Reposting this chapter AGAIN – a few problems which are now fixed for those fans wanting the more canon details.

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It was a clear bright day in April, as the trio sloped down the stone staircase and gloomily entered the potions dungeon. The day may have been mild, even warm, but as soon as they entered their classroom, the temperature seemed to drop to below zero. There was always a chill in the air down there.

Harry, Ron and Hermione took their places near the back, and got out their books. Knowing they were a little early (better to be on time than in detention as Ron always said); the class soon fell into easy conversation. Harry was eager to discuss his new Quidditch training methods with his red-haired companion, whilst Hermione turned to Neville, whispering her usual comforting mantra to ease him through the upcoming potions lesson. Nobody heard the footsteps or the swish of his cloak, but when the door slammed, the chattering classroom fell immediately into a hushed silence.

"Shut your mouths, close your books, and face the front." The ominous whisper cut through the quiet room like an icicle. The professor rarely needed to raise his voice – his mere presence commanded instant and complete attention. At least it usually did; Hermione was still muttering quietly to herself.

"Miss Granger," his voice silky smooth, but undeniably dangerous, "Perhaps you might like to explain to the class why you are still talking?"

She looked up, flushed, "Sir, I was just trying to remember which ingredient I'd forgotten – you see, I've been working on a potion in my spare time – and I think it's almost right now – I just can't remember- it's really quite complex-"

She didn't get time to finish her garbled explanation, as Snape's voice cut across her like a scythe.

"Silence," he hissed – the menace now evident, "What you choose to do in your own time, is your business, but right now you are in my class-"

Harry's heart leapt in his throat as he heard Hermione interrupt Snape. Nobody did that. Nobody who wanted to see the end of their last year at Hogwarts with all their limbs and faculties intact!

"But Sir," Snape was so taken aback that he was rendered speechless – Hermione continued, "I've nearly finished my research, and I think this potion would be really useful to the-"

"MISS GRANGER! BE QUIET!" Snape's voice had evidently returned in full force, "DO NOT mention that name, DO NOT interrupt my classes, and DO NOT talk back at me!" Hermione shut her mouth immediately. She had been about to say "the Order", but given the unknown loyalties of her classmates (she glanced at Malfoy) it could have been a heinous error. For all she knew, the Slytherins could be on orders to report back any suspicious behaviour of Harry and his comrades to their parents, most of whom she knew to be Death Eaters. So, biting her tongue, she waited in trepidation for the Potion Master's final word.

Snape seemed to have calmed down a little in the intervening moment, however when he did speak, his voice had lowered again to the usual cold sneer, "Detention, every night this week." Sentencing done, he swished his cloak round and strode to the front of the class. As he went, he flicked his wand at the windows, dropping the blinds down, and plunging the room into near-darkness.

In the sudden darkness, the room was even quieter - if that were possible. Snape intended to use this as a scare-technique; show them all who was in charge. Silently he crept over to where Hermione sat on the end of a row, and knelt next to her. With his mouth close to her ear, he whispered delicately;

"Behave, and I might even take a look at this potion later."

And with a flourish he was gone, the candle flamed into life, and the blackboard was illuminated; their instructions for the lesson glowing eerily in its black depths.

Class seemed to have resumed as normal; Snape briefly explained the potion they were making – some kind of complex sleeping draught – and began his usual tour of the classroom. Ron was muttering the ingredients and biting his lip as he patiently stirred his cauldron; Harry casting a charm on his glasses to stop them fogging up with the fumes; Neville was in his usual panic – his concoction already three shades darker than everyone else's.

Hermione, for once, was still. She absently stirred her potion with one hand, occasionally throwing in assorted liquids and roots with the other. But for once her mind was not completely on the task before her. The others assumed she was thinking about her own private potion, and regretting her earlier outburst. But she had momentarily forgotten both of these things; she was thinking about Snape.

Her mind was in a whirl – one minute he was her potions teacher – and the next... she shuddered. Something inside her had changed in those past ten minutes. Those burning eyes staring at her, that icy voice with a hint of growl behind it, that masterful command of his subjects... Oh god, was Professor Snape suddenly... sexy? She hated the thought at once – the word just seemed so wrong: he wasn't some playboy, or handsome celebrity – he was her teacher! The word sounded wrong for other reasons as well: it just didn't suit him. How could you sum up that dark, mysterious, and often severe man in one word? It seemed wrong just to label him – he was so much more than that; he was masterful, witty, cruel... and so many other things she had yet to discover.

She shivered; an illicit image had just flitted through her mind at the thought of 'discovering him'. She imagined shirt buttons; pushing him against a potions bench; his hands, and his voice in her ear... She shuddered deliciously, as she remembered that voice in her ear. What did he mean 'behave'? Did he want to discuss her potion? She was glad that nobody could read her mind – the word 'behave' had just conjured an assortment of heated images to flood her brain.

But she was wrong. Someone could read her mind.

The potions master had been watching Hermione closely; there was most definitely something on her mind that day. He was quite used to his top-student meeting every new potion as a challenge, and always coming out trumps. However, there was certainly something amiss that afternoon: Hermione idly stirred her brew, throwing in ingredients at odd intervals, taking no notice of the frothing cauldron. If she wasn't careful, her potion would soon overflow, or worse.

Frowning, Snape took a few moments to ponder this, before deciding on a brief spot of Legilimency. Not strictly an above board action, but Snape weighed out the consequences carefully, and his insatiable Slytherin curiosity won out. Besides, he reasoned, if he was gentle in his probing, there was no reason for Miss Granger to find out what he was doing.

Leaning back against his desk, Snape took a deep breath, before summoning his concentration. He found the connection surprisingly easy to make; Hermione was evidently deep in thought, as her mental barriers were lower than normal. Pressing through the defences, Snape quickly located Hermione's conscious thoughts.

He almost gasped out loud; once again taken aback by the fiery witch in his midst. It was not often that Severus Snape was shocked, but twice today already, Miss Granger had thrown him for a loop. He had caught an image in her head: one that shocked him, but one that excited him too.

He saw himself, in the potions lab. It was empty, apart from himself, and Hermione Granger. The candle burned low, and the flickering shadows bounced off the walls as the scene before him played out.

He was pushed back against a potions bench, his legs splayed slightly out to the side, to allow her to stand between them, pressing herself to him. His shirt was slightly open, baring his pale chest, criss-crossed with scars, glinting in the pale light. She was bent over him, her mouth travelling slowly down his chest, as her fingers undid his buttons, one by one...

Her mouth left his chest damp, the skin glinting in the glow, as she moved her mouth further south...

She passed his navel, and down, following the trail of dark hair...

Down...

"Professor?" He snapped out of his reverie almost at once, and turning round, found himself facing a concerned Draco.

"What?!" he snapped. How long had he been standing there? He was irritated to be interrupted; embarrassed by what had taken place – yet he was also very intrigued.

"I thought you ought to know - Longbottom seems to be in a spot of bother." Draco sneered, looking nonplussed by Snape's apparent trance.

Snape felt relief wash over him, as he tried to conceal his hatred for the blonde Slytherin – so he didn't notice anything amiss then?

Turning on his heel, Snape pointed his wand vaguely in the direction of Neville and scathingly muttered, "Aguamenti". The blue fire that had begun to spread from Neville's cauldron and up his robes was instantly doused with a forceful jet of water from Snape's wand. Catastrophe averted, the professor took twenty points from Gryffindor and reassumed stalking round the classroom.

He avoided Hermione's occasional glances, and tried to keep his mind off what he had witnessed only a few minutes previously. Those thoughts, although alluring and downright exciting, were very improper for a student. Snape was also very confused; he had not been the subject of a woman's attention since his school days, and had long since given up hope that he was to be found in the least... attractive. Yet here was a student, a bright student, who saw him in a different light.

He shrugged the thought off with a sneer; it had to be a mistake – maybe he had imagined it – maybe she had actually been envisaging herself and that god-awful red-head in such a clinch. Merlin knows, Weasely had fancied the pants off Granger since Day One, so why should she not return the favour? Who in their right mind would fancy 'Snivellus' Snape anyway? He was rude, cold and downright nasty – who was he kidding? That Granger girl would be fighting a losing battle if wanted nothing more than his respect, let alone anything else!

Clearing his throat he dismissed the class, noting that for once, the usually superior Granger had failed to even produce a passable potion. He was shocked – for the third (and he hoped, FINAL) time that day – what was going on in that girls mind? What could have distracted her from her precious class work? Recalling the lusty images he had detected, he stopped in his tracks – surely not...

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Hermione left the classroom in a hurry. She was confused – not only had she failed to produce the sleeping draught – but Snape had passed up on punishing her for it. Maybe he understood that she was not quite in her right mind – or maybe, she thought grimly, he knows that I'm already being punished enough. Detentions for a week? How was she supposed to concentrate on her potion if she wasn't going to have any spare time? Swearing under her breath, she leapt up the stairs two at a time, determined to get at least ten minutes with her precious brew and research before dinner.

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Less than two hours later, she found herself outside Snape's classroom once again. Having cut her timing a little fine, Hermione had sprinted down to the dungeons, still chewing on a mouthful of apple pie. Consequently, she took a few minutes to regain her breath before tapping lightly on the great oak door.

It seemed she had barely left, and yet she knew that time had to have passed – the candles lighting the passage glowed bright against the new moon, risen in the inky night-sky outside. She sighed impatiently, and lifted her hand to enter the classroom, only for the door to swing open of its own accord. Assuming Snape had opened it from the inside; she stepped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

Looking around for the professor, she saw that the door to the supplies closet was slightly ajar – a light burning somewhere inside. Walking over to it, she stopped dead in her tracks, as she heard the moans from within. She felt an unfamiliar twinge in her stomach at the sound, but shrugged it off, putting it down to nerves. Unsure of what to do, Hermione took a few moments to consider what could be an awkward situation, before allowing her curiosity to gain the better of her.

Stealthily, Hermione crept closer to the half-open door, being careful to stick to the shadows. Staying out of sight, she peered curiously around the door, but could see nothing. She was just about to find a better vantage point, when her conscience kicked in.

What are you doing? Spying on a teacher – you're supposed to be serving a detention, not giving the git more excuses to dock points from Gryffindor!

Sighing, she backed away from the door, her curiosity momentarily put on hold. Turning to move towards a vacant bench, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks. She was just near enough to catch precisely what it was that Snape was moaning. Not breathing, she simply swayed on the spot, mouth open and thoughts racing; as he repeated in a familiar gravely tone:

"Hermione"

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R&R – Should this be continued?