Disclaimer: It goes without saying of course, but I do not claim to own any of the Harry Potter characters or their magical universe created by J.K. Rowling. I'm writing this story purely for fun and not for profit.

What to expect from this story:

This is a Hermione / Snape romance of a different kind.

The aim here is to draw a realistic portait of the characters, explore the nuances of emotions, and the delicate, special bond that will develop between the two. There will be plenty of swoon factor and a generous helping of smut, without making you cringe. At under 30,000 words it is just the right length to give all you Snape / Rickman fans a satisfying good night story, or a fix when you need it, and the end should leave you with a warm fuzzy feeling.

If you require wedding bells, or soppy romance, then give this a miss. Be also warned that there is no Ron/Harry bashing.

If, on the other hand, you have an open mind, enjoy something different or even have misgivings about this pairing - read on and you shan't be disappointed.

The story will be told in three parts (six chapters), similar to a triology of interconnected one-shots.


Part 1: Captivation

Set during Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix

Hermione Granger sat in her favourite corner of the library. The dozens of books stacked on the table in front of her like a wall afforded her a degree of privacy as she absent-mindedly stared out of the little window to her right. Hermione had a secret crush. That in itself was nothing unusual for a fifteen year old girl, and, judging from the excited whispers, the blushes, or the little pieces of paper passed around between the girls during classes, most of her classmates fancied one boy or another (in fact, a lot of them fancied Harry). But Hermione was not in love with someone her age, not even with someone from the years above her. No, she was in love with a teacher. Then again, that would not have been out of the ordinary, had she lost her heart to the handsome Professor Lockhart, who had taught them Defence in their second year, and who half the school had been swooning over, or the slightly scruffy-looking, but charming and kind-hearted Professor Lupin. But Hermione was in love with Professor Snape - yes, Professor Snape, the acerbic Potions Master and Head of Slytherin, the most feared, and least popular professor at Hogwarts. And so, unlike the other girls, she could never confide in any of her friends. They would have either thought that she was pulling their leg, or would have worried that she had lost her mind.

Hermione was not sure exactly when it had started, but something had changed that day during the summer, when she had seen him at number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It had been after an Order meeting, where Snape had been giving a report. The boys had tried to use Extendable Ears to listen to the meeting held behind closed doors. Put off by their efforts to eavesdrop, she had strolled down into the hallway, with the intention of checking that Kreacher was okay, after Sirius had shouted at him earlier that evening for not helping Molly in the kitchen. But she needn't have worried. The grouchy elf was as full of spite as always, and all she got for her sympathy was a load of insults about her Muggle origins.

Just as she was about to return upstairs, the door to the kitchen flew open. Realising that if anybody saw her down here, it would look as if she had been trying to listen in to their discussion, she bolted for the stairs. Before she could reach them, however, she collided with something, someone, dressed in long black robes. The force of the impact would have been enough to make her fall over, had it not been for the grip of a hand taking hold of her arm. She didn't have to look up to know that it was Snape's.

"Miss Granger!" he said in his dreaded low voice, an unmistakable warning.

"I – I'm sorry, Sir..." she tried to apologise, blushing furiously.

She had never been in such close proximity to the feared Potions Master. She caught a whiff of the scent that clung to his clothes - a plethora of herbs mixed with the smell of parchment, and a distinctly masculine note - noting with surprise that he smelled rather good.

Without any further comment, he let go of her arm, and pushed her aside, striding past her down the hallway in a whirl of black robes, closing the door behind him without a sound as he left.

For a moment, Hermione stood in the same spot as if Petrified. Her heart was beating fast. She should have been relieved that Snape had left, but, inexplicably, she felt a trace of disappointment at seeing him disappear. She could still feel where his hand had gripped her arm, unexpectedly strong for someone so thin and pale. Yes, something had changed that moment, although she wouldn't realise it until later. It was as if there, for the first time, she had noticed him for something else. For the first time, she had seen him not just as her professor, but as a man. It seemed that the brief encounter had awakened something in her, something that, in the confusing turmoil of feelings that come with the transition into adulthood, she had struggled to place.

Back at Hogwarts after the summer vacation, she had looked forward to Potions classes with a new kind of excitement. The difference was a subtle one. Hermione had always enjoyed Potions, being probably the only student in the entire school who did. But then she also enjoyed all of her other classes, mainly due to her insatiable thirst for knowledge. Furthermore, Potions, with its requirement for reasoning and analysis, was perhaps particularly appealing for someone from a Muggle background. She soon realised, however, that this new enthusiasm was not so much owed to the subject itself, but the admiration she felt for the teacher.

Still, this had not alarmed her. Notwithstanding his invidious behaviour towards the students, she had always had great respect for Professor Snape. There was no denying that he was exceedingly knowledgeable and skilled, and she was not going to waste the opportunity to learn from someone so brilliant. She also had never doubted his integrity, often berating Harry and Ron for their conspiracy theories around him, and defending him when she felt he was being unfairly accused or suspected of wrongdoing.

Yet, somehow, her admiration for her professor was no longer just academic in nature. She had started to notice things about his appearance, his hands for instance. She could not stop watching them when he wrote on the blackboard or demonstrated how to prepare a certain ingredient. They were fine-boned and graceful, moving with great confidence and dexterity. His black eyes, too, were staggering. Finding their unwavering gaze directed at you always spelled danger for any student, but now the usual rush of adrenaline that such occurrences caused was joined by a strange, but not entirely unpleasant fluttering sensation in her stomach. Since the summer, the Potions Master held a new, mysteriously dark allure for her.

It was not until several weeks into the school year that she realised, and was able to admit to herself, that she was in love with Professor Snape. In Potions class that day, while the students were busy brewing a challenging healing draught, he had been soundlessly moving around the class room, as was his habit, like a dark shadow in the gloomy dungeon. Each student was acutely aware of his presence, fearing nothing more than to be the one to give him cause for breaking the silence with a scathing comment about their incompetence.

Hermione felt his eyes burn into her back as he stood behind her for several moments, looking over her shoulder at the perfect potion simmering in her cauldron. Her skin seemed to tingle with the thrill of his proximity. It took a great deal of concentration to keep her hand steady as she let the required seventeen drops of Merula juice fall into the potion from a tiny bottle. One drop too much and her work would be ruined. She was immensely relieved when she had finally accomplished the task and put the bottle back on the work bench with the stopper securely in place. As she stirred carefully, a pale green fume emerged from her cauldron. She didn't have to check the instructions to know that this was the desired result. A word of praise from him, or even just a nod of approval, would have meant the world to her, but Snape never handed out anything other than vitriolic criticism. And so, apparently unable to find any fault in her work, he silently moved on to the next bench, leaving her behind with a maddening sense of frustration.

Unfortunately, with the recognition of her attraction to him came a sense of total hopelessness. She knew without a doubt that she could never confess her feelings, neither to him nor to anyone else. At best, the result of that would have been ridicule and scorn. His words could have sliced her heart to pieces with the same precision as if it were asphodel root. And at worst – what might have been the consequences? Being excluded from Potions classes? Expulsion even? No - the only place where her longing could be fulfilled was in the world of daydreams, a world to which she retreated with increasing frequency these days, just like now, in the peacefulness of the library.

She closed her eyes and pictured him, tall, lank and angular, but moving with the strength and precision of a jaguar. His face - pale, grim features, host to fierce, improbably black eyes, framed by long, sleek curtains of raven hair. And his voice, deep and smooth as velvet, carrying to the remotest corner of the class room even when lowered to little more than a whisper. To Hermione's ears, it felt like a caress, even as it delivered his most venomous sarcasm. She opened her eyes again. Outside, the sun was already beginning to set over the mountains, accentuating the brown shades of the late autumnal Scottish landscape. With an inaudible sigh, she allowed her mind to wander.

Detention with Professor Snape – it was a first for Hermione. In the past, he had taken plenty of House Points on her account, mostly for speaking out of turn, but had never given her a detention, despite doling them out quite liberally to everybody else. Even now, she was unsure what exactly had merited it. It had been a Potions lesson like any other. Hermione had completed the assignment correctly, followed the instructions to the dot, taken copious notes, and cleaned up her work bench meticulously at the end of the lesson, which meant she was once more the last student to leave the class room when the Potions Master had suddenly called her back and given her detention for no fathomable reason. Hermione couldn't believe her luck. Rather than question or challenge her punishment, she left quickly before he might change his mind. Getting to spend a whole evening in his presence was like a dream come true for her, no matter whether she would spend the time scrubbing cauldrons or disembowelling leeches.

Standing in front of the heavy oak door of Snape's office, she checked her watch. He did not tolerate lateness, nor would he be pleased if she turned up too early. When it was precisely eight o'clock, she nervously raised her hand and knocked.

"Come in!" commanded his familiar deep voice from the other side of the door.

She entered and closed the door behind her quietly, but remained standing just next to it, waiting for him to give her further instructions. Her professor was sitting at his desk, bent over a stack of parchments. In the dim illumination provided by a flickering fire and several candles, his face remained mainly in shadows.

After a few moments, he rose from his chair, and moved around his desk. Leaning against the edge, he motioned her towards a work bench in the middle of the room.

"I watched you in class today, Miss Granger," he said in his distinctive drawl.

"Sir, did I do anything wrong? I mean, what did I get detention for?" she asked, feeling slightly alarmed.

"Think of it as remedial Potions, rather than detention."

Remedial Potions! Hermione exhaled sharply in surprise. She looked at him questioningly. His eyes were resting on her, making her squirm inwardly under the intensity of his scrutiny.

"Surely, as the insufferable know-it-all you are, you can tell me what potion the ingredients on the bench in front of you are used for."

She didn't appreciate being called that, but a barely noticeable, seemingly amused twitch of his mouth made her wonder whether he had just paid her a compliment. She took a look at the bottles and jars spread out around an empty cauldron on the bench. Silverturnip, midnight dew, cocoons of the tigermoth, powdered moonstone... Yes, she knew what they were for, but what in Merlin's name was this about?

"Wolfsbane Potion," she whispered in awe.

"Correct."

Their eyes were locked together, as he seemed to measure her up in silence. Her knees started to feel wobbly, but she was unable to avert her eyes, staring at him as if hypnotised.

"Then you also know that it is perhaps the most challenging potion to brew," he continued finally. "There are only a handful of wizards who have succeeded in doing so, I myself included. Nevertheless, Professor Dumbledore believes that you may be able to learn it, given the right instruction."

"But – I haven't - " she stammered.

"Miss Granger, it is not my habit to give individual lessons to students, and I am doing so only on the condition that you will listen carefully, and stop blurting out without being asked," he berated her, his eyes flashing in annoyance.

Hermione immediately fell silent.

"Needless to say, it is a potion of great importance to certain individuals. Professor Dumbledore therefore thinks it wise to have someone else who could provide it to the Order in the instance that I will be prevented from doing so."

She nodded quietly. Since the summer at number twelve, Grimmauld Place she knew that Snape was working as a spy for the Order. She knew it was a dangerous job. No doubt he was implying that something could happen to him, a thought she did not even want to entertain.

"Get started. You will find the preparations are quite straightforward. The difficulty lies in the last step."

Hermione took a look at an open notebook on the table, where the recipe was written down in Snape's characteristic hand, reading it carefully. He called that 'straightforward'? There were several dozens of ingredients, each of which had to be sliced, crushed, scored, ground, or otherwise prepared in the most exacting way. The instructions were the most complicated she had seen in all her years of Potions study, covering pages over pages of crowded writing, with Snape's own diagrams and drawings to illustrate some of the steps. But Hermione loved a challenge, and immediately set out to work. She sliced the silverturnip, ground the moth cocoons into a fine powder, and added a pint of dew drop by drop. Soon she was lost in concentration, as if in a trance, without noticing how the hours passed. Only the droplets of sweat that had appeared on her forehead betrayed just how hard she was working. All the while, Snape was watching her closely. Every now and then he interrupted her, criticising her work or making her repeat a step until he was satisfied.

She suspected that it was way past midnight when she finally reached the last step. "Sprinkle in the moonstone powder, while stirring with a silver spoon." Compared to the previous steps, this sounded reassuringly simple. She took the silver spoon that had been laid out on the bench for her, and was about to dip it into the potion, when Snape snarled at her.

"Stop, silly girl! Did you not listen when I told you that this is the most difficult part? You are going to ruin the potion, and waste perfectly good ingredients, as well as a whole evening of my time."

Hermione's hand froze in mid air. She was about to turn round when she realised that he had moved away from his desk, and was now standing only inches behind her. She didn't dare make even the slightest move, but her hand holding the spoon was shaking.

"Steady. I will show you how."

His right hand closed around hers, guiding it towards the cauldron, making her stir slowly in a perfectly even, circular motion. His grip was both firm and gentle. It was the first time he had ever touched her like this, and she was surprised that his skin felt so warm. His left hand reached around her, into the bowl where she had measured out the powdered moonstone, taking a pinch with his fingers and sprinkling it into the cauldron. She was enclosed between his arms, feeling the heat radiating off his body at her back, his hair tickling her cheek.

"Stir too fast, and the potion will boil over, too slow, and it will curdle, and if your circles are uneven, it will form lumps."

Those words, spoken close to her ear in his low, sensuous voice made a shiver go down her spine. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the movement of her hand, trying to commit the feeling to memory. The liquid was resisting her movement, but yielding at the same time. It seemed that Snape was adjusting the speed of her stirring such as to keep the potion at just the right degree of viscosity. Now she understood why it was so difficult to successfully brew the Wolfsbane potion. It would have been impossible to describe this process in writing.

Once Snape had added all of the Moonstone powder, the brew suddenly erupted, bubbling vehemently for a few moments, and then fell quiet just as quickly, until it was as calm as the Great Lake in the moonlight. It now resembled a dark mirror. Bending over to take a closer look at the content of the cauldron, Hermione exhaled in amazement. On the surface of the liquid she could see the reflection of a perfectly round full moon.

"Oh my god, it's beautiful!" she whispered awestruck.

She turned around to face Snape, who was still standing closely behind her. His eyes looked at her unblinkingly, in a way that made it hard to hold his gaze, but at the same time she could not escape their hypnotic power. They seemed to burn with a peculiar fire she had never seen in them before.

"Yes, beautiful..." he said softly, his voice reverberating darkly in the space around her.

From the way he looked at her, it didn't seem like he was referring to the potion, and the alternative caused her pulse to accelerate in a storm of agitation. There it was again, the alluring perfume of herbs and parchment, filling her with a desperate yearning. She felt as if they were enclosed in a bubble, a space somehow distinct from the rest of the room, where time seemed to stand still. And yet, it must have been moving, because ever so slowly, his hand reached out, gently brushing aside a misbehaving lock, before it dived into the bushy mess of her hair, towards the back of her neck. His other arm snaked around her waist, drawing her against his body, while his face moved closer, and closer, never breaking eye contact, until she could feel his breath on her skin. Finally his lips touched hers, warm and soft, as he kissed her. It was the most amazing kiss, full of slowly simmering passion, so completely different from the wet peck on the mouth that Viktor had given her once. Her legs were feeling increasingly insecure, as if they were made of jelly, and she was grateful for his arm steadying her. She closed her eyes, never wanting this moment to end.

"Hermione!"

She was ungently pulled out of her reverie by Harry's voice. Her eyes snapped open to see Harry and Ron standing beside her table. She had been so deeply immersed into her day dream that she had not heard them coming.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked with a slightly concerned expression on his face.

"Yeah, of course," she answered, trying to sound as normal as possible. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"Uh, dunno. That look on your face," her friend replied uncertainly. Then his eyes seemed to widen with a sudden thought. "Gosh, are you in love with someone?"

"What? No! I was just concentrating hard, trying to think of the best way to formulate this idea."

She tried hard not to blush, but, judging by the heat on her cheeks, suspected she was failing. Unexpectedly, it was Ron who came to her rescue.

"Come on, Harry, you know Hermione is in love with her books, she always has that look on her face when she is studying," he teased, rolling his eyes funnily in an impression of her while reading a book.

For once she was grateful for Ron's silly jokes at her expense, diffusing the situation with humour. The two boys chuckled, while she gave them a long-suffering look.

"Anyway, what are you studying?" Harry asked half-heartedly, grabbing one of the books off her stack to look at the title. "Ugh, Potions..." he said with a look of disgust on his face, putting the book down as if it were one of Snape's slimy pickled leeches.

Then Harry turned serious.

"Hermione, we have some bad news. We just bumped into Draco. He was looking extremely pleased and said that Snape has given Umbridge some Veritaserum to find out what we're up to. We have to warn everyone in the DA to be careful about anything they drink."

"Harry, the use of Veritaserum on students is strictly forbidden," she said with an exasperated sigh. "Snape would do nothing of that sort."

"Of course he would. He would like nothing more than to slip some into my pumpkin juice. He told me so himself last year. Besides, he doesn't have to do anything forbidden. He just has to provide that Umbridge woman with it. And we already know that she seems to get away with anything," he said with a dark look behind his spectacles.

"Well, than you two better read up on how to detect Veritaserum in your drink. It would fit right in with the essay Snape's given us to do," she replied.

"Five feet of parchment on the use of Flobberworm juice in truth potions!" Ron groaned. "It's going to take the best part of the week-end. I know what that git is up to. He knows exactly that we have Quidditch practice tomorrow. He just wants to give Slytherin an advantage at the next match."

"The Slytherins have to do the same essay," she pointed out, but it did little to refute Ron's theory.

"Yeah, but it's not like he is going to fail any of them on their OWL. And they are hardly going to want to become Aurors like we do, are they?"

"All the more reason for you to do your homework," she answered pointedly.

"With you taking out every single Potions book in the library, we're not going to be able to." Ron smirked, pointing at the stacks of books on the table.

She let out a snort at that paltry excuse.

"You're welcome to take any of them, on the condition that you're actually going to read them," she countered.

"Hm, if you don't mind, I think I'd rather read your essay once you're done, just to get an overview."

Hermione felt annoyed by her friend's laziness, and the presumption with which he assumed he could just copy her work. But at the same time she wondered if Umbridge really had asked Snape for Veritaserum, and if that was the reason he had chosen this topic. Flobberworm juice was an essential ingredient in all truth potions, including Veritaserum. The difficulty with slipping such a potion into somebody's drink was that Flobberworms had a very unique taste, and to conceal it required an elaborate pickling and stewing process. She wouldn't put it past Snape to supply Umbridge with an inferior version to stay in her good books. There was something very Slytherin about that approach. Perhaps she better had give Ron and Harry her essay to read.

"Fine, but only if you at least read Chapter 15 in 'Intermediate Potions'. And I won't be finished until tomorrow evening."

"Thanks, 'Mione, you're a star," Ron beamed, obviously pleased that he could now spend all day with Harry on the Quidditch pitch.

Harry impatiently tugged on Ron's sleeve.

"Come on, we've got to find the others." And turning to Hermione with a reproachful look, he said, "I guess you're too busy."

Then the two boys walked off, leaving her to her books and her fantasies once more. She had to concede that five feet of parchment really was an unusually hefty load of homework for one subject, but she didn't mind. She considered it an opportunity to prove herself and impress Snape. She had never managed to do better than an 'A' in any of Snape's Potions Essays, despite working to the same high standards that consistently got her top marks in all her other subjects. No matter how hard she tried, it was always just an 'Acceptable'. She had actually started to doubt whether he ever awarded anyone an 'E' or an 'O'. Nevertheless, she was determined that this time would be different, this time she would hand in such a good essay that he could not fail to take notice. The problem with most of Snape's assignments was that the required length was never enough to cover the topic in sufficient detail, and she suspected that he actually subtracted marks for going over the limit. This time, however, he had asked for five feet of parchment, which would give her enough scope to adequately show off all her knowledge. Ron had not been exaggerating when he claimed that she had checked out every single Potions book in the library. She was taking great care not to miss a single aspect or example, and meticulously referenced every point. It was a labour of love for her, to which she had dedicated the entire week-end. Her other homework could wait.


A/N:

Reviews are a Fanfiction author's only reward, please give generously.

If you do not like this story - please review. Constructive criticism is just as much appreciated as praise.

If you cannot think of anything witty to write - please review. A short review like "great!" or "rubbish!" is much better than no review at all.

If you enjoyed the read, feel touched or even inspired by this story - please review and share your thoughts. I'd be devastated to never know.