* 37 *

Hermione had to keep her head level. No matter how freaked out she felt right about now, she had to control her reactions. This was all the more important given the pointed chat she had just had with Harry.

In fact, it held the utmost importance now, and it topped her list of desires more than absolutely anything else. More than her completing her assignments before the weekends began, and more than her being able to feel easy and free with her movements toward Snape, especially during mealtimes when she sat just beside Harry.

Harry cannot find out about this.

As Hermione ascended the tower, extremely alert this time, she couldn't focus on anything but wiping the troubled expression off of her face and trying to act completely normal when she felt most unable to.

Once again, Snape had left the door slightly cracked to allow her in. When she came upon his room (Merlin, it had felt like hours since lunch), she squeezed inside and shut the door firmly behind her, then whirled around to face him. He was sitting down at the foot of his bed.

Snape immediately could tell something was very wrong. Her eyes were forcibly stuck in position, her breath wasn't as easy coming and going as usual, and her hair was scattered over her forehead. She didn't even bother to fix it.

She walked over and sat down beside him. He watched her for a moment, saying nothing, thinking it may sort itself out if she was given a moment to breathe. But when her condition didn't improve, he had to ask the burning question:

"What on earth happened?"

"H-Harry," Hermione admitted, her mouth feeling strange to open again after having lied through her teeth to her best friend only minutes prior. "Harry happened."

Snape screwed up his face in displeasure. She didn't immediately go on.

"What about Potter?" he asked with distaste.

"He's seen us."

Snape gasped quietly. What?

"I-I don't know how often, or where, but he said he saw us. He asked me what was going on with you, so he obviously hasn't heard or seen anything too specific, but… But, well, he knows something is happening," she finished in a rush.

"Do you know any single instance for certain?" Snape asked, concern brimming to the very edge of his voice. "Perhaps we can narrow it down."

"No, not at all," Hermione responded in a panic. But she forced herself to think for a moment.

"I guess," she started, beginning to sniffle, "Maybe… I guess the most obvious time would be when we're eating, when he's right there beside me."

Snape nodded. He felt they were indeed treading a very thin line when they thought it would be tolerable to even occasionally make prolonged eye contact in the Great Hall. He was foolish to think it was in any way an acceptable idea with so many eyes roaming around at the same time, liable to fasten themselves upon one or the both of them at some point.

"I told him I was just helping you replenish your ingredient stores after so much from it was stolen last year, and that I'm taking extra lessons with you."

"But you don't think his suspicions extend any further? You believe he will be satisfied with this narrative you have fed him?" Snape asked.

Hermione didn't like the way he had worded that question. She wasn't purposefully trying to lie to her best friend; she just felt that given the circumstances – and especially given the parties involved in the circumstances – she could not tell Harry the full truth about what she was doing with Snape. What would he think?

But she moved on. "I'm not sure," she admitted truthfully. "I just know that he thinks I'm upset with him for even asking, and that might have redirected his thoughts."

When only silence permeated the room, she asked, "Severus…what are we going to do?"

Snape was quiet for many moments. As the time ambled on, Hermione was clearly becoming more and more unsettled. He looked at her with concern.

"We must simply be more careful. We must control ourselves fully, with absolutely no tolerance for sudden longings visibly overcoming our faces in the presence of others. And speaking on the presence of others, we must always be certain only to speak when we are alone. Fully alone."

"Are we safe here?" Hermione asked nervously.

"This is one place where we do not have to worry. No one comes to my quarters unannounced, and students would be chided to even be in proximity to this area of the castle. Getting to and from this place without raising suspicion, however, is another matter entirely."

Hermione fiddled with her vest and fingers continuously over the ensuing silence. Her countenance had changed so much from her cheerful and expressive face just yesterday that it made him ache in worry.

Suddenly, Snape swung his arm around his front to the left and surprised her by tackling her to his bed. Hermione yipped in shock, and soon her head hit the mattress. She was stunned into silence for a few moments, but then she grasped him tightly and hugged him then and there on his bed.

After worrying so much about being caught, this was the best kind of potion.

"Good afternoon," he said teasingly with a grin, trying to keep his voice as light as possible. He raised himself off of her and sat back on his legs with his hands placed on the bed behind him for support. Hermione moved as if she was going to get into the same position, but she gave him a lunging hug instead, surprising him and forcing him to place a hand sturdily behind his back to catch himself. As he used to, Snape took hold of his cloak and wrapped it around her.

Hermione's head fell limply onto his chest, and it was as if they were back at the Yule Ball: Hermione was being hidden from prying eyes by the veil of a dark cloak she now loved so much. Her head was rested on his collarbone and he held her close to him.

"Thank you, Professor. I mean, Severus," she corrected herself again with a small grin.

In the spirit of her memories, Hermione tucked her face under his chin and kissed his neck, bringing together the old and new ways they acted around each other.

Snape's arms encircled her back at the shoulder blades, and he remembered how her massage had felt.

As if she had read his mind, Hermione rubbed her palms against his chest on her way to grab him around the shoulders. She turned him around (as he had been closer to the end of the bed than she) and put her weight on him, slowly laying him down in the position he had originally been in two days before, this time with his cloak splayed out behind him. Without a preliminary kiss this time, she brought her hands to his neck and massaged outward and down, covering the area of his upper torso.

He watched her face as she touched him, eager to observe her facial reaction to his bodily responses. When she squeezed his upper arms, admiring the muscles there, his lips formed around a soft moan, but no sound came out. The visual whetted her appetite, however, and she now began a thorough inspection of the curves in his arms. She touched, squeezed, and admired him and got his face to contort into the beginnings of a moan once more before she moved her hands to graze the often forgotten area on the inside of his elbows, then proceeded to treat his forearms afterward.

Snape laid back and closed his eyes, content that she was excited to see his reactions. He had been self-conscious before, but seeing her cheerful face had brought him some peace on the matter.

He loved how she gripped his arms; he could tell she was not merely trying to elicit a response from him, but instead rather enjoyed how his muscles felt. He may not have been exceedingly strong, but he was male, and in comparison to his, Hermione's tiny arms were meager in strength.

Now he felt her hands flourish against his sides, and his eyes clenched. He opened them and followed her movements.

Hermione traced the outline of his flesh, gently pushing the pads of her fingers into his ribs. She memorized each curve she felt, wondering what the skin lying beneath his dark tunic looked like.

Snape let her toy with him until she touched his waist, at which point he was about to take her face down to his to kiss her.

But she clearly had other things in mind.