Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, "raging hormones" would mean something a lot more terrible than they do when Rowling mentions them.

AN: Thank you so much for reviewing, guys! You have no idea how wonderful it is to see that somebody has something to say about what you've written! (unless you also have works on ). It makes my day, every time. I started this thinking I'd probably abandon it, like I usually do with fanfics, but it's getting fun and you're keeping me going. So, thanks!

Oh, btw. The scene with Hermione and Snape is a little something that struck my dream-hazed mind this morning, so I decided to put it in. It's vastly edited from what occurred to me, though. I was half-falling asleep, which means that character-traits and actions strayed through a wide range, from things considered normal, to Snape half-raping her, amused by the thought that she wants it, to one of them (can't remember which) sprouting out a very advanced magical theory which sounded astoundingly brilliant in my dream – I have no idea what the theory was, but my past experience with dreams states clearly that my feelings of utter amazement at the brilliance of it mean that it was utterly weird in strange ways. For this, see the time when I was convinced in the morning that I'd dreamed a perfect part of a novel during the night, tried hard to remember it, finally did and then I realized that my novel about a university with strange things going on in it, educational ideas, a crazy rector and tangled up love relationships had nothing whatsoever to do with the adventures of a philosophical tree leaf in Japan. Err.

Diamond-helen * hands her the red boots * I have a pair just like those. The problem is, I walk a lot and the heels are killing me. So I don't walk in them a lot. They're almost brand-new. I think it takes a fairy or a much more womanly woman than myself to wear them cheerfully.

Zafaran Good luck with figuring out all the hints. I'm making this up as I go, as worrying as that may be. Though, to be truthful, I look back to see if any of the things I've said inspire me, so those are hints to myself, so... You might figure out the plot before me O_o

Chapter 6

The horcrux dropped in the lava with a satisfying "plop". Sarah Weller nodded to herself, then closed the chasm she had opened into the volcano for the simple purpose of disposing of the offending magical article. So. That left... what?... 2 of them? There was the annoying snake and then Potter himself. She wondered if she ought to kill the boy, but decided against it. She wasn't a cold-blooded killer; never had been. And Voldemort's unfortunate incident was a warning to everybody else – she couldn't very well risk her own life in the struggle. She was too important. (We stop here to tell the reader that Sarah Weller holds a very strong belief in her own importance and stature in the world – whether it is optimistic or true, the author doesn't know. And as for Sarah Weller herself, she never even considered questioning this belief, since it came very naturally to her to have it)

She sat on a stone, her head in her hands, looking thoughtfully at the very steep slope of the volcano's interior, just in front of her. Right. So. She had to guide Myrtle towards her afterlife. Ok, she'd do that. She had to become a very fashionable person. Good. She had to get rid of Nagini and the Voldemort inside Harry – the last one made her think of the whole "your greatest enemy is within you" thing as being quite too literal at the moment. It was not good, it was not simple and she was not pleased. She also had to feed Bellatrix... It was about time to do it, lest the woman should die of hunger or something of that sort.

She shrugged to herself, then went off to buy some frozen pizza for Bellatrix.

Before you consider that kind, bear in mind that she had no intention whatsoever to cook it.

Xxx

As soon as she saw him, she realized something was off. Hermione was standing in the middle of the room and had just been wondering what she should do now, that her friends were gone. And then she saw Snape, who looked every bit like he knew something she did not. It was a miracle that the man had managed to become a spy, considering the way his face betrayed him. Or maybe he meant for her to see that?... The idea made her shiver.

"So, Miss Granger," he said, walking towards her and stopping too close for comfort. "You were telling Miss Weasley about the acts you would indulge in with me."

She gulped and then decided that the best defence was offence – and that clichés like that one have become clichés because they work.

"You were spying on us!"

He smirked and made one more step towards her. They were too close right now. She drew a breath.

"It's my home, Hermione. You have to admit, I'm fairly entitled to it. And besides, I'd thought that with your intelligence, you would have been able to figure out that I would do it."

He was right. If the thought had occurred to her, she would have suspected him immediately. But it hadn't.

"And I was wondering," he said, taking her by the hand and manoeuvring her across half the room – she complied, trying to figure out what he was doing and not seeing a reason to oppose until she seemed to be heading for the bedroom, but that turned out to be something different than what she had in mind – instead of dragging her into his bed, he pinned her against the wall next to the door. "I was wondering what sort of fantasies you might have of me."

"Ah, nothing too unusual," she squeaked.

"Do tell."

At this precise moment, Hermione's mind apparently tried to make an escape from the situation and started thinking up very strange things. Such as a theory about house elves, magic, clothes as a symbol of power and his buttons being in the perfect shape to become vessels of great power or UFOs. She shook her head and cleared her thoughts.

"Tell what?"

"I'll start, then," he replied in a low, seductive tone. "You were saying that you wanted to be tied to the bed, face-down. I find that interesting, as most people would want to be facing up..."

She looked deep into his expecting eyes, thought about all the dreams (daydreams and the usual, night sort) she'd had about him, felt his body against hers and thought, 'I can't get away from him, can I?' She saw now why he had taken the wall instead of the bed. It was more impressive, in a way, she felt the trap quite well, but not necessarily in a sexually imposing manner. If he'd have taken her into the bed, she would have panicked and run away screaming, but this way... She realized that her mind was straying, that her thoughts were running wild, because there was something she didn't want to admit to herself, she didn't want to give into it even now. But she would be brave, she was a Gryffindor, she...

She kissed him on the lips and sneaked her arms around his neck. Why deny it? She'd wanted to do this for a long time, but had never dared to act upon it. He responded enthusiastically for a while, then drew back.

"That does not mean you can distract me into forgetting my question," he muttered. "Do continue."

"Um. Where were we?"

"Sex, Hermione. Sex. Do try to stop stalling. Otherwise I will be forced to use legillimency."

"Right," she answered. But wasn't it absolutely normal to stall?... "It wasn't really much of a fantasy, truth to tell. Just a sort of me-pretending-I-don't-like-it-and-getting-seduced sort of thing. In which at the beginning I would try to fight against you, then you would... touch me all over... drive me insane... have sex with me... untie me... and have sex with me again. That's pretty much it."

He cocked an eyebrow.

"That all? Perhaps I should use my vast mind powers to see what you really had in mind."

"I swear, that was everything!"

"Hmm."

And with that not-even-a-word comment, he let her go and went away into the other room. She felt suddenly abandoned. Empty. And betrayed. She had spilled it, now he was letting her go, having gained the knowledge at no trouble for him at all. It was unfair and unpleasant and very, very real and very Snape-like. She felt... she felt, over all, bitterly disappointed. She hugged herself and looked down, intent on not moving another muscle for a long, long time and giving herself a long, long lecture about liking "bad guys" and how bad that was always going to end up. And how one shouldn't spill their secrets to...

"Are you coming, Hermione?"

His voice woke her up from her reverie and she got up instinctively, looked through the door and saw him lying down on the bed, his arms under his head.

"Um," she said. That was becoming her catchphrase, apparently.

"Or are you going to be a perfectly proper Gryffindor?" he added, a smirk on his lips. She just stood there for awhile, trying to decide... And finally coming to a conclusion. She wouldn't just go to him as if she were a puppy in need of... well, of a good shag. Not her. She stood straighter, put on her most impressive and grand look (which were probably quite unimpressive and modest, as such things go) and said:

"I'll have you know that fantasizing about you is not the same as being willing to jump in your bed on the first given occasion."

"Then don't jump. Climb."

"What for?" she asked. "So you could make a fool out of me? 'We pretended to be lovers and it appeared, she did want to sleep with me, so I had her anyway and then dumped her on first occasion' – that sort of thing?"

"You don't propose I should marry you, I hope. Because if you do, you shall be sorely disappointed."

"Of course not," she scowled. "But..."

There was a knock at the door. They paused, uncertain of what they should do. On the one hand, Hermione didn't want to ruin the moment – on the other hand, not answering the door was giving Snape a blatant, clear answer. And it wasn't really for her to decide. In the same time, he wondered what he should be doing – go and open the door and see who it was and what they wanted? Open the door and blast whomever it was into oblivion? Ignore it? It would seem presumptuous to ignore it. He glared darkly at the Universe in general, then went off to open the door, clutching his wand in his hand. He still hadn't made up his mind as to what exactly he should be doing about the visitor when he opened the door.

"'Ello, Sev!" she said and stormed in like a red whirlwind.

"Weller," he spat.

She grinned at him, then saw Hermione looking less than pleased, turned her eyes from one to the other, then frowned.

"You two have a distinct air of sexual frustration about you," she said, then smiled, delighted with her observation skills. Which were less than perfect, since she failed to notice the murderous looks sent her way and the way the two avoided looking at each other for the rest of the conversation. "Well, what about that Narcissa fashion business?"

xxx

AN: Please review. I am known to love reviews and to interact with reviewers who say things that I feel need to be responded to. (and also to inspire myself from what you say)