Christmastime. Without the slightest doubt, Severus's least favorite time of the year. It wasn't just the false cheer, the fake glow over everything which traditionally occurred in this horrid month… no, it was also the increased desire his students appeared to feel to make his life absolute hell.

For example, today his seventh year Gryffindor/Slytherin class appeared determined to somehow kill each other. Potter and Malfoy had already been sent from the classroom for attempting to blow up the other's cauldron. Weasley had left with Potter in a fit of pique. Pansy Parkinson, a generally intelligent but disorganized girl, had managed to completely screw her potion up without Malfoy there to passive-aggressively correct her mistakes. As for the rest of the class, they were exceedingly unfocused, as the last class before the Holidays always was. Hannah Abbott had been two seconds away from adding her chamomile several minutes early, which would have resulted in fewer idiots populating the world, but a whole lot of extra paperwork for Severus.

Thankfully, the period was drawing to a close. Most of the students had turned their potion in already, and were headed out the door. Only a few stragglers, and Granger, of course, remained. Granger was always the last to leave, whether the potion took little time or several hours of intense work. If it was a fairly simple potion, the girl had taken to experimenting, altering it slightly each time and wasting precious ingredients. She knew, of course, that he was aware of this, and had not yet stopped her, and for that, she never mentioned it to him or anyone else, but quietly worked at her own table. She did not seem to notice that he watched her closest of all, curious to see what the girl would come up with. While not nearly as brilliant as he had been at that age, she was the only student who provided work of any real interest to him. The previous week, she had added peppermint to a complex healing potion, just the slightest 100th of a teaspoon, and the effect had been to remove many of the symptoms present in the viscous medicine. Severus kept the potion in a cabinet under a stasis potion, with a note to speak to her once she had graduated. He certainly did not want to take the credit for the discovery himself.

The war had finally ended the previous summer, which gave Severus the leave to finally present the girl with the compliments and encouragement she deserved. It was still subtle; for all the brilliance she possessed, he couldn't quite bring himself to boost the girl's ego outright. The look on her face when she had received her first 'O' this year, however, had been reward enough for him. He'd been tired of awarding the best student he'd yet had less than perfect grades and giving them to idiot Slytherins for the sake of their families. Proud of his House though he was, he was less than fond of many of its occupants, and was reveling in the newfound freedom of expression.

Now it was just Zacharias Smith and Granger left. Severus frowned. Smith was usually one of the first people out the door, a step above his classmates. He couldn't fathom why the boy was still here. "Problems, Mr. Smith?" he vocalized, and the boy glanced up with a grin on his face.

"No, Professor. I believe I'm done here, actually." As he lifted his vial of potion, the boy's hand brushed an empty vial he'd left on the counter, and Severus sighed internally as he heard the crashing of glass. Smith looked dumbfounded as he stared at the mess.

"Put your vial on my desk, Mr. Smith. I'll clean up the glass."

He left his desk, walking around it so he could see the shattered shards clearly before carefully Evanesco-ing them. Glass was always a tricky substance. Smith returned to the table seconds later, gathering his things and mumbling an apology and, amusingly, "Happy Christmas," before exiting out the door.

He turned to find Granger leveling the latest potion into a vial, next to two other full ones. She glanced up at him as she corked up the bottle. "Done, sir."

"About time," he commented, though it lacked his usual vitriol. "To the desk, then. Put your other creations apart from the abominations of your classmates."

He walked back to his desk and sat down, happy only for the fact that he would soon be able to go back to his rooms and read comfortably, a glass of wine on the table next to his favorite chair. Or maybe that would be Firewhiskey. The only good thing about the Holidays was the time he was actually able to read and not worry about having papers and potions graded for the next day.

"Sir?"

Granger was facing away from him, her hands held out in front of her, pressing against thin air. He frowned. "Granger, what are you doing?"

"I can't move forward, Professor," she said, sounded slightly panicked. "There's a barrier of some sort."

He stood, walking swiftly around the desk and attempting to leave the small circle of area around it. He nearly fell backward two steps out. It felt as though pressurized air was pushing him back, encasing him in this bubble. He reached out, pressing his hand forward, and felt the same pressure pushing him back.

"Granger," he asked carefully, making sure not to betray his alarm, "did you touch anything?"

"I placed my vials on your desk, divided per your request," she responded, sounding more scared than he did. "What is this?"

He didn't answer, instead moving slowly around the vicinity of his desk. No matter where he was, he could not move more than two or so feet away from it without being forcefully pushed back. When he made the full circle, he felt a resigned weariness overtake him, and, full of trepidation, looked up. His entire body sagged as he did so. Granger, who was watching him uncertainly, looked up as well. Her eyes widened as she caught site of the small, green sprig. "Mistletoe?"

"This may not be news to you, Miss Granger," he said quietly, "but your classmate, Smith, can be quite the deviant."

"I was aware," she agreed, "but he's never pulled anything like this before, to my knowledge."

"No. This is new from him."

She chewed her lip, rendering the flesh a deep red color. "What do we do?"

He felt sick. A tight, twisted knot of dread had settled in his stomach. His voice belied nothing of this, however, when he calmly said, "I believe, Miss Granger, that we have to kiss."

Hermione Granger was not the sort of student to behave irrationally, or emotionally. She was a highly analytical person, and always had been. At this moment, however, she felt the same sickening ball of worry forming in her own body, and she clutched onto the desk for support. "Is there nothing else we can do?" she managed to say, and she berated herself for the noticeably high pitch of her voice.

"If I were outside this bubble, Miss Granger, there are many things I could do. As the case stands, however, we are decidedly inside it. We cannot cast anything outside the bubble, we are too far away to call for help, and my door locks when there is no incoming class. It is the holidays, this was my last class, and I don't particularly fancy standing in a bubble with you for all of December. That said, please believe me when I say that I have never kissed a student, have never wanted to kiss a student, and have no desire at the moment to change that."

She was chewing her lip again, in and out. Her eyes were strangely alight as she met his. "Perhaps," she said slowly, "on the cheek would suffice?"

"Perhaps," he agreed, praying to every God that it would. She stepped closer to him, and he tried to ignore the anger simmering inside him at the repulsed look on her face as she stood on her tiptoes, and tentatively brushed her cool lips against the pallor of his cheekbone. They look at each other for sheer milliseconds, before he reached a hand out, and pressed forward. Air pressed back insistently, and he sighed.

"No, Miss Granger. On the cheek will not suffice."

Hermione was not stupid. She'd seen the narrowing of his eyes, the look of unhappiness as he watched her face. She knew he did not desire her, and that he did not, in fact, even like her. She also knew, as she was sure anyone with a brain did, that Severus Snape was deeply, deeply insecure. She was warring with herself. She did not want to, in any way, appear eager to kiss him. To do so would anger him, disgust him, and lead him to believe things about her which were not true. On the other hand, to appear too revolted would hurt his already fragile pride, and make him believe things about himself which were similarly untrue. She did not hate her Professor, did not think lowly of him at all, and while he was not the most attractive man she had ever met, nor the most pleasant, he was not ugly, and was a far greater person than most she knew. She hadn't the slightest clue how to avoid both at once, however, and especially not with this strange situation which had been forced upon them.

"Perhaps," she reasoned again, "a relatively chaste kiss?"

He frowned, and she summoned what courage she had to lean forward and hastily press a clumsy and decidedly innocent kiss to his lips. He stumbled backwards from her, looking appalled, and she attempted to not feel hurt herself as she turned to the classroom and reached out. She nearly sobbed as her hand met a force of air.

"No," she whispered, hanging her head. "That did not work either."

Their eyes met again, and he seemed truly worried and unsettled now. "I suppose, then," he said, "there is only one thing left."

Tentatively, she stepped closer to him, until she was right in front of him. That was where she stopped. Like him, she had never imagined, nor desired, kissing a Professor. And yet here she was, out of options. She had little experience with kissing boys as was, and Professor Snape was no boy. Here in front of her was a man, full-blooded, filled with scathing comments and a presence of command. He could reduce a person to tears in a matter of seconds, had single-handedly provided the information which had won them the war, had more scars upon his body and soul than any single person had a right to… and she had to kiss him. Because of a bloody plant.

"We should probably make sure to do this right," she whispered tremulously. "A real kiss. I don't think either of us wants to do this twice."

He merely nodded. "You know neither of us must speak of this," he declared warningly. "If Mr. Smith spreads the news of what he has done, we must both claim to have seen it and rid ourselves of it before anything untoward occurred."

"Of course, sir," she said, having already come to that conclusion herself. Slowly, she reached up to grasp his collar, trying to mentally prepare herself.

He tried not to roll his eyes. The girl was clearly entirely inexperienced, and her false bravado was wearing on him. With no warning, he snaked one arm around her waist to bring her flush against him, and, bending his head to hers, claimed her mouth.

Both parties nearly sprang apart at the immediate spark. It flowed from his lips to hers, setting both alight in sudden recognition. She gasped with its power, and in the grip of a chemical reaction, he took the opportunity to plunder her mouth further, causing her body to sag against his as she grasped at his robes. He ceased thinking temporarily, his body only aware of the immense satisfaction it received from kissing Hermione Granger, and the way his soul felt momentarily at peace. She, who had only experienced clumsy kisses with too-eager boys like Ron and Viktor, was shocked and curious at the electricity flowing between her body and his. Hermione pressed herself closer, wanting desperately to feel more of him. In response, he pressed back against the desk, pulling her weight atop him as he stroked within her mouth. The kisses he had experienced with whores and the impure girls of his various orders had never prepared him for a moment like this, and all he knew was that he wanted more. His brain, however, had finally caught up with the pleasure flowing through his body, and with a cry he pushed her away, shocked and appalled at what had just transpired. She flew well past the two-foot radius, bracing herself against a desk and wincing.

Their eyes met, neither knowing how to react. She began to tremble as the pleasure her body had felt melted away, to be replaced almost entirely with dread at what he might say in regards to her rakish behavior. Never had she pressed herself against a- a man like that; never had she responded to a kiss with such brazen wantonness. She was entirely out of her league.

Severus's mind was racing. That had not gone as he had imagined, and a thousand different consequences flew by in a matter of seconds. She might mistake his momentary passion for something concrete. She might break her promise, due to the aforementioned momentary passion, and speak of his unexpected reaction. She might be utterly disgusted (that was likely). She might go to the Headmistress with tales of his lust. So on and so forth, he knew not what to say to eliminate all the possibilities. Even looking at her now… her eyes were still glazed, her mouth partly open and plump, her hair mussed. Did I do that? He had no recollection of touching the bushy mess, and yet he knew he must have.

As the silence stretched, Hermione realized she could take no more of this awkwardness, and averted her eyes. "I'll go, now," she said, cursing herself for the tremulous quality of her voice. "I'll speak of this to no one. I promise." Relieved beyond measure, Severus only nodded. "Good bye, Professor."

Quickly gathering her things, she left. Severus waited until the door had shut and several seconds had passed before sinking inelegantly into his desk chair.

What the fuck had just happened?

It turned out that Zacharias Smith had, in fact, spread news of the deed. Hermione wasted no time in ruining his fun, coldly proclaiming to him at the dinner table that night that nothing had come of the immature attempt on her and the Professor's reputations, as they had diagnosed the issue before it came to fruition. His face had fallen, but that had been nothing in comparison to the dark fury in Professor Snape's eyes as he had calmly asked the boy to accompany him to Headmistress McGonagall's office. Smith had raised his chin in defiance, but later that night, when the rumors of various punishments had spread throughout the entire school, it was said that he was sorely disappointed to not have given the great bat his due, and to not be able to lay claim to a great prank in the history of the school. Hermione rather thought he overestimated how lasting an effect a simple kiss would have.

That said, the next morning, Hermione found herself deeply, deeply affected. She could not even look at Snape without experiencing a visceral reaction, remembering his hands on her body, in her hair, pressing her tightly to him as his mouth performed amazing things. She could no longer look at him and think teacher. Instead, a running mantra of man man man man man raced around her brain, teasing her with its implications.

It was entirely possible she wanted to feel that again.

It was more than entirely possible. In fact, she couldn't even try to deny it. He had awakened a dormant part of her, something she'd never known was sleeping at all and yet, now, she knew, was such an intricate part of her. And she didn't want it to go away.

Still, she scolded herself mentally. It had been fewer than 24 hours since the incident, and as Ron and Harry chatted amicably as they ate their breakfasts, she prepared herself for the day. She simply had to go about her day, per usual. Christmas holiday was a day away, and then she would be at the Burrow, far away from him and able to, perhaps, put him out of her mind permanently. It was a momentary infatuation.

He probably had already forgotten.

Snape was going mad.

He had taken a long, cold shower after she had left, desperate to remove the feeling of her young body from his skin. It was no use. At dinner that night, she'd stood before Smith, the very essence of fiery calm. She'd stood to her full height, but had seemed yards taller, utterly beyond the boy.

She'd been absolutely magnificent. He would never have recognized so before, but with the taste of her still on his tongue he had failed to be unimpressed. As he marched the boy out of the Hall, he'd been terrifyingly aware of her presence.

He had not gone back, deciding it was smarter to eat alone, in his room. Away from her temptation.

He was completely ashamed of himself. Though self-hate had been part of his daily life since birth, he had rarely felt so miserable before. This girl was an icon of her youth, someone who had already changed the world for the better. She was a living, breathing symbol of everything that everyone he had spent his life hating had tried to wipe out. She was so pure, so smart, and he didn't deserve to be in her presence, let alone have these thoughts about her.

And Hermione Granger was his student. Whether or not she was of age wasn't even an issue; he had failed as an instructor. He was a terrible teacher; this he knew. He was petty, and unfair, and cruel. But never before had he lusted after a student.

Yes, he really hated himself this time.

And now, at breakfast, he couldn't take his eyes of her. Severus had valued his self-control more than any other aspect of himself. It was one thing he could take pride in. In this, he found he could not control himself, and the thought terrified him. Was he reduced this easily? Decades as a spy, and yet he could not even look at this girl.

He stood, ignoring his breakfast. He had no appetite anymore. With a swirl of his robes, he left, retreating again to the cold sanctity of his dungeon. She would not be there.

He was watching her.

Hermione realized it during lunch that afternoon. She'd intuitively looked up, as most people will when another's eyes are burning into them, to meet his gaze. She'd hidden her shock at his momentarily stricken expression, and had quickly turned back to Harry, her heart racing. What had caused him to look at her like that, and to react so guiltily when caught? Throughout the meal, she continued to feel that sensation. It was only when Ginny, always dependably over-aware of everything, had asked her why Snape was staring at her that she'd confirmed it. He was watching her.

Why?

Adrenaline thrumming through her, she threw caution to the wind. The food at Hogwarts had never been terribly nutritious when Dumbledore was Headmaster, but when McGonagall took over, many of the worst culprits – mostly desserts – had disappeared, to be replaced by a constant array of fresh fruits and vegetables. Taking care that her friends were otherwise occupied in their discussions, she reached forward to select a large, plump strawberry. Brazenly, she flicked her eyes to the table, meeting his gaze as she brought the fruit to her lips and took the flesh into her mouth, biting cleanly through. His eyes narrowed, and still she kept his gaze as she slowly chewed and swallowed, licking the juice off her lips.

He stood, abruptly. Even from where she sat, she heard the scrape and bang of his chair as it moved backwards quickly, and she saw Flitwick shoot him an irritated glance as Snape disappeared through a side door.

Hermione set the rest of the strawberry on her plate, and pulled her hand to her lap when she realized she was trembling. She took in a deep breath, a series of emotions passing through her in rapid succession.

He wanted her.

Hermione was no fool. She recognized the look in his eyes, having seen it pass between people before, though never at her. She was utterly confident in her realization. What she didn't know was what to do about it.

She tried to slow her thoughts, to think through this rationally (stupid, her heart protested; this sort of thing was already all sorts of not rational). He wanted her. She could start there. This presented a problem, of course. He was her teacher, and it was very much against the rules for him to look at her the way he just had been. That said, it was already there, and she could do nothing about that. What she could control is how she reacted to it. So what would she do? She couldn't ignore it; he was brilliant, and undoubtedly knew what her little show had been for. In fact, she realized with a mental groan, he probably was angry as hell. Most likely, knowing his personality, he believed she was making fun of him for sinister reasons, and because they were both perfectly aware of the situation, she would have to explain what she'd intended at some point, probably soon.

So what had she intended? Why had she done that?

Her stomach sank as she confronted the truth. I want him too. It was obvious, really. It had been all she'd thought about for 24 hours. She was terrified, but at the same time, she felt a thrill. I want him, and he wants me. Certainly a new position for her.

Of course, there were still all the ethical issues standing before her. But as she thought of those, she sat up straighter, suddenly resolved. She didn't really care. Yes, he was her teacher, and this was morally wrong, but she'd gone through hell already, and he'd been through worse. She wanted him, and he wanted her.

Simple, really.

Severus Snape was not amused.

The chit was goading him, making a spectacle of them in public. His mouth had gone dry as she'd placed the scarlet fruit against those lips, and he'd felt nothing but anger and intense frustration as his cock had stirred to life as the juice had run free from her delicate bite. When her tongue had appeared to lick it away, he'd reacted without thinking, his body naturally responding to fight-or-flight. He'd flown, straight down to his sanctuary in his private rooms beyond his classroom. He'd shut the door behind him, headed straight for the bathroom. With the water on freezing and full blast, he stepped into the shower.

Several minutes later, he sat on the edge of his bed, glaring darkly into the cold fireplace. He had no idea why she'd done that. It was out of character for her. Hermione Granger was not sexual. Yes, that kiss had been bloody fantastic, but she'd been noticeably inexperienced. Severus knew she barely ever left the library, and when she did she was likely studying elsewhere or getting into large amounts of trouble. Of the non-sexual variety. Provoking her own teacher in public was hardly the norm for her. So why him, and why then?

She'd noticed him watching her. That he knew now. Had she been testing him? And if so, what did his reaction mean to her? Unfortunately, he'd sent a pretty clear signal. What would she do now? The ball was entirely in her court.

Despairingly, he felt a small surge of hope that, despite all the reasons why it was a terrible decision, she would appear at his door. He quashed that, feeling sickened and depressed. He was not fit to be sitting here, at this establishment. Not anymore.

Minerva had positively begged him to come back, in her own austere way. She had insisted that there was a great teacher inside him, that he'd merely done what was necessary in the past, and that she believed in him. Despite his reservations, he'd agreed to return to Hogwarts, the only place that had ever been home. He'd prepared to start a new life.

He felt that crashing down around him now. He would not let it turn out this way. If he could lust after one student, it could happen again. And that meant he could not be here to allow that.

He would resign. It was easy. He would leave, become a Potioneer, and go far, far away from tempting succubi.

"Professor?"

Severus looked to his right, where the black-armoured knight stood in his portrait. "Yes, Edward?"

"There is a student here to see you."

Cold trickled down his spine. He swallowed thickly. "Who is it?"

Edward's brows furrowed. "I do not know the names of your students, but she is from Gryffindor House. Her hair is dreadful."

Granger. "Tell her I will be there momentarily. Do not come back into this room for the rest of the day. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir. On my way."

Snape stood, fighting the urge to glance in a mirror. He felt, once again, irritated at himself for ordering the knight away. What did he imagine would happen? And was he actually nervous to go talk to the girl? Ignoring the feeling, and berating himself for being a weakling, he gracefully exited his quarters and made his way to the classroom.

She was standing in the front of the classroom, and as he slipped through his office door, she met his gaze, her face absolutely serious. He walked to his desk, standing behind it, acutely aware that he was placing a barrier between them. She seemed to realize this as well, looking at it momentarily before looking up to him again. "I wanted to speak to you, Professor."

He avoided swallowing again, remaining implacable. "Yes, Miss Granger?"

Severus and Hermione stared at one another for a tense moment, as he worried about what she would say, and she ran through her options. Then, as the silence built around them, she reached up, and pulled her hairclip out, setting it on the desk between them. He felt a pang of confusion, until she shook the mess out, meeting his gaze calmly as she shrugged out of her outer robe, setting it on the table behind her. As she slowly reached up to undo the first button on her white blouse, alarm bells sounded in his brain.

"What do you think you are doing, Miss Granger?"

She undid the second button, smiling nervously. "I'm seducing you."

She wanted him. Of the many scenarios he'd envisioned, this one, the one he'd forced to the back of his mind, had seemed the least likely, and yet here she was, undressing in front of him. He was in danger.

"Miss Granger, what in the world would possibly lead you to believe I wanted to be seduced by you?"

She paused, cocking her head, frowning. "You're smarter than that, Professor."

He felt a stab of irritation. "Perhaps I am not as smart as you've been lead to believe. The question still stands."

Hermione was still frowning. "You want me," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He marveled at her confidence. Where had the insecure chit he had always known gone? Probably disappeared around the time half her classmates were killed and her best friend nearly murdered before her eyes, he thought morbidly.

"A falsehood. I cannot fathom how you came to such a conclusion."

She had stopped frowning and, to his relief, had stopped at the third button as well. "The past 24 hours have made it clear," she explained. "You already know this, but since you seem determined to deny it… you reacted to that kiss exactly as I did yesterday. You felt the spark, you kissed me harder. I would have left it at that… but you've been watching me."

"No, I have not."

"If you want to talk me out of this, Professor, then stop denying things I know are fact. You watched me all throughout lunch. You disappeared immediately after… after I-"

"After your decidedly wanton display? Indeed. I could not bear to see someone I had previously thought to be at least moderately intelligent betray her own stupidity so blatantly. Tell me, Miss Granger, where did you learn such clumsy arts? The local whorehouse?"

She laughed. He couldn't believe it, but laugh she did, loudly. "You really don't change, do you?" she asked, eyes merry. "Even after that kiss, even after a moment of such intimacy as this afternoon. Your insults are as sharp as ever, Professor, believe me. I simply cannot believe you anymore." Hermione hoped he didn't notice how her hands trembled slightly as she continued to unbutton her shirt, more quickly this time. As she shrugged one shoulder out of it, he averted his eyes, breathing deeply.

"Miss Granger, I must ask you to leave."

"I can't, Professor."

He snorted. "Whyever not?"

"The mistletoe."

Snape couldn't help but roll his eyes. "The mistletoe was taken care of yesterday, Miss Granger. I believe you even alluded to the incident several seconds ago."

She grinned, and he felt a stab of panic. "Oh, Professor… I beg to differ."

Already knowing what he would find, he looked above his desk, and saw there the same plant which had started this whole mess, looking mockingly innocent. "You put it there."

"Yes. I knew you would react this way."

"Why would you do this?" he whispered, shoulders slumping resignedly.

"I already told you," she whispered, sitting on the edge of his desk, slipping the shirt off entirely. He tried not to stare at her lace-covered breasts as she swung her legs elegantly around, already free of shoes and socks, so that she sat on the edge of the desk, barely a foot in front of him. "I want you. And you want me."

"We cannot do this, Miss Granger," he stated matter-of-factly, and she sighed. "I am your teacher. It is wrong on every level. I am years older than you, I am an absolute bastard, I am a murderer and a deviant. I have done things you cannot imagine in your most terrible nightmares, and I have felt no guilt in doing them."

"Yes you have," she countered, looking angry. "Detail to me what you've done, if you must. Lay it all out, and see if my decision changes, but don't claim to be unaffected by it. Every step you've taken in the past 20 years puts the lie to that claim. If you hadn't felt guilty, we would never have won that war. And now that we have, I find that I simply don't care for such rules anymore. I am 18, Professor, and fully aware of what I am doing it. I choose you. Not because you are a nice person, because we both know you are not. Yesterday, I felt something I have never before experienced. I want that again, and I want it with you."

"You don't know what it is you ask," he warned, and she shook her head vehemently, stepping off the desk. He backed up, but that damned invisible air shield was there again, and instead he felt himself pressed against her luscious body, her lips merely inches from his.

"Yes I do," she breathed. "I am not an idiot, Professor. I know what this may lead to, and I embrace it."

"I will not do this."

"Fine," she whispered, staring at his lips. "But either way, you have to kiss me."

"Put your shirt on."

She smiled, shaking her head. Then, before he had time to react, the girl who, yesterday, had been unable to instigate anything, placed her hand on the back of his head and kissed him full on the mouth.

It was instantaneous. His body exploded with a sensation of finally, as he unconsciously pulled her tight into his arms. He lifted her onto the desk, and she wrapped her legs tight around him. He pressed himself against her, and she broke the kiss, moaning in a way that set his cock to stir.

Fuck it all. She was too smart for her own damn good, and she was entirely right. He wanted her. He wanted her desperately.

But not like this.

Cursing himself, he pulled away, and she made a frustrated sound of protest. He placed a finger on her lips, waiting until she'd met his eyes. "I do want you," he confessed. "Miss Granger-"

"After that confession, you cannot possibly keep calling me that," she interrupted, and he sighed.

"Hermione," he said, loving the way she smiled as the syllables slipped out his lips, "we have put ourselves in a tricky position."

"Yes, I-"

"Stop interrupting me, girl, and listen. We could both go down for this. Surely you realize that? We must be careful. More importantly, you must be sure."

She waited, and then said, quietly, "I am sure."

He walked away from her, around the desk to grasp her shirt. She swung back around the desk, and he stepped up to her, sliding the shirtsleeves up her arms and beginning to button it. "We will wait through this break," he told her, determinedly not looking at her face, where he knew disappointment shown. "When you come back, if you still want this, come see me. If you do not, I will not be angry with you, nor treat you differently."

She sighed, and gently grasped his frock coat, pulling him to her and resting her forehead against his. "I don't know how I can stand to wait so long."

Me either, he thought. He kissed her, then, sweetly, and she responded enthusiastically. As they parted, he ran a hand through her mass of hair, remembering again what it felt like. "Go, Hermione."

"I don't-"

"Go," he said more forcefully. "I'll still be here in January."

Hermione reached behind him to grasp her outer robe, shrugging into it and then smiling at him one last time, pressing a kiss to his forehead and whispering, "I'll be back," into his ear before walking around him and out the door.

Severus sat on the edge of the table, placing his head in his hands. He had probably just made a terrible mistake, done something truly awful.

And she was right. He felt guilty.

A/N: Because this is on this site, with its stupid rules about ratings, any sexy scenes will, of course, be relegated to significantly less-sexy counterparts. This story has not yet gone through a beta reader; I have not heard from anyone (understandably; it is Christmas), so, it will eventually be up on The Petulant Ppetess and Ashwinder; I will provide those links once it is. Until then, I would love it if any mistakes were nicely pointed out in reviews! And Happy Holidays to everyone. Reviews would be a very nice present ;) If anyone would like to beta read this fic, I would be more than happy. Please shoot me an e-mail. Thanks :)