I promptly left, my robes appropriately billowing. I ran down the steps, surprised my legs still supported. The heat from the fire and from Granger were an extremely intoxicating combination. I walked briskly down the hall, feeling immensely grateful that Hogwarts was so frigid at night. All I wanted to do was sleep, so weary was I. Nothing could sound more tantalizing than a soft bed and a sound sleep. But, just as happiness is, sleep is even more elusive.
I let out a frustrated growl and kicked the base of an armored knight. It turned to me, creakily, and wheezed an archaic curse. The stone halls were so beatifically silent, so perfect in their placidness, that it made people uneasy. Standing in a Hogwarts corridor at night, I heard a student say once, was like waiting for a disaster to happen.
I smiled as I mused upon the thought, staring up at the various arches. Even the portraits were quietly snoring, their canvases ruffling with the movement of their occupants. I ran my finger along the base of a canvas of an especially pretty girl, and she awoke. She squealed when she saw it was me, and immediately hid beneath her bed. I laughed mirthlessly, and inspected my finger. Filch was as diligent as ever about keeping everything spotless and well he should be. Sordid little pigs are not exempt, unfortunately, from the very prestigious halls of Hogwarts.
I heard a shuffling behind me, and I smiled malevolently at the thought of a Gryfindor out of bed. I whirled around, and a very startled Hermione Granger stood there, trembling as she saw me.
Granger, what are you doing out of bed?, I hissed, seeing that she was quite inappropriately dressed. Her tee shirt hugged her slender frame and her pyjama pants were thin linen. Looking for my familiar, she said, haltingly. I noticed she was shivering, and she crossed her chest in an X form to preserve modesty. I handed her my robe without question, and luckily for her, without comment.
A cat?, I asked, slightly amused to see her massive hair lost in the depth of my clothes. She nodded, her pale skin poking out from beneath the folds. Same bloody troublesome cat you had in third year?, I grumbled, remembering the vicious orange creature that nearly killed Peter Pettigrew and allowed Sirius Black entrance to the grounds. She swallowed, and spoke, No, Crookshanks died after seventh year. He was hit by a car. I must have appeared confused, for she quickly explained, A car. You know? A muggle version of a horse less carriage? The things that make a lot of noise and go too fast?. I shook my head and she sighed.
I'm so sorry about what happened in Dumbledore's office, she said quietly. I felt a sudden hot stab of an unidentifiable emotion, than the urge to press her against the wall and kiss her as ruthlessly as possible. I swallowed. Think nothing of it, I said gruffly. Without my robes, I had no way to hide myself. I crossed my arms, feeling unusually undressed. She began down the hall, and when she stopped to beckon me, I noticed how striking she had grown. She would never be beautiful, but she remained indelible. And the fact that I could still taste her seemingly permanent flavor, made it more unbearable for me to stand there, ignoring the sudden stream of impure thoughts running rampant.
What's the beast's name?, I asked, my voice becoming gravelly. , she responded, ducking her head to check beneath a velvet lounge. , I asked, not surprised. She nodded as she rose, looking disappointed. We'll find him, I said stiffly, reassurance not being my most winning character trait. She shrugged, He's sort of a gypsy. I suppose he'll turn up somewhere; I just feel better with him curled about my feet.
Isn't returning comforting enough?, I asked sharply, remembering the anguish she had caused me. She gave me a very cold look. Not when other people around seem to dislike me so much, she replied, besides, there are other things that lurk behind these walls that are far less consoling.
Granger was a curious woman. She said such ambiguously mysterious things, that one could not help but pry. The urge to ask her exactly what she meant tottered on the edge of tongue, but, as a matter of pride, I refrained. She brushed a stray curl behind her ear. I heard her swear slightly. What was that?, I asked, honestly wondering why she had the right to curse, especially when she had an accomplice to find her stupid animal.
I hate my hair, that's all. It's never matured, after all these years. It's an absolute dread to deal with, she said, touching her head for emphasis. I gave her an appraising glance, and relented, You always did have bushy hair, Granger. But I see it's become slightly more tame. Perhaps it has followed the footsteps of its bearer. She flushed slightly, and ducked her head farther into my robes. What was that supposed to mean?, she asked, her voice muffled.
You always were alarmingly sensitive. One unguarded comment could send you reeling for days, I said carelessly. She stopped, and whipped around, an undeniable fire blazing in her face. Perhaps, Snape, it was because those pithy comments were deliberately damaging. You are still such a bastard, and I see your hair will never become cleaner, even with the aide of tonic, she said in a very tight voice.
I rolled my eyes, and crossed my arms, I'm weary of arguing, Granger. We both agree to the fact that neither of us has dazzlingly pretty hair. May we please continue the search for your scatter brained animal so that I may sleep?. She put her hands on her hips, looking twistedly charming, almost like a precocious girl in her mother's too large clothes, If you don't want to help, don't. Especially if all you're going to do is insult me. I held my hands up, mocking surrender, Fine. I'll say nothing.
She nodded hesitantly, and a look of almost regretfulness passed over her face. She swept silently through the hall, scouring beneath every bench, in every suit of armor, even atop the thick portraits. I, however, paced languidly behind her, knowing full well that no animal would hide in a cold, marbled hall. Did you check the kitchens? The common rooms? Places with heat, food and a ready supply of milk?, I asked, trying to keep my voice as non committal as possible.
, was all she said. I laughed, Surely someone has told you that common sense is a virtue, Granger. And I'm sure that same person should also remind you that so is kindness, was her reply. I'm perfectly humane, I said flatly, knowing that kindness was entirely the wrong adjective. You are not. I know perfectly well you're not, she said, sounding irritatingly familiar as the stupidly insistent thirteen year old.
You don't know me, Miss Granger, I said in a clipped voice. She was the last person I would want to discuss past mistakes with. She stopped speaking, but only for a few seconds. Were you really a deatheater?, she asked, almost sounding frightened. It is of no concern. Voldemort is vanquished; his followers displaced. My personal life shall remain privilege only to me. Don't pry into things you don't want to know, I said, each syllable lazily exiting my mouth.
So you were. That's what Harry said, that you have the Mark..., she never finished, for in less than one second, I had her pinned against the wall, my knee between her legs. I brought my face threateningly close to hers, my anger bordering on murderous. I just told you what I deemed appropriate, Granger. After all, curiosity killed the cat, I whispered venomously. Visions of furthering my relationship with her rapidly wilted, for she gave a glance so searingly knowing, so scathingly all-seeing, that I released her.
For when she looked at me, her eyes reflected what she saw: a Deatheater still vengeful, still volatile. Maybe even still faithful. The Mark had never left me, for it was branded magically. Only a bond so blackened by blood and betrayal could hold me so powerfully under its will. She gave a horrified shriek, and shrank beneath my grasp.
My fingers had never left her long, white neck, and I could see red ridges forming where I gripped her. I pressed my lips into hers, not passionately, but menacingly. My knee was still tightly wedged between her, and she quivered in fear. Her dry lips scraped against mine, a poor parody of a kiss. I gripped her by the hair, and pulled her mouth to mine. She opened her mouth, and pulled hard on my own clothes, forcing me to stumble into her.
I couldn't breathe. I couldn't hear, or see or smell or taste. All I could do was feel. Feel her frightened arousal, her frigid eroticism, her repressed, maddened desire. I pulled on her hair, tipped her face to me, my hand still around her throat. She growled animalistically, not being able to control herself.
It was all instinct now.












A/N: Hey, hope you guys liked this one. Anyway, Granger is quite the animal, eh? Anyway, Snape is unhappy and repressed, and I assure you that some extremely sexy sex will be coming soon.