Author's Note: Okay, so I'm starting an SS/HG story. For those who are reading Pennines, don't worry...there will be an update on that Saturday. But this one came to me a few days ago, and I had it fully plotted in detail within 24 hours. So I decided to post the first chapter and see what kind of interest there was in it.

Chapter 1: The Plan

He wasn't supposed to fall in love with her.

In the beginning, the sole intention had been to get close to her, to gain her trust. Manipulative, perhaps. But borne of necessity. Dumbledore had backed him into a corner, keeping him in the dark, and he had had but a scant few months left before the entire world would know him as a traitor.

He had to protect Lily's boy in order to secure his own redemption. But how could he protect him if he didn't even know what Dumbledore had planned for him?

Potter would never tell him. But if he played her well…the Granger girl just might.

So he did. He played the Byronic hero to perfection - and she fell for it, the secrets spilling from her lips without a moment's hesitation.

But then he fell for her.


Severus Snape stalked down the hall to Dumbledore's office, infusing every step and billow of his robes with dark rage; a small knot of first years scattered as he approached.

It was the first Saturday of term, and the Potter boy had already earned a detention with him. A detention that he had failed to show up for. As if talking back to him in front of the entire sixth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class wasn't bad enough, the boy now apparently thought himself above serving detentions, as well.

"Acid pops," he barked at the Gargoyle, which jumped aside for him more quickly than usual. Even the masonry was terrified of him, he noted with satisfaction.

He took the revolving staircase two steps at a time, reaching the top within seconds, and threw open the door with a crash. The Headmaster looked up at him from behind his desk, mouth graced with a placid little smile; Severus's closed fist convulsed with the sudden urge to strike it off of his face.

"Ah, Severus. How can I help you? Apart from offering you a lemon drop, of course?" Dumbledore asked in a benign tone of voice that grated against his ears.

Severus waved his hand in front of himself, momentarily too enraged to find words. "Potter did not show up for his detention with me this evening!" he finally choked out.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, his smug arsed smile growing even wider. "Ah, is that all?" Severus sputtered, spittle flying from his lips, but Dumbledore held up a hand to forestall him. "I am afraid that is my fault, actually. I arranged for Harry to meet with me this evening, and forgot all about his detention. I apologize, but surely you can reschedule it for next weekend?" Severus snapped his mouth shut, and nodded mutely. "Now, if that is all, Harry will be on his way up here any minute now. The house elves are serving a most delicious fig pudding as we speak; if you walk there as quickly as you did on your way here, you might just catch the last of it."

Severus bristled at the curt dismissal, but put that affront aside for now. "Why are you meeting with Potter tonight?"

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together, giving him a considering look over the tops of his half-moon spectacles. "I have decided to give Harry some private lessons this year."

"Private lessons? In what?" Surely the Headmaster wasn't still trying to bang Occlumency into the boy's thick head? Well, if he was, more fool him. It was a lost cause, even with Dumbledore as teacher.

Dumbledore dropped his eyes to a stack of parchments on his desk, beginning to rifle through them. "That, I'm afraid, my dear boy, I am not at liberty to discuss with you."

"What? Why not?" he asked indignantly. Since when did the Headmaster keep secrets from him?

"We each have our roles to play in this war. You have yours, and Harry has his. I have found that it is best if we keep everyone informed on a need-to-know basis." He said all of this without even deigning to lift his eyes from the parchments before him.

"Need to know basis? I need to know what you are meeting with Potter about!" he snapped.

"I can assure you, Severus, that you do not." Dumbledore's gaze drifted over to the grandfather clock against the far wall. "Now, it is almost eight o'clock. The house elves will have cleared the tables if you do not hurry."

Severus knew it as the firm dismissal that it was. He turned swiftly on his heel and stalked back toward the door.

When he reached it, he hesitated with his hand on the door knob, and spoke clearly but quietly without turning back around to face Dumbledore. "You ask a great deal of me, and yet you take just as much for granted, Headmaster. I put my trust in you — you would do well to return it."


Back from his meeting with Dumbledore, Severus stormed through the door of his office, banging it shut behind him. He strode across the room, then spun on his heel and kicked his desk, which only served to make his foot throb in addition to his temple. He hurled himself backward into his leather chair with a low growl. He let his eyes fall shut, bringing his right hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose, and waving his left at his desk drawer, which slid open with a creak. He deftly caught the pack of cigarettes that flew out of the drawer, flipped it open, and removed a cigarette from the pack with his mouth, all without removing his right hand from his nose. He threw the pack back across his desk, and it skittered to a stop just before it reached the other end. With another curt wave of his left hand, the tip of the cigarette burst into flame; he took a long drag, flinging the same arm out and letting it fall heavily onto the armrest beside him, the cigarette hanging limply from between his fingers. He sighed as the nicotine hit his blood, and tilted his head back over the headrest, his right hand moving from the bridge of his nose to massage the underside of his brows.

So, that's how the Headmaster wanted to play it. Keep his spy in the dark, throwing him little crumbs of information only when absolutely necessary.

He needed to know what it was exactly that Dumbledore was doing cloistered up for hours with Potter in his office. Only problem was, Potter sure as hell wasn't going to tell him.

If he was going to put his life, his freedom — hell, his very soul — on the line, he wanted a hand in the outcome. Some kind of assurance that all his years of sacrifice would actually amount to something. That he would finally achieve his hard won redemption for his role in Lily's death. And he wasn't about to bank the Dark Lord's downfall on the Machiavellian schemings of an increasingly paranoid old man, his hare brained protégé, and a couple of his teenaged sidekicks.

His gaze fell onto the pile of unmarked essays obscuring the surface of his desk. He had assigned the sixth years a foot of parchment on the definition of the Dark Arts. What he had received from them was a stack of utter rubbish, each argument more insipid than the next. He groaned as his eyes caught the topmost paper, covered from top to bottom in great slashes of red ink. That one was Granger's, of course. Not a single fucking insightful or original thought anywhere within those twenty inches of tightly scripted verbal diarrhoea.

Suddenly, he straightened in his chair as he knew a momentary flash of inspiration. His lips curled into a slow smile.

No, Potter sure as hell wasn't going to confide in him. But if he played his role well…she just might. After all, what kind of a spy would he be if he couldn't wheedle secrets out of a 17 year old girl? And a teacher's pet, always so desperate to please, no less!

It was a dirty job. He couldn't get around that. But so was murdering the Headmaster. And in times of war, you did what you had to do. What was it that the old bastard always said? Ah yes. It was for the Greater Good.

He stubbed his cigarette out on the edge of his desk, and reached for her essay. He flicked his wand over it, and the large red A disappeared from the top of the page. Next, he picked up his self-inking red quill and scrawled an O in its place. After a moment's careful deliberation, he banished the O, replacing it with an E.

Yes that would be sufficient to flatter her, while still leaving her yearning to impress him.

With another flick of his wand, the reams of red ink disappeared from the paragraphs below, leaving only her elegantly penned black ink behind. He flipped the parchment over, exchanged his red quill for a blue one, and began to write.

"You present an interesting argument, Miss Granger…"


Author's Note: So...should I continue? Write this in parallel to Pennines? Focus on Pennines then come back to this? Tell me! And also, if you would like to beta this and/or just let me bounce ideas off of you, please message me. Thanks.