"What did you want to see me about, Professor?"
Hermione cautiously sat down in the hard, wooden chair that sat innocuously next to Professor Snape's desk. He waited for her to sit: his back turned, he appeared to be examining the various potions and ingredients that lined the back of the room. Hermione noted, through her fear, that he arranged his bottles and extracts like she would arrange books. There were practical, yes, no doubt painstakingly organised through his own intricate system, but they were also a form of decoration.
It made him seem almost human.
But she had little time to dwell on this.
Snape turned, his hand resting on the back of his huge, worn, leather chair. He looked at her; the moment when their eyes met lingered longer than perhaps was necessary, before he slammed her accusation down.
"Miss Granger, you know why I have called you here."
"No, Sir, I don't, really..."
"Don't act COY with me, Granger. You are, perhaps, not as...prone...to rule breaking as your idiotic friends but that does NOT make you exempt."
"Exempt from what, Sir?"
Snape pulled his chair out from under the desk, the iron feet tearing at the floorboards, making them scream. Hermione winced: he sat, settled himself then leant across the desk to get a closer view of her face. He steepled his long, thin, fingers and observed her. Hermione could feel her heart begin to beat furiously: the fear of punishment and the threat of losing her perfect record engulfed her mind. But there was something else. Something new, stirring, not in her mind, but lower, in her groin. She couldn't quite place it, but attempted to disregard it.
She looked up at her potions professor. She surprised herself by noticing how dark his eyes were, and how abnormally pale both his hands and fingers were. She had to stop herself, at the last moment, from reaching across the desk and grabbing him, just to see if he was real or made of stone.
"You. Know. Exactly. What. You may think you are clever, Granger, but unlike every other professor in this school I am not concerned with...cleverness. I am concerned with skill. And you, it appears, are...lacking."
"But Sir, are my grades not good enough? I've been trying, really, and-"
"Silence!"
Hermione fell silent.
"I do not care for you meaningless prattle, Granger. You are here for a sing-u-lar purpose and I intend to ensure that you… complete that...purpose."
Hermione stared at his hands, at his fingers, still steepled, bending at the joints. So strong… so supple…
"Do. You. Understand?"
She nodded, stiff with fear and inexplicable desire.
"I said, Miss Granger, do you understand?"
Suddenly, her focus was gone, his hands now apart, fingers spread across the oak of the desk. She peered upwards, through her bushy hair, his face now merely inches from hers, his eyes no longer dark but black, like ink, black enough to reflect her own pallid face.
"Y...yes, sir."
"Good. Now...Get up."
"SAUSAGE TIME!" shouted both of them in union, before rodgering wildly.
THE END