A/N: The timeline is not perfect, which I acknowledge, but seeing as this is my first HP fic, I decided to let this slide. It occurs in the 6th year. The characters are property of J.K. Rowling, and I do not receive anything of monetary value from the creation of this, nor does she. It is fiction, reflection of real events are coincidental.
It had started out as a simple distraction, a way to ensure that Harry could follow Draco without being stopped, but Hermione should have known that she'd get in over her head. She always tended to when she allowed herself to be pulled away from her studies by one of Harry's intrigues.
She should have brought Ron with her this time, she realized as she got closer to Professor Snape's supply room, where she knew that he would be holed up, inventorying his potions. But if she had brought him, things wouldn't have gone according to plan, and she knew that she was brave enough to handle this alone. After all, it was just a silly love potion.
A very strong silly love potion.
Hermione took a deep breath and stepped more firmly, allowing her high heels to echo off of the stone floor and down the corridor. Three, two, one, and-
When Professor Snape swung the door open, his eyebrow was already up. When he saw that it was Hermione who was sashaying by in high heels, his other eyebrow flew up, as well.
"Miss Granger," he said, the bottom of his robe sweeping out and billowing against his door. His face quickly rearranged itself into a mask of disdain, although Hermione did not miss his quick sweep of her body. She was wearing the only non-fancy dress she had, one that she had bought over the summer in order to impress Ron, and although it was a little flimsy for an autumn night, she knew that it made her at least a little bit pretty, if only because the moonlight turned it – and her skin – a lovely shade of lilac.
"What are you doing out of bed after hours?" he asked finally, his voice like liquid velvet. It sent a chill down her spine, although she told herself that it was just the drafty castle, and she squared her shoulders.
"I was finishing up work in the library-" She began quickly, a plausible enough story that even Snape wouldn't question it.
"I see. Aren't you a studious little know-it-all."
A retort flashed across Hermione's mind, but she dared not utter it. She was still a little bit in awe of Professor Snape, no matter how thick she laid the bravado on.
"I was headed back to the tower, sir," she said, lowering her head respectfully and moving as if to leave.
"Not so fast, Granger."
Professor Snape's voice cut like a knife, and then he was in front of her, blocking her path and holding out his hand.
"What is it, exactly, that you are smuggling back to your dormitory with you?"
Hermione let her face fall, and Professor Snape sucked his teeth in a disapproving noise.
"Ah, Miss Granger. Still convinced that you will get away with anything, I see."
Snape lifted the cup to his nose and sniffed. The wrinkles at the corner of his eye lessened, and he paused for a moment. Hermione licked her lips in nervousness, recognizing the moment that he smelled that scent – whichever it was that bespoke attraction for him (how odd, that even Snape could feel attraction) – then lifted the cup to his lips.
"Professor-" started Hermione, reaching out to take the goblet back, but it was too late. Professor Snape's eyes had already begun to soften, a look that did not fail to alarm Hermione, and his jaw grew slack.
And then he looked at her.
Hermione realized her mistake instantaneously. She had made the potion so that the person who received it would fall in love with her, because it was easiest to make it that way without alerting somebody to her intentions, and because she had never intended to actually allow anybody to drink it.
But here was Professor Snape, looming over her with the same lovesick look that Harry often gave Ginny, and Hermione knew that anything she could do would only make it worse.
"Miss Granger," began Professor Snape, handing the cup back to Hermione and taking her other hand in his. His hand was large and cold, but not clammy as she had assumed, and Hermione surprised herself by not pulling away.
"Professor," replied Hermione, raising her eyebrow at him.
"That dress is rather becoming on you. Do your young friends realize that you hide this under those frumpy sweaters you always wear?"
"They aren't- That is, Harry and Ron don't – my sweaters aren't frumpy!"
"Fire. A very attractive quality in a girl," Snape observed. "It's a pity you had to be born to muggles who no doubt had plans for you as a lawyer, or-"
"Professor," interrupted Hermione again. Snape was still holding her hand in his large, now warm hand, and he caressed the back of her hand with his thumb as he spoke, which was effectively driving Hermione out of her mind.
"But you are the most talented witch in your class," acknowledged Professor Snape. He let go of Hermione's hand and brushed her shoulder, his fingers lingering on the edge of the gauzy material. "And that is a nice color for you. Who'd have known that lilac would be your lucky charm."
Hermione searched for the right words to say. Feelings battled within her – anger at being treated this way, a way she had only experienced in jest, impatience because she knew that she should hurry back to her dormitory, anxiety over Harry's encounter with Draco, and, most alarmingly, the seed of desire sinking to the pit of her stomach, born of the sensual tone with which Professor Snape whispered her praises and the heady quality of compliments never before received.
"It's unsafe to be in the corridors at night," said Hermione finally, looking away from Snape's thumb where it caressed her skin and making the mistake of looking into his eyes.
She must have been some potion mistress without even knowing it, because if she didn't know any better, she would say that Professor Snape was really and truly in love with her. It was such a nice change from the disdain with which he normally treated her that Hermione was tempted to leave him this way, if only for the rest of the term.
"Do you think that I am incompetent?" asked Snape, his voice edging on anger. "I would never let you be in danger. You think it's coincidence that I am forever appearing?"
"It's rather obvious that Harry isn't your cup of tea."
Snape shook his head at the mention of Harry.
"Regardless of your association with Mr. Potter, I do esteem you highly, Miss Granger. I know that you assume that one as old and vindictive as I cannot have feelings of a more delicate nature, but I must assure you that I am quite capable of developing emotional attachments."
"But to a student, Professor?" asked Hermione.
Snape raised Hermione's captured hand to his lips, and for one horrifying, exciting moment, Hermione thought that he was going to kiss it. But instead, he lowered it, releasing her, and stepped back to close his door.
"Come," he said, seeming to snap himself out of his sappy trance. "We must get you back to your dorm before the ghosts sound the alarm. I'll imagine that Mr. Potter is back in his bed by now, anyway."
"How did you-" began Hermione, but Snape pulled her arm through his, effectively cutting her off.
"For all your charms, Miss Granger, or should I say, potions, you really are terribly easy to read. It's acting lessons that you need, for all that your studies here seem to be vastly surpassing everybody else."
"Do you mean to say-"
"Your potion did smell delectable, though. I'd quite like to try some sometime."
Hermione looked up at Snape, at the hardness of his jaw and darkness of his eyes, and frowned. Could he really be that good of an actor, to play the love struck dope at a moment's notice? And why, if he had duped her, did she feel disappointment? Well, surely because all of the compliments had been false, but could it also be because-
"Gryffindor tower," announced Snape in a low voice, letting go of Hermione's arm at the entrance.
"Thank you for escorting me, Professor Snape," said Hermione politely, resisting the urge to curtsy. She met his eyes and was surprised when he reached for her hand again.
"I meant what I said tonight," said Snape quietly. He raised Hermione's hand to his lips, and as she caught her breath in anticipation of his lips brushing her skin, he swiftly lowered his face to hers and kissed her on her cheek, grazing the corner of her mouth. "Mr. Weasley doesn't know how fortunate he is."
With that, Snape turned and vanished down into the darkness, his cape billowing behind him, and left Hermione in such a state of shock that it took her several minutes to remember the password.
"Hermione!" exclaimed Ron when Hermione finally floated into the common room. "Bloody hell, we thought you'd been eaten alive!"
"Maybe I have," replied Hermione, smiling to herself and touching her cheek. She grinned at Harry, then at Ron. "Goodnight, boys."
And without even waiting to find out how Harry's adventure following Draco had gone, Hermione made a quick escape to her bed and to her dreams, which she expected would take a slightly more romantic turn than they normally did.
It seemed that her love potion had worked, after all, though decidedly not in the way that she had anticipated.
End.