In the days that followed, though Snape would have traded his black robes for a pink tutu before admitting it, she applied herself to her new found role with a professionalism that he couldn't help but admire. The meticulous student he remembered had somehow become a very efficient woman, who worked diligently, who accomplished more in a day than he would have believed possible without the aid of an enhancement spell.
Cauldrons gleamed, every single bottle was labelled, each containing an ingredient list that was as comprehensive as it was accurate and his supplies were replenished with a calculating efficiency.
For her part, Hermione was genuinely interested in the work. It was vastly different from her work at the Ministry and it was absorbing. She learned that there was an art to running this lab, a certain delicacy that she never recognised in the tyrannical Snape. Measurements had to be precise, handling of each and every item in the lab needed to be skilled, and the brewing of potions required much more than the dedicated mixing of a bunch of ingredients.
She often watched her taciturn guardian when she was certain he was unaware of it.
His hands were unerringly gentle when he brewed the most complex of potions, easing ointments from their jars, selecting exact amounts of mysterious powders or stirring dangerously unstable mixtures into perfectly functioning healers' cures.
His brow furrowed when he was deep in concentration and she knew that he kept generous stocks of pre-prepared potions that were held in readinesss for Hogwarts students with specific ailments, such as Asthma or migraine. Should a student require it, a potion would be available without needing to wait for it to be brewed. It was a thoughtfulness that surprised her.
Days passed and Hermione lost herself in the work. She made sure that her hours were busy enough to drive out thoughts of how she looked forward to having breakfast with him each morning. She worked to ensure that her mind never strayed to how little sparks of electricity tickled her each time she took his arm to apparate with him to Hogwarts or back to the manor each night.
She especially strove to busy hands and mind so that she was too tired to notice that she was lonely whenever he was out of the lab, teaching, or at night when he left the manor to attend that Order of the Phoenix meetings that she was sure were convened because of her situation.
This he was deliberately vague about. He refused to discuss the meetings, the reason for reconvening the Order and most of all he dismissed any suggestion of her accompanying him.
"In case you have forgotten what we are doing here, Miss Granger, allow me to refresh your memory. You are my house guest, not because I will it but because it is the one place that Lucius is unlikely to look for you. We can take no chances that he will link your whereabouts with me," he said whenever she argued that she should be at the Order gatherings.
Her frustration mounted at this constant dismissal. She was a member of the Order, she had fought the Dark Lord at Harry's side, she was with Harry when Severus Snape, the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant almost died at his hand. He was treating her like she was helpless. Helpless and inept.
And so, she worked in the Potions laboratory as though her life depended upon it. Hour upon hour, she cleaned, catalogued, mixed, shelved, logged and re-ordered supplies.
When his teaching day ended, he returned to the lab to find her bustling about with a frenetic urgency that puzzled and then worried him. What was the stubborn minx up to? Trying to impress him with her work ethic? Or trying to work herself into an early grave in order to escape her captivity all the sooner? He saw how pronounced her cheekbones were, he saw the way her lids hung heavy over those chocolate eyes of hers.
Was she eating at all, the stupid girl, or waiting to simply faint away before his very eyes? Snape's grudging respect for her tenacity gave way to an smouldering anger. His entire life had been turned upside down to keep her alive and she was doing her damnable best to drive herself into the ground.
And so, one evening, having completed supervising an after class detention, he returned to the lab to find her bent over one of the benches, tweezers in hand as she counted out each smoking strand of fire weed from a large container he kept in his stores. This was painstaking work, fire weed was highly combustible, emitted a foul, sulphurous odour and wreathed itself in a smoky hue that made visibility near to impossible.
He saw that her face was flushed from the proximity to the heated herb, he saw the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead, he saw how her hair curled as though against her will and momentarily he was tempted to lift those unruly strands from her face and to press his lips against eyelids that looked as though they might be transparent.
Just in time he caught himself and when he spoke, he was the perfectly composed Potions Master that knew her only to be an intolerable burden. "What is this, Miss Granger? Hoping to teach me that you are gifted at playing the martyr or are you just trying to show me that Gryffindor fortitude knows no boundaries of common sense?" he jibed.
Frustration, exhaustion and hurt clamoured for first response within Hermione. In the end, temper won the war his taunting has incited.
"I know that I am asking you to speak a foreign language but you could say thank you. Thank you Hermione for getting this lab ship shape. Thank you for doing a good job," she spat at him, unwelcome tears threatening.
He advanced towards her, malice in every line of his face. "If we are talking gratitude, you are decidedly reticent on the subject yourself, you little hypocrite. Have I heard so much as a whimper of thanks for keeping you breathing? No. A little appreciation that I have made my home yours? No. Instead, I have you reading a list of my faults and short comings every chance you get!" he lectured, approaching the desk she was working at as though he intended to curse her into another universe.
"If you are waiting for me to thank you for kidnapping me, treating me like a hostage and a criminal to boot, then you are in for a long sojourn Professor Snape!" she shot back and he leaned forward, his eyes narrowing as anger glinted within the inky depths.
"I knew that it was an interminably bad idea to stick my neck out for you. I should have listened to my own better judgement and let you take your chances with Malfoy! I did not ask to have you tethered to me like a sharp tongued dowager!" he growled.
"Are you capable of any logical thought or was that famed intellect of yours a myth? When was the last time you had a meal? How long have you been working straight? If you lack the capacity to look after yourself, then I surely hope you are not expecting me to coddle you through even the most basic functions? Or perhaps you think that falling out of your standing is an act of heroism but I can tell you now, I do not regard stubborn pride as an admirable quality!" he scathed.
He pressed his hands palms downwards on the desk between them and bent forwards, his black robes billowing about him, looking to Hermione like a large and intimidating bird of prey.
Before she got a chance to so much as draw breath to reply, she saw events unfold before her as though in slow motion. He had been so intent on lecturing her that he had not looked where he was putting his hands.
They both saw the jar containing the last of the fire weed topple together and Hermione made a desperate reach to stop it but too late. It clattered onto its side, expelling the foul smelling weed. For an instant, the strands peppered his hand and then the smell of burning flesh filled the air between them.
"Reparo!" Hermione had drawn her wand and fired the spell without thinking as she saw his face contort with pain.
Cool blue light encased his hand as he clutched it but the lancing burns still pulsed avidly.
"Professor Snape! Oh my God, are you okay?" she asked, rushing from her spot on the other side of the desk towards him. "Infernal blazes, woman, of course I am not!" he roared. Hermione did not stop to think about what to, instead she followed the unconscious instinct that drove her.
She hurried to a darkened point at the furthest corner of the lab. On the third shelf, she found the jar she sought, a fat glass container full of flickering lights, as though a thousand stars had some how been conjured into the bottle.
She turned back to her stricken gaolor, he was hunched over the bench, his wand in his uninjured hand. "Wait, Professor," she strode back to him and reached for his wounded hand. He looked as though he was about to blast her into infinity but then his eyes fell on the jar she was clutching. "Star flies? Of course!" He breathed. He let her take his injured hand in hers and she did not flinch from the angry flaming weals the fire weed had burned across his flesh.
She flicked her wand at the twinkling jar. "Emitero!" she ordered and at once, the lid was unscrewed and the jar tipped to release a stream of silver light onto his hand.
Almost instantly, the smouldering, scarred skin began to heal, and in a matter of seconds, the skin on back of his hand was smooth, only the faint lines of the veins beneath his skin tracking a map from his heart to his finger tips, a sprinkling of dark hair dusting the tanned flesh.
Although his skin no longer burned, his hand felt warm in hers, long fingers tapering around her own slender ones. "Thank you, Miss Granger," he said quietly. "Star flies, that was quick thinking," he acknowledged and Hermione wondered if he was having some sort of personality shift, altered from the pain.
She looked up at him and smiled. "It was nothing. I remember Professor Slughorn saying about their healing properties way back and I knew I catalogued a new order of them only yesterday," she said and to her further surprise, his lips twitched.
"Good old Horace. Maybe his faith in you was not entirely misplaced," he said silkily and she barely recognised the teasing note in his voice.
He gazed down at her, all trace of his earlier anger gone, like storm cloud evaporating before the sun. His dark eyes were pensive, a curious light in them and Hermione found herself transfixed.
He had not taken his hand from hers, his thumb gently circling her knuckle, an absent minded gesture that suddenly centred her to the spot, closing out every other sensation.
He saw the longing darkening her brown eyes as they locked with his. He felt a matching response drive his heartbeat a little faster and he caught the faint scent of her perfume, a mesmerising assault on his senses that urged him to bring his free hand to her face and draw her closer to him.
Hermione made no to attempt to resist and went to him willingly, a little sigh escaping her parted lips as she felt his hard body press against her. He let her hand go as he circled her waist, moulding her to him as his lips descended on hers.
Hermione did not know if it was the exhaustion she had driven herself to or the quickening of the blood in her veins or the starburst of feeling that erupted within her when his lips found hers but Hermione felt her knees buckle and his hold on her tightened, his strength flowing into her, his heat warming her and his breath one with hers.
His kiss was tender, yet it blazed with a need for her that found its answer in her own hunger. This time, he did not plunder, his lips were gentle, his tongue teasing her to open for him with tantalising darts that drew little cries of need from her that seemed to light a fire in his veins hotter than the burn of the fire weed.
Time was suspended as though a freezing spell had been cast, for Hermione, there was nothing but the pounding of her heart, his arms holding her, his kiss deepening, drinking her in, want flowering in her to an aching ripeness.
He was taller and she strained to maintain the electric contact between them, her neck arching and as though he knew where she hurt, he shifted slightly to cradle her against his shoulder, and she clung to him, the only thing in the universe that was truly real.
His hand trailed down her neck, following the graceful arch of it, rounding her shoulder and cupping the swell of her breast, his thumb finding the peaking nipple straining against the fabric of her blouse. She leaned into his embrace, relishing the new sensations that raced through her veins at his touch.
His lips left hers and traced a line along her jaw, his teeth nibbling and her breath almost left her body. Her hands traced across his shoulders, she wound her fingers into his hair and heard his frantic gasp when she put her lips against his temple.
It was he who broke away, dragging in a rasping breath that did nothing to restore his equilibrium. Her eyes remained closed for a just a second, she swayed slightly and then her eye lids lifted and with dazed eyes she looked at him, bereft as the kiss ended.
Severus Snape was a man who could hide his thoughts from the most probing gaze but he felt laid bare before the brown eyes that stared at him as passion ebbed and confusion rose in them.
"Why?" she whispered. He frowned at the anguish in her face. "I am so sorry," was all he could think to say and she moved away from him as though limping from a disaster.
"I am charged with protecting you. I have a job to do, I cannot let myself get distracted from that," he said but she would not look at him.
"This situation is more than either of us ever wanted, it is what it is, let's just keep that in mind. Keeping you safe, keeping that time turner out of Malfoy's clutches, that is what I must do, Miss Granger. And that is all there is for either of us," he said.
She wrapped her arms around herself, an age old gesture of defence, comfort, protection.
The note of finality in his voice tore like a bullet through her and though Hermione knew the heart was but a muscle in her chest, she was sure she could feel it break within her. He didn't want her. Merlin knows he made it clear enough, she thought bitterly. Why, oh why did she keep making him say it? Bile rose in her chest and pain threatened to knock her to the ground.
Hermione allowed herself to bow her head, hiding behind the cascade of her hair for several beats. Tears threatened but this time, she would not let them fall. Hermione knew there was strength within her and she dug for it now. When she lifted her head, her expression was hard, her eyes glinting with a savage coldness that rendered her almost a stranger to him.
She lifted her wand, raised it and the cleaning spell she uttered surprised him. For just a moment, he thought she was about to curse him. But there was a calmness to her that told him cursing him required more emotion than she had left. In a flash, the laboratory was in pristine condition.
Without another word, she pulled a shimmering pile from her bag and flung the invisibility cloak around herself as though dressing for a gala banquet. Her disembodied voice came to him even as he wished he could erase the seconds that had just passed.
"I will be waiting in your office. When you are ready to apparate back … to the manor," she said, her tone even and steeled against the wave of misery that pushed against her carefully constructed façade.
She had almost said apparate back home but caught herself in time. She was nothing more than an imposed burden, one that he could not wait to dispose of. They did not have a friendship, a partnership, she was nothing in his life, she had no standing in his house other than as an imposition he could hardly stand.
She knew now that what had just happened was nothing more than a man enjoying the charms of a stupid woman who made herself too available for him. His revulsion at finding himself kissing the muggle born Hermione Grainger soon manifested itself and restored order.
He turned his back and waited until he heard the lab door close behind her before he fell against the desk in front of him. He rested against it as an athlete might who had completed an arduous marathon. He drew in deep breaths and fought to suppress the waves of desire that still coursed through his veins.
Everything he touched, he contaminated. Her heart was pure, her sweetness was a tangible thing that lit his days like a beacon. He was charged with keeping her safe and instead, he was lusting after her like a school boy with a first crush. He felt sickened with himself. She deserved to be able to trust him and here, he had her scurrying for distance like a rabbit from a hawk. He knew he had to get his focus back, for both their sakes and Snape struggled to clothe himself in the iron clad discipline he had exerted over all aspects of his entire life. There could be no more weakness, he told himself. For if anything happened to her, there would be no forgiveness for him in any of the worlds in which he moved.
