"What was it?" she croaked, horrified.

Snape gave her a smug look. "Seeing as you won't provide me with the information I seek, why should I tell you? Aside from that, it isn't really anything I would ever feel comfortable to discuss." With that, he swept over to his table, leaving her to stew in her feelings.

She stood there, frozen, as waves and waves of possible scenarios washed over her. Which fantasy had she picked? What had he seen? She needed to know! But the thought of him recounting one of her more than steamy daydreams was more than she could bear. Her cheeks were starting to glow.

She had thought she would feel better after finally apologizing to him. As it turned out, she felt worse. She looked at him as he picked some beans out of the jar, neatly arranging them on his cutting board. He deserved an explanation. She couldn't paint him the whole picture, but she could try as best as she could.

"Sir – Professor Snape. It is true, you deserve an explanation. It's just that it was for such a childish and infantile reason. My reaction was vindictive and rash. I'm not usually like that."

"Not vindictive and rash, hm? I distinctly remember a story from your third year about your right fist having rearranged Malfoy's features. Also, you're my top suspect in the fire incident with my robes in your very first year at Hogwarts. Just to name a few. I have more."

"Yes, well, true. But I had a good reason for those."

"And for this, you did not have a good reason?"

"Not really, no. I mean, of course there was a reason, a cause, but I should never have done this. I don't know why I did it. It's just that you had been so mean to me that year, and there was this one time…"

He looked at her expectantly: "Go on."

"Well, you said something to me that was so mean, so… destructive to my ego that I cried my heart out. And then all I could think about was getting revenge on you."

He frowned at that, contemplating. "I admit I had been rather harsh to you in class. And it's not as if I hadn't been on the receiving end of some vindictive trick of a student before. It's just…" He averted his gaze at this. "…it must have cost you a lot of willpower to imagine yourself in such… scenes with someone you find rather repulsive. That, indeed, doesn't seem like something you would do."

"Well…" she hedged "…and I haven't really done that, actually."

He gave her a reprimanding look. "Miss Granger, I think we are both exactly aware of the content of those scenes and who thought them up."

"Yes, and I do not deny the content. I deny the part about finding you repulsive." She took a deep breath, deciding that if she had gone that far, she could go all the way. "It's quite the opposite, actually."

He looked at her, obviously confused. "You mean to tell me that you actually enjoyed having to think up some lewd scenario involving me?"

"No, I am telling you I enjoyed choosing one of the pre-existing scenarios of my rather large Potions Professor Daydream collection."

She watched him as he leaned back against the table, comprehension dawning in his eyes. She held her breath. Finally, she had told him about her feelings. She had thought she might die of shame, but now, that she had spoken it out loud, she had found it to be a strangely liberating experience. It was as if a burden had been lifted from her shoulders.

She stepped up to him, slowly, carefully, placing her palm on his chest. She looked up into his eyes, gauging his reaction. They were widened in surprise, a spark of something there that made her heart clench in her chest. But as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. She could see his inner walls coming up, his eyes turning cold.

"Miss Granger, as much as I might like to believe that, I just can't. The whole idea is more than absurd." With that, he strode from the room.

Severus Snape was pacing the length of his bedroom, unable to stop himself from replaying his conversation with Miss Granger over and over again in his head. She had seemed so sincere, and he wanted to believe her, but he just couldn't fathom how she could ever be attracted to him. He really had been unfair to her in class, squashing her enthusiasm with hostile remarks. He had always ruled his classroom by intimidation and fear, which had proven to result in a comparably low accident rate and better overall test results – also, it agreed with his personality. He had not known how to deal with this pair of amber eyes, shining with admiration and overflowing enthusiasm. So he had crushed her with his remarks to get her in line. Looking back, that probably had not been a wise decision.

Consequently, she probably had had no reason to be fond of him in any way. His physical attributes didn't help the overall score, either. He was aware of how he was perceived by most of his students, most of all of the gossip about his greasy hair – not that it really bothered him; the work as a Potions Master required the exposure to all kinds of fumes that did nothing for the overall state of your hair. It was the price to pay for high quality work. Although his face suited him just fine – well, a different nose wouldn't have hurt – no one would ever think him handsome. Not to mention the age difference. So what in all of the world did she see in him?

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, he thought, was the epitome of what any man could wish for: she had a sharp and keen mind, she was compassionate, caring, and, he had to admit, had quite an agreeable sense of humor. She was courageous to a fault, always putting the needs of others before her. And, of course, she was beautiful. As much as he tried not to think of her in these terms, he couldn't help himself.

After the battle, when he had been hiding away in Aberforth's secret cottage, he had finally allowed himself to think about that one scenario involving the Draught of the Living Death. The other three he had buried, and hadn't had any problems not returning to those. But that kiss... that was another matter altogether. The mature Granger had followed him in his dreams, teased him, all through Granger's 6th year. He tried as best as he could to ignore them, although sometimes his body betrayed his intentions. The dreams had reduced in frequency, and he had thought they had finally left for good, but when he had spent those two years in solitude, they had returned with fervor.

And at that time, she had no longer been his student. She thought him dead, and they would never meet again. So he had allowed himself to dwell on those images of their kiss. There was always this spark, this memory of how he had felt when she played the daydream to him. That hot, tingling sensation that had spread through his body in waves had been incredible. He didn't know if he had ever felt anything like that before. He didn't think so.

And then, when he had seen her again at Grimmauld Place, it had been like a punch to his stomach. All of these emotions had swamped him, and he didn't know how to deal with them. Luckily, Miss Granger had ignored him as best as circumstances allowed and so he had found the time to ponder the whole debacle. Her seemingly averse reaction to his presence had led him to conclude that there'd be no chance in hell she might ever consider him in a romantic way, so he had shut down his feelings and locked them away. He fell into his old behavior around her and he was able to cope with the whole situation a lot better than he had thought.

Now she had opened Pandora's box, and his feelings were again churning in his stomach. Oh, how he wanted to believe her. But his mind was set on insisting this was in no way possible. Torn between conflicting emotions, he decided that maybe he should sleep on it and see if he might come to any conclusion in the morning.