It was approaching. Too quickly for his preference.
The one good thing about that cursed day in February was that Lockhart was gone. To think there had been a handful of students with the backbone to ask him for a love potion... They had received a stern lecture on the use of such an unethical potion, the legal ramifications, and the unfortunate side effects. Though when one especially idiotic Gryffindor persisted, there had been a brief struggle not to provide the fool with a slightly modified love potion.
Unrequited love... the most hideous of compelling concoctions. A nasty prank of a potion that was enough to drive the strongest (and most desperate) of men to tears. Simply replace the whole ashwinder egg with the yolk of the egg and a single drop of basilisk venom along with a drop of the one to be cursed with the unrequited love, and the potion would turn.
Love becomes unrequited love, leaving the victim to fall long and hard for the one that drank it while simultaneously inducing a firm indifference in the drinker. Ouch. In Severus Snape's professional opinion, of course.
There was a scratching on his dungeon window, and with a wave of his hand, he allowed the opaque portal to open and admit the messenger. A large, sleek owl entered and landed on the desk in front of him. Generic post owl. How odd.
He removed the message, and before he could even consider denying the bird a treat, it flew away. The window shut itself when the bird was out.
Now his attention was fully on the small roll of parchment in his hands. Holding it to his nose revealed nothing. It had no scent, betraying the composer none at all. But this was unnatural; every letter had the smell of its writer on it, so this must have been hidden quite on purpose. Interesting.
Generic parchment, the kind found in any store in Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade or a hundred other wizarding establishments. The ribbon that bound it was familiar as complimentary issue from the post office, and it too was without character. From the outside, a true anonymous letter. Not the style of a Death Eater, and not bumbling enough for a student.
With a tap of his wand, the parchment glowed a brilliant green. Void of charms or hexes as well. Now that his interest was suitably piqued and his suspicions allayed somewhat, Snape plucked at the ribbon.
The knot slipped open, no doubt meant to do so only at his touch, and the parchment began to unfurl. While his spell had detected no magic on the parchment, these things were endowed with their own brand of charms that were considered standard; they were not detected by the spell he had used.
Unfurling and flattening itself against his desk, the words began to magically appear on the parchment. Large, loopy and so obviously magical in origin, it was yet another source that revealed nothing about the sender. For some reason, as he read the emerging words, a small smile touched his lips.
My beloved,
I have watched you for some time now, and for every second you remain in my hungry gaze, my love for you grows that much. You may find this ridiculous, but I am unable to help the raw feelings that surge when you enter my vision. Raw and so pure, undeniable. I am in love with you. And if not love, then lust.
Your covert worshiper
Long, delicate fingers glided over the text. Covert worshiper... A foolish notion, but one he could get used to. The idea that it could be a cruel joke occurred to him, but this was too well-executed for a student's work. To think a colleague would stoop to this level... No, Doubled would know and would not allow it.
Snape leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers under his chin. Who?
The next day, another post owl invaded his sanctuary. When he saw the parchment, Snape did not consider it an invasion. This time, he gave it a treat before it left.
Old habits died hard with him, and he tested the parchment again. Green.
My beloved,
I must admit I feel a bit foolish calling you that. I know you not, but in my deepest dreams, I know you and love you. And please, read that statement in all ways. I know you in all ways, mentally, emotionally... physically. I dread the coming of morning those nights. Shall I describe my dreams to you? Or not. Not in this letter, I think. Know for now that you have my heart.
Your covert worshiper
He had her heart. Never had he held anyone's heart before. He wasn't sure he wanted to, but until he knew this person's identity, there was little he could do against it. No, for now he'd simply have to endure.
"Professor?"
He jerked at the voice and the gentle knock. "What?" he snapped and glared in the general direction of the door. His hands automatically rolled the parchment up and tucked it away.
"Professor, I was wondering if I could ask you something?" Hesitantly, Hermione Granger approached the desk.
"What do you want, Miss Granger?" he asked, irritated by the, no doubt, pointless interruption. He had hoped that as she matured, she would grow less annoying with her behavior, but now in her final year, she pestered him more than ever. From the chatter in the staff room, she behaved that way to all her professors, though the others didn't seem to mind it.
"Well, I was wondering if you might..." She looked away.
Was she blushing? Panic gripped him as he considered the letter. No, it couldn't be! "What is it?" he growled to hide his horror.
"Could you show me how... to..." She mumbled something more under her breath.
"Repeat yourself, and be clear so I don't have to tolerate your presence longer than necessary." No, no, no... No, it couldn't be!
Her eyes remained on the floor. "Show me how to makealovepotion."
"What did you say?" This was even more unbelievable.
"I want to know how to make a love potion." She braved meeting his gaze.
The prepared lecture for such questions was shunted immediately aside for his standard Granger cutdown. "You mean to say that a know-it-all like yourself is unaware of how to make a love potion? I find that hard to believe. You did not consult each and every book in the library first? Falsified a signature to loot the restricted section at the leisure of you and your friends?" Her intensifying blush only delighted him. "Or perhaps," he continued silkily, "it is for one of these friends that you wish to use it. Tired of waiting for the dimwitted Weasley or the too-famous Potter to notice you, is that it? Or even possibly--" This would get her for sure. "--it's the attention of a certain Slytherin you seek. Oh, Mr. Malfoy would be so amused to learn--"
"No! It's for... for..." Her shoulders slumped. "It's for Harry."
"Ah. Well, you should know..." The standard lecture faded once more. For Potter. "Miss Granger," he began in his most business-like tone, "I will not tell you any such thing. Now if you would, I have important things to do."
"Oh please, sir! I wouldn't tell anyone! I promise!" Her blush had risen, but she was so desperately earnest about her request.
It took all Snape had to not smile maliciously. Of course his simple dismissal would encourage her to such begging. "To think, the head girl using a love potion... What would people say, Miss Granger?" Yes, make her squirm.
"The results are only temporary. I don't want to use it for him to fall in love with me forever, just to make him realize..."
"Don't start crying in my dungeon, Miss Granger. If it will get you out of here..." He whisked out a blank parchment and quill, and scribbled the instructions on it. "Here is your love potion, Miss Granger, and if I hear that you told anyone--"
"Of course not! I would never betray you, sir!" She snatched the parchment up and hurried away. "Thank you!"
Snape sneered until he was sure she was gone, then grinned. Oh yes, a love potion Miss Granger was sure never to forget.
There was an owl the next day. He tested it, and it was green once more. Eagerly he opened the letter and began to read as the words bared themselves.
My beloved,
I hope that greeting doesn't bore you. Nor do I hope it inconveniences you to receive these messages. One indication of displeasure over these and I would decease immediately, though my heart would ache over it. Until February 14th arrives, I shall send you a special message every day, filled with my most heart-felt feelings. Is it the right time for my dreams yet? No, not yet. I think I shall keep you waiting for at least one more day.
Your covert worshiper
And then what would happen on the 14th? Would the author of these letters be revealed? Or would he simply be left to wonder forever who he held so much sway over? Perhaps when the clock struck midnight to signal the end of the day, there would be nothing; what he was interpreting to be an undying love would be nothing more than seasonal fixation. He both hoped and dreaded for it.
Sighing, pulling himself back together, Snape hid the parchment in his robe so he could put it with the others. Carrying anything in the open would invite questions, and even the most harmless one would probably insure some reaction on his part. If it were Dumbledore that asked, no doubt the old man would know in an instant.
Once it was stored with the others behind the false panel of the shelf that housed his collection of pickled soft tissues, he made his way to the Great Hall for dinner.
Taking his usual seat at the head table, he glanced briefly at the Slytherin table and could immediately see that something was wrong. Pansy Parkinson was sobbing her eyes out, and not a single soul was paying any attention to it. Normally, if only for appearances sake, Draco Malfoy would be comforting her, but the boy--no, young man was sitting at the opposite end of the table looking as aloof as he ever had. How odd.
His eyes slid to the Gryffindor table, to the insufferable trio, and more specifically Hermione Granger. She was sitting across from Potter and Weasley, next to the youngest Weasley, and looking rather cheerful. She was... talking to Potter, who was listening and nodding.
Snape narrowed his eyes, then suddenly shook his head. Silly. She couldn't have brewed the Unrequited Love potion so soon. Where would she have gotten basilisk venom on such short notice? No, things were normal, unfortunately, at the Gryffindor table, while the Slytherins were in something near to chaos. This situation would need to be addressed later in the common room.
As Slytherins entered the common room at their own pace, Snape made them all wait until every member of the House was there. He noted immediately that Parkinson's eyes were still red, though her tears had stopped. Of course it appeared they might begin again at any second. Malfoy was on the opposite side of the room and ignoring her completely. "What," he said, causing any chatter to end, "was that display at dinner?"
Every eye looked at him except for Parkinson's.
"I expect an answer."
The first to answer was Bulstrode, who very rarely ever contributed anything to House Slytherin. "Pansy, sir, she's just--"
"If you were about to tell me she is distraught, save your revelation. I want answers, children." He crossed his arms and drew himself to his full height, and glared at the room. "No one has can tell me?"
It was Pansy. She started wailing. "Draaacoooo!"
Snape's eyes went to Draco, to see the boy roll his eyes in dismissal. Parkinson wailing, Draco dismissive. Could it be? But how? "All right, get to your rooms. You don't want to be caught past curfew tonight." He turned and left the common room. This would take serious investigation.
Breakfast was less horrid than dinner, as the Slytherins knew to ignore Parkinson as best they could. No more scenes presented for the rest of the school. If it was as he feared, there was little he could do about Parkinson's behavior, but it was unacceptable for the others to act foolish as well.
Malfoy entered with Crabbe and Hoyle at his heels, and took his seat away from Parkinson. As the post arrived, Snape subtly sent a message to Malfoy that arrived with a letter dropped on his plate.
The letter was opened first, read, and disposed of with little reaction. The message was read, and Malfoy nodded, then he disposed of it as well. Instead of reporting to his first class of the day--Herbology--he would go to the dungeons.
"Mr. Malfoy, please sit," Snape said as the young man entered. "I want to ask you about Miss Parkinson's behavior." Oh, he'd question some other people about it as well, but not quite yet.
"I don't know what she's going on about, sir. She just started flipping her wig after lunch the other day. I didn't do a thing, and I really don't care either. She's been hanging on me ever since I came here, and I'm sick of it." Draco lounged in the chair, looking unconcerned as ever.
Lunch then. But where had she gotten the ingredients? And how had it been brewed with Parkinson's blood? Snape's brow creased in centimeter.
"Is there something wrong, sir?" Draco asked, catching the change.
"Nothing you need to concern yourself over, though I would like to give you a little test. I believe there has been some unethical use going about."
Draco sat up straighter in the chair now. "Of course." Not eager, just concerned.
"I'll have it ready after dinner. Don't speak of this with anyone until I can be sure."
"Yes, sir."
Snape was already writing out an excuse on a scrap of parchment and handed it over. "Go on to class now." When Draco was gone and the door was shut, Snape relaxed a fraction. Unrequited love almost certainly. How though? Why he could imagine, though it seemed very much out of character for the Granger girl.
Something had changed, and he had missed it until it was too late. And to think he thought he had been the clever one in that exchange.
Later, at lunch, nothing seemed to have changed from breakfast, though Parkinson was absent. So lunch was actually an improvement. Snape's sharp eyes watched Malfoy, and as he had been told did not speak of the professor's suspicions. Then he watched the Gryffindor table, and Hermione Granger in particular.
The girl was as cool as ice. She betrayed her transactions none at all, and for that he had to respect her. Still, he could not allow her to go unpunished for what she had done, but there were too many questions. Even the vaunted Miss Granger could get hold of the venom required in a day; it was one of the most rare poisons--for good reason--and not easily acquired even in Knockturn Alley.
Growling more at his helplessness in the situation than anything, Snape stood and left the Great Hall.
Afternoon classes went as smoothly as they ever did, and then to Snape's watchful eyes, all Hell broke loose at dinner.
First it was a Hufflepuff, sobbing inconsolably, as his friends gave each other strange looks. Then a Ravenclaw girl slapping a Gryffindor, which had all the males of each House standing and bristling at one another.
At every table there was at lest one person either crying or looking like their heart had been cut out. Gryffindors and Ravenclaws were glaring, Slytherins and Gryffindors were glaring, and the Hufflepuff table was in as much chaos as they could manage when a first year staggered in carrying as many roses as his arms would hold. The chaos had been caused when the object of his affection had casually shoved him away, knocking him to the floor and dumping roses everywhere. The boy ran out in tears; of a broken heart, or humiliation?
Snape looked to the Slytherin table and caught Malfoy's eye. He raised an eyebrow and gestured vaguely with a nod to the rest of the hall. Malfoy gave a minuscule nod in return. He understood. "I'm working on it, Headmaster," Snape said quietly as he rose, then departed.
It was a quarter hour after he had returned to his office that Draco arrived. "The test first, Mr. Malfoy. I will need a drop of your blood for it." There was a flask on the desk filled with a light blue liquid. "You may do it yourself," Snape said, and handed over a long, thin needle. "One drop in the flash will tell us if you're...under the effects of a potion."
Without a word, Draco took the needle, pinched his finger and thumb together, then jabbed the fingertip with the needle. The first drop that oozed forth went into the flask.
For a moment, nothing happened, and then the blue liquid slowly turned a bright, poisonous green.
A tap of the wand to heal the injury, and Snape's nodded. "I can't give you an antidote yet, though... you're not feeling ill, are you?"
"No, sir. I feel fine."
"Good. If you do start to feel unusual, come to me straight away. You may go now, Mr. Malfoy. And again, do not speak of this with anyone."
Draco stood. "Does this have something to do with Pansy?"
"I believe so, but I also think that she is as much a victim as you are. I intend to discover who is at the root of this." He didn't say it, but his meaning was clear. Root of what was going on at lunch.
With nothing more to say, Draco left, and shut the door behind him.
As soon as the latch clicked, there was a scratching at the window. "Ah, my daily owl," Snape said softly, and waved the window open.
My beloved,
I'm sure you're wondering why this, why now, and what comes after. Opportunity. Finally I have the opportunity to express myself to you. Trust me on this, I will when the time is right. And what comes after this? When will the time be right? I will tell you now that I will give you a reason to look forward to February 14th.
Your covert worshiper
Oh, that could only mean one thing. Anticipation and fear had already taken root in his gut even though it was still a week away. His eyes scanned the letter again, and panic started to bloom. When? What time? He was stuck chaperoning the accursed Valentine dance, and those invariably lasted far too long. What if he wasn't able to meet her? Damn it all.
The unrequited love would fade after a time, though there was a cure. Unfortunately, it was one Snape hesitated to use as it would require informing Dumbledore of what he needed the phoenix tears for. And then he would have to admit how a student got the knowledge to create such a potion, and the old man never looked favorably on the torment of Gryffindors.
Perhaps it was best to let it fade, and then the students would be stronger for the negative experience. Besides, he still had to find out how Granger was doing it, making the potion and dosing her fellow students with it. Certainly as soon as students appeared cured, she would know there was something up.
He needed to catch her red-handed in some way, but he had no idea how.
Every day, his letter arrived, and when the one that described those dreams landed on his desk, Snape went to bed that night with it clutched very firmly in his left hand.
And every day, as the 14th drew closer, meal times grew more and more chaotic until it was unbearable to eat in the Great Hall. Tables were in shambles with students yelling and crying, sometimes resorting to physical and magical fights.
All of them except for Hermione Granger, who acted as if it was the norm to have Dean Thomas and Neville Longbottom almost engaging in a fistfight next to her.
Snape's patience and tolerance was at an end. He would have to tell Dumbledore and administer the antidote whether he could prove it was Granger or not. "Headmaster," he said as quietly as possible to be heard over the din, "I need to speak with you immediately."
Dumbledore looked as old as he ever had before. He nodded and stood. "My office," he said, and left the hall without looking back.
"I believe I know what is the problem, though its origins are... suspect," Snape said when they were in the hallway and away from students.
"Tell me, Severus."
"Unrequited love potion. I have my suspicions, as unbelievable as you might think them, but can't prove them. I had hoped things would... stabilize, and I would get the chance to get to the bottom of this without alerting the perpetrator, but I think the scene in the Great Hall won't allow that."
Dumbledore sighed. "What will I think of your suspicions, Severus?"
A mirthless smile. "That they are prejudiced and without base. I would agree even if I hadn't such a strong belief in the suspect."
"Do you think it's safe to keep the confrontation until after the dance? Assuming we administer the antidote to all the students."
"Possibly. I suspect the... person will cease once action is taken." Mentally, Snape added, I hope.
"Very well."
"Phoenix tears, sir. A small amount of those made into a solution to each student should cure the problem." The conversation was drawing to a close as they neared the gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the headmaster's office.
"I will send down as many as I can coax from Fawkes."
"Thank you, sir."
It was February 12th when an adequate amount of phoenix tears had been gathered to give to all the students. Heads of Houses gave the solution to each student and made sure no one was skipped. After that things returned to normalcy, and students repaired frayed friendships in preparation for the dance.
The letters from Snape's covert worshiper helped ease his frustration over the potion he had unwittingly let loose on the school, but increased his stress about the upcoming dance. Vague promises of what might occur the night of the 14th--and on into the early morning of the 15th--made him hate his chaperoning obligation.
But what was he supposed to do? Tell Dumbledore he couldn't do it because he was hoping to score with his secret admirer? As amusing as the old man might find it, Snape would not be given leave for it. To top it all off, classes would be a disaster as the students concentrated more on their hormones than their education.
The seventh years, last class of the day, were all chattering, and he could see it would do no good to try and induce them to learn. Snape slammed his hand down on his desk, getting their attention for a few moments. "I want an essay on memory restoring draughts and how they repair the damage done by the Obliviate spell. Two feet by Monday. Get working!"
Some students started flipping their books, but most just ignored the assignment and returned to talking.
"Miss Granger, I want to talk to you after class," he said coldly, and glared at her even as she smiled and nodded at him.
The minutes dragged on until class was finally dismissed. All but Granger left, and she stood disgustingly cheerful in front of his desk.
"You wanted to talk to me?"
Snape narrowed his eyes. "That was a foolish thing to do, Miss Granger?"
"What was, professor?"
"As long as you know the punishment for that type of stunt."
"What stunt?"
He could feel his blood boiling with the girl's impertinence. "Get out of my sight!" he hissed, and snarled at her. Snarled at her even as she shrugged, and flounced out of the room.
My beloved,
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I promise I will reveal myself to you. It is hard for me to express how I feel about the prospect. Of course it is joy, but to what degree goes beyond words. I will find you wherever you are tomorrow night. Fear not. Until then, I remain
Your covert worshiper
Well, that took a little pressure off, but if some woman marched into the Great Hall while all the students were watching... Bah. To hell with what they thought. If they couldn't appreciate that he was going to get some much-needed and desired action, then they could all jump. Reputations were for good men and dead men; he was neither.
Walking to the Great Hall was like a short jaunt to his own execution because he knew it would be that horrific to walk through those doors. Snape paused, took a deep breath, then pushed open the doors. A wave of red and pink and floral scent and laughter and music hit him head on and sent him stumbling back a bit. Gritting his teeth against the onslaught, Snape marched gamely ahead, ignoring everything until he arrived at the front table. In his regular seat, he could more easily stomach the horror before him and watch the students for any questionable behavior.
Not quite everyone was there yet. He could pick out gaps in the House cliques, including some Slytherins. Vaguely he wondered how much trouble they were getting themselves into, and concentrated on the identifiable Gryffindors. Of course, Snape wasn't surprised to see Granger and her friends missing.
He watched the door for two people that evening: a mysterious stranger and Hermione Granger. Truth be told, he dreaded seeing both, but he was still disappointed when the doors burst open suddenly and, with Ron Weasley on one arm and Harry Potter on the other, strode Miss Granger.
If Snape's had been half his current age, he would have found the deep red robes she was draped in breath-taking, the way her hair was pulled back, and her face was accented with just the lightest touch of makeup. She looked like a model for a Greek statue, though the boys were no Hercules and Atlas.
Many heads turned that evening, all wanting to get a better look at Hermione and whatever had transformed her. As the Yule Ball those many years ago had proved, she prettied up very well, but she hadn't bothered to try. No Victor Krum, no elegant balls to attend, no one to impress... Hermione had remained Hermione, tucking herself into the library until closing, always the most eager in class...
This person at the dance though... That surely couldn't be Hermione Granger. Buck-tooth, know-it-all, bossy Granger...
But it was, and over the course of the evening, she alternated dancing with Ron and Harry, sometimes granting another young man an interlude. This was so far beyond the Hermione Granger that was familiar to the school, most of those not dancing with her just stared in amazement.
Snape knew this had something to do with her request for a love potion and the plague of unrequited love that had swept through the school, but there was nothing to link the elements together. Granger simply wasn't that malicious or that stupid to be so obvious.
Aside from Granger acting so completely out of character, the night went smoothly, and Snape wasn't required to track down any students who decided to stray outside. No, when the final song played and the last dance was concluded, all students filed out of the Great Hall and returned to their Houses.
There were only thirty minutes left until Valentine's Day officially became the day after Valentine's Day when Snape returned to the dungeons. No mystery woman yet, and though he had a full half hour, he was not optimistic. Disappointment was an old acquaintance though, and he would get over it, just as he had all the times before.
There was a soft knock on the door. Snape was so surprised he only stared. Was this really it?
The knock repeated itself, and as he stood--too slow! She might leave!--the door opened and slammed against the wall. Who should walk through but the one and only Hermione Granger. Only she wasn't walking.
In those long, flowing red robes, she was really letting everything go, acting like the queen of the castle and sashaying into his dungeon. He had to admit though, with all that swaying material, it could probably incite desperate men to riot. Snape took a very deep breath and told himself he was not desperate. "Miss Granger, what brings you to the dungeon at this hour?" he asked smoothly. Calling up venom was too difficult at the moment.
"I need to talk to you." She sat on the tabletop in front of his desk and looked at him pointedly.
"I'm afraid that won't be possible. It will have to wait until morning, and then we'll speak. Yes, the two of us, along with the headmaster." Snape stood, meaning to escort her very firmly out. "And now you need to leave."
She smiled. "Why, professor? Are you... waiting for someone?"
The breath caught in Snape's's lungs. No, it couldn't be. It couldn't! This was too unfair! "It's none of your concern, Miss Granger. Go before you test my patience beyond its limits."
Hermione didn't move. In fact, she sat back a bit on the desk. This action revealed details about the robes that hadn't been apparent before. There were two long slits that started at roughly the waist and went all the way to the floor. When Hermione sat, these slits became visible as her stockinged legs were now visible. "I think I paid too much for these hose," she said, unconcerned that he was staring at her. "They're very nice, but I shouldn't spend money so frivolously. What do you think of them?"
"I think you should leave, Miss Granger," Snape answered quietly. "You should leave right now." He couldn't take his eyes off the knee and the dusky silk that encased it.
"Feel it. Tell me if you think that's real glow worm silk. I paid an extra galleon because the man said it was."
Too close. She was able to reach out and take his hand. Her grip was like iron, which was definitely not normal for her. "Feel it," Hermione repeated, and placed his hand on her knee. "Do you think it's real?"
It couldn't be any more real, and it took everything in him to stop Snape's from caressing her leg. "This is highly--"
"Cut the crap, lover boy. I know who you're waiting for, and I know you'd like a piece of what I'm not quite offering here," Hermione snapped, her eyes alight with a weird orange spark. "I wrote those letters." With a wave of her hand, words started writing themselves in the air. "My beloved," Hermione said with syrupy sweetness, "how I long for you to fill me. I can barely contain myself, think clearly when I imagine what it must be like." She snapped her fingers and the golden letters disappeared. "Is that what you were expecting?"
The astonishment (and desire) faded to be replaced by his regular cold personality once more. "Miss Granger," he began and started to pull away.
Her grip tightened until it reached a painful intensity. "You can stay right here," Hermione warned, and hooked her legs around him. That in itself distracted him with the full view of her long, coltish legs.
Merlin's Ghost, who would have thought... Snape's mind boggled as he looked at her thighs.
"Now that's what I like to feel on a man," Hermione purred, and wiggled around, grinding herself against him.
"Whatever you are," Snape said, struggling against his baser nature to just give in and let her have her way with him, "release Miss Granger before she misses more schooling than she already has."
A sly smile played over lips that were blood red. "Don't think that little trick will work here. Can't call out Hermione and have her fight me. This isn't a bad horror movie." Placing both hands on his shoulders, she pulled herself to him, pressing her breasts very firmly against his chest. "No," Hermione murmured, her lips almost touching his, "I was hoping for something more like a porno."
Her lips grazed his then brushed his cheek, moved down over his jaw, across his neck, and to his ear. One hand held the back of his head as she nibbled his ear briefly, then licked it. "This is a good start," she whispered, and pulled back.
Snape didn't see the movement of her hand, but it must have done something, because those red robes peeled away to leave Hermione only covered by her bra.
"Do you like it?" she asked, grinning at him.
Though his brain wasn't quite on even keel, he was clear enough to sneer at the white bra decorated with tiny red hearts.
"No? Then you could just... get rid of it." When no response came forward, she ran one hand across her collarbone and down her chest, and the bra changed to black lace. "Or is this more your style?" She waited, but he didn't move. "Come on, how could you be looking a gift horse in the mouth like this? You wizards always think you're so powerful when you're susceptible to the same temptations as all other mortals," Hermione hissed, returning his sneer. "You're no different in that respect, though I was highly interested in your vindictive nature and your slightly elevated intelligence." Her sneer shifted into a smile. "How did you like what I did with your 'love' potion? Something you'd do, wasn't it?"
This was wrong, as pleasant as his current position was. To do nothing would be an insult to the trust Dumbledore had in him. Snape took a deep breath. "As lovely as I find you to be..." Before he could think about what he was doing, he planted his hand firmly on her left breast.
She smiled at this.
"Expulso Animus!"
Hermione's body flew backwards off the desk and out of his sight. A dark grey haze remained in front of him though. It hovered there for a moment, pulsating, trying to take shape--probably of a woman--and then dissipated into the air.
Wiping his hand on his robes first, Snape went to inspect the fallen Hermione Granger. She was on the floor and half-dressed, but breathing normally, so he fetched his cloak and covered her. This would be an interesting talk with the headmaster.
Albus looked faintly amused while Hermione looked horrified. She was listening as the events of the previous two weeks were related by Snape.
"...and then she licked my ear."
Hermione made a strange sound.
"She said something about wanting to make it a porno, whatever that is. Oops." Hermione's eyes fluttered, and she started to swoon, right into his arms.
"I think Miss Granger needs a good rest in the hospital wing, and, Severus, do not hold this against her," Albus said, still smiling faintly.
The old man had one twisted sense of humor. "I would never think of such a thing, Headmaster," Snape said gravely, then swept Hermione off her feet, into his arms, and headed to the hospital wing.
"Never think of it, no, but now that you've given me the idea..." he said faintly as he looked at the unconscious young woman in his arms.
END