She gave a very small gasp, and clapped her hand to her mouth. Presumably in delight, for I have no other inkling as to why her eyes were shining in so disconcerting a manner. She circled me slowly, in the same hazy manner as a dance partner assesses their new catch.

, I asked irritably, clearly stating in my tone and exaggerated sigh that this was not a time to be bothered. Especially when I was staving off a particularly strong surge of lust.

Is my name really that horrid?, she asked, wrinkling her nose, her freckled face looking like an oddly charming surface of a sunflower. To some degree. Though I find it not as offensive as others, why?, I said dismissively. , she explained slowly her eyes becoming goading, her circling becoming slightly more frenzied, you've never called me by Hermione before. It's quite a triumph, you know. It's always Granger or Miss Granger, or Professor.

Your parents gave you the name. I happened to use it. For Merlin's sake, girl, don't get ahead of yourself', I replied, quite aware that there was an unbecoming flush rising to my cheeks. I hadn't expected her to become tripped up over so trivial a thing, or for her to find something as meaningless as my uttering her name as such a considerable act of kindness. It gave me harsh insight on how dastardly I had made myself out to be.

She shrugged, but gave me a sordid wink. Damn it, another blush rose in succession. I was halfway between strangling her or straddling her, and I honestly could not say which sounded more appealing.

What would you qualify this as?, she began again, spinning around to inhale the volume of my books. Qualify what? Honestly, child, one would think you were speaking in bloody parallels. Get to the point, I barked, tiring of her incessant tirade of questions. Another twinge in my stomach told me of all the times I had pointedly ignored her brazenly all knowing class in hand, eager face and eyes and always perfect potion.

Don't call me child, she replied fiercely, a very slight glimmer of amusement in her eyes. I raised an eyebrow, I shall call you anything I wish, Miss Granger. She looked outraged at my placidity, and placed her long hands on her hips again. I prepared myself for another filibuster of feminism and male oppression, but it never came. I opened an eye tentatively, hoping she did not have her wand pointed directly between my eyes.

She was much closer to me, and laughing quietly, oddly colored eyes crinkling in amusement. She touched my face almost affectionately, but with palpable reserve. I suppose I cannot blame her, for I doubt even I would have the courage to do so.

You know, I hate you sometimes, she remarked absently, tracing my nose again. I didn't shy away. Why thank you. I'll be sure to add that to my list of the nicest things you've said, I replied dryly, watching her expression as she slid her fingers along my jawbone. She didn't laugh, her eyes switching reflectively on my own, and for the first time, I felt unseated by another's gaze.

I have no idea how I feel, Severus Snape, and you don't help. I'd suppose you would laugh if I told you I felt something akin to.....attachment, fondness, loyalty?, the last syllable was upraised, as if spoken in hope. But you won't say the most base of all the words, I finished flatly, miserable at my own hopefulness.

I never said I didn't love you, she said hotly, both hands firmly around my face like an invitation to a kiss.

Neither did I, was my almost imperceptibly silent return.





A/N: I know this is short, but I promise to make longer chappies next time. Please R&R , and check out my other story: The Somberful Mirth. Title from Areosmiths Livin' on the Edge'