Miss Granger,

I require your presence after today's evening meal for a matter most urgent. Any hesitation on your part to attend will result in drastic reductions of praise in any letters of recommendation you might request.

S. S.

Hermione clenched her teeth and crumpled the note in her fist, shoving it deep into her pocket. Every time she resolved herself to be calm, understanding, and forgiving to the man whose personality was like steel wool, he would cut her off at the pass with a note or a reprimand or a sneer that would transform even Florence Nightengale into a hardened killer. The man was so impossible!

Not hungry anymore, the young brunette woman shoved her breakfast plate into the center of the table and stormed off towards the dungeons. Her breath came fast between locked teeth, and she shoved past the other students milling about with a face like thunder. " 'Just you wait, Henry Higgins,'" she quoted, an Eliza Dolittle at her most scorned.

The dark doors of the Potions Master loomed before her, and she waited impatiently for him to open them, not bothering to knock. She knew by now his theatrical idiosyncrasies, and did not fool herself by thinking she could beat him to the punch. However, after several minutes of standing still, she finally gave in and pounded on the door a couple of times. No answer.

A faint pang of worry and guilt shot its way through Hermione's body. Where was he? Here she was, thinking of ways to kill him, when he could be hurt or in trouble or have gotten a last-minute summons to see…the Dark Lord. Worry became panic, and she pounded on the door again. "Professor?" she called, hesitantly.

In desperation, she tried the door. The knob yielded, and she found herself in his empty office. "Professor? Professor Snape? Are you here?" The place was dead silent, and Hermione shivered. Maybe he was in his chambers? In any other circumstance, she wouldn't have dared think of entering them without explicit invitation, but now it seemed she had no choice.

The door swung open, and immediately her nostrils were filled with the scent of the man she had worked beside, yelled at, and even once kissed. The sumptuous decorations were as she remembered, and the only thing separating that one fateful night from this one was the lack of a fire in the fireplace, as well as wine and the Professor himself.

In a worried daze, the young brunette sat in his armchair, crossing her hands over her roiling stomach. Where was he? She drew a silken pillow to her, hugging it for comfort. It was her fault, all her fault. If he hadn't taken her on as an apprentice, if she hadn't accepted, he never would have been summoned in the first place. How could she say so many mean things about him, when really he was risking his life to give her a good education. No matter how caustic he was, all of this was for her benefit. A sob escaped from her mouth and a tear ran down her cheek to stain the golden silk in her arms.

"Well. I don't know whether to be furious over the fact that you have let yourself into my private chambers, or flattered that my decorating sense has moved you to tears."

Hermione spun around to see Severus leaning against the wall with an unreadable expression on his face. Quickly she wiped her eyes, worry fading to shame and then finally rage.

"Where have you been? I was worried that you got summoned by…you know who! I thought you were dead, or worse. How dare you set a time to meet me and then not show up, when you know very well what the circumstances are?" she shouted, face red.

"Not to split hairs, Miss Granger, but the evening meal ended only about a minute ago. I left early to prepare tonight's lesson, and did not expect that you would skip out on a fine dinner just to rush to the side of your beloved Professor. Here," he sighed, producing a handkerchief. "It wouldn't do to mix salt water with any of the ingredients we are using tonight, unless you wish to redecorate my chambers with your innards."

Glaring at her dark-robed tormentor, Hermione snatched the handkerchief from his hand and mopped her eyes halfheartedly before flinging it back at him. "And what of the urgency in your note? I thought this was important, but here you are just standing there and mocking me."

It seemed as if a lightbulb had gone on behind Severus's eyes, and he motioned for Hermione to follow him. Biting back harsh words, she exited the lounge and followed him to a dining room of sorts. Frowning in confusion, she was about to ask what they were doing there when the tall man in front of her produced a bottle of wine and two glasses with a flourish, setting them down on the table in a clink of crystal. A glance towards the table also revealed a selection of fruit, bread, and cheese. With a start, Hermione recognized his behavior as an attempt at, in the least severe case, an apology, and in the most, a romantic evening.

The next sound in the room was her bursting into laughter.

Severus Snape was not a romantic man by inclination. Nor had he ever wished to be, in his youth or adulthood. However, his meeting with the Weasley creature had convinced him that the only way he would ever begin to deal with Hermione was by showing some signs of a romantic nature. Or, at least, admitting that Hermione had a romantic nature and would be easily won over if he complied with it.

So, his approach to most things in life, he had researched proper methods for apologies, ranging from cards (not good; a paper trail would be fatal) to flowers (definitely going too far), to candlelight dinners (a personal favorite activity, though usually they involved only one person). He had engineered his apology to what he thought was perfection, and while the Gryffindor's sense of timing was a bit off, he hardly thought his plan was unfitting.

But the incorrigible girl was still laughing at him.

"I hardly see what is so amusing," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the hysterical giggles of the young woman. Hermione tried to reply, but dissolved into more uncomfortable-looking bouts of laughter.

"You…" was all she managed before collapsing on the floor. Severus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, exasperated. He let her finish her fit, not even trying to reinstate the conversation until the last hiccups and wheezes had finished.

"I'm sorry, Professor…"

"Please. None of that here. You know the rules."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry. I just…did not expect anything like this when I arrived."

Severus nodded. "Well. You have certainly taught me a lesson. I shall never again attempt to do anything underhanded or unexpected again around you, lest you insult me so again." Certainly he was wasting his time on the ungrateful girl. Did she know how much of his pride this had cost him? The insult she had given him was at least equal to the offense he had committed which had led to this attempt at apology.

"Oh, please, don't say that!" The words tumbled quickly out of the young woman's mouth, catching Severus by surprise. A blush came to her cheeks, and she stumbled to recover.

"What I mean is…I mean what I didn't mean…I…"

There were two options for Severus to consider. One, he could clean up the dinner, ignore Hermione, and instead start an impromptu lesson. This would preserve his dignity, especially if he made the lesson a grueling one, and push the evening out of both minds.

Two…

Oh, fuck it all.

Severus's arm shot out and tugged the young woman to him, his other hand coming around to rest on her waist while his mouth met hers. She was as warm and soft as he had remembered; it had not just been a product of intoxication. Her mouth moved against his, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. It was a relief to be in this position again, after so long of denying himself the pleasure. For once he allowed himself to forget that she was his student, and to think of her as a woman who, though exasperating at times, was too hard to resist.

After what seemed like ages, he slowly released her from his embrace, his eyes downcast. "Forgive me, I…" he started, then sighed, not wanting to release her hand. "I fear I may have insulted you the last time we met. I did not foresee that you would react in that way. I would have apologized as soon as I realized this, but you ran off and I did not get the chance," he continued, hesitantly. Severus dared to look Hermione in the eye. He did not know what it was that possessed him in moments like these, what made him as flighty as a teenager instead of steadfast like reasonable adult, but there was something about this surprising young woman.

Hermione nodded at his words, but rather than a composed response, like Severus had expected, she launched herself into his arms and ground her mouth against his in a fit of heated passion. Severus found himself staggering back into the wall, relishing the feel of the cool, hard wall against his back and the warm, soft woman pressed against his chest. Mind devoid of all thought, he let natural impulse take over and gathered Hermione up in his arms, carrying her to the lounge and depositing her on the soft rug, the wood in the fireplace igniting in a rush of warmth as he whispered a few soft words. Hermione clung to him, and he to her, as they reveled in the feel of one another's touch.

Strands of her hair tickled his face, his honed senses detecting the scent of shampoo and soap and woman, a physically maddening amalgamation that sent sparks of desire down into his toes. In an instant he was completely aware of her every movement and breath, of every heartbeat and quiver. The mere touch of her body against his hands was not enough. He moved his hands across her cloth-covered waist, wanting to know every shape of every muscle, bone, and curve. A great sigh welled up in his chest and he released it, breath whisking a curl from her cheek. Severus closed his eyes, wanting to heighten his sense of touch in place of sight.

It didn't matter that in reality she was his student, that she was a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl of no overwhelming beauty. She was here, in his arms, destined to belong to him and only him until the world crumbled to dust. She was Hermione, and he was Severus, and that was enough.

It was different this time. Somewhere along the line, the chemistry between them had shifted subtly. Perhaps it was because each had been prying the situation apart, analyzing each feeling that washed over them in the presence of each other. Perhaps it was because of the desire he had been repressing. Perhaps it was because the time was right for them, whether or not it was right for the rest of the world. Whatever it was, Severus lost himself in the delectable pink lips and smooth tongue and little arms that wrapped hesitantly around his waist.

Innocence was not a barrier, he realized. It was a balm against all the troubles of the world. Anyone who takes this from me is in the wrong, he thought, caressing a shoulder blade that was imperfect at best, but now was a part of a soothing whole. I've done my penance. I've said it before. Now I believe it. If there is a higher power, let me keep this, or leave me alone.

Hermione sighed against his lips, her arms drawing tighter across his back, her body pressing more insistently into his. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what she was thinking. Was she immersed solely into the physical pleasures, or did she feel how right this was? Did she know what she did to him? Did she realize the significance of the moment? Would she regret stepping off her pedestal and into his world?

Severus raised one hand to her face and stroked her cheek with a rough thumb, other arm encircling her waist and fingers making trails up her side. Hermione's skin shivered under his touch and she leaned in hard to the next kiss, lips searing his with the intensity. Her fingernails clutched his robes tightly as if she were afraid he would drift away before she could sate her hunger.

He was frightened at his reaction, but couldn't stop for anything in the world. How could this be happening? How could something this good go on? Severus hadn't had much lasting happiness in his life. The moment was all he could ever rely on; the moment was the only thing that mattered. This time, though, he wanted the moment to last forever, to stretch into his past, absorb his present, be waiting for him in the future.

It could go on, though. The realization hit him like a ray of sunlight. It could, and it would. They were soul mates, were they not? They had seen it through the potion, and the potion did not lie. She had said she didn't want to lose him. If fate was correct – and fate usually was – they had been born for each other. The prospect thrilled him, buoying his heart up to his head until he felt drunk with the pleasure of holding her.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, husky desperation in his voice. To his satisfaction, she did not say a word, but merely caressed his face with her hand and kissed him again.

Could it be? Did I update this?

No, it isn't a dream. So many of you commented and favorited and watched this story that even I felt compelled to read it again, and in reading it I realized: it's pretty darn good. With the sixth and seventh books out, and rather depressing, I feel it is my duty to continue this story in defiance.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. This chapter is all for you.