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MetroVampire & Rhosymedre
Hermione was minding her own business in the Potions Room, enjoying the luxury of studying without the pressure of maintaining her dual identity and keeping a desultory eye on the latest of their attempts to determine the precise cause of their predicament. Even though she knew that their situation wouldn't last forever - the mandrakes would eventually mature - she was as keen as Snape to see the frustrating mixture reduced to a list of ingredients, a set of instructions and a readily comprehensible formula. It might turn out to be useful, yes, but more than that, she simply wanted to know.
As it happened the research had reached the leave to simmer on a low heat for twenty four hours point, so it was occupying very little of her attention. The greater part of her mind was devouring the latest issue of Artis Auriferae hoping to get through it before Snape returned and repossessed what was, technically, his property.
The thought of Snape made her glance at the clock and wonder where he was. He had gone to lunch in the Great Hall but she had taken advantage of her position and popped down to the kitchens to get a tray of food from the house-elves. It was now half past five, and it had been dark for a couple of hours. She didn't like to speculate about the state of his temper if he had spent all that time in the company of Harry and Ron.
Her mouth twitched briefly at the thought, humour warring with faint relief that he, rather than she, was being subjected to an earnest discussion on the competing merits of various broomstick varnishes.
As if the thought had precipitated the event, the door to the room opened with a bang to admit a mutinous looking Head Girl, displaying all the symptoms of someone who needed to offload a significant amount of stress.
Hermione put down the parchment she was holding and waited for him to say something.
He stalked over to the experiment and glared at it accusingly for a few moments.
"It's been simmering all afternoon," she remarked, "I haven't touched it. I've just been sitting here reading."
"Well, I'm glad that at least one of us has had a productive afternoon," was the response.
"I gather that the trip the Hogsmeade was a little trying."
He turned to face her.
"Well now, let me see... I have been forcefed butterbeer." His nose wrinkled as he ticked off the points on his fingers. "I was spared a trip to Wood's Quidditch Supplies, but the experience was described to me in such loving detail that I barely feel the loss. As my reward Mr Potter and Mr Weasley allowed me to visit the bookshop."
She couldn't help it; she could feel her mouth forming a wholly unsympathetic grin.
"I have now returned to Hogwarts to form the object of your entertainment and amusement. How could I not be overcome with joy?"
"They can be a little much when they get on to Quidditch, can't they?" she said, managing to get some sympathy into her voice even if her face still didn't seem to want to cooperate.
"A little," he said wryly. "I had no idea that it was possible to talk at such length about robes. It appears that the Chudley Cannons have had their robes redesigned by someone called Philomena Plinge. Opinion is divided as to the merits of Madam Plinge's skills. Mr Weasley considers that she has toned down the shade of orange and altered the dimensions of the cannon ball motif to the severe detriment of the traditional appearance. His views on the change from a serif to a sans serif font on the monogram do not bear repetition. Mr Potter, however, is unconcerned by the sartorial aspects of the question. He fears that the scalloping of the hemline, along with the new decorative topstitching, will significantly increase the chances of a dangerous twig entanglement incident. Further, he is firmly convinced the the widening of the cuff aperture combined with the new three-quarter length sleeve, will pose insurmountable aerodynamic difficulties for even the most skilled of Seekers. In short, they are agreed that the management of the Cannons has committed a hideous misjudgment and, what is worse, the new robes are "girly"."
Hermione had to put her hand over her mouth during this diatribe. If it hadn't been Snape, she would have suspected him of playing to the gallery.
"I think," he concluded with a sigh, "that Mr Potter and Mr Weasley discussing Quidditch may actually be worse that Miss Brown and Miss Patil exchanging beauty tips. I confess that I am unable to comprehend how you have got through six and a half years of school without hexing your house-mates into silence at least once."
Hermione shrugged a little diffidently.
"You learn to filter it out after a while."
He looked at her and she thought he was going to say something else but instead he just folded his arms.
"And that's not all," he continued. "I discovered another interesting snippet of information in The Three Broomsticks." He paused. "I gather that I have plans to spend Christmas with the Weasley family."
Hermione stiffened in mixed shock and guilt. She had totally forgotten the arrangement, made over the summer between Molly Weasley and her parents, that she should spend the Christmas period at the Burrow. She had remembered right at the beginning, when she had still believed that they would easily resolve their situation before it became an issue. And then the need to be Snape had taken over, and she had gradually immersed herself in the role to such an extent that her life as Hermione had taken on a sense of unreality. She didn't know whether she felt guilty for forgetting to tell Snape, or shocked that she had lost that much of her sense of self.
Now that she had been reminded, there was another fact that he wasn't going to like.
"Not only that," he continued, "I am also told that we are all to be escorted there by Sirius Black."
Ah. So he knew that as well.
In the course of her stint as Head of Slytherin she had discovered that the freedom - and, indeed, innocence - of Sirius Black had become something of an open secret amongst the staff. However, she had never directly canvassed Snape's opinion on the subject.
"Um...," she began, not quite knowing how to address him. That morning she had teasingly called him Severus. This did not feel like a teasing moment. But to call him Professor would make her feel too much like a supplicant. That would be out of character for him. It was also, she had to admit, out of character for the person that she was beginning to discover inside herself.
Fortunately, he seemed to anticipate what she was about to say.
"You have no need to worry, Hermione. Much as I dislike Black I will not summon the Aurors at the first sight of him." He paused, long enough for her to register that he had used her given name and that his tone was gentler than she would have expected. "However," he said, with some emphasis, "it would have been helpful to know that information before I choked on my butterbeer."
"I'm sorry," she said contritely. "What with everything else it went out of my head. I was hoping that we... you...." She gestured at the ongoing experiment, uncomfortably aware that she sounded too much like the old Hermione and that it didn't suit Snape at all.
If he noticed he didn't comment on it.
"Yes, well," he said wearily, "I suppose there's no way of getting out of the trip?"
She shook her head.
"My mum and Mrs Weasley arranged it last summer. I'm not booked to stay in school and there aren't any consent forms signed. If you don't go there you'll have to go home... to my home," she clarified.
She thought about it. The Burrow might actually be easier for him. He had already managed to fool Harry and Ron at school and she didn't think that any of the other Weasleys knew her any better. He would probably manage to get lost in the general chaos. She pointed this out to him and he nodded reluctantly and then looked a little uncomfortable.
"Does this mean that I have to take...," he hesitated slightly, "gifts of some description?"
She almost smiled again.
"Yes," she said, enjoying the sight of him visibly trying to conceal his apprehension at the thought. After another moment, she took pity on him. "You don't need to worry about it. Sirius isn't coming for a few days. I'll find some time to go shopping and get the things for you to take. I need to get something for my parents anyway."
"I wasn't worried about it," he said sharply. "I have simply never needed to give any thought to Potter or Weasley's personal tastes."
She decided to let the lie pass without observation. The idea of Snape being forced to give Harry Potter a Christmas present was reward enough in itself.
He unfolded his arms and headed over to the work area. A few minutes later he returned to Hermione, holding two mugs of hot coffee. She took one of them, wondering at the fact that he had just made her one without asking first. She sipped carefully, watching him, waiting for his next move.
He drank from his mug and then sighed again.
"As if that all wasn't bad enough, I have the pleasure of a woman to woman talk with Miss Lacock tomorrow afternoon."
Hermione began to smile again at his long-suffering tone.
"Maybe she'll confess that she's found someone else," she suggested, with a hint of mischief.
"The gods are not that kind to me," he replied tartly. "I will doubtless have to endure a hour of hearing how sweet and, no doubt, misunderstood I am."
She tried to stifle the new grin that was threatening her features. She put down her coffee and headed over to the front of the classroom to collect something from the desktop.
"I suppose that means that you won't want to see this then." She handed the item over to him, studying his face carefully. "I found it on the desk after I came back from the kitchens with my lunch."
It was a Christmas card.
It was about 8 inches by 10 inches and the front of it was taken up with a picture of a small, tousled puppy with large appealing brown eyes. It was wearing a red velvet Santa hat which fell forwards over one eye and one ear flopped out from under the white fur brim. The puppy had a red and green tartan bow round its neck and was playfully jumping in and out of a half wrapped gift box, joyfully crumpling the green and silver paper. It had a green velvet ribbon in its mouth, clearly once part of the wrapping. Above was an elaborate wreath, to which was fastened a large sprig of mistletoe.
Snape's face defied description.
He opened the card with the care of a Gringott's Curse Breaker faced with a particularly suspicious tomb.
"To Professor Snape," he read in a strangled voice. "Thank you for everything that you've done for me. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas and a fabulous New Year. With love from Alice."
Hermione waited as the various emotions played across his face.
"'Everything' is underlined," he said eventually, in a curiously numb tone. "Three times. I don't think I have ever seen that many exclamation marks in one place before. And there are x's all over the bottom."
"Kisses," remarked Hermione, helpfully. "They're supposed to be kisses."
She tried to feel guilty about teasing him like that, but this was too much fun.
Snape looked as if she had just announced that she had devised a new Unforgivable Curse.
"I need to have a serious talk with Miss Lacock." He glared at her. "And you, Miss Granger, are deriving so much enjoyment from this that I have to question the accuracy of the Sorting Hat."
"At least she didn't put cute spelling mistakes in."
"There is no such thing as a cute mistake," he pointed out acidly.
She swallowed her incipient laughter, producing a noise somewhere between a snort and a choke. He gave her another filthy look and rolled his eyes.
"Between Sirius Black and Miss Lacock, I am obviously destined to be surrounded by dogs this Christmas." She could tell that the news about Sirius still rankled with him, despite his earlier assurances. Something obviously also occurred to Snape at that point, because he shot another, rather uncomfortable, look in her direction. "I suppose that Black is a friend of yours," he added grudgingly.
Sirius was Harry's godfather and therefore a friend by proxy. Hermione had never had any very close acquaintance with him beyond that. She pointed that out to Snape and added neutrally, "Harry's always been a bit short on family who care enough to take an interest in him."
Snape muttered something that she couldn't quite catch, but something impelled her to continue speaking; to add a thought that had crossed her mind, but which she could never voice to Harry or Ron, worshipping Sirius as they both did.
"Mind you," she said reflectively, "I always did get the impression that he was the sort of person who would think that sticking your nose in someone's crotch was an appropriate form of greeting."
There was a beat's silence as Snape simply stared at her, and then, abruptly, he began to laugh. It was a relaxed, natural sound; maybe the first time she had heard him sound genuinely happy. She joined in, half responding to the inherent humour, half grateful for the release of tension that had built up over the term. Looking over at him, she was suddenly caught by the warmth and unexpected openness in his eyes, and then there was something else there; an unexpected spark, a deepening that spoke of something else entirely. Something that that rendered the physical form an irrelevance; that made her feel as if she was seeing past the body and into the mind behind it - Snape's mind. She realised, with a lurch of vertigo, that although she had been looking at herself, she had only ever seen Snape.
It was a moment of perfect understanding.
The laughter died on her lips and in that moment she noticed that Snape was quiet as well, motionless, studying her intently. She felt a tightening in the pit of her stomach, and elsewhere. Acting more on instinct that on any basis of rational thought she made a half movement towards him. Something flared again in his eyes, dark and deep and dangerous.
If I complete the step, will he stop me?
This was more than she wanted to deal with right now.
She broke the eye contact at the same time as he took a step back. The charged atmosphere shifted to become simply uncomfortable. Snape muttered something under his breath and hastily left the room.
__
Hermione sat in Snape's rooms, wearing Snape's clothes and surrounded by Snape's belongings. One of Snape's books was open on her lap, and there was a mug of coffee by the chair, made from Snape's supplies and served in one of Snape's mugs. The Hermione part of the room was relegated to part of the large table and some space cleared on one of the bookcases. She was telling herself that she was reading but what she was actually doing was trying to stand back from whatever had passed between them that afternoon; something that she was finding increasingly difficult to do, given that she was buried in the need to be the very person that she was attempting to detach from.
Despite Snape's reservations about the Sorting Hat, Hermione was not the sort to shy away from facing up to things. Sometimes she needed a little time to order her thoughts, but it resulted in analysis of the situation not evasion of the reality. And the reality was that she was attracted to Snape. She already knew about the body; she had explored that with sufficient enthusiasm over recent months. And she'd been enjoying his mind for... well, that had developed a little more subtly, she had to admit. But the evenings spent working together, or picking at the other's performance or just giving her the chance to be herself - somewhere in the course of those she had begun valuing his company for its own sake.
This afternoon had been notable for the fact that for the first time she felt that he had spoken to her, not merely as an equal, but as a friend. He had complained and she had teased, and it had felt completely natural, even down to his glares and bad temper. She supposed that when they returned to their own bodies they would also have to return to their old relationship; he, the distant and surly teacher, she, the eager student and Head Girl. And she felt a real pang of loss at the thought.
She shook her head.
It was all well and good accepting that you were attracted to your teacher. You could even admit that you would sorely miss his companionship when this forced intimacy was over. That was something that involved her alone and she could and would deal with it. But what if he appeared to share the attraction?
That was a trickier problem. She tried again for detachment, to think about it analytically, but her mind was constantly diverted by the memory of the look in his eyes, that intense concentration. She wondered what it would be like to have that attention entirely directed at her. Butterflies began in her stomach and she shut her eyes, imagining having taken that step, having stepped into the circle of that focus, touching....
Almost without conscious thought her hand moved down, deftly flicking two or three buttons open, and snaking through the fabric to stroke herself between her legs. Body had followed mind, because she was already half hard before she grasped herself. Running her hand along she tried to imagine doing it to him, whilst he touched her. Her left hand moved up her chest to work its way inside and rub one nipple. What would it be like if he was doing it to her? Did he do it to her body? The image formed itself in her mind; his hand between her legs, caressing her, thinking of her.... Would he want her to do this to him? Would it feel as good to him as it did to her right now?
Caught on a wave of fantasy and lust, her mind touching his body, his mind touching her body, she stroked harder, thrusting her hips up towards her hand until the lines blurred even further and she came to a shuddering climax. She lay back in the chair, not bothering to move, not even bothering to uncurl her hand from her penis, until she was disturbed by a scratching noise at the window.
Her first hazy thought was that Snape had somehow discovered what she was doing. Her next thought was that he would come in through the door. She moved her hand, and her third thought was to realise that in losing herself in the ever decreasing circles of attraction, she had neglected to undress properly and her robes now had a distinctly sticky patch at the front. She wiped her hand clean on the fabric as well, reasoning that the robes were destined for the wash anyway. Tucking herself away, she stood and walked curiously over to the window.
It was an owl, which was odd, because she had never known Snape to receive post other than at breakfast with everyone else. In fact she had never known him to receive personal letters at all. She opened the window and a small brown owl hopped inside. It looked at her with a hopeful expression that reminded her of the puppy on Alice's Christmas card. She released the message from its leg and managed to find something for it to eat. She unrolled the parchment and her heart dropped like a stone.
Snape. I have to find Snape. Now
She was oblivious to the owl finishing its snack and taking off again through the open window. She retained just enough presence of mind to change into a clean set of robes before she left, and to keep her pace through the castle down to a purposeful stride. She presumed that he would be in Gryffindor Common Room or the Head Girl's rooms. Probably the latter, she thought. She rather suspected that the afternoon would have exhausted his Harry/Ron tolerance levels. She forced her mind to work; there was actually a concealed route that came out very close to the Head Girl's rooms. She had only ever used it that once, with Snape; explanations would be too difficult if she had been discovered. But now, she thought, she could decently plead an emergency.
She retraced her steps, back past the Potions Room, to a stretch of blank wall. One charm and several staircases later, she was outside the door of her old rooms, feeling unaccountably like a guest and oddly reluctant to knock. Only the parchment clutched in her hand gave her courage to to do.
He opened the door, clearly surprised to see her there. That was in character, although she felt the muttered "Oh, it's you," was less so.
"Miss Granger, I need to speak to you," she said, for the benefit of any stray eavesdroppers.
"You'd better come in," he said, a little ungraciously.
It was the first time that she had been back since the accident had happened, and it felt distinctly strange to see the things that she knew were hers under the control of someone else. It was not an entirely comfortable feeling and she had a stray moment of empathy for Snape, who had had to spend more time watching her live in his space. The door shut behind them both and then he turned to face her.
"What's happened?" he asked shortly.
In response she handed him the parchment.
"What do I do?" she asked, trying not to sound to anxious. "Is there any way I can get out of it?"
The contents of the letter were etched on her mind.
Dear Severus,
I have good news for you.
Mother.
Your father and I will be at home over Christmas, so we are looking forward to you coming to visit us. Do let us know when you will be arriving. We thought that the 23rd might be convenient for you.
With love