Disclaimer: I am not the amazing J.K. Rowling. I own nothing in the Wizarding World.

Chapter 14

Hermione jumped and nearly dropped the timeless tome. Snape was standing in the doorway, his hair crowded around his face, his eyes in slits, and he was staring not at Hermione, but the book in her hands.

"Oh," Hermione breathed, gently closing the book, and set it on his desk. "I'm sorry, I wasn't prying. A stack of books fell and –"

"I do not care what the circumstances were behind why you decided to rifle through my belongings, or why you're in my office without my permission," Snape slithered, his eyes meeting hers. "You will do well to remember that there are a great many things in this world that are dangerous to all the six senses."

He stalked to her, his narrowed eyes impatiently – almost frantically, perhaps - roaming over her face, briefly down her body and then back up, as if he were assessing her for injury. Then he stepped around her to the book on his desk and snatched it up with a trembling hand. Hermione's heart began to thump, and her brows furrowed, trying to make sense of his unusual reaction.

She turned to face him and watched as he slid the ancient book into a pocket of his robes. He stepped around her again, walked the few paces to his usual armchair, and sat down in it. He hunched over, elbows on knees, and with a resounding sigh, his face met his hands. A spark of worry shot through Hermione, the icy coolness of it pooling in her gut – this was more than just unusual.

She tried to swallow the thick lump in her throat and padded the few paces to the coffee table. Pushing her book and writing supplies out of the way, she sat down to face him. His hands were subtly shaking, his form stuttering with his shallow breaths. Without thinking, she reached out a hand and laid it on his knee. He froze.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, then cleared her throat. The damn lump wouldn't go down. He stood so suddenly - his chair squeaking loudly across the stone floor as he did – that Hermione gasped in surprise, blinking up at him. Snape was staring down at her through slitted eyes, his chest heaving slightly as he breathed, but he didn't move.

"You are being too familiar with me," he finally said in a venomous undertone. Hermione swallowed again, and exhaled through pursed lips, her heart pounding wildly in her chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean… I just wanted to make sure you're okay," she said, tearing her eyes away from Snape's, looking anywhere else. Her gaze ended up landing downward; his hands were still trembling at his sides, his fingers flexing, wrists rotating. Something happened. Something had to have happened while he was out for the evening.

"The insufferable-know-it all of the Golden Trio, concerned for her Great Bat of a Potions professor?" he asked, his voice oozing sarcasm. Hermione looked back up at him and, catching his eye, slowly stood from the coffee table, crossing her arms over her chest. She squeezed her arms, willing herself to ignore the roar of the blood in her ears and the way her heart threatened to thump right out of her chest.

"Yes," Hermione stated simply, steeling herself. She narrowed her eyes at him, hoping the rest of her features reflected the faux confidence of her voice. He took a single step toward her, barely an inch separating them. She tried not to react; she knew he was trying to intimidate her, a tactic that lost its effect months ago, and she rose her chin in the defiant way she knew he hated. His jaw hardened, his teeth grinding in malice.

"Don't," he clipped before he spun on his heel and stalked back to his desk. Hermione's arms dropped and her hands curled into fists.

"Why not?" she bit. Snape didn't say anything. He halted at his ornate oak desk and leaned on it, his hands gripping the edge of the furniture until his knuckles turned white, and he bowed his head.

"Don't," he growled, his shoulders tense. Hermione gritted her teeth and frustration began to swirl in her gut, replacing the worry. She took a tentative step towards him, then another.

"Why not?" she pushed. She knew the moment he turned around she had gone too far. What she was thinking, speaking to a professor the way she just did? Especially him. But as his eyes narrowed, her heart began to pound harder, and a spark of fear tingled down her spine. He took a step toward her, she took a step back. He took another step forward, she stumbled backwards until her legs caught the coffee table and she began to tumble over it to the floor.

A rough hand grabbed her forearm and tore her up from her free fall, and he pulled her to his chest, his lips crashing down on hers. She froze. He wasn't nice. It wasn't romantic, or sweet, or even pleasurable. It was hot, domineering, punishing. Another hand grabbed her other forearm and he bound her arms to her sides, his lips moving against hers. To her horror? confusion? surprise? warm liquid pooled in her belly and that spark of fear turned into a sensitive tingle. She parted her lips and her tongue swiped sensually at his mouth, an unintentional moan escaping her throat.

He stilled then, his onyx eyes popping open to meet her honey ones. His pupils were nearly the size of his irises – the colors barely distinguishable - and he paused only for the briefest of moments before his lips left hers and he spun away from her in cloud of billowing robes, stalking out of his office and leaving her cold.

Hermione waited nearly two hours for him to return, sitting in her armchair, with the dancing flames in the hearth lending the only sound in the room in the form of an occasional pop. Her mind was flooded with thoughts, with emotions… She wanted – no, needed – to talk to him. She had never seen him like that before. Trembling; shaking; so mistrusting of an inanimate object like a book; concerned for her own wellbeing in that once-over he gave her face and person. That kiss…

Her fingers traced her lips. No, it wasn't pleasurable. Not at first, anyway. He did it, she thought, to scare her. Scare her into silence or scare her into running away, to stop asking questions, to stop pressing him for information he clearly didn't want to divulge. When she responded, it surprised him. She could see it in his eyes. She also saw something else, something in the way he looked at her in that moment before he left her suddenly in his chilly office, a chill even the roaring fire couldn't dull.

She gathered her books and writing supplies, stuffed them into her knapsack, and left Snape's office with so many questions - and no answers. She couldn't help it; she left his storeroom, re-warded the door, and looked around tentatively – and hopefully – for him. Of course, he wasn't there. When she left the classroom, she had hoped to hear his heavy foot falls in the corridor. Nothing. She felt the familiar uncomfortable sinking of disappointment as she trudged up the staircase to the Entrance Hall. Tomorrow was Saturday, she realized as she reached the landing, the hustle of the supper crowd loud in her ears. Saturday was a good day to try to get some answers.

"He what?" Nicola exclaimed the next morning at the Gryffindor table. Heads popped up at the sudden outburst, but it didn't take long for everyone to go back to their usual, lazy Saturday morning banter. Squeezing Nicola's arm, Hermione dipped her head closer towards her.

"Shh, Nicola," Hermione said in a frantic whisper, her eyes darting down the table where Harry, Ginny, and Ron sat in their usual tight circle – whom, it seemed, decided to ignore Nicola's loud squeal, much to Hermione's surprise. Nicola's wide eyes flickered with that usual mischievous glint, her smile as wide as a Cheshire cat's.

"Was it good?" Nicola whispered back, propping her elbow beside her plate, resting her head on the heel of her palm. Hermione's eyes focused down at her scrambled eggs and tomato slice.

"No. It… He didn't do it in a romantic way. I think he did it to shut me up," Hermione said, poking her fork into her eggs and quickly brought the bite to her mouth. Her eyes flicked to Nicola, who was studying her with a pensive look.

"I don't buy it," Nicola said after a moment. She picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice and took a swig, her eyes never leaving Hermione.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked, taking a sip of her own pumpkin juice. Nicola set the goblet on the table and licked her lips in thought.

"After all the eye fucking you've told me about, I think he finally just gave in. Maybe he was testing some boundaries, seeing how you would react. I bet next time, it'll be like kissing your Dream Snape," Nicola concluded, winking at her. Hermione flushed a brilliant red.

"Those are some boundaries, Nicola. I'm his student," Hermione whispered fervently. "It's breaking so many rules, so many codes of ethics –"

"So what?" Nicola snapped, "You're of age. You'll be out of here in a few months. And with Grindelwald and Voldemort… Have fun, Hermione. Everyone else is." Hermione sat back then, her brows near to her hairline, eyes wide – and ice in her veins.

"What… Nicola, do you know something? Has your father said something?" Hermione implored, trying to swallow around another lump in her throat. Nicola's eyes widened and she leaned forward, grabbing Hermione's hand.

"Oh, no! I didn't mean it like that. I guess I just meant that nothing in life is certain and we should enjoy it. I've been doing a little more research about your Voldemort, too. I read about the First Wizarding War. I read that he killed Harry's parents after eleven years of reigning terror here. I read how he has been the only one to ever survive Voldemort – or the Killing Curse, for that matter," Nicola said with a shake of her head and a sigh. "I also know that Voldemort's still out there – everyone here may only talk about it in whispers, but they do talk. Who knows what's going to happen over the next eleven years, Hermione. Screw the taboos, the social norms, the ethics. If you want him and he wants you, forget the rest."

Hermione was silent, staring at Nicola, internalizing her words. She didn't have the strength to push back with another 'I don't think he really wants me' or 'He was only trying to shut me up' because… whatever that was last night, the fleeting look in his eyes before he left told her something different. It told her that maybe – just maybe – he wanted her, too.

Some look on Hermione's face must have betrayed her newest resolve because Nicola sat back in her chair, that Cheshire's grin on her face once more, and she nodded.

"Good. When are you going to try to talk to him again?" She asked, her focus returning to her plate as she picked apart a piece of toast.

"Tonight," Hermione answered. Her heart thumped at the thought.

Saturday was boring. It was slow. The castle was practically empty. It was the exact opposite of what Hermione needed. It also happened to be another Hogsmeade weekend, but she didn't really want to join the swathes of round-eyed third years or half-drunken seventh years, even though Nicola practically begged her to go.

"No, you have fun. I'm so nervous, I won't be good company," Hermione said as they walked out of the Great Hall after breakfast. Nicola elbowed Hermione gently and turned to face her.

"That's precisely why you need to come with me. A few Butterbeers - or a couple shots of Firewhiskey would calm those nerves of yours," Nicola said with a smile and a wink. Hermione returned her smile, but she shook her head.

"I… I may actually go see if Professor Snape is in now. You know, take advantage of the quiet castle," she explained, looking down at the gravel path, turning a few pieces of rock over with the toe of her shoe.

"Oh, yes, girl. You do that," she laughed in a suggestive tone. Hermione looked up to see Nicola walking down the path towards the Great Lawn.

"Not like that!" Hermione called after her, cheeks flushing a brilliant red.

"Of course not!" Nicola sang over her shoulder, disappearing around the courtyard wall with wave of her hand.

Hermione slowly turned around as an icy breeze caught her curly locks, tossing them around her face. She tucked a few strands behind her ears and crossed her arms over her chest, bracing herself against the chill of the late-November morning. Walking back toward the Entrance Hall, she was lost in thought, concentrating on the crunching sounds under her shoes as her mind whirled. What would she say? What would he say? Would he even see her - if he was even in his office? What if he wasn't? Would she wait for him to return? Hermione snorted. She highly doubted he would appreciate coming upon her alone in his office again if his reaction last night was indicative of anything.

She found her way back into the Entrance Hall, then took a sharp left towards the staircase that led into the dungeons. With each descending step, her heart thumped, and nervous butterflies swarmed in her gut. Was she really about to do this?

It didn't take long to see that the Potions classroom door was open. Part of her was surprised, and she paused, breathing out slowly through pursed lips. Steeling herself, she entered the Potions classroom and he immediately looked up, locking his icy gaze onto her. She swallowed.

He was sitting at his desk, quill in hand, the features of his face dancing in the dim candlelight. Hermione's heart stuttered in her chest, and she looked behind her to make sure no one else was in the corridor before she pulled the door shut behind her. She heard his quill hit his desk and she turned around to see him sit higher in his chair, hands clasped in front of him on his desk, his face a mask.

"Miss Granger," he stated after a tense moment of silence, his deep baritone echoing in the empty room. She swallowed again, sucked in a breath, then walked down the center aisle, stopping only a few feet from his desk. She didn't say anything; instead she studied his face, looking for any sign, any emotion, anything that would betray his thoughts. His mask was solid.

"I… erm…" Damn it. "I wanted to talk about last night." Blush crept up on her cheeks, but she held his gaze. Something flickered in his eyes, but only briefly before he unclasped his hands and stood from his chair. Her heart began to thump again, and she sucked in a breath as he stalked around his desk, his hands clasped behind his person.

"Yes," he began in his silky voice, stopping mere feet from her, "I was going to speak with you about that tonight, but since you're here…" He trailed off and her heart hammered in her chest as he took a single step toward her, leaving very little space between them.

"I –"

"Miss Granger," he cut her off, "Our arrangement is meant to be professional in nature, yet you invade my personal space, snoop through my personal belongings, and pry into my personal affairs. If you cannot… help yourself, I ask that you cease your research efforts with me." Her jaw dropped open. He stepped around her then, and began to stalk up the center aisle towards the classroom door.

"Excuse me?" Hermione slithered, twisting around to watch him, sudden fury bubbling in her gut. He forgot to mention one particularly important event that happened the previous night…

He stopped at her tone and whipped around, his eyes in slits. "Have I not made myself clear enough for you?"

Hermione's brows furrowed, returning his glare.

"Not quite," she clipped. "I'm confused by the bit where you kissed me." He didn't say anything, he didn't react, he didn't even seem to breathe. She stepped towards him until they were mere inches from touching, and tipped her chin up to meet his eyes, searching them for the flicker she saw before. There was nothing.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, refusing to acknowledge the burning feeling behind her eyes. She leaned in closer, probing his onyx eyes, seeking, penetrating. Then he blinked, his eyes flicking to her lips, and her heart sped up. Her breath stuttered out and she closed her eyes, leaning closer to him… She felt him take a step back and a sigh of disbelief flew from her lips, her eyes popping open.

He was a few paces away from her, his stance tense. His hands weren't clasped behind his person but balled at his sides. His shoulders were stiff, his hair around his face, but his eyes were focused on her lips. She took a step toward him, and he took a step back.

"It was a mistake," he said, his voice low. Hermione blinked and her heart sank.

"But…" she trailed off as he spun on his heel, briskly walking to his desk, his foot falls echoing in the room. She followed him. "You can't tell me –"

"Tell you what?" he spat, twisting back around to face her, his eyes narrowed at her again, glaring daggers. She stopped in her tracks and stared at him, her stomach in her throat, tears threatening to fall.

"Tell you that I find your intellect intriguing? That I wish that I could spend every waking minute in your presence because then finally I'll have someone of equal intelligence to speak with?" His words were sarcastic, but there was an undertone of truth to them. She took a shallow breath then exhaled a longer one.

"Tell you that you're brilliant? That your thought processes are so different than anyone else I've ever had the pleasure of studying with that they astound me? Tell you that you probably are the brightest witch in more than a century, that McGonagall wasn't exaggerating. Are you wanting me to tell you those things to stroke your ego? Or are you wanting the deepest, darkest confessions, the ones that even the most experienced Legilimens can't access?" He seethed. Somehow, they're only inches apart again, and her chest hurts from her heart pounding so hard.

"Are you wanting me to tell you that I count the seconds until I see you every night? Tell you that I like to watch you pace in front of my fireplace? Tell you that I like watching you nibble on the end of your quill when you're lost in thought? Tell you that I've wanted to kiss you for months? Tell you that it makes me sick to my stomach that I do?" He fumed. He was leaning into her now, his onyx eyes – pupils blown and hazy – piercing her honey ones. She couldn't breathe.

"Do you want me to tell you that I want to be sick when I think of kissing my eighteen-year-old student? Because it's wrong when I want it to be right –"

"My parents are sixteen years apart," Hermione interrupted thickly. She blinked, feeling foolish. Of all the things she could have said, her parents' age difference was it? The piece of unexpected information seemed to snap him out of his confession because he blinked too, and his breath stuttered out of his throat. He stepped back again, his mask slipping back onto his face, and she began to panic as he pieced himself back together, back into the stoic Professor Snape.

"It was a mistake," he repeated, turning back around, leaving her side, leaving her to stand alone with more questions than answers – again. She reached out her hands and grabbed the lapels of his robes, pulling him back around to face her.

"No!" was all she said before her lips met his and her hands threaded themselves into his hair. It was soft - so soft - his hair. It ran through her fingers like silk and she curled them into his scalp, pulling him down to her, urging him to kiss her back. He froze, but she pulled him closer, her body flush with his, and she could feel his heart thumping in his chest, in time with her own. He didn't kiss her back, even as she began to move her lips against his, and her heart sank, tears falling from the corners of her eyes.

She broke apart from him, her lips swollen, tears trailing down her face, just to see his hot eyes on her. She heaved, breathing in deeply, and she reached out a hand to touch his chest.

"You can't tell me this is a mistake. Not when it feels like this," Hermione whispered, bringing her other hand to his chest. She began to slide them up his woolen coat to the high collar, but he caught one wrist in his hand, stopping her. She looked up at him, and he flicked his eyes from his hand on her wrist to her lips – always to her lips – then up to meet her eyes.

"It has to be a mistake," he said firmly, though the tone of his voice didn't match the look in his eyes. She didn't say anything, but instead shook her head and her eyes flicked to his lips again. She was leaning towards him, standing on tip toes, reaching and she swore he began to lean down, about to meet her half-way when he suddenly hissed in pain and stumbled backward.

"Ah!" he seethed through gritted teeth, grabbing his left arm and holding it into his body. Alarm reflected in his wide eyes and he gasped. Hermione stared at him, a myriad of emotions flooding into her gut – emotions that turned her veins to ice.

"Leave!" he grunted, turning on his heel and stalking to his storeroom.

"But –"

"Now, you idiot girl!" he snapped.

Author's Note: I am deeply grateful for all of you! Thank you for reading, reviewing/commenting! This chapter marks the beginning of all the… well, the stuff. The rest of the story may be intense, and I'll make sure to put any trigger warnings at the top of the chapter.

That being said, the next chapter may be a little late. We're going out of town to visit my in-laws, so I'll write when and where I can, but the next chapter may not be out until mid-month. *cries* But I'll make it up to you all with a lengthier chapter next time!