Chapter 3
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A simple alohomora got her through the front door of Sleek n' Shine. Hermione walked in eagerly, making sure to close the door behind her and relock it. She strode over to the corner, bypassing the soaps and shampoos, to where the cosmetics range was stored.
She perused the shelves quickly, and was left disappointed. Her lip balm was out of stock. Hermione scowled, feeling petulant. Her whole trip to Hogsmede had been an utter waste of time!
She turned to leave, walking slowly to the main door. But she paused as she raised her wand to unlock the door. She had enough money with her to pay for the lip balm, and it seemed such a shame to go back to Hogwarts empty-handed. Plus, she was already in the shop; another peek around wouldn't make much of a difference.
Hermione nodded to herself and turned back to face the shop, scanning the area behind the shop counter for a door or entrance into the storage area. A thin crack in the wall caught her eye, and she strode over to it curiously. She traced the crack with her finger. It was too straight to be anything but wizard-made.
When her finger reached the bottom of the crack, the wall in front of her rippled slightly, revealing a door which was slightly ajar. Hermione smiled. She was lucky the proprietor hadn't closed the door properly, otherwise she wouldn't have been able to see the narrow crack.
She carefully pushed the door open. A long set of stairs led down into the shop basement. The stairway was rather dark. Hermione started forward gingerly, pulling the door closed behind her. She kept her hand on the wall and felt her way down the stairs, not wanting to risk a lumos.
Finally, after several long, tense moments, she reached the bottom of the staircase. A warm flickering lit the bottom of the stairs, coming from the room to her right. She kept to the wall and peeked in.
Bingo! A potions lab! Vials and jars spanned across the entire back wall of the room; it was here she would hopefully find some lip balm. Hermione resisted the urge to jump up and down like a schoolgirl. She was a schoolgirl, but not the jumping kind of one. Jumping was for people like Ginny, or transfigured versions of Draco.
Hermione edged into the room cautiously, making sure that no one was in sight. When she realized that the room was empty, she sighed in relief and began to look around. A large desk dominated the middle of the room, surrounded by bubbling cauldrons. Hermione walked towards them, curious to see how magical cosmetics were brewed.
There were several cauldrons full of what smelt like Lavender's shampoo. She dipped her wand cautiously in the mixture, noticing its slick, oily texture. She instantly pitied whoever had to brew these shampoos; working constantly over such a mixture was bound to make even dry hair like hers as oily as Snape's.
Hermione moved past the cauldrons over to a large desk covered with scattered pieces of parchment. Perhaps she could find the recipe for the lip balm and make it herself, after the shop discontinued the line, of course. She wouldn't tell anyone, nor sell the recipe to others, so it would be difficult to accuse her of copyright infringement.
The spiky, scrawling handwriting was vaguely familiar. Feeling a sudden warmth wash over her, Hermione shrugged her travelling cloak off and slung it over her arm. She picked up a piece of parchment and scrutinized the odd symbols; everything was written in code. It seemed runic-based, and Hermione scanned the symbols, searching for a pattern to help with the translation.
So focused was she on puzzling out the inexplicable situation, that the soft voice right by her ear caught her entirely by surprise. "You meddling girl. You're almost as bad as Dumbledore."
Hermione almost jumped out of her skin. She whirled around and came face-to-face with Snape. Well, face-to-shoulder; the man was too tall for his own good.
"You?" she whispered in disbelief. "What are you doing here?" And how had she not noticed her Disillusionment spell fail?
"This is my property. The real question is why you are here, against school rules. It seems Potter isn't the only Gryffindor who thinks himself above the law."
"Your property?" she repeated, incredulous. But as soon as the words left her mouth it all clicked together. Sleek 'n Shine. S.S. Even the name of the shop screamed Severus Snape. And who else but a Potions master would have the knowledge of how to adequately mix ingredients? It was well-known that the making of high quality magical cosmetics was difficult at best. She glanced at the cauldrons of shampoo behind her. Snape's oily hair suddenly made a lot more sense.
"Well?" Snape hissed impatiently. "You have one minute to explain yourself before I haul you back to school in disgrace."
"I came to ask you a question that I need to know the answer to," she said honestly, backing away from the potions on the table.
"Once again trying to know it all," Snape sneered. He crossed his arms, his voice suddenly becoming quiet and dangerously silky. "I have no doubt you will ask the question regardless of whether I feel inclined to answer, so do hurry up."
She took a deep breath, excited that she was so close to the answer. The forbidding expression on Snape's face hardly deterred her as she blurted, "What are you doing with the strawberries?"
Snape narrowed his eyes, looking suspicious. "I specifically ordered the House Elves not to tell anyone."
"Ah," she replied, feeling smug. "It seems Dumbledore and I share more traits than you realize." She paused for effect, then continued. "I'm omniscient."
"You're what?" Snape spluttered, his eyes widening. He seemed at loss for words, and he turned away from her to pace back and forth. Hermione watched him pace, mentally taking notes on Snape's reaction. She tried to smother a grin. Maybe leaving Hogwarts wasn't as bad as she had thought it would be.
"And all this time I thought it was Dumbledore chasing me around the castle," Snape muttered, his eyes little angry slits. "But it was just you."
Hermione suppressed a smile. Snape, cosmetician extraordinaire. Maybe she could make some bogus flyers and surreptitiously hand them around, inviting girls to ask Snape for makeover advice.
Snape seemed to read her mind. He stepped closer towards her, looming over her threateningly. "You tell anyone about this and I promise you will never receive more than an Acceptable at Potions." His scowl deepened. "The rumours about me and McGonagall have also got to stop."
Hermione winced, backing away slowly. Snape matched each of her steps, his cloak flaring behind him, until she was pressed against a wall with nowhere to go. He stood before her, arms crossed, obviously not finished intimidating her. She added 'loom threateningly' to her mental list of how to intimidate an adversary, trying to remain rational in the face of such scary cloakiness.
"If I hear even a whisper of a rumour about what you saw here, I'll ensure that—." Snape paused, looking suddenly pained. His eyes dropped from hers to look at her lips. "What is on your lips?" he whispered, his voice strangled.
"S…strawberry lip balm," she replied nervously. She had expected his anger, his threats, but not this almost hungry look, and it was only now she started to feel truly at risk. An unpredictable Snape was a dangerous thing.
His face approached hers, and she moved her head back, whacking it against the wall. With a start, Snape turned away from her, going to stand near the cauldrons with his back to her. When he spoke, his voice was flat and unemotional. "Get out of my sight. Now."
Hermione was halfway up the stairs before she even realized she had moved. Scowling at her doglike obedience, she slowed as she finished climbing the stairs, contemplating the sour Potion professor and his unexpected behaviour. What would it take for him to explain why he was behaving oddly?
She touched her lips: there was hardly any lip balm left on at all. Then, a thought struck her, a thought so daring and fool-hardy she knew it was the Gryffindor in her calling the shots. Hermione reached into her pocket and pulled out her lip balm. There was only a quarter of a tube left, and she had been trying to use it sparingly, but a quest for knowledge called for drastic measures. She took off the lid and dipped her finger into the pot, spreading the sticky sweet substance liberally over her lips with great satisfaction. Then she turned around and walked back down into the basement.
Snape was making some kind of potion, stirring feverishly, his eyes intent on the dark red liquid. He didn't notice her at first. She paused by the doorway, hesitant, watching him. Then, with a suddenness that surprised her, he simply froze.
All he managed to say was: "Out. Now." But she could not be deterred. His strange behaviour emboldened her.
She could see his shoulders tense as she approached. His hands were twitching, as if he was trying to resist the urge to lash out at her. Cautiously, she walked closer, until she was right beside him. He stared fixedly ahead as if he could not see her.
"Professor?" she whispered, not sure of what else to say.
He did not respond.
She reached up to touch his shoulder.
With a sudden movement, he snatched her hand out of midair, bringing it towards his face. He inhaled deeply, it seemed with satisfaction. Hermione was too confused to speak, and instead studied Snape's face intently. She was surprised to see a variety of expressions on it, ranging from hunger to something rather more intense, and resolved to review her list enumerating Snape facial expressions.
What Snape did next completely stopped Hermione's careful musing. He took hold of her index finger, put it in his mouth, and sucked. Hermione was stunned: she didn't know whether to moan or feel embarrassed. She could already feel her cheeks flushing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she noted quite clinically the expertise with which Snape was curling his tongue around her finger. The thought made her blush even more.
Snape seemed momentarily satisfied and stopped his ministrations, keeping, however, a firm grip on her wrist.
"Sir," Hermione said hesitantly, "I'm not sure this is quite appropriate."
Snape gave her a dark look. "Indeed. But, to resort to childish taunts, you started it. I'm sure if this incident were to reach the Headmaster's ears, he would be extremely lenient with me after a description of your behaviour. After all, you're of age, and off of Hogwarts grounds."
"Of age?" she repeated, confused.
Snape scowled. "I just said that, you dunderhead."
"You're the dunderhead! I'm not of age," Hermione retorted, trying unsuccessfully to pull her wrist out of his grasp. "I only turned seventeen last September."
"You and your Muggle birthday-counting system," Snape sneered in reply. "Seventeen is of age in the wizarding world. Furthermore, a side-effect of using a timeturner is the subsequent aging parallel to the amount of use. Therefore you are already eighteen in Ministry records, not seventeen, and as such of age by Muggle reckoning as well. Surely this was specified in the legal documents you signed."
"My name isn't Shirley," Hermione replied snootily. Hermione had to stifle a laugh at the gobsmacked expression on Snape's face. But what else had he expected? Him and his big words and complicated sentences. If he thought to intimidate her, he was wrong. Such a long-winded reply had deserved the most inane answer possible.
The disdain in Snape's eyes was clearly visible. "Trust a Gryffindor to display a startling lack of understanding with regards to consequences."
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but something made her pause. She studied Snape and realized with growing horror that his face had taken on the same hungry look he had had earlier.
Merlin! She had liberal doses of the lip balm on her lips! And if her finger's experience was anything to go by.... Desperation gave Hermione hidden strength. She managed to tear her wrist out of Snape's grasp. She threw herself forward, ducking and rolling under the table to the other side, mentally thanking Harry for the tedious hours of duelling practice.
Hermione jumped to her feet and faced Snape, trying to quell her rising panic. He hadn't moved, clearly surprised by her swift escape.
"Remove the lip balm from your lips, or I will be forced to do it for you," Snape said quite suddenly, looking more and more restless as time passed.
Slowly, so as not to startle him, Hermione pulled out her wand and pointed it at her lips. "Evanesco," she whispered, heaving a sigh of relief.
But Snape was still looking at her intently. She tentatively rubbed her lips together. The lip balm hadn't budged an inch.
"Scourgify," she said, slightly louder this time. Nothing happened. Hermione was beginning to feel incredibly anxious. Perhaps siphoning off the lip balm would work? "Tergeo!" Snape's intense stare remained focused on her lips.
Slowly, with dawning horror, Hermione remembered the ad campaign for the lip balm. It wasn't called Everlasting Strawberry Shine for nothing, after all. And, she remembered, once on a girl's lips it was only removable with a lover's kiss.
Snape suddenly lunged around the table, taking her completely by surprise. Hermione couldn't stop her shocked scream, but she retained enough of her wits to duck his outstretched arms and flee sideways, putting the bubbling cauldrons between them.
She wiped her lips furiously with the back of her hand, but to no avail. Snape continued to approach, gliding slowly in stark contrast to his previous lunge. Hermione wondered how they looked from the outside, the tall, menacing Potions professor chasing a student around a room. The image was faintly ridiculous, but the concentrated look on Snape's face quelled any impulse she had to laugh.
Think, Hermione, think! There had to be some kind of binding agent in the lip balm, making it impossible to clean off. But whatever was in a lover's kiss dissolved that binding. Hermione edged away from the approaching Snape, biting her lip as she frantically tried to find a solution. The faint taste of strawberries in her mouth brought her to her senses. Saliva was the answer, the ingredient which dissolved the binding agent. All she had to do was lick her lips enough times and the lip balm would be gone!
She looked at Snape triumphantly, suddenly noticing that he had backed her back to her original position, the table between them once more. They stared at each other from across the table. Hermione looked away from his gaze, feeling a little flustered. She defiantly opened her mouth to tell Snape that she'd found a solution, but the look on his face made her stop.
Snape was smirking.
Hermione had the sinking feeling that all along he'd simply been toying with her. A moment later, her feeling was proved right. It felt like she barely had the time to blink before Snape was by her side, grasping her wrist and pulled her towards him. He had her trapped against the table, completely at his mercy. She looked up at him anxiously, trying to calculate her next move.
All coherent thoughts flew out the window when Snape moved his hand from her wrist to her waist. Hermione squeaked indignantly as he shoved her roughly down onto the table before him, an odd gleam in his eyes. He bent down over her, the weight of his chest pressing her even more firmly into the table.
Frantically, Hermione sucked on her upper lip, removing all traces of the lip balm. Now all that was left was her bottom lip. But then she made the mistake of looking back up into Snape's eyes. His eyes had grown even darker, and pinned her to the spot as if she was petrified.
Snape smirked and swooped down, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth, his tongue slowly covering every inch. He didn't close his eyes and kept staring down at her as he nibbled ever-so gently.
Hermione realized she wasn't breathing. Then, she realized she'd closed her eyes.
Of course, she was only closing her eyes to avoid having a close-up view of Snape, not because she was actually enjoying it. And definitely not because his lips were softer than expected, and pressing firmly against hers.
When Snape finally pulled away, she slowly opened her eyes and looked up at him, dazed. Had that just happened? Her mouth felt dry and she compulsively swallowed.
He looked down at her flushed face, and then smirked. "I did warn you."
Hermione just blinked a couple times, her lips tingling. She reached up slowly to touch her lips. They felt slightly dry, and her hand was half-way down to her pocket to reapply the lip balm when she realized the consequences of what she was about to do. She put her hand by her side reluctantly, pushing herself up so that she was seated on the table.
"The lip balm was a new product, part of a range of cosmetics I was creating as an attempt to increase the popularity of my shop, and hence increase my income," Snape explained to her, suddenly amiable and relaxed. "I only realized after several months of producing the lip balm that it has one fatal side-effect: it is addictive. Constant exposure to the lip balm over long periods of time leads to an increased dependency, both mental and physical, to the extent that not using the lip balm could lead to fever-like symptoms, mood swings, loss of common sense, and so on."
Snape was in full lecture mode now, and Hermione could only stare at him, fascinated, wishing she had pen and paper to jot down notes. Her mind was still a little muddled and hazy, and she was worried about forgetting a crucial detail of Snape's explanation.
Snape started pacing, looking a little less relaxed than before. "Of course, the addiction side-effect has done wonders to my balance sheet, meaning that I have had to make even more lip balm, and thus unknowingly expose myself to it. Had I known of its addictive properties, I would have taken precautions to ensure I would not have fallen prey to its temptations. Yet here I am, and still will be, until I develop a cure."
Hermione nodded, sorting through everything Snape had said. She struggled to slide slowly back into a more objective mindset, using simple mental notation to ease the process.
1. Exposure * time = strength of addiction.
2. Lip balm = addictive (no cure!).
3. Exposure * time = strength of addiction of lip balm.
4. Snape = lots of exposure * lots of time.
5. Snape = strongly addicted to lip balm = weakness (no cure!).
When her rational mind properly kicked in again, she realized with sudden glee that she had more than enough to blackmail Snape into grading her essays fairly. He had played into her hands, almost as easily as Draco had. Although he was perhaps a tad scarier than Draco.
She looked at Snape, feeling confident once more, but his superior smirk gave her reason to pause.
"You are just as addicted to that lip balm as I am," he said smoothly, his voice deceptively soothing. "And should you feel unable to keep today's events to yourself, I may find myself suddenly unable to make any more lip balm."
Damn. She had forgotten a step. Frowning, she added to the list:
6. Self = lots of exposure * lots of time = strongly addicted = weakness (no cure!).
Suddenly things didn't seem as cheery as they had before. To make matters worse, Snape was researching the cure off of Hogwarts grounds, so she wouldn't be able to discover the cure when he did, either.
He seemed to read her thoughts, for he suddenly smirked. "I'm sure when the time comes we can make an arrangement for the cure as well."
Hermione nodded, speechless, and watched as Snape strode from the room with an exaggerated flair. She turned to follow him slowly, scowling as she left. She had discovered something extremely personal about Snape, and he had managed to turn it around so that she could not blackmail him in any way. And she even had the uncontrollable desire to quash all the silly rumours about his affair with McGonagall; after kissing him herself she could no longer picture the two together without feeling incredibly repulsed. He had outmanoeuvred her: he truly was a Slytherin.
But then, with a happy sigh, she remembered the pot of lip balm in her pocket. At least she had discovered a way to encourage Snape into giving her a couple Outstandings.
Hermione was subdued on her trek back to Hogwarts, evaluating the relative success of H.E.M.P. She supposed most of her endeavours were at least more successful than S.P.E.W., and her execution of the plan had been nearly perfect. She could not blame herself for Snape's deviousness anymore than she could blame Draco for his vanity.
"Hermione?"
She looked up, startled, to find Bill Weasley standing in front of her, just inside the Hogwart's gates, genuine confusion on his face. Damn! She'd been so lost in her thoughts she had completely forgotten to Disillusion herself.
"Err... Bill. Hi." Not her most coherent greeting, either. She really needed a good nap and some hot chocolate. And her omniscience, Draco's odd roleplays and all.
"Breaking school rules, I see. Not so innocent after all, are you?" Bill smirked.
Hermione cast her mind about, trying to think of a valid excuse, a lie—anything!—to make sure her Head Girl badge wasn't at risk.
She needn't have worried. Bill held the gate open for her and allowed her through, on to Hogwarts grounds. The sudden weight of omniscience was uncomfortable, but extremely welcome.
Hermione turned around to face Bill, focusing her mind on him to determine his intentions. But he had already stepped off of Hogwarts grounds, and was smiling at her rather cheekily from the other side of the gate.
"See you around, rule-breaker." Bill winked, turned on the spot, and Disapparated.
With a small smile, Hermione turned around and walked towards the castle. It was about time she figured out where Bill fit in the grand scheme of things.