Chapter 15
If you were not a married woman, Granger…
Hermione startles awake, flushed and trembling. Also, she realizes, extremely wet.
Shite.
Even though she hasn't actually done anything wrong, she hates the idea that she's cheating in her dreams, that Ron might have anything to accuse her of. She wants to be the innocent party in all this, with Ron cast as the clear and obvious villain. She doesn't want there to be anything to his insinuations about her and Ebarossa.
Only it wasn't Ebarossa who aroused her in her dream. They were her temporary colleague's words, yes, but in the dream, it was Snape who said them, his breath hot against her neck as she felt the wetness pool between her legs.
What the buggering hell is that about? She never had so much as a hint of a crush on Snape when she was in school. She thought he was brilliant, sought his approval with her meticulously brewed potions and her ruthlessly edited essays—she learned quickly that he detested the verbosity that earned her Outstandings from her other teachers. She mourned when he died, but that was because he was a hero whose many sacrifices had saved them all. It was most definitely not because she wanted him to pull her behind a tapestry and fuck her against the wall.
Was it?
Not then. But now? Now, the two of them are getting all tangled up in her mind. She knows it's only because of little things about Ebarossa that remind her of Snape.
If you were not a married woman, Granger…
She can only hear Snape's voice saying it now. How would Snape speak to her now, if he were alive? Would he be sneering and sarcastic, as he was when he had to play the faithful Death Eater? Or would he have gotten past it all, the way Lucius has, and be perfectly civil?
I'm sure he didn't hate you, Miss Granger.
Would he talk about the work she's done whilst standing on his intellectual shoulders? Would they forget themselves talking animatedly until Padma asked them to lock up for her? Would he let her brew with him? Would he duel with her? Would he pull her into and alcove and—
Get hold of yourself, Granger, she orders herself, but it's no good.
Alone in the bed she's shared with Ron for all of her adult life, she closes her eyes, lets herself imagine that Ebarossa is Snape, that he's Polyjuiced or Glamoured but that it's him behind those bland, unremarkable features. That he was the one who wanted her, his voice, low and seductive, promising, If you were not a married woman, Granger…
What would it feel like, being desired by a man like that? A man capable of the kind of love that outlives death. If he were alive, would he still be obsessed with Lily? Could anyone ever measure up to the woman he swore to love always?
It doesn't matter, because Snape is dead and Ebarossa is just a man who happens to have nice hands and a rather sexy voice. It's not quite as impressive as she remembers Snape's being, but he's definitely in the running. And the way he dueled…the idea of a man with that much raw power taking her, ravishing her…
Fuck. She's doing it again, with the dead man and the living one blurring and merging in her fantasies.
She thinks about that Daydream Potion that George gave her for her last birthday. She never used it, because she was afraid of what it would show her. She's pretty sure she knows what it will show her now, and her mouth goes dry when she thinks about it.
Why shouldn't she? She can skip breakfast in the Great Hall, have a lie-in, and, well, live a little. She Summons the bottle and, hands trembling a little, swallows the contents.
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"It's Wingardium Leviosa," she says, emphasizing the o.
"That's what I said, Aunt Mione!" Gideon cries in frustration, then looks like he wants to crawl under the desk when his classmates laugh. Poor little guy. He was doing so well remembering to call her Professor Weasley up to now. Fabian, who is navigating the snake-infested landscape more easily than his twin, never slips.
Starting next week, it'll be Professor Granger they'll have to remember to call her. She and Ron have a hearing on Friday, and Minerva will announce the new nomenclature at breakfast on Monday. Though with so many of the students being related to her, the whole school will probably know already.
She told Rose and Hugo yesterday, after classes ended, before she got drunk and talked too much to Ebarossa. Hugo seemed a little sad but not all that surprised, and gave her a hug. Rose yelled and cried and told her she couldn't do this. Eventually, Rose stormed off and hasn't spoken to her since.
Hermione is glad her first class of the day is first years. It would be hard to concentrate on anything beyond the simplest spellwork after the last twenty-four hours. Including that lie-in.
As she suspected after that dream, it was Snape the daydream potion conjured, telling her in that voice exactly what he was going to do to her, then making good on every wicked promise.
What was she thinking, taking it on a work day? Honestly, she ought to have kept the potion for a post-dissolution celebration. Though she could pop over to George's store and buy another for that…
"Professor?" a little girl in a Hufflepuff tie asks.
"Yes, Miss McMillan?" Hermione says, and tries to keep her mind on what her students are doing with their feathers, and off what her former professor was doing with her an hour ago.