See disclaimers on Chapter 1

Chapter 2: Every Way You Look at This, You Lose

It was unseasonably warm that spring, and by mid-May the grounds surrounding Hogwarts were already showing signs of the verdancy to come. The rains soaked deep into the earth and released a moist, fresh scent that penetrated even to the usually dank smelling dungeons. It seemed to revitalize everyone in the castle – steps were livelier, voices louder, Quidditch matches even more exciting than usual. Spring Fever hit the students with a vengeance, making classes a particularly exasperating affair for many of the teachers. Most afternoons found Professor McGonagall walking the corridors with her lips sternly pursed, trying in vain to rein in acts of mischief from students too filled with the adrenaline of being released from the long winter to bother worrying about the rules. Even the normally unflappable Professor Flitwick had taken points from two Hufflepuffs after they invoked a speech charm which caused Stewart Ackerly to curse fluently in Italian for over ten minutes. The only teacher who had no hijinks in his classroom was Snape. He made it abundantly clear what would happen to any student causing trouble in his dungeons, and they knew he meant what he said.

Spring had always been Hermione's favorite time of year, and she found herself spending most of her free moments sitting by her open dormitory window, drinking in the smell of the new growth. She could almost sense the yearning of the plants lying just beneath the surface of the ground as they waited for the moment when they could poke their heads above the surface and unfurl their leaves toward the sun. So much promise in the air, she thought. So many possibilities. The yield for the rest of year depends on what happens in these few, short months. She marveled at how that paralleled her own life, knowing that the seeds she was planting now would be ready to reap in her later years.

She felt lucky in that it looked as though her life's garden would be healthy and strong. Her education at Hogwarts had been excellent, and she was seriously considering Professor McGonagall's offer to stay on at the school after graduation to become an apprentice Tranfiguration instructor. She had developed friendships that she knew would last the rest of her life. And her family… well, her family could not really be considered just a plant. No, a plant was too fragile, too transient. It was more like a giant redwood tree. Her parents had been both supportive and proud of her magical studies, and she knew it would always be so.

The only flower that seemed doomed to die on the vine was her love life. In fact, strictly speaking she could not even consider that one to be planted yet. Whoever said spring makes a young man's fancy turn to thoughts of love was right, she decided, though in this case it's a young woman's fancy. She sighed. It was getting old, this being alone, especially when confronted with Ron's and Harry's happy romances on a daily basis. Well, there was little to be done about it. There was no one at Hogwarts she considered even remotely interesting enough to get involved with.

No, strike that, she amended. There was one person, but that was a flat out impossibility.

Or was it…?

Snape had taken up residence in the back of her mind ever since the night they had danced together at the Yule Ball. Though not a woman usually given over to flights of fancy, she often thought about what it would be like to be that close to him again, to step back into his sphere of mastery and be consumed by his power. He could still be as nasty as a nundu with halitosis, and although there were times she hated the things he did and said she had to admit that being around him was never dull. His words often seemed to sizzle through the air, jolting her like an electric current and turning her knees weak with both anger and craving. She felt incredibly carnal after each of his classes, rarely failing to incite herself to orgasm on the days when his temper was at its worst.

She kept her feelings to herself, knowing that sharing them would make her the object of ridicule – and quite probably scorn – among her peers. She was thankful that no one around her noticed the way her eyes grew brighter, her gaze more intense whenever Snape was around. No sense in tipping her hand. Still, she couldn't help feeling that it would be nice if someone knew her well enough to see the evidence for themselves.

Enough, she chastised herself. I need to get out of here, get some air and stop thinking so much. Yes, a walk in the fresh air would be bracing. But not in her robes – they suddenly felt very oppressive and she wanted to feel the breeze on her skin. She shed them quickly and changed into a light spring shift, instead. One glance in the common room on her way out told her that Harry and Ron were still at Quidditch practice, though how they could still see the balls now that the sun had almost set was a mystery to her. Good, at least I'll get some time to myself, she thought, not entirely without guilt, as she skipped down the steps and slipped out the front door of the castle.

The sunset was breathtaking. The sky was streaked with brilliant streams of pink and purple reflecting off some low-lying clouds and making the lake shimmer like a tapestry. The breeze felt glorious on her bare arms and she bent to remove her sandals, luxuriating in the feel of the moist earth beneath her feet. She stopped to dip her toes in the lake, watching with amusement as the giant squid uncoiled one shadowy tentacle above the surface of the water as if in protest at the disturbance in its environment. She wandered the grounds for a long time, using the light from her wand to guide her when it grew too dark to see. It was a lovely walk, but it did not have its intended effect of clearing her mind of thoughts of Snape; to the converse, being out here as earth was undergoing its annual rebirth filled her with an even stronger sense of melancholy yearning.

Finally, she realized it must be getting close to lights out and she should be on her way back. As she trudged up the path, a cool drop of rain fell on her face, then another. In her pensive frame of mind, she had failed to notice the gathering clouds. She quickened her pace as the shower gathered strength, but it was too late. The sky burst open and she was soon soaked to the skin.

A flash of lightning in the distance startled her and she realized it would soon be unsafe to be walking about. The greenhouses were just ahead and she darted toward them, deciding it would be best to wait inside until the storm passed. She would definitely be late getting back now but it couldn't be helped. She grimaced at the thought of her housemates' reactions when she lost the 20 or so points McGonagall was sure to deduct for walking around the castle after curfew.

Thunder was rumbling overhead when she yanked the greenhouse door open and ducked inside, slamming it behind her. The torches were lit in order to keep the plants warm, and she sighed in frustration as she looked down and saw the mud-splattered condition of her clothes. She stood shaking her arms in a futile attempt to dry them when she heard a voice saying, "Professor Sprout, is that you?" A shadowy form rounded the corner leading to the back of the greenhouse where the more exotic plants were kept away from destructive hands of the students.

Snape.

"I've come by to collect the yohimbe we discu—" He caught sight of her and stopped in mid-sentence upon the realization that it wasn't the Herbology professor that had invaded the greenhouse. "Miss Granger," he said coldly, "would you mind telling me precisely why you are outside the castle?"

"I went for a walk, sir," she replied softly, "and the storm came up before I could get back inside."

"I see," he said. "You realize, of course, that this is a restricted area. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"Yes, Professor," she replied listlessly. But the tone was an affectation. She had rarely felt less listless in her life. It was the only time she could ever recall being alone with him, and her pulse began to thrum with the excitement of it. She felt as though the tendrils of his power were already enveloping her, filling her senses and invading every pore of her body. The effect was unsettling. Unbidden, she felt a rush of moisture between her legs. "I had no choice, sir," she continued as another lightning bolt hissed across the sky. The storm was almost directly overhead. "It was too unsafe to be out walking about in this weather."

"Quite," he responded crossly, as though he suddenly realized that they were trapped there together until the storm passed. He folded his arms across his chest and looked her up and down. "You're dripping, Miss Granger. Pity you did not have the sense to wear your robes when venturing outside. You'll catch your death, soaked to the bone like that."

Belatedly, she drew her wand used a drying charm to evaporate the moisture from her skin. "I'll be fine, Professor," she responded, waving the wand about her head to straighten her hair. "I enjoy walking in the rain, and anyway, my mum owled me a bottle of Echinacea last week. I'll take a few when I get back to my room, that will set me right."

Snape snorted. "Echinacea? In pill form? How very Muggle of you."

She stiffened, wondering if she would ever learn to take insults about her Muggle heritage in stride. She had hoped that the war would put a stop to the bigotry – after all, the worst Dark wizard of their time had been stopped by the son of a Mudblood witch – but if anything, it seemed the problem had gotten worse. "I see no reason to stop doing things that have been proven successful simply because they are Muggle ways," she said firmly.

"How commonplace you've become," he sneered. He swooped in closer to her, bending over her in an obvious effort to intimidate. She was forced to lift her head to see his face. "You'd better learn quickly, girl, that you have to make a choice: either follow the wizarding ways completely, or forsake your magical abilities and return to life among the Muggles. The two worlds cannot co-exist, Miss Granger, and until you make that choice, you will never find your place in either community. Am I making myself clear?"

She nodded wordlessly but she had barely heard a word of his speech, so overwhelmed was she by his proximity.

"Now, I would suggest," he continued, "that you forget this ridiculous notion of taking pills and see Madame Pomfrey for an anti-viral potion if you experience any signs of illness. My second-year class brewed a batch of it several days ago – if you're lucky, it won't poison you too badly."

She studied the way his mouth moved when he spoke, imagining what it might feel like on her face, her neck. He stopped speaking, suddenly aware of the change in the atmosphere between them. "You haven't been listening to a word I've said, have you Miss Granger?" he asked flatly.

"Yes, I have," she protested weakly. "You think I should choose the wizarding way and forget about all things Muggle. It's not something I'm ready to do, not just yet. There are many things about the Muggle way of life that are wonderful, Professor."

He sighed irritably. "I will never understand Muggle-borns and their stubbornness when it comes to these matters," he snapped. "How a woman of your obvious intelligence could make such a foolish statement or even consider the foolhardiness of choosing the Muggle lifestyle is beyond me."

"Do you mean that, Professor?" she asked quietly, fighting an impulse to put her hand on his chest. It somehow seemed to be both the best and worst thing she could do at that moment.

"Yes," he said. "Thankfully, we have no such issues in Slytherin, as no student with Muggle blood has been sorted into my house for over 20 years."

"No, not that part," she replied. "I mean the part about my 'obvious intelligence.'"

He sighed again, if possible even more irritably than the first time. "This is why I don't compliment women anymore," he muttered, almost to himself. "I've yet to meet a woman who didn't take even the slightest, most innocent positive comment much too seriously."

He started to turn away, but Hermione couldn't bear the idea of breaking the spell that seemed to be binding them together. She reached out and grasped the sleeve of his robe in her fist, pulling him back toward her. He stopped abruptly, holding his ground, not allowing her to force him back but not trying to move away, either.

She took a step toward him, happily surprised that he had not tried to shake off her hand. She stood quietly, looking up into his face, willing him to kiss her so she would not have to make the first move. It seemed so natural to be here with him that way, so right.

"Miss Granger," he said quietly, "you're trying to seduce me." There was no emotion in his voice at all.

"Yes, Professor," she breathed, relieved that it was finally out in the open. "I suppose I am." She stepped toward him again and lifted her head so that their faces were close together. When he still did not try to move away, she pressed her head forward until she was so near him that she could feel his exhalations of breath on her face. Their lips were mere centimeters apart now, and she closed her eyes in anticipation of the impending contact.

"You're a bigger fool than even I thought possible, Miss Granger," Snape said in a dangerously low tone of voice, "if you believe for even one moment that I'm going to jeopardize my position here by dallying with a student."

She stopped abruptly, lips still in mid-pucker. Her eyes flew open and she breathed in sharply, then she stepped back and turned away. It was as though he had punched her in the solar plexus. He stood regarding her silently as she stumbled toward the greenhouse door and yanked it open, running out into the storm and leaving the door to blow wildly back and forth on its hinges.

She ran across the field toward the castle without regard to the lightning flashing overhead. I hope it strikes me dead, she thought, her humiliation complete. Too mortified and angry to cry, she let the raindrops be her tears. All she wanted to do was get back into her room and crawl into bed with the covers over her head and never emerge again. How could she have been so foolish? How could she have thought a man like Snape would ever want to be involved with any student, much less a Mudblood like herself?

How could she ever face him again?

****

He stood in the doorway, watching her run off through the rain until he lost sight of her. Then he closed the door slowly and stood holding the doorknob, head bowed . Resisting her was one of the hardest things he had ever done, and he wasn't sure if he should be happy or distraught that he had succeeded.

The sight of her standing in the warm torchlight with the water streaming from her hair was not one he was likely to forget any time soon. Her wet dress had clung to her like a second skin, outlining the swelling of her breasts and the tantalizing shape of her nipples, erect in response to the cool dampness. The achingly sensual curve of her hips had been revealed, as well. She had been the very picture of provocative innocence, and he doubted very much whether any other man alive would have been able to stop himself from ravishing her if he had been in Snape's position.

He shook his head. No, he'd done what he had to do. Better for him to look back on the incident with regret at some time in the future than for her to do so. She might be embarrassed now, but it was better that way – she had no idea how close she had come to poisoning the roots of her life before they had even fully taken hold of the soil.

No danger of that happening now. The matter was put to rest.