully protective of those louts that you call your friends.�
�Her friends,� Hermione admonished. �Disassociation, remember?�
�Of course,� he summoned his whisky bottle as his wand flicked towards the fireplace causing a roaring blaze to settle in the grate.
He watched her face as it reflected the glow from the fire. Hermione Granger was growing up to be a startlingly pretty woman.
Of course, all he wanted was her intellectual conversation. It didn�t matter one jot that she was pretty or when she smiled that half-smile with her head tilted he felt comforted. It didn�t matter that her ghostly counterpart was fast becoming a firm fixture in his rooms or that he craved her company on a less than intellectual level.
�So you teased her about her friends?�
�Actually we spoke about her being overshadowed by those losers.�
Hermione shook her head, �And you wonder why she declined to talk to you, charmer you ain�t!�
Severus bristled, �She was more than willing to converse with me.�
�Are you sure that she isn�t just hanging around because you told her to?�
He opened his mouth to speak but a crackle from the Floo made him glance that way instead.
�Ah Severus, there appears some commotion in the Slytherin corridor that requires your attention.�
He inclined his head at the form of Minerva McGonagall who was on patrol that evening.
Through mutual agreement they decided that if there were a problem with the houses then they would call the other to deal with it rather than be enticed to use the situation to deduct points.
He gathered his robes and hurried away, shooting Hermione an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
As he made his way down to the Slytherin corridor he could hear the shouts and screams of a duel and he almost ran the last few feet.
A circle of students, mostly his house, surrounded nine students who looked to be in the middle of a brawl.
�What is going on here?� he demanded but it didn�t seem anyone heard him. He peered over the heads of the students and his eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline.
Potter was sprouting feathers whilst pointing his wand at a rapidly shrinking Goyle. Weasley was, once again, burping slugs whilst a purple Crabbe wriggled helplessly on the floor. Finnegan and Nott fired fast hexes at each other whilst Zabini tried to break them up. Most surprising was Head Girl Hermione Granger engaged in what looked like a fist fight with Draco Malfoy.
He watched as Malfoy brought his fist into Miss Granger�s eye and then screamed as she bit him.
�ENOUGH!� he yelled and suddenly there was silence. He glared hard at the students and several stepped back. �This is outrageous, what the hell do you think you are all playing at? You lot get back to your houses at once.�
As the nine fighters started to edge away he growled, �No, not you.�
They froze, looking sheepish as he surveyed the damage. Aside from Potter�s feathers, his nose was at least three inches longer and his hands were turning yellow. Goyle was now about four feet tall and warbled when he tried to speak. Weasley burped up another slug, looking rather green and a putrid purple Crabbe appeared to have a strong jelly-legs curse attached to his legs. Finnegan�s right arm was four times its natural size and his nose flashed red and gold. He had hit a boil infested Nott with a bat-bogey hex.
Malfoy had a black eye and bleeding nose as well as thick ropes binding around his ankles, his eyes were glazed and it looked like Miss Granger had hit him with a horn tongue curse as well.
She, surprisingly, was also wounded. Her left eye was swollen and a cut dribbled blood down her cheek. Her lip was split and her robes were torn and he could see a nasty rash making its way over her shoulder.
He waved his wand in general over the students and the hexes diminished.
�Zabini, what happened here?�
The small pause was enough to tell Snape that his houses had been the one to start the ruckus and he almost groaned out loud, �Well?�
�Malfoy attacked Hermione!� Weasley spat. �She was on head girl duties and��
�I asked for Mr. Zabini�s version, Mr. Weasley ten points for interrupting.�
Weasley scowled and Zabini straightened up, �Well, sir, I wasn�t here for the start. All I heard were yells when I was walking back from the library with Seamus.�
�Huh!� snorted Nott. �Like you were studying.�
Snape raised an eyebrow at this new snippet even as Seamus flushed red.
�Anyway,� continued Zabini. �I heard yells and we ran here to see Malfoy hex Granger. Potter and Weasley were behind us and they ran over to help out and Crabbe and Goyle joined in. I couldn�t say who attacked who first, sir, because I wasn�t there.�
�And Mr. Finnegan joined the battle because?�
�He told them to stop fighting and Nott called him a poofter,� Zabini said with a death glare at Nott.
Snape regarded them all, �Twenty points each from your houses for duelling in the corridor and forty points to Mr Zabini for trying to break it up.
Realising that this meant Slytherin had lost twenty points to their eighty, Weasley and Potter growled but Miss Granger was too busy rubbing her shoulder.
�Everyone back to their dorm rooms, Mr. Malfoy go to the hospital wing to get some ice of that eye. Miss Granger, it seems as if your rash is serious. I have the antidote in my office so you will come with me. Bed now!� His tone made it clear that he was serious and they raced off as fast as could be.
Miss Granger rubbed her shoulder painfully and Snape motioned for her to follow him to his classroom and sit on the desk while he went to his private stores to fetch the antidote.
When he came back she had removed her robes and sat in her shredded shirt dabbing at her lip with the back of her hand.
�Miss Granger, you would think that the Head Girl would have more decorum than to brawl in the hallway.�
She glared at him,� Yes, well if Draco Malfoy grabbed you and tried to stick his hand up your skirt then you�d do more than try to knock his block off.�
His lips twitched, �Since I never have worn such a garment I couldn�t say.�
He rubbed the icy lotion in his hands and brought his fingers to her soft skin. She still shuddered when his hands touched her back.
�Cold hands,� she said in explanation with a shy smile he catalogued and hid away in the drawer marked �H. Granger� in his mind.
�Unfortunately due to the nature of most of the potions, any temperature above cool is tantamount to disaster.� He was shocked to find himself initiating conversation as he rubbed his hands along the red rash spreading over her shoulders.
�I thought that was the reason that it was so cold down here,� she said. �Do most ingredients require this kind of temperature to thrive?�
�In part,� he said. �For those that necessitate warmer atmospheric pressure I use a heat charm, and for those that require cooler climates I store them further in the dungeon.�
She shivered as his fingertips grazed her collarbone, �D-d-doesn�t the magic in the c-charm aff-ff-ect the potency o-of the ingredients?�
Severus smiled behind her back at her use of logical thinking, �Indeed, how would one combat that?�
Even though he stood behind her, he could almost see her biting her lip in consternation as she thought about the conundrum. He stroked her clavicle and then circled his hands back to her back, feeling the satiny smooth skin under his palms.
�Maybe place the ingredients in charmed containers rather than charm the ingredients?�
Severus smiled, his little Miss Granger really was a smart girl� and he was rubbing way too low.
He almost stumbled back, letting his hands fall to his sides and he cleared his throat, �Ahem, I think the rash has gone now, Miss Granger. If itching should persist in the night, come back down here and knock on the door.�
She reached down and pulled her shirt up, over her shoulders, �Thank you, sir, I really appreciate that.�
She had turned to speak and he reached up, unthinkingly to wipe a droplet of blood from her chin. They both froze and he dropped his hand like a stone. �You should see Madam Pomfrey about that lip, looks nasty.�
Miss Granger touched the wound where his hand had just been and flushed, �Could have been worse. Good night, sir.�
He nodded his goodbye and she walked out of the room.
-
In his own chambers, Severus slumped into his chair staring at his hands.
�As fascinating as your nails are, Severus,� Hermione said. �I fail to see their appeal at this point in time.�
He scratched his forehead and then placed his head in his hands, �Perhaps our� liaison has been more detrimental than I assumed it would be.�
�Why?� she sat in front of him, her curious eyes peering up at him.
�I overstepped the bounds of propriety just now. A male teacher should not have his hands on a female student. It is improper and unconscionable.�
There was silence for a moment and then, �What bothers you more, Severus, the fact that you had your hands on her� or the fact that you liked it?�
�Damn you!� he yelled as he stood up quickly. �What business do you have� what right do� damn you.� The anger drained out of him as quickly as it had appeared and he strode over to the fireplace. �I had no right. Goddess, she is a student. A brilliant student but a child nonetheless.�
�Hardly that, Severus,� Hermione said as she got off the floor and sat in his chair. �She is of legal age and��
Severus waved her silent. �Age doesn�t come into it.�
�She is far more mature than her contemporaries; even you have to admit that.�
�Yes,� he hedged and Accioed a glass of firewhisky.
�That�ll rot your brain, you know,� Hermione said archly.
�Considering I am arguing with the semi-literal, non-corporeal manifestation of a student, I�d say it�s done its job, wouldn�t you?�
She smiled the shy smile that he had catalogued in the office and pulled her feet up underneath her, �You hate it when I�m right, manifestation or no.�
�What do you want me to say, Hermione?� he asked bitterly. �Do you want me to confess that I wanted to touch her? I did. That I liked it? Yes. Would I want to do it again? Hell, yes.� He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. �She was so soft, like satin.�
He didn�t hear anything for a long moment and then he felt feather-soft touches along his neck.
�Like this?� she whispered.
�Hmm, mmm,� he breathed.
�How about here?� the touch ran over his collarbone in mimic of what he had done to Miss Granger back in his office.
He swallowed hard. �Yes.�
Hermione let her fingers trail up his jawbone and settle on his lips.
Severus caught the hand in front of him, feeling the warmth of her skin between his cooler fingers and brought the hand to his lips again, kissing the knuckles gently.
He opened his eyes gradually to see her in front of him, no more corporeal than she had been all along. The sense of her, the way she felt�it was all in his mind.
He gave her a lopsided grin, sepulchral and self- mocking, �All I wanted was conversation.�
Hermione said nothing as she stared back, her own gaze curiously sad.
Several floors up from the dungeons, where the Potions master was brooding magnificently, lay the Head Girl�s room. It was a veritable tableau of opulence in silver and blue� a far cry from any house-specific colour scheme, prompting the unconscious thought that a Head Girl must be impartial to house loyalties in the execution of her duties.
This was a notion that Hermione Granger took to with all seriousness.
Usually, anyway.
Right now she was berating herself for her lack of self-control when it came to Slytherins in general, and Draco Malfoy in particular. The spoiled brat was so used to having his own way that any refusal was seen as a direct challenge, rather than a straight denial.
And she had denied him too many times for his liking and her peace of mind.
So, it seemed, he had tried to get her attention another way. It had ended up a free-for-all as she showed him that she was �so not interested� in a dangerous kind of way. Maybe, she thought, he�d be willing to give up now.
Hermione smiled as she cleaned herself up in the bathroom attached to her rooms, cleaning the blood off her chin and throwing her ruined blouse out.
As she stripped to put on her pyjamas, her glance fell on the fading rash on her shoulders and her thoughts strayed to another Slytherin; the head of Slytherin, Professor Snape.
He�d been acting strangely around her for some time now, and she was still at a loss as to what the acerbic, sarcastic Professor was up to. She had caught him looking at her strangely several times and he was no longer as� sharp or malicious as he used to be. In fact, several times now they had fallen into decent conversations that piqued both her interest and her intellect.
He had actually seemed interested in the things that she had to say, she thought gleefully. It had been so long since anyone had actually wanted to listen to her�without trying to copy answers from her�that she felt almost giddy at the idea. Oh, the teachers often enjoyed conversation with her; but never quite like that� and he had asked for her help.
Oh! Her eyes widened as she solved the mystery. Professor Snape had wanted her help�it wouldn�t, therefore, be logical of him to scare her away, and so he had become less harsh. Satisfied with her conclusion, she stretched and got into bed, still feeling the sting of the remainder of the hex-induced rash against her shoulders.
As she drifted off into slumber, she felt Crookshanks� warm feline body climb into bed with her and snuggle against her back.
Sleep overtook her easily and she slid into dreams.
She found herself in a living room, warm firelight surrounding her and casting shadows against the walls. The place had a homey kind of feel, positively exuding comfort. She was sitting with her feet curled up underneath her on a soft chair with a large tome resting on her knees. She smiled. It was the perfect reading space, seemingly conjured directly out of her fantasies. She almost laughed at herself- Hermione Granger, consummate bookworm, dreaming about reading.
There was a noise off to one side. She looked up, feeling a small kind of trepidation as she recognised her Potions master standing there, by a huge fireplace.
His usual black robes had been discarded and he stood in black trousers and a white shirt, looking surprisingly human and approachable. As he trailed his hand along the bookshelf directly over the fire the knowledge came that he was at home here; in fact it was his home. She was sitting in his living room.
Hermione knew that she should feel some kind of fear at this point, knowing that she was intruding on his space; but strangely she felt none, just an odd sort of contentment.
He turned then, his body warmed by the fire, and gave her the same odd look that he had when they were in the classroom together.
She heard him say something but was so surprised at his lack of malice that she missed it and blushed. �Sorry, what was that?�
Professor Snape stood in front of her, looking down in amusement. �Wool-gathering, Hermione? I said �what do you think to my proposal for the Yew extraction?��
The fact that he had just used her name was not lost on her and she found that she quite liked the way it sounded when he said it in that deep voice of his.
To her surprise she found herself answering him flippantly, �Well, Severus, I think that it has its merits and yet you can�t deny that the ancient methods were a little� odd.�
Severus? She panicked; did she really just call a teacher �Severus�?
To her shock he didn�t address that but simply answered her remark with an, �Odd?�
She opened her mouth to apologise, and that was when she realised that she wasn�t actually the one in control of her body as her ankles unfolded and she slid into a more comfortable position.
Hermione felt herself roll her eyes and speak, �Asking the tree for its blessing before you cut it?�
�Cutting a yew� or any tree, is bad luck, and Yew is one of the nine sacred woods used in the ritual fires of the Celts, said to imbue the trees with strength from surrounding tribes��
�In order to make the warriors of the tribe more fearsome, yes, I know.� Hermione was horrified to find her body interrupting him with an abrupt wave of her hand, something that she would never do in real life. But he didn�t seem to care about that as he carried on.
�The thing is, I have plans to harvest a great deal to attempt the Thestral calming draught.�
�You know,� Hermione said, �I found myself thinking about this.�
�Hermione thinking? Will wonders never cease?� he teased. If Hermione had possessed full control over her body she probably would have keeled over in shock.
�Pain!� she admonished and grinned back. �Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted� How do you mange to get the Thestrals hitched to the carriages at the start and end of term?�
He paused. �What?�
�Well, you have this huge plan to get the Yew to make the calming draught to entice the Thestrals to take their blood to make a potion to combat the Unicorn blood in that-idiot-we-can�t-mention�s body to kill him��
�Take a breath, Hermione!� he said wide-eyed.
She did and then continued, �Why get the Yew to get the etc, etc,� she gestured, �if you can just use them when they are hitched to the carriage?�
He sat back in his chair opposite her and regarded her briefly, �You are annoying! You do know that, right?�
She beamed, �Ooh, a point to the Gryffindor whilst the Slytherin has yet to score!�
He smirked. �The point, my dear Hermione, is that Albus Dumbledore is the one who has an arrangement with the Thestrals each year, in return for the privileged of living un-hunted in the Forbidden Forest. And the last thing I want is for Dumbledore to know what I am doing here.�
�Why is that? Isn�t he aware of your efforts in this regard?� she bit her lip, and to Hermione�s surprise she found him staring down at her mouth distractedly.
�Do you recall what I said about Thestral blood?�
�Potent poison, certain amount can cure Muggle illnesses, counter-agent to unicorn�s blood��
�Did I also mention that it is considered Dark material, and as such is highly illegal and possession carries a sentence of three years in Azkaban?� he added casually.
�No,� she said flatly. �You neglected to mention that fact.�
�An oversight.� He grinned, the act transforming his whole face from frightening to quite handsome. �Think she�ll mind?�
Hermione gaped, �Oh, she is so going to kick your arse when she finds out!�
His rich laughter filled the room and Hermione found herself intrigued by the unfamiliar sound, even as the room spun and she sat up in bed with a jolt.
Hermione looked down at the ginger ball of fluff curled in her lap, her head still spinning with the images of Sev�Snape�s room and conversation.
�Weird, definitely weird,� she whispered and lay down again.
If she dreamt again she didn�t remember it.
Potions class was a strange experience for Hermione, unnerved after her dream. It was one thing to see him in her dreams, but to be confronted by him the next day in class and remember the way that he smiled, the crinkle of lines by his eyes as he grinned, and the rich baritone of his laughter as it echoed off the walls� not to mention the way that he said her name�
She flushed and stared down at her potion, noting that it was the right shade of purple, and gently added the last of her shrivelfig root.
�Miss Granger?� came the silky voice of her professor right by her ear. �That looks almost finished.�
Hermione swallowed and tucked her hair behind her ear nervously as she said, �Yes, sir.�
�We will be testing your potion,� he said sternly. �Ensure that your usual standards apply.�
Severus watched as she nodded and ducked her head back down again.
It seemed like Miss Granger was somewhat embarrassed about the events of last night. And with good reason.
He knew that he had stepped over some boundaries last night, ones that he had sworn to himself that he wouldn�t, and he wondered if she was uncomfortable around him for that reason.
No matter what he had spoken to Hermione about last night, he couldn�t get the feel of Miss Granger�s satiny soft skin from his mind and it was driving him to distraction. After Hermione�s attempt to make him feel better about lusting after more than a student�s brain, they had sat down and he had outlined the direction of the potion that they were going to be making and she had raised several valid points.
Things that he needed to discuss with Miss Granger as soon as class ended.
�Sir?� a nastily nasal voice nudged him out of his ruminations and he turned to the obnoxious Malfoy brat.
It had been Malfoy�s hex that caused the rash, and it was therefore had been his fault that the Potions master had ended up with his hands all over an 18 year old girl, sparking in him a lust that was better left buried.
Little shit.
�What is it, Mr. Malfoy?� he enquired lazily.
�Do we add the moonstone powder before or after the shrivelfig?�
Not managing to bite back the acerbic tone he replied, �I assumed that being a seventh year meant that you were able to read correctly by now. The information is on page 334 of your potions textbook. Might I also remind you, Mr. Malfoy, that I require the same amount of effort from my own house as I do from the others?�
At Malfoy�s astonished look and the way the rest of the class started at him, he knew he had gone too far. He was supposed to favour the Slytherin progeny and not berate them. He took a deep breath and fought to reassert himself.
�However, for the information of those much less competent than yourself, you must add the moonstone powder after the shrivelfig has evaporated into the potion. Why do we do this?�
Silence, as he had expected. He turned with the expectation of seeing Miss Granger�s hand in the air.
It wasn�t there and she was looking at the table self-consciously.
�Is this perhaps the golden day when Miss Granger is unable to answer a question?�
�No Professor,� she said quietly. �We do this so that the nutrients in the skin of the shrivelfig have time to interact with the acidity of the potion.�
�Hmm.� He wished that he could award her points, but that would send a red flag up to Voldemort faster than anything, and the last thing that he needed right now was another �staff meeting�.
The rest of the lesson went by slowly, and when the bell rang it was with something approaching relief that they began to file out.
�Miss Granger,� he called. �Please stay behind.�
A blush crept up her face as she stood behind his table, waiting for the rest of the class to file out.
His eyebrows rose in something akin to confusion at the blushing girl.
�Are you quite all right, Miss Granger?�
�Yes, Sir,� she said as she bit her lip �Was there something that you wanted to speak to me about?�
�Yes. I have been thinking about our project, and there are a few things that we should go over.�
The blush faded from her face as it registered that he wanted to talk about work.
She smiled, �Yes, sir?�
�In my research it has come to my attention that intentionally slicing Yew can bring bad luck and can, indeed, taint the ingredients that we would need for the draught.� He noted absently that she seemed to freeze. �In the world of potions, sometimes the intent is just as potent as the methods of harvesting.�
�S-so what do you suggest?� she asked quietly, her heart pounding.
�There is an archaic ritual that denotes asking the tree for its permission to harvest the materials that we need. I realise that it may seem�odd, in this day and age, but��
Hermione shook her head, her mind in three different places even as she spoke, �It�s not that odd. The Druids were animistic to the point where they believed all plant life held Deities. They would leave a token or a sacrifice if they wished to take something that belonged to nature� such as a cutting.�
Professor Snape blinked, �A blood sacrifice?�
�During the time of the Ancient Druids, blood sacrifice was seen as a powerful way of contacting the Gods. But as religious theory evolved, I think they recognized blood as a symbol representing the power that exists within us. If I remember right, they now use materials that denote their devotion.�
Professor Snape sat back. �Intriguing.�
Hermione shook herself back to the present situation. She knew that beneath her sleeves her hands were trembling and one thought swirled around her mind�how had she known what he was thinking? How had she dreamt it?
She had had no insight into the potion that they had researched up till now, nor had she given any thought to the gathering of the ingredients that they would need. In fact, the first time that she had even thought about her new position had been during her odd dream; one that seemed to be coming true.
She had rationalised the strange dream as an odd reaction to his application of the cream for her hex-rash, but now�?
How could it be coincidence that he came out and said what she had been dreaming of?
No, it was too random a subject to be sheer co-incidence.
Or maybe it was her? Maybe she was making too much of this. It was possible that she had overheard him talking about it, and subconsciously took it into her head. Or maybe while she had been in his office she had seen or read something that she hadn�t realised, and had followed it through to its logical conclusion.
She nodded, somehow more satisfied in her rationalisation.
�But I would think that an offering of something would be needed in the ritual,� she added, knowing that her silence had continued too long.
Professor Snape was staring at her in a way that reminded her last night and she shuffled a little.
�Is your rash still hurting you?� he said, his tone far more solicitous than she ever remembered hearing from him before.
�No.� She shook her head. �The lotion was great, thank you.�
He simply nodded at that and looked away.
Hermione twisted her hands and bit her lip. �Uh, I have Arithmancy now, I should go.�
He looked up quickly, his face betraying an emotion that was gone so quickly that she couldn�t identify it.
�Yes, yes, go.�
Hermione turned to pick up her bag and walked out of the door, feeling his eyes on her back as she left.
Severus walked into his rooms and closed the door behind him, firmly shutting out the students for the day.
He stalked across the room and picked up his firewhiskey glass, staring into its depths as if it held the answers to the questions of the universe.
�It won�t bite you, you know,� she said. He tensed, for the first time not really wanting her there.
�Severus?� her halting voice sounded, letting him know that she had picked up on his mood.
�Not tonight, Hermione.�
He heard shuffling, and his whole body tensed as he sensed her coming closer.
�Severus, I wouldn�t be here if you didn�t need me. What�s wrong?�
He snarled as he threw the glass into the fireplace and let the fire blaze as the alcohol sparked it off in licks of red and orange. The roar of the flames drowned out the gasp that came from the imaginary manifestation behind him.
�Damn it, Hermione,� he said, �leave it be.�
�I can�t,� she replied simply, as she ran her hands up his back and stroked his shoulders.
He shuddered at the soft sensation of ghostly hands, running over his coat and he spun in time to catch her hands.
�No.� His tone was resolute.
�Talk to me,� she pleaded, as he threw her hands away in a manner that frightened her.
�This was supposed to be an intellectual exercise,� he spat. �It was for mental stimulation only. A decent conversation was all I required or desired.�
�And now?�
He ignored her quiet voice as his mind spun back to the scene in his office; the girl who flushed so becomingly in front of him whilst talking so blas� about blood sacrifices and ancient rituals. The girl who had bitten her lip in that utterly distracting way as she answered university-level questions and gazed into the distance.
The girl he had been thinking too deeply about recently.
When she had paused in her ruminations and tilted her head to the light, the filtered sunlight caught her face in an almost clich�d image of serenity and beauty. Then one curl, one damnable silky-looking curl, had finally escaped its confines and had drifted slowly� oh, so torturously slowly�down to her shoulders, resting at the crook of her neck. He had found himself staring at the spot where it nestled, the sweet hollow of her collarbone that beckoned so tantalisingly. He could almost taste it.
Taste her.
Hermione.
Then she had interrupted his fantasy by talking about some offering or another, and all he could think about was her offering up her appealing throat to him.
In a moment of weakness he had let his eyes show the desire that he felt and asked about her rash, thinking about her revealing her skin again, for him to feast his eyes upon.
Then he had recalled himself and forced himself to look away, at once disgusted and disconcerted by his own behaviour.
She was a student.
His student.
And therefore, she was out of his reach and he was out of his mind.
�Severus?�
Her voice was so sweet behind him. He clenched his teeth, begging for the apparition to vanish and cease torturing him with things that he knew he could never have.
�I only want to help,� she said quietly, her voice hurt. The exact way that Miss Granger�s voice sounded when he taunted her.
It was downright scary; exactly how many of her mannerisms he had committed to memory?
�I�I have to do my rounds,� he said and strode away from her soft, tantalising presence as fast as his usual pace could carry him.
He listened to the pounding rhythm of his feet as they echoed on the cold stone floor and tried to push his frustration away with each slap.
His snarled orders for detention and point deductions from several scared Hufflepuffs did nothing to alleviate his discomfort; even their petrified expressions refused to soothe his soul.
He rounded a corner and, for the first time that evening, recognised where he was. In his ire and aimless prowling he had made his way to the west wing; which, conveniently, was where the Head Girl�s quarters were housed.
He rolled his eyes ceiling-ward and cursed himself in all twelve languages that he knew fluently and then in a further six that he had passing acquaintance with.
He took a step forward, intending to turn around and head back to his rooms and Firewhiskey when it registered that her door was open.
The dark wood beckoned to him and he slowly edged forwards until he could peer through the crack of the door and into her room.
It seemed empty but, as a Death Eater, he knew that appearances could be deceiving.
He pushed at the door, to reveal more of the hidden room and nodded in approval at the silver and blue d�cor. From the deep blue velvet drapes with silver edging to the plush blue carpet, it was a tableau of sophistication and comfort. He pushed the door open wider and stepped carefully into the room, minding out of the way of a pile of books behind the door, and casting a quick Disillusionment spell on himself�just in case there was someone present.
As he slid the door to behind him and stepped further onto the plush midnight- blue carpet, he took a deep breath and inhaled the sweet strawberry scent that he associated with Miss Granger.
He could see little tell-tale signs that she lived here; a set of Gryffindor robes lying over a chair, an over-full book bag on the floor, parchment and quills spread over the bed and a large, empty cat basket by the bed.
A hairbrush with long curly hairs entwined in its bristles lay on the dresser, on top of a pile of books almost obscuring the mirror- showing that the room�s occupant cherished knowledge above vanity.
That kernel of knowledge made him smile.
He ran his fingertips over the dark wood dresser as he scanned the papers on her desk, full of her neat handwriting. Almost in a daze, he picked up a few sheaves and secreted them in his pockets for later perusal.
His hands tripped over a small selection of cosmetics hidden on the desk behind �Advanced Charms� and �Magical Maladies For Beginners�.
He picked up one spray-bottle with his long fingers and turned it over in his hands, letting his eyes glance over the strawberry insignia emblazoned on the label whilst debating whether she would miss it.
Severus shook his head, almost in disbelief at himself. He was actually thinking of pilfering from a student?
He must be worse off than he thought.
He dropped the bottle to the table and turned to leave. He was going to leave, he really was.
But something caught his eye.
A scrap of something silk poking out of the top drawer. The top drawer that he had no right to look into. The drawer that he definitely wasn�t going to go near and was in no way going to open.
Never; it would be an invasion of privacy and� and�
His feet moved without his conscious permission and his breath caught in his throat as he found himself opening the drawer to reveal the luxuries inside.
Oh, Merlin.
He lifted the small scraps of lace and silk, satin and cotton and pondered each one.
Did she really wear this? And what possible use could this be?
Exactly what was this supposed to cover?
His eyebrows shot up to his hairline as he regarded a piece of black lingerie that probably would have made more sense as a slingshot. Even as he was wondering on the intriguing item, he heard a noise that almost froze his heart.
Footsteps.
He had been so intent on her wardrobe that he hadn�t kept his ear open for her return.
Some spy he was.
He pressed himself into a corner, glad for his concealment charm as the door opened.
�If I have told you once I have told a million times, Crooks� Mrs Norris is not suitable girlfriend material!�
He bit back a chuckle at the revulsion in her voice as she walked into the room carrying a hissing bundle of red fur.
The red-orange familiar that he remembered was called �Crookshanks� hissed at his invisible form. He placed a finger over his mouth, indicating that he wanted silence.
The cat blinked at him and, oddly enough, abated its hissing.
�Honestly,� Miss Granger said as she dumped the creature on the bed and glared at it, her hands flying to her hips as she stood there. �Do you think I want to deal with Filch moaning to all and sundry about you corrupting that�that� floozy of a feline?�
It was all Snape could do not to laugh out loud as she chastised her cat. He covered his mouth as he watched the infuriated witch turn her ire on her furry companion who looked completely unperturbed by his mistress�s rant.
��Miss Head Girl,�� she mocked in slimy tones, ��if you can�t keep a closer eye on that abomination then I will speak to Professor Snape about having him removed.� Like he could.� She folded her arms over her chest. �Crookshanks, as your owner�or at least partner in crime, I refuse to accept any relations between you and that flea-bitten excuse for a pillowcase. And, while I am fervently against abortion of any kind or the idea of a father abandoning his offspring, should Mrs Norris become� indisposed� you will be down the vet faster than you could say �neutered�.� At the haughty look Crookshanks gave her, she compromised. �Okay, faster than I could say �neutered�. I am fully aware that, smart as you are, you can�t actually talk. I�m not crazy, after all.�
With his shoulders shaking in silent mirth at watching the curly-haired witch try to reason with her familiar, Snape knew that if she didn�t stop soon, he was going to reveal himself. He�d had no idea that she was that entertaining� and engaging.
�I would have thought you�d have some taste, at least,� she continued, �I mean, Mrs Norris? Urgh! Okay, so I�m not a cat, but I�m sure that if Filch likes her then she has no redeeming qualities.� She sat on the bed and stroked the unconcerned cat. �No, that�s not true is it, angel? Mr. Filch likes Professor Snape too, and we know that he has redeeming qualities.�
In his dark corner, Snape straightened up and regarded her with more interest.
He wasn�t the only one. The orange ball of fluff stopped cleaning himself long enough to look incredulously at her.
�He has!� she maintained. �He�s funny as hell� when you get past the biting humour, his wit is actually refreshing. Plus he�s intelligent; beats talking about Quidditch any day.� She bit her lip and trailed off, and Snape found himself wishing that she would continue. He wanted to know what she really thought of him.
So, she thought he was amusing? Well, he thought Minerva was funny but he wouldn�t want to kiss her.
But he found himself wanting to kiss Miss Granger, more and more.
His insipid fantasy of diverting and intelligent conversation was growing rapidly out of control. He had gone from wanting to talk to her, to wanting to work with her, to touch her, to kiss her.
This really was crazy, what was happening to him? He had no idea.
�I have it!� she exclaimed and for a wild moment, he thought that maybe she had the answer to his problem. �You want Mrs Norris because there is a distinct lack of other choices here. After all, Professor McGonagall is the only other cat I know around here and that is far too creepy to contemplate.�
She stroked him tenderly. �I know how you feel, Crooks. I�m in the same boat. Whoever said there were plenty of fish in the sea obviously picked a different ocean; there is a distinct shortage of choices at Hogwarts. Everyone expects me to date Ron and sometimes I feel like I have to, just like you feel you have to do�whatever it is you do, with Mrs Norris.� She picked the cat up under its front legs and looked into its eyes. �We have to be strong. That isn�t a choice, it�s a lack of options.� She gave him a little shake for emphasis and hugged him close. �We�ll find a nice piece of fluff for you with big eyes and� whatever cats find attractive; and I�ll find a man who can converse on more than the latest racing broom and diving manoeuvres.�
She paused.
�And someone who doesn�t mind that I talk to my cat.�
She suddenly burst into giggles at herself and dropped Crookshanks onto the bed again.
Snape waited silently as he gazed thoughtfully at her from his place in the corner. He thought that her habit of talking to her cat was adorable and he could certainly speak about more than Quidditch.
And he was definitely a man.
Perhaps they could�
She stood up, slipped off her jumper and threw it onto the nearest chair. Snape swallowed hard as all trains of thought screeched to a halt.
She was soft, she was sweet and she was stripping.
He had to get out of here.
Now.
As she headed for the bathroom he hurriedly crept to the door, ignoring the way that the orange cat on the bed stared after him, and managed to time the opening of the front door with her closing of the bathroom door.
--
As he made his way down to the dungeons, his mind was in a whirl over all of the things that he had learned.
She thought his wit was amusing; she thought he had redeeming qualities; she wanted a man who didn�t talk Quidditch.
He could do that.
He could do that.
He swept into his rooms and slammed the door shut behind him, deep in thought and absently noted that Hermione was missing.
That was okay; he had other things to think about.
He had come to the conclusion that he was in over his head.
From illusory comments on her essays, to full discussions with an imaginary manifestation of her, he had spent so long thinking of Miss Granger that she was a part of his everyday life.
He had learned all he could about her and liked everything that he had discovered. She was smart, innovative, entertaining, engaging and she had taken his interest in more ways than one.
She was the perfect woman for him.
He reached into his pocket and drew out the papers that he had stolen from her room. He sat himself down in his chair staring at the clean, crisp parchment, lost in his inner musings.
It was hours later that his brain registered a feeling of being watched; he looked up to see Hermione standing quietly by his chair.
�Am I forgiven for existing?� she asked quietly. He smiled and held out his hand.
�Yes, you are,� he said softly and pulled her onto his lap. He could feel her soft curves, which he had caught a glimpse of earlier that night, settling against his angular body. �I�ve made some decisions.�
�Being?�
�Student or not� I want Miss Granger.�
Hermione looked at him nervously. �Okay�why?�
�Because she is everything that I want. I longed for conversation and I imagined you� her.�
�But I�m not her,� Hermione bit her lip. �Not really.�
�A close enough facsimile for me to know that I feel as comfortable with you as I would with her. I catch myself in class trying not to call her Hermione.�
Hermione nodded and shifted closer to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. �Any relationship that you may have will have to be either after graduation, or very sneaky.�
Severus ran his fingers through her silky hair, imagining the texture he had felt when putting salve on Miss Granger�s rash.
�Can you love her?� Hermione asked softly. �She deserves that.�
�And more,� he agreed. �I don�t know. I have never had the opportunity to find out. I suspect, though, that it would be so very easy to fall for her. If she would allow herself to fall for me...�
Hermione smiled as he trailed off. �So, we have to make her fall for you, or at least see you as a potential mate. Like I said, we need to do sneaky.�
Severus grinned wolfishly. �I�m Slytherin; sneaky comes naturally.�
Hermione Granger sat in her room, brushing her tangled mass of hair and reading a potions book. It was quite a difficult tome but she was enjoying the intellectual exercise that it presented. Crookshanks was curled up asleep in the basket next to her, purring loudly as he dreamt of salmon dinners and, probably, Mrs Norris.
Hermione shuddered. She had spent a good few hours looking for her mischievous pet after Mr Filch knocked on her door demanding that she stop the �accursed beast� from violating his precious.
It had put Hermione in mind of something else that crept in the darkness muttering about his �precious�, and she had whiled away the hours of her search comparing Filch to Gollum, and her life to that of J.R.R.Tolkien's characters.
Harry would, of course, be Frodo Baggins: the unfortunate and reluctant hero. Ron would be Samwise Gamgee; a loyal (if slightly doltish) sidekick, and Hermione� well, she�d probably be Eowyn; too stubborn to stay home whilst the men did the fighting.
Hermione sighed. She was well aware that the battle against Voldemort was coming and that she would be on the front line in one way or another.
Of course, both Harry and Ron would try to make her stay out of actual fighting, even though she was faster with a hex than even Ginny Weasley. Their protectiveness was as endearing as it was frustrating.
However, it wasn�t as if there weren�t other ways that she could contribute to the war effort. Professor Snape had given her one of the most valuable ways in which she could prove useful. He had requested that she work with him researching a potion that could possibly turn the entire war in their favour.
That amount of responsibility was a heady thing, and she basked in the notion that he trusted her enough to allow her to aid him in this vital venture. He wasn�t a man that trusted easily, which was understandable when you knew of his history as a spy.
For a moment, Hermione let her mind wander from the properties of Cinchona bark and linger on her Potions professor- who was far more poisonous than the bitter ingredient.
He had surprised her yesterday when he asked after her rash, and it was enough to prompt her into an embarrassed flight from his rooms. It was honestly unnerving to have the bat of the dungeons look at you with that� that� tenderness? Was that the right term?
It had certainly seemed tender at the time, not at all what she had expected from her dour teacher. But lately he had appeared somewhat different towards her. He was less biting, took off fewer points, and generally came across as more solicitous to her.
Then of course, there was that odd business with the dream.
That still made Hermione shudder. For a moment it had really felt like she had been there, in his rooms, laughing and conversing with him as friends, if not equals, and she had enjoyed it� up until Professor Snape had spoken out loud what had been going on in her head, throwing her totally off kilter.
With thoughts of the professor swirling around her head Hermione knew that she wasn�t going to get much studying done tonight. She closed her book and crawled under her covers, letting her soft house-elf cleaned sheets soothe her frazzled body into slumber.
Professor Severus Snape was once again in his comfortable study, grading papers and muttering obscenities out loud to his audience, who was curled up in her chair by the fire just watching him quietly.
�Oh, Merlin, why do they even bother turning up?� he groaned.
�Mr. Graceson again?� Hermione asked as the frown lines appeared on the Professor�s face.
�Yes. Why the Sorting hat put him in Ravenclaw I�ll never understand.�
�He�s too pompous for a Hufflepuff, not brave enough for a Gryffindor and too brash for a Slytherin,� Hermione stated. �It was either Ravenclaw or the Ministry of Magic.�
Severus chuckled wryly as he dipped his quill into the red ink again. �Don�t joke about that too much, my dear; I can see Mr. Graceson having a Ministry job in the future.�
�Lord, help us,� Hermione shuddered and flicked her hair out of her eyes.
Severus watched her; this was yet another of Miss Granger�s idiosyncrasies that he had, unknowingly, picked up. Much like most of what she said.
Having had her in his class for seven years, as well as being around her at various Order functions and meetings, he had subconsciously gathered more of her mannerisms, quirks and turns of speech than he had ever realised. He prided himself on the fact that he was a great spy, and this proved that he had an attention to detail that surprised even him. He knew that she chewed her thumb, but never bit her nails. He knew the exact point when she would blow a puff of air to knock her fringe out of her face. He knew that when she got deeply into her research, she would pin her hair up with two quills to keep it out of her way. He knew that when she was mid-essay her head would bob to some inner rhythm. He knew certain phrases came instantly to her mind in certain situations, and that she only had a rudimentary grasp of profanities but could be quite creative if the occasion called for it.
He had inculcated these into his manifestation of Hermione and it always came as a shock when she would exhibit new mannerisms or phrases that he hadn�t realised he had noticed.
Of course, it would have been helpful if, occasionally, Hermione came with a translation device. He may have been familiar with her speech, but not with the derivatives of her Muggle vernacular.
�Which Lord?� he queried. �Lord Malfoy? He is unlikely to be much help. He is just as arrogant as his son Lucius,� he paused, �if he is even still alive.�
Hermione just shrugged and he went back to his marking, intermittently throwing out the odd comment on the writings of his dunderheads.
�Listen to this, Hermione. Mr. Creevey elucidates one of the greatest challenges that face potions today; �Testing is a problem as we cannot fit people into test tubes.� Or how about Miss Morris�s efforts of �Pepperup Potion works really well. Sort of works on the same principal as kicking the telly to make it go.� Exactly what is a telly?�
Hermione couldn�t answer as she was too busy giggling. �I think that is definitely one to ask Miss Granger.�
�Perhaps.� He suddenly started to grin. �Ahh, I see Miss Lovegood is feeling somewhat philosophical and existential. She writes: �The use of Salamander blood in Confundus- reversing potions works in the same way as it does in strengthening potions, i.e. returning the user back to normal. However, normality is a myth and should not be used as a measure of a potion�s success. What is normal for one can result in a long stay in St. Mungo�s for another. Reality is subject to alteration which means that all potions are inherently unstable.��
Hermione sat with her mouth open. �Is she serious?�
�Deadly.�
�What� what grade can you give that?� she asked incredulously.
�She gets ten for effort, twelve for entertainment, and four for punctuation� she regularly comes out with 78% in essays.�
Hermione eyed him. �You feel sorry for her, don�t you?�
Severus nodded thoughtfully. �I, too, have known the indignity of having to wander the castle on my last day searching for missing belongings. Miss Lovegood seems to have become quite prosaic about it in a way that I never managed,� he confessed, placing down his quill with a sigh.
Hermione smiled softly at him from her chair. �Luna is sweet� crackers, but sweet.�
�Ahh. Perhaps that is where I was going wrong. I was quite sane, and definitely not sweet.�
He stalked over to the chair and held his hand out for her. Hermione slid her palm into his calloused, potion-stained fingers and let him pull her to her feet.
His strong tug had her landing up against his chest, and it stole his breath as her soft curves fit perfectly against his angular body.
�Not sweet at all.�
Hermione bit her lip, her teeth making perfect indents into the plump flesh. �Have we decided that propriety is pass�?�
He grinned rakishly at her. �Propriety? Tell me, Hermione, exactly what impropriety is there in embracing a spiritual manifestation of one�s own intellectual desires?�
Hermione blinked at him. �Did I mention that all of this metaphysical stuff gives me a headache?�
That wrenched a laugh from his chest, the vibrations sparking delightful sensations through them both.
�You, my dear, are not real, and so, as Miss Lovegood would say, your reality is subject to my alteration.�
�I don�t think Luna had this scenario in mind when she wrote that,� Hermione protested.
�Nevertheless.� He ran his hand from her wrist, up her forearm and down her body to rest lightly on the curve of her waist.
�Okay, t-t-touching is fine. We-we�ve done touching,� Hermione stammered nervously.
�I remember how you felt,� he said silkily, �when I cleaned her up after Malfoy�s hex. Like the skin of a peach, so smooth, almost edible.�
�I think Dumbledore would have something to say if you started to nibble on the students.�
Severus looked down at her with his dark glittering eyes. �Knowing Albus, it�d only be to warn me not to snack between meals.�
�Hah. Hah,� she deadpanned even as a little grin snuck across her face.
�Besides, you are not a student.�
�True.�
�And she is not you; therefore by doing this with you, I�m actually not doing it with her. This saves me the emotional upheaval of accosting a student, since you are not, in fact, a student. And yet you are a close enough facsimile that I can be with her without being with her.�
She tried to wrap her head around his logic. �You,� she said finally, �are more twisted than Dumbledore�s beard in a tornado.�
He ignored that in favour of bringing her hand to his lips and closing his eyes.
He remembered the feeling of velvet skin beneath his fingertips as he rubbed in the cream and so, as his lips descended, he imagined warm velvet under his mouth as he kissed his way up her arm.
Hermione�s breath caught in her throat as his mouth made its way towards her inner elbow and up her bicep.
�I wish I knew if you were ticklish,� Severus said randomly. �It�s all well and good to imagine her accepting my advances, but if she is ticklish here�� he punctuated his words with a little slither of his tongue against the skin, which caused Hermione to wriggle, ��then that adds different dimensions to the play.�
�Ask her,� Hermione gasped.
Severus gave her an arch look. �Ah yes, Miss Granger, tell me, are you perhaps ticklish on your arms? Why do I want to know? Secret Order business.�
Hermione giggled. �Okay, so that would be slightly suspect.�
He gave her a lopsided grin. �Slightly.�
�Still, I�m sure you could bring it up in conversation, or maybe just try it to see.�
Severus gave a snort and dropped her arm. �She�d have me assigned to St. Mungo�s before I could say Quidditch.�
Hermione shuddered, �Whatever you do, don�t talk about Quidditch; we get enough of that off Harry and Ron.�
�We?� Severus arched a brow.
�Her, me, I, she, we, us. Hermione and Miss Granger, two for one. Separate and yet oh-so close.�
�I get the point.� Severus folded his arms over his chest and peered down at her, lifting one hand to caress an errant curl.
�So when is your next potions induced conversation slash research session?�
�Tomorrow,� he said absently, still toying with her hair. �I�ll take her into the forbidden forest to gather ingredients.�
�Romantic moonlight?�
�Of course.� He smirked.
Hermione wagged her finger. �You Slytherin you.�
�You say that like it�s a bad thing.� He pulled her into his arms again and his lips descended on hers.
Miss Granger shot up in bed gasping hard, startling Crookshanks to flight, her dream flashing through her head.
�Oh, this is so not good!�
----
Hermione pulled her hair up into a pony tail and commenced pacing around her room. She had gotten up when it became impossible to sleep for fear that she would dream again. Homework provided no distraction, and neither did reading.
There was no way that she was going to even chance sleep again tonight. She just couldn�t handle another dream like that again so soon. It was more disturbing than the one she�d had about Harry and the gigantic squid; that one she�d put down to cheese before bedtime, but there was no explanation for this one.
Kissing Professor Snape? The greasy git of the dungeons? Potions practitioner and cauldron conjuror?
It was wrong on so many levels.
It was just� gross.
He was her Professor, and he was nasty and mean� okay, not to her so much recently, but still.
She had no idea why she was even entertaining thoughts about this dream.
Okay, time to think, Granger, she told herself harshly. What did she know about dreams?
Dreams are a manifestation of unconscious desires. They are random synapses firing to try to link together and make sense of the world around us.
Not helping.
Hermione groaned as she sped up her paces. For what logical reason was she dreaming of him? The only unconscious desire she felt around Professor Snape was to land a punch on his over-grown nose. And that was less unconscious and more unlikely.
Still, in her dream, when he smiled his whole face lit up and you didn�t really notice his nose�which was more aristocratic than over-grown. And damn, he was gorgeous when he laughed. Plus he was intelligent and funny.
And� she was cracking up.
Hermione slumped listlessly onto her bed and laid her head in her hands. She wasn�t an imprudent person. She liked to have all of her information up front, and to make choices based on an abundance of information. So she should go about this in an orderly fashion.
One dream that reflected reality could be coincidence. Two dreams that �came true�, for want of a better phrase, had to have some truth behind it.
So what she needed to do was to see if this dream was real.
Which meant going to see Professor Snape.