The tiniest bit of milk splashed into her little cup of steaming tea and the dark fluid swirled with creamy white. She took a hesitant sip and moaned in satisfaction. Perfect!
The kitchen was still, dark, and unseasonably chilly, even for the standards of the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black. It was well after midnight and Hermione Granger had given up on sleep.
The only sound was the ticking of an old clock and the distant hushhush of a healthy summer rain. She pulled her legs up into the chair beneath her and sipped her tea in the silence she'd been craving all day as her mind began to wander.
Maybe it had been a mistake. Not the breaking up part, but the getting together in the first place. She and Ron had had so much chemistry and history together for so long, it had been only natural. And they had spent that summer in a wild frenzy, working out every last bit of tension they had held onto through the years. But now that tension was gone and being with Ron felt hollow and wrong. There was something missing. It just wasn't quite right.
She never could have foreseen the way the boys would shun her. Weren't they supposed to be friends first, before everything else? On second thought, she really shouldn't be surprised. They had cast her aside enough times in the past, when her opinions and priorities didn't quite match their own. In fact, in hindsight, she really should have known.
The muffled sound of a door snapping closed made Hermione jump. She froze, straining her ears. The stairs creaked and her heart began to pound. She really didn't want to talk to anyone right now. And damn it was nearly 3 in the morning. If she couldn't find a moment alone now, when could she? Feeling trapped and inexplicably jumpy, Hermione slipped out of her chair and made as if to pretend she was taking her tea back up to bed. Oh please don't be Ronald, she thought. But when the door to the little kitchen creaked open, the hunched figure who appeared there, dripping wet and panting, was none other than Professor Snape.
Hermione froze in shock. Snape hadn't come by Grimmauld except for a few hurried Order meetings all summer. He had been busy fulfilling his role as spy at the Dark Lord's side.
Snape stumbled backward, leaned against the doorframe, pushing his hair away from his face and breathing heavily, his lips parted and his jaw oddly slack. His eyes were squeezed closed and his brows were knit together in a harsh line. He looked pained. His face seemed even paler than usual and as she watched his complexion grew visibly green before turning back to white.
Hermione gasped, setting her cup on the table and rushing toward the man. "Are you alright?" she asked, grabbing his arm intuitively, as if she could help keep him steady.
"No!" Snape shouted, throwing her off of his arm with such force that she stumbled backwards several feet. His eyes were wide with alarm as he stared down at her and his mouth was agape in horror. "Granger!" he accused, sounding shocked and alarmed. "What the hell are you doing here?" He was leaning away from her as if she were a leper and something in his voice made Hermione afraid. But then something changed in his face, as if he'd had a thought. He composed himself, his breathing returning to normal, his posture growing rigid, and he looked down at her with keen, assessing eyes. Even his complexion seemed to change, looking healthier than it had a moment ago. "Fortuitous," he murmured in a low voice so quiet that she wasn't sure she'd heard him right. Huh?
In three slow, calculated steps, he crossed the room to her and Hermione took a step back in instinctive alarm. There was something hard about his eyes now; something cold and cruel. She backed away until the sink was at her back and her professor was standing too close in front of her. "Professor?" she asked. He ignored her, lifting a hand to her waist, his panting returning full force. Alarm bells rang in Hermione's mind and she tried to twist away from her professor, but his other hand came down fast on her forearm, pinning her in place. She couldn't move. He was too strong. And something was very, very wrong.
Snape drew even closer, hunching over her trembling frame, staring down at her in heady concentration. From somewhere deep in his throat came a low growl that might have been a moan. His hand tightened on her waist, squeezing experimentally, and his eyes dipped down to assess the rest of her. Hermione struggled again, but he pinned her to the counter. Then the hand at her waist began to rise up her torso until his thumb nearly brushed her breast. Hermione was about to scream for help when he suddenly jolted backward, as if shocked.
Snape banged into the kitchen table so hard the whole thing shifted. His eyes were wide with shock and alarm and his face was back to green and milky white. For a long moment, Hermione stood there gaping at him in fear before he hissed at her, his voice breathless and afraid. All he said was one word. "Run!"
She fairly flew to her room, barely breathing until she'd slammed the door behind her and locked it with every ward she'd ever learned (and there were quite a few). Only when she was sure she'd done everything she could to lock him out did Hermione stop and stare at the coarse wood of the door in the darkness, gasping for breath as her heart thudded visibly in her chest, and wonder what the hell was going on.