Chapter 10

By Friday morning, the usually unflappable Hermione was in a most uncharacteristic state of flux, twice repacking her beaded bag that contained the undetectable extension charm, both times taking out the same items before repacking them, crossly. What on earth did one take to a weekend away when you would most likely not leave the same room, and where you might or might not be having sex for the first time? If she packed pyjamas, did that mean she would send a message that she did not want him to touch her, or would it be entirely presumptuous to assume she'd be sleeping naked? Nice lingerie or plain knickers? Not that she had any particularly alluring underwear, but a short trip to Diagon Alley in her lunch hour was not out of the question.

Rather than face any awkward questions or misguided concern, she had lead Mr and Mrs Weasley to believe that she was spending the weekend with an old family friend and travelling to Wales for a short break visiting a number of stately homes and landscaped gardens with an elderly muggle aunt. She would need a better and more long-term excuse if she were to see Severus on a regular basis, but the fictional Wales trip would do for now.

She had no idea how the weekend would progress so there was no need to make any more extensive plans at the moment. Of course, she was an adult and could see whomever she wished, but she was living on the Weasleys' hospitality at present, and she felt they would not be too pleased to hear she was spending nights in the dungeons at Hogwarts with her former professor. It would prompt questions that she was currently in no position to answer.

She heard Arthur Weasley's voice calling her up the many, mismatched flights of stairs in the Burrow, warning that they were about to be running rather late. Admitting defeat by the packing, she shoved all her possible choices into the beaded bag and headed downstairs, gratefully taking the packaged breakfast which Molly held out for her that smelt alluringly like a bacon sandwich. Following Arthur into the grey brick fireplace, she was still debating her choice of knickers as she span through the Floo connection to the Ministry atrium.

The morning was spent in the office with Esther, poring their way through the week's work they had done into current and proposed werewolf regulation legislation. The department head, Pridmore Ulbrecht, had assigned the two capable witches in its entirety after seeing the amount of private research both had put in prior to the first discussion meeting,

They were approaching the project not just as the review it was supposed to be, but as an opportunity to do some good for an oppressed species. The basis of their case was that werewolves were not inherently a magical creature, but human witches or wizards who had fallen prey to the bite of an attacking werewolf, many of them as defenceless children. They planned to campaign that as the werewolves were human first, and spent the majority of their lives in human form, their rights as full magical citizens of wizarding Britain should be restored, their employment restrictions lifted, and a medical programme put in place for the administration of wolfsbane to all afflicted.

To Hermione it all seemed rather logical, but she and Esther knew that convincing the wider wizarding world, with all their inherent prejudice and fear of werewolves, would not be an easy sell in the slightest. The witches knew that education was the best way to get their research across, to spread awareness that werewolves were not the menace of society that they were presumed to be, but much maligned humans who had suffered a dreadful tragedy in their lives, and were continually punished for it. It made her blood boil.

She remembered how angry she had been when Harry had told her of his final conversation with Remus Lupin before he resigned from Hogwarts in their third year, saying that parents would not want someone like him teaching their children. She recalled him leaving as he had arrived, in his shabby robes, with a sad and accepting expression on his scarred face and clutching his battered suitcase – never enough money to live properly.

Her and Esther had been gifted an opportunity by Pridmore to change a terrible injustice and both were determined to take their chance with both hands. For all Esther's wild behaviour outside of Ministry walls, she was a staunch campaigner for issues she believed in, with a formidable mind who kept her work and private life strictly separate. Hermione wondered if her sexual voraciousness was partly a respite from the stresses and responsibility of her job. That would certainly make sense.

As the busy week drew to a close, Hermione could certainly understand the need to separate your dual existences. She had worked like a demon, giving up several evenings for private research, and with the complexity of the issues they had uncovered it seemed their werewolf project would be their sole focus for the foreseeable future and Ulbrecht had granted them an indefinite extension to explore the subject.

She sat in Florean Fortescue's with Esther, treating themselves to a sundae after work as a reward for their intensive labour that week. It was too cold and dark for Fortescue to put the tables and chairs outside so they were sat in a quiet corner of the cheery ice-cream parlour, nursing banana splits and sharing plans for the weekend.

More correctly, Esther was telling Hermione exactly what she was going to be up to that weekend, and Hermione was half-listening, nodding and smiling in the appropriate places but her mind was already freeing itself from the confines of their hard week and moving towards her own, unexpected plans for later that night, and hopefully for the following two days after that.

She was actually pleased she had been kept so busy that week as it had helped her stop counting the minutes until her return to Hogwarts. She wasn't entirely sure what was going to happen, she only knew that whatever it was, she wanted it. She had a horrible thought that he might have changed his mind, realised that he did not want to spend private time with a former student and regretted everything that had happened between them, but attempted to banish that worry by telling herself that if he'd had a change of heart he surely would have sent her an owl.

She would meet him at the place and time he had suggested, and go from there. She smirked to herself as she realised she was convincing no one, least of all herself, with that idea. Hermione Granger needed everything in meticulous order, prepared and ready for every eventuality, and the lack of a plan was most unsettling. She had to admit it; she was coasting on pure adrenaline that was churning from her gut in a simultaneously pleasant and unpleasant way.

" ... and Merlin knows, he's got enough of that!"

Too late, Hermione realised that Esther was still talking and she hadn't heard a word she'd said for goodness how long. Her blonde colleague eyed her with a cool gaze, that narrowed to a spark of comprehension and a wide smile spread across her beautiful face. Clearly Hermione's private smirk had not been as secret as she had hoped it was.

"Oh, Hermione," she grinned, "you are a thousand miles away, darling, aren't you?"

Hermione blushed, sheepishly.

"You have plans?" Esther enquired, giving her curly-haired younger friend a saucy wink.

"I do." Hermione answered, letting her shoulders fall; resigned to the fact she had been so easy to read.

"First time with a new wizard?" Esther was nothing if not blunt and to the point. Hermione decided it would do no harm to admit it; then if everything went wrong she'd have a sympathetic ear on Monday morning.

"First time, full stop," she admitted.

Esther let out a low whistle and leaned back in her chair.

"Oh darling. I promise you it is nothing to worry about. From that smirk on your face it seems you can't wait to get away from here and into your wizard's bed, which is a great start. It might sound trite, but just do what you feel comfortable with, whatever's working for you, and stop if anything gets uncomfortable or weird. Any wizard worth his wand will respect that."

"Thank you," Hermione said genuinely, not wanting to discuss Severus in any great detail with Esther.

"Tight-lipped as ever my little friend," Esther smiled. "and now I might be about to sound like your big sister, but are you protected?"

"I've been taking the muggle birth control pill for a few years now, it regulated my periods when I was having a difficult time with them during fourth year."

"Good, good, although long-term you may be better on the Potion; you know, magical beings are best off using magical remedies and all that jazz."

Hermione finished off the last scraping of her sundae and they walked to the counter to pay before heading out into Diagon Alley and towards the Leaky Cauldron where Esther was going to apparate home to spend three hours getting ready for her date, and Hermione was going to spend a painful hour passing time before seven o'clock chimed on the big grandfather clock in the main part of the old pub. She had no doubt that Severus Snape would be nothing but on-the-dot punctual and, she thought with private amusement, she did not want to start off their weekend with a loss of housepoints for tardiness.

- xxx –

Minerva McGonagall noted instantly that her disagreeable Potions master was out-of-sorts as soon as he took his seat at the head table for breakfast. She watched him drink two cups of coffee in quick succession before pouring himself a third to sup at a more leisurely pace. He eschewed his normal cooked breakfast for a slice of toast spread thinly with pumpkin marmalade, and the Headmistress exchanged concerned glances with Madam Pomfrey as he bit delicately into it, dropping it unfinished to his plate before it was even half-eaten.

Severus could feel the two witches' eyes upon him and considered sending a muttered, wandless hex their way, before settling for just wishing they would piss off and let him continue his pretence of eating breakfast. For Merlin's sake he was at meals every day, consuming calories he did not want to satisfy his self-styled protectors; couldn't they allow him one off-morning? He motioned to Minerva that he had a hangover, she rolled her eyes and tut-tutted in disapproval, but at least she returned her beady eyes to her own plate.

The truth was; he couldn't have eaten anything if his life depended on it. He woke up with his body tied up in excited but apprehensive knots, too wound up even for his now ritual morning wank in the privacy of his shower. He could think of nothing else but the feeling of Hermione Granger's soft skin beneath his calloused fingers as he had held her bare arms; and the taste of her warm lips as he had kissed them with his own. He was alternating wildly between feeling like a selfish old pervert taking advantage of a young girl, and an excited teenage boy needing only a glimpse of a witch's nipple to shoot his load.

He had still not acclimatised himself to the acute oddness of not only having planned to spend the weekend with a beautiful young witch, secreting her in his quarters, but the aforementioned witch being a former student who, little over two months ago, had been sitting at a work bench in his classroom listen to him lecture on Potions. He could not escape the guilt that he was doing something very, very wrong, a corruption that would damn his soul even further to hell that it already was. He, the vile death eater, did not deserve one whit of time with such a witch, let alone to enjoy the pleasures of her mind, lips and body.

Potions class that afternoon was a particular nightmare. He had the fifth-year Gryffindor Slytherin cohort, a trying group at the best of times, all rampaging hormones and insouciant attitudes. He was aware that the churning of his gut was causing him to react to the students in an even more unpleasant and acerbic manner than usual, the shitty little fuckers pushing his famously limited patience to breaking point.

As he stalked down between the workbenches, he intercepted a note being passed on a folded piece of parchment between two Gryffindor boys sat one behind the other; both sniggering in what they obviously thought was a discreet manner. Wrong.

"Well, well, well. Is my lesson not stimulating enough for the likes of your formidable brains that you feel the need to pass additional information to one another?" he sneered at the culprits, who were turning as scarlet as their Gryffindor ties.

He unfolded the parchment, reading the written conversation between the two boys crudely jotted and clearly having been passed between them.

What the fuck is wrong with Snape today?

- Dunno, worse mood than usual, if that's possible.

Needs a good hard shag I reckon. Release the tension.

- LOL. Who'd fuck that greasy creep?! Not even Trelawney's that desperate.

He towered over the boys for an unbearably long time, fixing them both with his iciest black glare.

"Indeed." He sneered, at length.

"Your opinions are not only unwelcome, ill-mannered and impudent, but also, I must inform you, most incorrect." He told them, coolly, with ill-disguised threat in his deep voice.

He vanished the two cauldrons of strengthening solution that the boys had been working on and their eyes opened wide with fear.

"Collect your belongings. Consider yourselves excluded from the rest of this lesson for your inability to concentrate on the task before you and to mind your own business. Take this note," he conjured a parchment detailing instructions for its recipient, "to Mr Filch. Advise him that the manner of your detention is for him to decide. He will ... be more than pleased to oblige you." Severus imagined Filch's glee at being able to meter out a punishment of his own choosing, and had instructed him to detain the boys until well after supper had finished.

Severus did not go to the Great Hall for dinner that evening, instead he remained in his quarters, showering and carefully washing his hair, and ensuring that his chambers were neat and tidy. Emptying his pockets onto his dark mahogany desk in his living room, the only surface that was permitted to be strewn with notes, parchments, quills and books, he placed an order for a late supper from the kitchen via the Floo, before warding and blocking it securely. The last thing he needed was a concerned Floo call from Minerva or Poppy, or a drunk Filius begging for a Friday night game of wizard chess. The diminutive deputy headmaster generally imbibed of elf-made wine at the weekend, needing what seemed like only a small thimbleful to render his tiny body completely inebriated.

At ten to seven, he had walked down the long path from the castle to the boar-topped iron gates of Hogwarts, and was waiting, disillusioned lest any other teachers be leaving the castle for a night in Hogsmeade and see him loitering there, for the witch who had occupied almost his every waking thought since he had left her room last Sunday morning.

At five to seven, a crack of apparition rent the air and Hermione appeared in front of the gates, looking around immediately, he hoped searching for him. He finite'd his disillusionment and materialised in front of her.

"You are early. I am impressed with your punctuality, Granger."

"You are early too, Sir."

He took a step towards her, lightly touching her hand.

"I thought we had agreed on Severus."

She clasped his hand, cold to the touch, in her own warm one, heated from the stuffy interior of the Leaky Cauldron.

"We had. So, Granger?"

"Hermione. My apologies. This is still all very ..." he struggled to find a suitable word.

She reached for his other hand.

"I know. It is very strange. But not at all unpleasant. Shall we go?"

He gave a slow dip of his head in agreement, and brandished his wand before the gates which creaked open at the recognition of his magical signature. He extended his hand to usher her through before him, and she stepped into the Hogwarts grounds she knew and loved so well. They followed the long path that led around to the main door, walking in a speedy fashion, not talking.

He was watchful and alert to the presence of anyone who may be observing them. He hated concealing this brilliant witch but he wanted no one asking questions that he was not willing to answer. Hermione Granger was his business and no one else's.

Before they reached the main door, he swept his robe around her shoulders with a billow, and ushered her towards a side door, halfway around the back of the castle, mostly hidden by rambling ivy. This was the door he had left ajar when he'd walked out of the castle to meet her, and he locked it firmly once they were through. A few steps further and they were about to enter the dungeon corridor when Severus heard the unmistakeable voice of Argus Filch talking to his ever-present feline companion.

He turned to Hermione.

"I apologise," he whispered, "I must disillusion you. Filch is on the prowl."

She nodded and he cast the spell over her, and she felt the cold rush of his magic travel down from the top of her head to the tips of her toes as she became invisible.

"Walk behind me, directly behind. I do not want him to inadvertently walk into you."

Hermione falling into step behind his voluminous black cloak, they entered the dungeon corridor, lit by flaming wall sconces, the floor a little damp as always.

"Evening, Professor Snape." The oily tones of Mr Filch soundly particularly unctuous tonight.

"Good evening, Mr Filch." He carried on walking, in no mood to engage the elderly caretaker in conversation. No doubt he would wish to regale Severus with the foul details of the detention he had rent on the two Gryffindor boys that had been sent to him for passing notes in Potions class. Severus found himself curiously uninterested in anything apart from the witch currently walking behind him.

As reached the door of his classroom he looked back down the corridor to see Filch's stooped retreating back, and a curious Mrs Norris looking directly at where the disillusioned Hermione would be. Fucking cat could see her, Severus was sure of it. He walked quickly into the Potions classroom, closing the door behind him and immediately removing the invisibility spell upon her.

"Come." He reached for her hand, pulling her past the work benches and towards the few steps at the back of the room that led up to his private quarters. His door opened for him and he waved her into his rooms, closing the door behind them before pointing his wand at the wooden frame.

Hermione walked into the sitting room that she had been in just once before, the night that she had found him scoring into his own flesh, and watched him set a security ward of such strength on the door that his powerful magical signature bounced off it and flared a little blue.

"Not wanting visitors, then?" she raised her eyebrow at him.

"I have all the visitors I need." He moved towards her, removing her travelling cloak from around her shoulders and sending it to the cloak stand along with his own. She took the beaded bag from across her chest and over her head, setting it on the small table, serviced with two wooden chairs.

"Undectable extension charm," she indicated the bag with a nod of her head.

"I assumed as much. May I show you around your cocoon, Madam?" he waved his hand vaguely towards the room. She nodded and smiled.

"This is the main living area, which I am aware you have seen before. We can eat here later, I have ordered supper from the kitchen; please advise me when you are hungry."

He held her shoulders loosely and walked her past the grey sofa and fireplace, towards the enormous bookcase at the back of the room, fronted by two leather wingback chairs, a small table between them with an oil lamp and a few tomes piled on top. Her eyes widened as she took in the wall of books, so many that she had not seen before, her fingers twitched and she could not help but reach out and touch, feeling the cracked bindings of oft-read spines, and smelling the intoxicating scent of musty old parchment.

She felt him come and stand directly behind her, his chest just touching her back. He smelt as familiar and as delicious as the old books. He held the tops of her arms and nuzzled his long nose into her hair, insinuating his lips directly next to her ear.

"Ah. I forgot what an avid reader you are. I fear that I may have lost your attention to my bookcase."

His warm breath tickled deliciously against her ear and the side of her neck. She turned around his arms, and wrapped her own around his waist. He looked surprised, as if he was not expecting that reaction, but slid his arms around her shoulders and pulled her in to him, pressing his lips to her forehead.

"Oh, Hermione. You lovely little witch," he spoke slowly and deeply into her hair, his lips brushing her forehead with every word. "You are finally here. I do so want to kiss you. I must ... kiss you. May I?"

"You do not need to ask," she replied, tipping her chin and looking up into his endless eyes which were already burning with that volcanic desire she had seen the previous weekend. "Please do ... please kiss me."

He lowered his head and dropped his needy mouth to her waiting lips.