I gasped, and she took this as one of excitement and not surprise, and wound her fingers around my neck, and pressed herself into me. I opened my mouth to say something, but instead found myself kissing her back, harshly grinding my lips into hers, tasting either a particularly sugary candy she had been eating or lip lotion she had applied. She moaned, and I gripped the bookcases, fearful that I wouldn't be able to pull away.

She was pressed herself painfully into me, and I could feel the terse breaths coming from her. Her breasts, which had seemed to sprout from nowhere in her seventh year, were fully against me, and I struggled very hard to control unchaste thoughts.

Ms. Granger, I mumbled into her mouth, but she thrust her tongue into my own. I nearly bit down on it, but I roughly shoved her away. Ms. Granger, I barked, and she opened her eyes, what in God's name were you thinking?. Oh Merlin...I'm so sorry, Professor, I have no idea....good gods, this is...., she said breathlessly, struggling to smooth out her robes. There was a deep crimson flush heading towards her cheeks, and it made her look disarmingly pretty.

I took a deep breath, several, actually, to steady my own head. The last thing I needed was to feel anything but spite for her. I ran a nervous hand through my hair, and pretended not to watch her as she rebuttoned her blouse. This was possibly the most awkwardly intimate situation I had ever been placed in, and it didn't help that the damn heat from the fire seem to have intensified a tenfold.

I'm so sorry, Professor... I have absolutely no clue...look, Snape, I know you must find me even more pathetic...I just hope Albus doesn't come back..oh!, with this she began to cry, sitting down on the overstuffed armchair with such force, that it jumped slightly. Sympathy is not my forte, and, as far as I could tell, neither was snogging fellow professors.

Look, Granger, I began crossly, but she indeed looked up and gave me such an imploringly innocent look, I felt my knees lurch slightly. What in the bloody hell was happening to me? Why was this puerile woman affecting me so much? I don't remember the last time, if ever, that I had felt physically drained by another member of the fairer sex. She wiped her tears impatiently, and smoothed her hair.

Miss Granger, this whole embarrassing incident is entirely and rather relievedly erased from my memory. I only encourage you to do the same, I said coldly, hoping that nothing in the tone betrayed my own confusion. I could still smell her on me, and it was more than a little distracting. I glanced around his office, noting with sudden horror that there nearly two dozen portraits nodding in a very knowing fashion at us. When they saw me glower, however, they immediately froze.

Yes, yes. I will. And I hope that you haven't entirely lost all respect for me, she said, her voice oddly high. What makes you think I held you in such high esteem?, I asked, a bit snarkily. She gave me a pained look, and I closed my mouth. I had already done enough damage. I apologize, Granger, I said flatly, folding my arms. Forcing myself to say the words felt like something akin to pain. Just call me Hermione or Professor, she said, exasperated, I hate being called by my last name, and I especially detest being called Miss Granger. It dredges up particularly difficult memories. She shivered slightly, and I wondered idly exactly how much damaged I had caused her.

Are you cold, Professor?, I asked, feeling that Hermione would sound too foreign and obtrusive. What? Oh...no, she said distractedly. She rubbed her arms up and down, trying to force blood into them.

She rose hesitantly and came towards me, her brown eyes gleaming in a very distant manner. Am I really that repulsive, Professor, that every man whom I've kissed or touched or loved or even felt the slightest inkling of something like love has pushed me away or laughed at me? With Harry, it was alarm and disgust, and with you it's much the same. When I kissed Harry, the first thing he did was put his hand to my forehead to see if I had a fever, she said mournfully. I felt a twinge of pity, but only because it must have been quite humiliating being rejected by such a twit as Potter.

Gran....Professor, I assure you it is only because the discomfort and complications of kissing a former student and a very rival at that, far outweigh physical attraction, I said hurriedly, without thinking. She looked at me, her eyes suddenly focused, So are you attracted to me, Snape?.

It took me several seconds to answer, and when it came, it felt abrasively honest, I don't know.

Emotions of a dozen different varieties flitted across her face. Suddenly, she became impassive, and I couldn't read her at all. Well, it settles it then. Just a silly, momentary mistake, she said, laughing in a very high, very strangled way. I frowned at her.

Don't force amusement, Granger. It is extremely unbecoming, I said irritably. She immediately stopped trying to laugh, and sighed.

Did you completely hate the idea that I was coming to teach here?, she asked, curiously. At first, yes. I had no desire for my classes to be simultaneously be taught by someone who had a particularly vehement streak of hatred for me. But, then again, none of this faculty seem to be quite attached to me, so this is nothing new, I said slowly, making sure every word was carefully plotted. She nodded assentively.

You really were a brilliant potions teacher, she said softly, staring into her folded hands, a bloody bastard, but brilliant. If only you didn't dote so on Malfoy, perhaps I wouldn't have hated you quite so much. I learned so much. It's saved myself and others quite a few times. I laughed, almost genuinely smiled, but I stopped myself.

I can hardly believe your words, Granger. Ten years ago, I would have been knocked over by a spare feather from Flitwick's first years, I said. She chuckled and smoothed the hems of her robes. As for Malfoy, the boy was smart. Not in an overwhelming manner, but intelligent enough. It was more his father that I was afraid of. Lucius Malfoy can be extremely unpleasant when met under the wrong circumstances, I said bitterly.

What about after third year? After we stopped you from winning that medal?, she asked, and I looked up sharply. Although I had always suspected she and Potter had something to do with Black's infamous escape, I could never find sufficient enough grounds to prove it. I narrowed my eyes, and she realized her mistake, far too late. So it was you. I always knew, I said dissmissively. I could do nothing now. Black had resurfaced long enough for his name to be cleared, then he slipped easily back into anonymity.

Where is Albus?, she said, desperately glancing at the door. I felt almost stung. So, conversing with me is really that horrid?, I asked sharply. She gave me an amused glance. No. I have to use the bathroom, she replied. I snorted, You women.

She walked over to me and patted my head, almost affectionately, but very reservedly. Perhaps we should continue discussion of past grudges another time, she whispered into my ear, her lovely scent wafting strongly in my face. Why? Why not now?, I asked, almost feeling urged to clutch at her robe hems.

Because Headmaster just returned.

I whirled around, almost knocking into her, to see Albus Dumbledore, standing there, eating a chocolate frog for a change, nodding more contentedly than was warranted.







A/N: Still not there yet. But I dont want to rush this and make it sound like cheap porno. Sorry to those who wanted them to knock boots' (thank you for reminding me), but this is my babe, and I want it to be perfect. Or as close as possible. Either way, it will be in the future. Thank you so much, all of you. This is extremely encouraging. I never thought I would get this much positive response! Title from I'll Be Sweeter Tomorrow', by The O-Jays.