Professor Snape still found sleep difficult. Ever since the end of the wars, and his period of rehabilitation, he had hoped for this to improve but he still suffered dark dreams. Even his reinstatement at Hogwarts and immersing himself completely in his duties gave him very little respite.
He spent many hours each night prowling the corridors. His sweeping robes, pale, sallow complexion, sunken cheeks and long strides, suggestive of floating along beneath his robes, created an image of one of the castle's ghosts.
During these night hours, the oppressive candlelit darkness of the corridors created ever darker thoughts; wars, betrayal, the return of another Dark Lord intent on revenge on his predecessor's errant followers. However, this was infinitely preferable to the vivid nightmares on the same subjects when he fell into a restless sleep.
Having survived the attack of Nagini and spending many months in St Mungo's Hospital he had eventually been discharged.
However, much of the magical world still did not know of his part in the downfall of the Dark Lord and his followers. His mistakes as a sixteen year old looked like they would follow him to his grave, without the truth ever being fully known.
The Daily Prophet's Rita Skeeter had pursued him relentlessly for his side of the story. But Severus was still a very proud man and would never allow that woman to distort the true story of his secret allegiance to Albus Dumbledore and thus an element of distrust dogged his every step.
He had not thought his existence could be more miserable, until this morning on leaving his potions class he heard a voice that sent shivers down his ramrod straight spine.
'Good morning, Professor.'
He took a deep breath to steady himself, before turning sharply on his heels and staring into the eyes of Hermione Granger.
'Miss Granger, to what do we owe your presence here today?' he drawled through clenched teeth.
'Oh, it's not just for today, Professor. I am on secondment from the Ministry for a term. Mr Shacklebolt believes it will enhance my CV before I apply for promotion. My timetable indicates that I will be joining you once a week. I thought all teachers had been informed.'
'How delightful for us both,' Snape tried to sneer, 'and what pray tell does your secondment entail?'
'I am applying for a position with the Education Department, which will be carrying out a wholesale review of the curricula for OWLS and NEWTS, and I am to write a report based on my observations as part of the interview process.'
'Well, Miss Granger, I am sure your talents as a busybody will lend themselves well to the task.'
With that he turned on his heel and strode quickly away to his study. He sat in his armchair, staring at the wall opposite, images and thoughts of Granger tumbling through his mind; a student with her hand perpetually raised to answer questions; an interfering busybody. He felt, despite himself, an acceptance of her prowess in battle for one so young; again reluctantly, one of the best witches he had ever taught.
Additionally, he had heard through his contacts with other rehabilitated Death Eaters that she had a reputation for giving second chances and forgiveness. He did not want anyone feeling sorry for him, or even worse being condescending, and certainly not Granger. He hoped that she had understood the truth, she was intelligent and as far as he knew still friendly with Potter, who after several years had contacted him to say he understood.
He and Potter would never be friends, there was too much history with his parents, but they now had a grudging respect for each other.
Hogwarts was a large school and, on reflection, he thought he would have little trouble avoiding contact with Granger. However, his mind would not let him forget her and memories tumbled through his head whenever he closed his eyes.
For two days he had avoided contact, eating in his study and avoiding the staffroom, not that he frequented that space very often. Despite everything he was still a very proud man, with a towering intellect, who took great pleasure in imparting knowledge through his teaching and the standard of the current teachers left a lot to be desired, in his opinion. Although, he had to accept that some of his actions in the past had helped to produce the dearth of talent.
After another restless night pacing the corridors he entered his classroom to find Granger already present.
'Miss Granger.'
'Professor.'
'You may sit over there,' he said, pointing a long finger to the corner of the room. 'You will make yourself as inconspicuous as possible, and try to avoid putting your hand in the air for every question.'
Hermione blushed at the reference to her schooldays, but she kept eye contact. She stared into the dark piercing eyes. They were older and suggested a certain tiredness, but they still had a sparkle here in the classroom, his favourite forum.
'As you wish Professor.'
She turned away quickly to avoid Snape seeing her blush with embarrassment at the school reference, her robes billowing out behind her.
As she walked away Snape followed Hermione's steps closely, scrutinising her from head to toe. A disturbing feeling enveloped him as he looked at her shapely ankles, over her calves and up to the sight of her arse moving seductively under her robes, ending with that head of luxuriant hair.
She turned to face him, her face still flushed and her breathing heavy, trying to control her emotions. Snape looked into her fiery, passionate eyes and downwards to her heaving chest, the shape of her breasts obvious beneath her robes.
He looked back into her eyes and they held his. Snape was dismayed to realise that the awkward girl he had despised at school, ignoring her prowess in battle, had developed into a very attractive young woman, and he was reacting to this.
He lowered his eyes and in a gruff voice described the lesson outline to her and then quickly retired behind his desk, avoiding further eye contact.
The lesson went well, but as he circulated around the classroom he could not avoid stealing glances at Granger. He wanted so much to dislike her, but the more he looked the more attractive she appeared.
At the end of the lesson Hermione approached Snape and said, 'Thank you for allowing me access to your class. I may not have liked your methods when I was here, but I can honestly say I learnt the most from your classes and it appears you still have a great talent for teaching.'
Snape did not know how to respond. He said, rather sharply, 'Until next week then,' turned swiftly around and left the room.
Returning to his office his mind was in turmoil. This girl, this woman as she now was, had awakened feelings he had not felt for a long time. He should, he did, still hate her. Didn't he? Snape was confident in his abilities as a wizard and a teacher. He would happily match himself against most. But feelings were not his forte; he had buried them for so many years in striving to become an undercover senior Dark Wizard. Now that part of his life was over, he realised his mistakes, had served a punishment he felt he had not deserved, but forgiveness for those he felt had wronged him did not come easily. He felt that immersing himself back at Hogwarts, doing what he enjoyed, would allow him to quietly live out his days.
Snape sat down heavily in his chair. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temple, trying to forget the morning's events. However, an image of Granger was fixed in his head, those piercing intelligent eyes, the shape of her womanly curves beneath her robes, the enticing swell of her breasts and arse. Snape could still smell her perfume, or was it her own scent.
He started out of his daydream and was shocked to find his hands in his lap resting over the beginnings of an erection.
He stood quickly, went to his sink and rinsed his face with cold water.
'Get a grip, man,' he said out loud to himself. 'This is just your mind defending itself from other disastrous memories.'
With that he swiftly left his office to return to his classroom.
The rest of Snape's day passed in a haze. The lessons went well, as usual, but there were nagging thoughts and images of the morning never far away.
At the end of the day he left the castle, making his way to Hogsmeade, and spent the evening in the tavern, returning late and going straight to his rooms.
Undressing, he retired to his bed and fell asleep quickly with the help of the alcohol he had consumed.
As the effects of the alcohol wore off, his dreams became more vivid. Gone were the nightmares of the past few years, but they were replaced by what he thought were more disturbing images.
Through a thick mist he could see what appeared to be a naked female beckoning to him. As she waved her arm her breasts moved enticingly. Snape felt himself struggling through the mist, which seemed to resist his movements. He got closer and he could now see the face of Granger, erotically licking her lips and continuing to beckon.
He moved closer, his hands outstretched towards her breasts, but she turned and moved away.
Snape looked down to find he was naked. He had a huge erection and as he moved it waved in front of him.
He pursued her and eventually caught her, his cock struck her arse as his hand touched her shoulder.
'Hermione,' he gasped, the use of her forename shocking him.
The apparition turned and he saw the cadaverous face of Voldemort. 'Traitor!' it screamed at him.
Snape woke with a start, a film of cold sweat covering his body. He flung back the bedclothes and his tumescent cock sprang free to slap his belly.
He jumped from his bed, flung on a robe and footwear and left his room.
Snape prowled the corridors, walking quickly without any idea of a route. The castle was quiet and deserted, only the occasional ghost acknowledging his presence.
He turned onto an upper corridor and at the end he could see light shining under a door. Where was he? He took his bearings and realised it was the bathroom corridor for senior girls. What was anyone doing in there at this time of night? Should he summon the matron?
He decided to approach the door and listen for any sounds; maybe the lights had been left on.
At the door he placed his ear against the wood. He could hear the sound of splashing, but also a deeper sound, a groan?
If someone was in trouble he did not have time to summon help, but he could not just barge in to the girls' bathroom.
Snape decided. He waved his wand and the door opened silently, enough for him to slip through.
Through the steam he could see an indistinct figure kneeling in the tub, a head resting on the side of the bath, could hear splashing water and the soft groans of earlier, mixed with mumbled words.
He crept forward and as the steam cleared for a second he was shocked into stillness as he recognised the glorious head of hair that belonged to Granger.
She was bathing, she was naked. Immediately his cock stiffened under his robes. He knew he should leave, but the splashing and indistinct words drew him on.
As he got closer he could see that the splashing was caused by Granger's hands. In one was a dildo that she was smoothly sliding in and out of her pussy, the motion causing splashes and waves in the bath water, her hips rising from it with each stroke.
As her hips broke the surface he could see her other hand strumming on her clit, rubbing and pinching.
Snape's cock was now painfully hard; he drew it from his robes and began to stroke it from tip to root languorously.
He still could not hear what she was muttering, so still stroking his cock he moved forward, the chance of being spotted adding to his excitement.
He could tell she was close to orgasm as her gasps became more explosive and closer together. He could now start to make out some words and stopped, squeezing violently on the head of his cock.
'Severus, yes… fuck me,' she gasped, rubbing her clit harder.
With that her hips rose high out of the water and she screamed out her joy.
Snape tried to turn quickly and leave, but as he did so his shoe made a squeaking noise on the tiles.
Hermione's head shot up. Her eyes wide, her face flushed in the aftermath of her orgasm, she stared into the face of the object of her fantasy. Her eyes slid down his body and she saw his erect cock, gripped in his fist.
