She was asleep in my bed.

Before you rumour-mongers start wagging your tongues, I would like to state this emphatically: No, I did not invite her here—there—here…oh, to my bloody bed! (If said witch were awake, I could imagine her berating me on my grammar.)

I have no idea why Hermione Granger is currently lying comatose across my sheets, but she is in for a rude awakening if she thinks she can get away with it. Oh yes, I refuse to let her leave bits of her hair on my pillow, or the scent of the perfume she had just started to wear last week on my sheets (Sensitive nose, that's all!), or make that deliciously soft sigh as she rolled over to snuggle deeper into my pillow—my pillow! Need I even mention that scrap of fabric that doesn't even deserve the title of nightgown? I doubt that her brassiere and knickers would cover any more skin. The sheets cover to her waist, but I can't believe that a nightgown so abbreviated on top wouldn't do the same thing below.

What is a warm-blooded wizard to do? I hope she's enjoying my pillow, because I'm certainly not. I don't even know how to react to this unprecedented situation. In fact, I can count on one hand the number of times I've had a willing woman asleep in my bed. Ah—on second thought, I could have counted on no hands.

I had been prepared to go to bed (alone), and had changed into a nightshirt after my nightly ablutions, and turned around to nearly jump out of my skin (not that I'd ever admit to being so surprised). With a disconcerted huff in her direction, I sat down in the rickety chair I use to lay my clothes on. With some luck, the damned thing wouldn't break. Then again, if it can hold up my voluminous robes, it can certainly hold me.

I put my elbows on my knees and stared at her subtly moving figure. I waited, and waited. My head drooped, and time passed without measure.

Finally, she began to stir. Slowly, Hermione—erm, Professor Granger—stretched with a sigh. Her back arched off of my bed and the sheets pooled around her hips. Her breasts jutted out and strained the glistening confines of her blue satin gown, and her skin was warm and pale in the candlelit darkness of my bedroom. She was beautiful.

Surely, some deity was laughing at my predicament. Severus Snape, the man who never got anything he wanted in his life, suddenly had proverbial manna thrust into his lap, and I didn't know what to do with it. In the end, my hormones made the decision for me. I felt myself hardening at her display and I lifted my head to get a better view.

She was beautiful. I was afraid to breathe.

She was stunning. I wanted to run from the room.

She was here. I wanted to pin her to the bed and do every dirty deed that had ever crossed my mind.

I grimaced and turned my head only to glance back. Who I was I kidding? This is probably a horrifying mistake and Hermione simply Floo'd into the wrong room and went to bed. (Not that that option makes any sense, either.) No one ever slept voluntarily in my bed. How could they, when most of the Wizarding world considers me scum? No, this had to be a terrible mistake. But, like watching a broom wreck, I couldn't turn away. I could picture her waking up, horrified as to where she was, and who she was with.

Oh look, she's waking.

Hermione lifted her head, opened her eyes, and screamed.

I'm in for it now.

I felt wetness on my arm, and looked down to see that I had drooled on myself. In fact, Hermione was still asleep. I had fallen asleep in this damned chair, and the scream was my fear getting the better of me. Wiping the spittle from my chin, I stood carefully. For the first time in my life, I was at a complete loss. I supposed that I could simply pretend I didn't know she was there and go sleep on the couch, but...even I couldn't resist the temptation to move closer to her.

So, like a fool, I moved closer and stood at the side of the bed. I even had the gall to sit on the edge and watch as the resulting dip caused her to roll in my direction. In my stupidity, I brushed the hair out of her face and realized just how soft her hair really was. In my daftness, I admired her beauty. Inanely, I ghosted my hand over her in a semblance of a caress, because I was afraid to touch her lest this all be a dream.

To top it all, of all the imprudent, foolish, and ludicrous things I could do, I leaned towards her. She was like a magnet, and I, cold iron, could not resist her. Without thinking, I brushed my lips against Hermione's in the most gentle of kisses. The delicious softness of her skin scorched my senses, and I was deeply afraid.

This girl, this woman, had stolen the heart I had buried many years ago, and she didn't even know.

In that moment, I hated myself. I hated the ease in which I had opened myself to the impossible. There was no way that this could be real; I was simply not anywhere near that lucky.

I stood, disgusted with myself, and turned for the bedroom door. I would sleep in the sitting room tonight and forget that this had ever happened. If she were still here when I woke, I'd explain it all away in the morning.

As I reached the door, I heard the bed creak, a womanly purr, and a soft voice calling from my bed.

"Severus?"

I stood still, but did not turn around.

"I've been waiting for you."

I forced myself to snarl, "What do you want?"

I heard her give a low laugh. "I tried subtle, but gave up and decided to go for direct."

I didn't understand. "Answer me, witch. What do you want?"

She answered me with one word, and with that word, all of my fears and misconceptions were dispelled. I turned to see the truth in her eyes.

"You."