She looked up at him, her eyes glittering in the faint stream of moonlight coming from the barely parted drapes closing the window. She flipped her hair over her shoulder, the soft curls bouncing on top of each other. Biting her lip, the young girl reached up to the man and brushed her hand against his cheek bones softly—almost not even touching the skin. He shuddered almost imperceptibly, and took her wrist in his hand, pulling it away.
"The reason I came here," she started a bit too loudly, not deterred by the strong, menacing hold on her wrist. She didn't show a lack of confidence, but looked him in his eyes and changed her tone. He almost jumped at the sultry whisper, "The reason I came here tonight was to confront you about something…"
He took a step back, dropping her hand with more force than necessary to just let go. "What is it, Miss?" his voice was cold, an icy arctic wind that froze just about everyone in their tracks. But not her.
"Professor," she said, voice above a whisper. She took a step forward, trying to make what she felt known. The tension in the air was so thick you could swim through it. "I…" she took two steps toward him as he turned around to check the shelf of books behind him.
"I do not understand just how you found my living quarters, no less the password to get in," he growled, picking up Dark Charms and How to Prevent Them. Quickly flipping the book open, he began to skim down a page, obviously searching for something.
Sighing, the girl stepped up behind him. She was so close now that one more millimeter and she's press herself up against his back. Determined to get her point across, she closed her eyes briefly. Seven years. Seven long years of wanting, waiting… Forbidden fruits, they said, always taste sweeter until they aren't forbidden. Seven years and now it was not so forbidden, and she had never hungered for anything else.
The calm June breeze ruffled the drapes. It was a room on the first floor, in an abandoned hallway behind some immobile staircases. The statue was a lady without a head or arms, broken and dusty. The living quarters were surprisingly comfortable looking, shelves and shelves of books surrounded a large fireplace. The solitary window had blue, velvet drapes that blocked out the night from seeping its seductive grip on this situation. The bed was a giant queen sized, black draped canopy bed. Everything looked so perfect, so him.
The loud beating of her heart deafened all else, and she slowly reached her hand up to his shoulder. Gripping the shoulder, she spun him around, and took that millimeter between them and obliterated it. Closing his lips in hers, she wrapped her arms around his neck, preventing his escape. She pressed her body into his, reveling in this the one moment of her release.
In his surprise, his arms wrapped around her in an almost embrace. It was enough to make her burn with desire. She kissed him hard, passionate enough to bruise his lips, and she only broke their lips to come up for air.
They panted in silence for a few moments, their bodies visibly shaken in the dim lighting.
"I came here to tell you, Severus, that I cannot put on this facade any longer," she said, out of breath. She took a step away, looking him in the eyes. After reading his facial expression and only seeing shock and surprise, she turned away sadly and walked out the door, grabbing her cloak and throwing it over her shoulders. Then she walked out of the room, leaving the teacher alone and utterly shocked into silence.
Once his senses came back to him, it was too late to stop her, chase after her and do something to raise the manifestation of guilt off his shoulders.
But all he could do was sit on the edge of his writing desk and stare at the spot she had just departed from. With a voice—not a whisper, or a shout—he said clearly, "Hermione?"
Hermione sat on the porch of her little cottage in Godric's Hollow. Smiling, she called Harry and Ron over. "Look what I found…" she said, patting a blue book on her lap.
"Wha's that?" Ron asked, stuffing the rest of his toast into his mouth.
Ron was head of the Department of Magical Sports nowadays, and he hadn't taken the offering his father (now Minister of Magic after the defeat of the Dark Lord) had tried to give him. Mr. Weasley had a comfy job all set up as a department head, but Ron refused to go the "Malfoy" way, and he proceeded to work his way up from paper-pusher to had of the sports department. Harry had decided on a job as an Auror, following the footsteps of his father. He seemed quite content with the job, the hours were better now that Voldemort was defeated.
And Hermione, the smartest of the bunch, was shockingly unemployed. She had turned down tons and tons of job offers, from the Ministry's highest positions, to the high-prestige commentator for the Quidditch Cup. Why would she do that to herself, everyone asked in an outrage. Hermione kept the reason to herself, saying that her job would come to her in time.
"It's the graduation present Colin and Dennis gave us when we left Hogwarts," Hermione called to bring Harry outside as well, smiling sweetly at the blue felt cover. "A complete record of all the Quidditch matches you and Harry played, all of the results of my O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s… Everything that they could get in pictures and papers is right here."
"That's amazing," Harry said, sitting down. "I'd almost forgotten about it."
"It's not amazing… Try a bit obsessive," Ron said coolly, before taking another seat on the porch.
"It's not obsessive, Ron! It's the thought that counts," Hermione said, glaring and opening up the book to the first "collection." "Aw, and it's set up in year-by-year sections!"
The three leaned down over the book, peaking at the very first picture. It was in Harry's second year, when Colin came to the school. There were about twenty pictures of Harry, ten of the trio together, five of Ron in candid positions, and five of Hermione behind books.
Hermione shut the book after the last picture (one of Harry, Ron, and Hermione waving out of the Hogwarts' Express to Hagrid), proclaiming that Ron was going to be late for work, and Harry needed to go to training today.
"Bye, Hermione," they called at the same time, Apparating to their places of work. Hermione sat back down on the porch a little after lunch, pondering on her years at Hogwarts.
It had all begun in her first year; love had blossomed from truly deserved respect. No one gave him enough respect, and forced him to be unpleasant to all students. Hermione, a bit delusional for her age, was convinced it was all a charade to get more respect from students. So she kept her respect in quiet, not commenting much on Snape's harsh behavior and secretly looking up to him as one of the best potion masters of all time.
And slowly in second year she found herself thinking of him outside of Potions classes. What would Professor Snape do in this situation? Wouldn't he ignore his friends' mean words and hasty jokes about nerdiness and all-brains-no-fun attitude? Yes, she told herself back in that year, yes he would ignore them. She kept her thoughts quiet, though, not mentioning to Harry or Ron when they vulgarly thought of Professor Snape's demise.
And in third year she had become more of a mature person, chiding Harry and Ron when they made fun of teachers—including their snide remarks on Snape. All through fourth year, trying to get the boys more interested in welfare and the creatures that had a harder time than them… she kept trying to show her beloved friends that people deserve respect, as Snape did deserve (and so much more), and that there were other creatures less fortunate who had it harder than a mean potions master.
But, alas, in fifth year she realized that her thoughts about her professor weren't normal. Hermione reminisced about the day she realized it all, she had woken up from a dream she could not remember, out of breath and confused. And all she could remember were intense burning black eyes like endless pools of black, and what did register in her mind? Severus Snape, potions extraordinaire.
And thus started her tragic fall into deep lust, intense infatuation, and finally: her epiphany in her years at Hogwarts. It was a late night, the stars sprinkled in the sky incandescently. She was in her bed, bundled up from the cold, thinking about a certain Professor Severus Snape.
Hermione stopped in her thoughts, shaking her head and slamming shut the felt book abruptly.
Taking out the picture that triggered this, she crumpled it in her hands and threw it hastily to the floor to be blown away by the breeze.
"Horrid little Creevey's…" she mumbled. "Reporters and photographers… All the same, taking someone's tragedy and making them relive it with the rest of the world for a second time. As if once wasn't damaging enough…"
Placing the book down, she walked into the cottage to refill Crookshanks' kitty bowl. Sighing, she made herself lunch and spent the rest of the day scouring her eyes over Potions: An Advanced Difficult Level You Thought Not Possible!
Black orbs of stone intensely burned into murky brown swamps.
The swirl of a cloak billowing in an aristocrat's dignified, superior way.
A school skirt and an oxford shirt much too small.
"I've waited for you nights," the whisper broke a mysterious silence.
"I've waited for you years," came the soft reply.
One word filled the stone-walled room: Ravish.
Hermione sat bolt upright in her bed, chest heaving up and down. "Why…" she moaned, covering her face with her hands. Quietly, she tip-toed into the bathroom for a nice, icy shower.
"Bye 'Mione!" called Ron from the living room.
"See you after work!" she hollered back brightly, taking a last sip of coffee to caffeinate her day. The slam of a door signaled the red head's departure. "Harry, you leaving too?"
"Yep, just on my way out, Saturday's tomorrow, thank God!" he shouted, the last words seeming as if distracted by a new thought. "Hey, Owl for you waiting at the door!"
"How do you know it's for me?" she teased, walking over to the front hall/ living room area. But she stopped in her tracks. "Ah, I guess that's a pretty obvious thing, huh?"
Harry laughed, opening the door and stepping out to let the owl swoop in a parcel marked with a huge HERMIONE GRANGER ONLY stamp. "I got to go," Harry said, waving good bye. "Yep," Hermione waved her hand flimsily, preoccupied with the parcel. The door slammed shut and Hermione immediately sat down, eyes glued to the owl-postage information. HERMIONE GRANGER ONLY! 13 Cherry Tree Lane, Godric's Hollow, Wizard Community Section 62659A, read the stamp. She looked to the top and found a familiar crescent, one with an eagle, a lion, a badger, and a snake.
Hermione was very interested, raising her eyebrows up and slowly opening the box up. Surely it wasn't…
"Dear Ms. Granger,
It is called to my attention that you are currently unemployed by choice, and I am quite interested in your situation. Also, it seems as if there is an open position on our staff as of this year, and I would be delighted and honored for your intellect to be shared. Remember, Ms. Granger, that it is you who has the ability to teach these young children what is right and give them your unbiased knowledge.
If you would grace us with your presence by Tuesday, August 28th, 2000, for professors' training day, please contact me immediately through the Floo Network. You may be wondering what you are to teach? Well, the newly opened Potions Mistress position is available—" Hermione's heart stopped. Why would that be open, usually DADA was clearly a free job after the long streak of quitters……
"—with your superb marks and interests in this area, I am sure you will have no trouble with this job!
Albus Dumbledore
Headmaster of Hogwarts"
Hermione dropped the letter like it was on fire, a shocked, choking noise escaping from her lips. "August 28th? … That's tomorrow!" she shrieked, not sure how to feel.
Taking a deep calming breath, she looked inside the box to see there was a wrapped something at the bottom. Picking it up, she undid the brown papering, looking down upon an immaculate silver stone. "Hermione A. Granger, Potions Mistress of Hogwarts," was engraved on the back.
Hermione's eyes widened with dawning realization. She could not possibly turn down this job. Hogwarts was obviously desperate, it being so late in the summer, and actually offering her the position. Taking a pinch of Floo Powder, she got on her knees and spoke clearly into the fire for Albus Dumbledore's office.
"Hermione," Albus smiled brightly upon her entrance into the Great Hall. The young woman was overcome with nostalgia.
"Albus," she said, tasting the name in her mouth. She laughed slightly, it was ridiculous! All of this was making her a verifiable mature, old woman!
"I would like to introduce you to the staff," the headmaster said, eyes twinkling. "I would like to, but it seems you have already met everyone!"
"Isn't there a new Defense teacher thou—" she began, but suddenly felt very foolish as Professor Severus Snape walked out from behind Dumbledore. "Oh, right… Silly me."
"Well, it seems as if I must be tutoring you into the school policies right now, and the other teachers are working on House Rivalries until lunch! So, shall we begin?" he said courteously, allowing Hermione to take a seat at the Staff Table. The Headmaster sat in front of her, busily chatting about lesson plans, managing students, and exams.
She nodded, taking out a parchment to take notes.
"…And one last thing, Hermione?" Albus said tentatively.
"Yes?" Hermione said, capping the ink bottle up and putting it in her side rucksack.
"It seems as if I cannot accommodate you in Gryffindor Tower," he said, eyes still twinkling deviously. "It seems that we must house you in the Dungeons, not too far down, though! In fact, it's right by Severus' quarters, so you should not fear any rowdy Slytherins…"
Hermione's heart dropped.
It was pitch black night; Hermione was sleeping in her canopy bed of a deep midnight blue. She was mumbling, twisting around in her covers, sweat dripping from her forehead. A man stood above her bed, gently placing a hand on her forehead to check for a fever.
Within moments of the removal of his hand, she sprung straight up in bed, taking deep, quick lung filling breaths of air. Her eyes widened, and she looked up into his eyes.
"I thought you were sick, the way you were…" he said, not bothering to finish his explanation.
Her cheeks colored in the moonlight, and her eyes fluttered shut for a moment. "I was serious," she said quietly, chest still rapidly intaking air.
"About?" he said, obviously confused.
"You know what about," she said below a hiss, getting out of bed and not caring about her inappropriate attire. His eyes dawned with a memory, before his face was replaced with the usual mask. "I still am serious, you can't change that," she said louder now.
"I'm not sure I know what to say," he retorted, sitting on the edge of her bed. She spun around, biting her lip as the inevitable tears began to well up in her eyes. Turning around, she slowly walked back to Severus, nightshirt covering just what it needed to as she slowly put her arms on his shoulders.
"But, Severus," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. She paused, straddling his lap, and pressed her cool hand to his cheek. He swallowed audibly and visually, blinking up and looking into her eyes. Taking all of her will power, she leant into him, lips almost touching his in a kiss. "Severus, I am still haunted by you."
Pulling back before he could lean in to do something—or for her to give in and kiss his soft lips—she quickly leapt off of his lap, grabbing her cloak and headed toward the bathroom.
Alone at last, Severus took a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a moment. Glaring darkly up to the gods, he stormed out of the room, slamming the door just loud enough to penetrate the bathroom walls and to echo through the entire castle.
Months passed, Hermione teaching in the dungeons. Every night, she was attacked by nightmares. Black, billowing robes, hurtful silences, heartbreaking whispers… Every night, she'd wake up depressed and upset.
Her students were wonderful learners, although many of the first years kept blowing up cauldrons… Hermione could see where some people would shout and become bitter at the students, but somehow she managed her patience and temper.
"And that, my dear amazingly intelligent seventh years," she grinned ruefully at the snickers that erupted, "is the basic Polyjuice Potion that I made in my second year at Hogwarts!"
There was a shocked silence, before murmurs of doubt spread the room. "No, really, guys, it was the incident in which I was turned into a cat by mishap…" she cringed at the memory and mainly Slytherins laughed.
"Now, if I could make it way back then, I expect you to do it perfectly and flawlessly!" she announced, much to the groans of the class. "Not today, obviously, next Double Potions! Which is… unfortunately after winter break." She smiled as a bell rang. "Have a happy Friday!"
Students rushed outside of the classroom, Slytherins slowly, but briskly sauntering further down the dungeons. Hermione rolled her eyes, packing the rest of the essays she had collected today into her rucksack. Walking up a few dungeon stairways, she stopped at her room. Looking next door, she shuddered as she thought of whom it occupied.
Exhausted from a week of final test reviewing for January, Hermione sunk into her arm chair. She decided to summon her food into her bed room tonight, taking out the second years' essays on Moonwhistle Weed and its uses in complementary potions and elixirs.
After five horrid grades, she grumpily sighed and took a bite of her sandwich. "Honestly, how do they come up with this stuff…?" Shaking her head, Hermione scored the next paper with a fine, red 75%--What does "yueliglksakfdjsdlk" mean?!
Yawning and stretching out, she glanced at the clock. "Oh, jeeze. It's only half eight and I'm already dying! I suppose I could go for a bit of a respite…"
Falling carelessly into her bed after magically changing into her nightshirt, Hermione shut her eyes for a quick little nap. But sleep overcame her much too powerfully, and she was embraced in blissful subconscious.
She thrashed back and forth, the nightmares started up. It was normal for her to do this, every night the heartbreak arose from the dead around two a.m. Her skin was cold and clammy, the moonlight and sky peering in from the windows placed strategically high on the walls. The pale white and blue mixed and cast Hermione in a shadowy haze.
Moaning and whimpering pathetically, she let out a depressed wail of desperation.
The door slowly creaked open, and the green glowing torches from the hall made a dreadful mix with the blue starlight. A figure slowly crept in, having stressed features and a slight sweat had been worked over him. His breath came out in slow, steady rasps.
Ever so slowly, he lowered himself into Hermione's bedside. Putting his hand on her forehead, he nodded and slipped under her covers and duvet. The whimpers slowly died down and she turned to face him in her sleep, face crinkled up in horror. He gently stroked her hair, knowing not to wake her up for she might go into shock.
Suddenly, her eyes shot open, but she for once stayed lying down.
Hermione felt a soothing calmness come over her, as her eyes shot open. Immediately she tensed, a stranger was in bed with her, after all. Narrowing her eyes, she dared not get up, but she didn't have the willpower anyway. His hypnotic gaze entranced her.
She didn't move a muscle, even when he wrapped his arms around her to bring them closer. Nor did she move a muscle when he slowly stroked her cheek with his cold, slender hands. Nor did she move a muscle when he leant in really close, and his lips touched her ears.
Her heart erratically beat against her ribcage, uncontrollably wild. Shutting her eyes and savoring the moment, Hermione bit her lip. He slowly pressed his stomach into her stomach, and her heart fluttered into a stop. Had he been dreaming of the wants he could not have either…? Hermione unclamped her teeth from her bottom lip, her body dancing on fire.
And then he opened his mouth, tickling her earlobe. "Though I've tried to deny it," he whispered in a way that suggested he had given up, "it seems, my dear… I am haunted by you."
And with that, Hermione's eyes opened gently, and she moved to see into Severus' eyes. Yes, it was him, who else could that voice be? She had tried to deny it, make it another bad dream, but no more could she. Her body trembled and shuddered as she reached and ran her hand slowly down his cheek and neck. He shut his eyes, acknowledging that this was not a pleasure of guilty, subconscious webs Hermione's mind had come up with to torture her.
But, then, something happened that sealed this was no dream world. Severus dropped the mask of impassivity off, and smiled gently. He pulled Hermione further against him—their bodies close in a way almost not so innocent—and Severus met his lips with Hermione's.
And the bridges broke, as passion erupted.
A/N: Wow, bloody hell! That was something the Voices were talking me about for ages. :P Hehe. Finally I've finished, I've hand-crafted this to my perfection's expectations. Sorry if some sentences are confusing with too many clauses, but you can take them out and reread the sentences and they should make more sense! :P Wow. I'm so glad I've finished. That was pretty adult. I managed to go through that all without saying Snape pressed his **** into Hermione! Lmao. Accomplishment all in its own… ^__^
What do you think? You cannot honestly tell me its shite, or I will hunt you down and kill you.
But review, I worked hard. Please? Pweeeeettty pweetty please? The pretty purple button calls, so click it and type up something! Lol, I'll stop bugging now…