NOTE TO READERS: It's LizzY, but it's not my usual pairing. It's Hermione/Severus, not Remus/Sirius. I hope you don't mind, but it struck me and I had to write it. Forgive me?

DISCLAIMER: They are not mine.

WHAT THE HOUSE ELF SAW

By

LizzY Tears

Before the story progresses further, let it be understood that Dobby was nothing more than a simple house elf. He had no aspirations of greatness or revenge or anything of that sort. He was regarded among other house elves as a bit of an anomaly because of his strange obsession with being free, but overall, he was a perfectly simple, well meaning magical creature.

This simple, well meaning, magical creature worked at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for a comfortable salary with which he purchased mostly socks and stored away a little bit for emergencies such as saving Harry Potter's life, should the need ever arise again. The salary is not the important point in this conversation, but it is important to note that Dobby worked at Hogwarts.

To be getting further to the point, so that I may tell this story and leave you to go on with your lives, house elves perform many duties. Usually, Dobby worked in the kitchens, and he considered this a very important job. However, on this occasion of which I am about to speak, Dobby had been transferred to the laundry service because the regular elf had fallen afoul of one of the student's games and was now in the house elf equivalent to the Infirmary.

As a result of this, Dobby was carrying clean towels from one section of the castle to another. We must here forgive Dobby in that he was new and inexperienced at this job, and had fallen behind his schedule. Thus it was that the house elf was hurrying his way carefully through the halls at midnight, careful not to drop the teetering pile of freshly laundered towels. It should also be mentioned that when house elves require it, they can move incredibly quietly and stealthily, unable to be detected unless by somebody specifically looking for a house elf carrying towels.

The reader does not need to be told that the people of whom I am to speak – our hero and heroine, as it were – were not looking for a house elf carrying towels. It is a very rare breed of people who spend their midnight hours looking for hurried house elves carrying laundry.

As we now come to the crux of this tale, it is worth mentioning that Dobby was travelling along routes that supposedly only house elves knew about, and that he was particularly startled to find two human figures emerging from separate ends of the corridor he was to approach. Mindful of his tower of towels, Dobby quickly ducked back into the shadows of his corridor and hoped he had not been sighted. He didn't recognise either of the figures approaching, but he knew that anyone who found a house elf with a tower of towels alone at midnight would be unable to pass up the opportunity to tease and taunt. Particularly if they were Slytherin, and with the evidence that the figures were in secret corridors, it was highly likely that they were Slytherin and that he was in for a long night.

Actually, only one of the figures was Slytherin, but that is only conducive to the point in that it gives an indication as to both the identity of one of the approaching persons and also to their temperament. The other person, as I have not yet ventured to introduce, was Gryffindor, but this is also neither here nor there. To be entirely honest, I have not introduced either of our characters in this little charade, and I hope that you will forgive me for doing so. The Slytherin of our party is our favourite potions master and sarcastic bastard extraordinaire, Professor Severus Snape, who was on an important errand of deducting as many house points as possible. The Gryffindor is Professor Hermione Granger, who was also on an important errand; replacing the points that Severus Snape stole.

They were heading together at a rate that is normally reserved for lovers finally sighting each other on a romantic tryst. Their robes were billowing, their hair was flying and eyes were definitely staring daggers. When they met, there were sparks, but not of the romantic kind. They were sort of painful sparks, the kind that usually result in someone getting killed. (Un)fortunately, these two were both experienced duelists and could block attacks as well as they could send. Which was lucky, really, otherwise Dobby would probably have been forced to reveal his existence and save one of them. Although if Professor Granger was the victor, Dobby thought he would probably have a very hard time deciding to take Snape to the hospital wing.

"You!" Snarled Snape severely as he greeted Professor Granger, whose name was actually Hermione.

"Yup." Hermione replied cheerfully and snidely. "Your arch nemesis. Who else would you expect would be awake at this time and willing to thwart your every evil move?"

"I should have known a Gryffindor would have nothing better to do than to frustrate and irritate me." Snape (whose names was actually Severus) snapped back, and it was then that the hexes began in earnest.

Eventually, someone won, of course. It is inevitable in these kinds of things that eventually something will go right for one side of the equation and the duel will be over. In this specific instance, it was Severus Snape ho won the honour of besting Professor Granger. Both of them knew it was due to her reluctance to use anything that could seriously injure the other Professor, because of her gentle and Gryffindor nature. But this didn't stop him taking advantage of it. He was Slytherin and that wasn't just a title bestowed upon people who looked the part.

It wasn't too long before Severus had Hermione immobilised and helpless at his feet, but both of them were lucky that the hex had been nothing more than a desperate stupefy, intended to render his opponent helpless, as indeed had happened. Severus released the stupefy enough to allow Hermione to speak, and began upon their nightly tete a tete.

Yes, you may wonder at the frequency of which these sparring partners met, but it is true that on most nights, these two Professors would find themselves in some version of conflict. Sometimes it was verbal, physical or magical, but always there was something. On this night, however, Severus had more on his mind than besting her at this immature warfare.

"Granger," He growled, and slammed her up against a wall with a flick of his wand. "What game do you think you are playing?"

She didn't answer him, but struggled to turn her cheek away from him. Her neck caught in the spell, and she could only convulse. He didn't laugh at her discomfort, as she expected, but moved closer to her, his robes rustling as he approached.

"Don't play coy with me, Granger. I know this game. I invented it. Two partners who are as passionate as we have no option but to … vent."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Professor Snape, but I think you had better let me go." Hermione replied through clenched teeth.

"Au contraire." Severus replied, his voice suddenly warm and close next to her ear, almost a purr as his breath tickled her neck.

Hermione hoped she repressed the shiver that threatened to run through her.

"Au contraire." Severus repeated as he stood close to her, his wand pointed to the hollow of her neck. "I think it a very good idea that I keep you here, immobilised and completely at my mercy."

"I am never at your mercy, Severus." Hermione spat back.

"Is that so?" Severus said softly, his cheek brushing ever so lightly against hers. "You admit that you are here of your own volition, then?"

"I am nothing of the sort." Hermione said, knowing as she did so that she had contradicted herself into a corner and was probably going to have a hard time getting out of it.

But Severus let it slide, at least for the moment, and took the advantage of the moment to press himself closer to her, and removed his wand from her throat in favour of wrapping his arm around her waist.

"This situation is not desirous to you, then?" He demanded, and his voice silkily breathed from his lips and Hermione concentrated on how furious she was instead of how intimidated she was.

"What would give you the idea that I would wish to be held at your mercy, with no hope of escape?"

"Your desire to break the mould," Severus supplied, "To challenge the stereotype. To be, for once, around a real man."

Hermione snorted.

"And if I did, I would hardly come to you for that pleasure." She said, and fire flashed in her eyes, but it went unnoticed by Severus, whose lips were hovering millimetres from her neck.

"Oh, but wouldn't you?" Severus questioned, and his lips closed the last distance and finally pressed upon her exposed neck. He moved her thick curls out of the way and she cold English air hit her skin. Seconds later, his lips were sliding slowly against her skin, and she couldn't suppress the shiver that escaped at the contrast.

"Stop." Hermione commanded, and was glad to hear that her voice did not waver.

"No." Severus replied simply, and slipped a leg in between hers. "I thought you were never at my mercy?"

"I'm not." Hermione responded, knowing that she was lost.

"Then you enjoy it, here, in my arms, pressed against me in the cold of the evening." Severus returned, and his arm tightened its grasp around her waist.

"No." Hermione replied. "But my will to escape you can only be limited by my physical strength. As you hold me here by magical means, I don't think there is anything I can do to change my situation."

"Well spoken, Granger." Severus allowed, and pushed himself closer to her yet again.

His voice was like liquid silk, running through her and filling her with a desire she had never felt before. She had to fight her intimidation and, she had to admit, her arousal.

"Severus Snape, you will let me leave, at this moment." She demanded, her voice filled with authority. Severus paused for a moment and his hand slid up from her waist to rest gently upon her breast. She could not repress a tiny convulsion and a miniscule gasp that was ripped from her, but it was all the indication Severus needed.

He let his hand roam over her curves, taking delight in what he found, and Hermione cursed herself for her involuntary reactions. He stood flush against her, his obvious arousal pressing against her legs, and he looked down on her, his eyes filled with desire.

"I hate you." She told him, her voice filled with passion.

"And I hate you, my dear, so much more than you will ever know." Severus replied, his voice hard and hot in her ear. "But that is all the point, you know. To possess something you hate, to own it, to desire it, to triumph over it … is there nothing more passionate in this life? And is it not passion that you fight for, in your petty crusade in the darkness?"

She stared up at him, her eyes wide and her breath wild. In another second, he had his hands tightly in her hair, bringing her lips up to meet his. They met in a moment of passion that could never be described on paper. There was no lightning, no thunder, no earthquake, but both of them knew things would never be the same.

"Let me go," Hermione whispered as he relinquished his assault on her lips. Her eyes were wet with tears, and wild with desire, her lips red with the passionate gesture, and her knees weak with desire and loathing. "Please, let me go."

"But, my dear," Severus replied, his voice once again at her ear. "You have always been free to go."

Dobby watched the realisation grow in Hermione's eyes that Severus had lifted to stupefy the moment he had her against the wall and her robes flying in the moonlight as she fled from him in horror, and resolved to always be a lot more punctual with his towel duties in the future.

Finite.

Author's Note

My first step into this pairing. How did I go?