I was helping him clean up the classroom after a disastrous seventh year advanced potions lesson. The last two periods of the day had been hell, three students had been sent to the infirmary and they had had to evacuate the dungeons twice due to toxic fumes emanating from some cauldrons.

I knew it would be a taxing day from the minute I saw him this morning. There was the same burn at the hem of his robes that there had been the day before, proof that he hadn't slept at all and hadn't changed. Even when he toiled at his own cauldron his brow didn't totally relax, and he hadn't bothered showing up for breakfast.

Yes, I knew it would be hard. I was ready to face it, after all I had been his assistant for a year and several months, and had seen him through many rough days. You don't assist the world's greatest potion master and get out unscathed. But I was particularly tired myself, having spent the last couple of weeks in a troubled daze.

I slept badly at night, mainly because I couldn't bring myself to give in to those lustful dreams of him and me together. It was already pretty damn complicated to work with him sixteen hours a day, six days a week, I really didn't need to start blushing every time he took my hand to correct the way I was stirring a potion. Honestly.

Anyways, the last bell of the day rang, the class emptied, and we both let out an involuntary sigh of relief. I left him in the classroom to go fetch the automatic cleaning spell I'd put together a couple of months into the school year. As I brushed past him to walk through the door, he exhaled and his breath tickled my neck. It brought back bothersome memories of last night's dreams, where we were enclosed in a tight space, and he kissed my neck and shoulders….

I locked myself in my little study for a minute or two to gather my wits, and slow my erratic breathing.

When I came back, he was leaning back against a desk, hands gripping its edge, back stretched out in abandon. His throat was exposed, the tantalizing flesh striking against the dark robes he always wore. His shirt was stretched over his chest, his legs slightly apart. He let out a throaty moan, one hand reaching up to rub his neck as his head rolled forward.

His eyes opened and he gazed at me. His dark eyes were filled with pain and something I'd wish to say was yearning but was probably annoyance. I asked if he was alright and he scoffed, "Surprisingly, my neck hurts" he said.

"Mine to."

I closed my eyes as I turned away, for my whole back cried out in pain. They flew open when I felt his warm hand sliding under my collar, soothing my tense shoulders. For a few seconds I relished in only that sensation, before my body registered other things happening around me. His other hand gripping my shoulder… my robes slipping off my frame, leaving me in a black blouse in the chilly air of the dungeons.

I leaned into him, and he stroked my neck and back more purposely eliciting small moans from me. His long hands took the tension from the last months and melted it into my blood, bringing heat to my body. His skilful fingers released a mix of pain and delicious chills down my spine, my own hands grabbing and releasing handfuls of fabric from his robes.

I barely registered that we moved, but I was now bracing myself forward against a desk, wood cutting into my hands, and back arching and stretching under Snape's talented hands. I was lost in the sensations he brought to life in me, and my backside pushed against his hips, moving in sync with his hands. My skirt rode up, and soon I could feel the coarse fabric of his trousers against the back of my thighs. It only added to the dangerous cocktail of emotions and feelings racing through me, and my breathing deepened that much more.

Up until then neither of us had spoken, but when his fingers reached a spot in my lower back I first hissed then sighed out his name as the pain spiked and ebbed away.

Then he stopped his ministrations, hands flat on my back, his breathing ragged as mine. I perceived those same hands which had been in control of my whole being only moments before, now shaking with barely suppressed energy. I swallowed painfully, stood up and grabbed my robes off the floor. I only looked back at him once, out of the corner of my eye as I crossed the threshold.

He wasn't on his knees on the cold floor with head in hands crying in need, or aggressively punching the stone walls, as I might have though.

He was as before, leaning on that same desk, head thrown back and still as damn unattainable as before.

I laughed a little at my foolishness for thinking we had had a moment, and walked down the hallway to my study.

I may still sleep really badly, and he's still an ass, but at least I have a way to relieve the tension every now and then.

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School is a pain, and I don't have much time to write anymore. A little Snape and Hermione fic, because we can.

Not so proud of this one, but whatever, at least I wrote something!

I own nothing, obviously.

I hope you enjoyed, critic is always encouraged. Love ya'll.