Disclaimer: see chapter 1.
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)
Chapter 3
He had done the right thing - of that he was quite sure. Walking out on her was the only possible course of action. If he had continued - no, that way lay madness. But he could not understand why he felt so bereft. Solitude was a way of life for him. He couldn't possible discover, aged 42, that he was lonely of all things. It was ridiculous! He was Snape - feared and despised by all. That was the life he had chosen because it would prevent him from corrupting and tainting anyone else. He had made his bed and now he must lie in it - alone. Regret would be futile. Snape gritted his teeth and started to pack for his departure tomorrow.
***
Hermione stood for a moment looking after Snape as he left. It had been strange, dancing with him. Ever since that dream two years ago, her mind had been plagued by erotic fantasies featuring him. They had abated a bit during her first year at university when he wasn't there, to surface only at the dead at night. But now this last year, they had grown stronger with his presence. With the real Snape, she had shared some of the most interesting and fruitful tutorials of her university life so far. She had flirted gently with him, even though he probably hadn't noticed it. And he had been almost civil, polite, as if he was trying very hard to live down his reputation. In return, she had done four times as much work on the project as she had really intended. Not that she really minded - it was interesting. He had never praised her directly, but the suggestion she might publish it was as valuable as the most florid praise.
What now? The meeting in Snape's room and the dance had turned her on so that she almost couldn't stand. She was slightly drunk, but she was sure that this was not a factor, except to the extent that it was loosening her inhibitions. To go back to her rooms alone was unthinkable, an anti-climax beyond belief. She considered briefly chatting up one of the other students who would no doubt queue up to offer her coffee or to show her their etchings. But the disappointment at not being asked to the ball by anyone rankled. And it was Snape she really wanted. There was only one decision she could really make.
***
He recognised her strange double-handed knock on his door. For a moment he considered ignoring it, pretending he wasn't there, but then he remembered how persistent she could be. Most probably she'd make a scene in the corridor. So he walked over to the fireplace, turned his face away from the door and said, 'Come in'. Despite his best efforts not to look at her, he caught sight of her in the mirror above the mantelpiece. The makeup was perhaps not as immaculate as it had been a few hours earlier, and some strands of her unruly hair had escaped from their allotted positions, but she was still a vision of loveliness. Snape felt his resolve weakening.
'Why did you walk out?' she asked in a low voice, though she knew the answer really. 'Don't pretend you don't want me - I know you do.' Snape muttered something that contained the words 'teacher', 'student' and 'inappropriate'. Hermione considered this argument for a moment. 'Not any more,' she said. 'The exams and projects are marked. The grades have been assigned. Next year, I'll still be here, but you'll be gone.' He turned then, unable to refrain from gazing at her, and found himself wondering whether his long fingers would reach around her slim waist.
Hermione took as step towards Snape. When he didn't move she took another and then another, until she was close enough to touch him. His eyes seemed to drink her in but he stood perfectly motionless. Slowly, she raised herself on tiptoes and stretched her mouth towards his. Still, he didn't move. So she simply took the initiative and kissed him. For a moment she thought he would not respond, but finally the dam of emotion burst and he put his arms around her and kissed her back. And discovered that his fingers did indeed reach round her waist. 'Make love to me,' she whispered. His eyes widened with surprise, but he made no objection and swept her up in his arms and carried her towards the bedroom.
Snape had always regarded sex as a zero-sum game - each partner trying to take as much pleasure as they could at expense of the other. For the first time in his life, he discovered that night how marvellous it could feel to give pleasure. A feeling so intoxicating that it made him feel drunk and he was sure he could become addicted to it.
***
At what point does a one-night stand transmute into a tentative relationship?
Perhaps it is when one partner wakes up in the night and finds the other still there. Snape woke three times and each time he reached out in panic to check that Hermione was still there - fearful that she had either come to her senses and left, or that she had never been anything other than a figment of his imagination. But each time she was there, fast asleep.
Or perhaps it's when one partner wakes in the morning and the overwhelming emotion at seeing last night's date is not disgust or embarrassment, but delight and desire. When Hermione woke at 6 o'clock, Snape had finally fallen into a deep sleep. She watched his relaxed and unguarded face for a long time. He looked younger without the scowl. She did some sums in her head. Snape had been in the same year as Harry's parents. As far as she and Harry had been able to piece it together, James and Lily had left school and got married within three years, Harry being born about a year after that. That would make Snape about 22 years older than her. She was now 20, so he must be about 42. When awake, he looked older, but asleep, with his hair tousled and his face vulnerable, he looked like a little boy. Still, she was amazed that she had fallen for an older man. Admittedly, she thought boys her own age immature and silly, but she had always imagined finding a nice postgrad or young lecturer in his late twenties or early thirties.
Or perhaps it is when the two people start making tentative plans for what to do once they get out of bed. By eleven that morning, Snape and Hermione had made love again. Twice. And sent a house elf to fetch them breakfast in bed. But now the time had clearly come to get up. 'I need to pack,' said Hermione. 'I have to leave my rooms today.' 'Me, too,' said Snape. He hesitated a moment over his next question, frightened that he might be pushing the boat out too far. 'What are you planning on doing over the summer, Hermione?' Hermione also hesitated for a moment - not because she wasn't sure whether to answer him, but because she genuinely wasn't sure what she was doing over the holidays. She didn't have enough money to travel, having spent her time studying rather than taking a part-time job. There was some research she wanted to do - she was already thinking ahead to starting a PhD in a year's time and she had an idea which she wanted to work up a bit. But that would again preclude her from earning any money, so she would have to fall back on the one place where she could stay for free. 'I was thinking of going home to my parents,' she said finally. 'They only live down the road in Reading and it will be easy for me to apparate back to Oxford, to use the library and lab here.' 'Would you consider coming to my house for a little while?' asked Snape, desperate to ask the question, but fearful of what the answer might be. The words 'a little while' helpfully covered a multitude of possibilities - a few minutes for a cup of tea, a few days, a few weeks, the rest of the summer holidays. Hermione smiled at him. 'That would be very nice,' she said and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
***
And so, Sunday morning two weeks later found them sitting at the breakfast table, fussed over by Piggy, Snape's house elf. She had already plied them with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried tomatoes and toast, and now she was trying to get them to have another cup of tea. Hermione submitted to this with quiet humour, but Snape, who suspected that Piggy was simply curious about this the first female he had ever brought home, snapped at her with mock anger. To block out the argument, Hermione immersed herself in the muggle Sunday newspapers she had insisted on getting delivered.
Snape contemplated her silently. After two weeks, he still had no idea how she regarded their relationship. During the day, she was working on some sort of research project and had been delighted to discover his library and potions lab. During the nights, she made passionate love to him, with an enthusiasm that bordered on desperation. But she had not commented on the situation, and he couldn't raise the courage to ask her for fear of what the answer might be. He thought she was scratching an itch. Yes, that had to be it. She had not been a virgin, but he suspected she had not had a lot of sex. She was simply frustrated and she was working the frustration out on him. In a day, or a week, or a month, the itch would pass and then she would leave. He felt a strange contraction round his heart at the thought. But he had no right to expect any better. Enjoy it while it lasts, he thought grimly.
To take his mind off his depressing line of thought, he picked up one of the muggle papers and started to flick through it. And then he froze. He sat motionless for a full minute. Then he stood up and walked quietly out the room, out of the house and disapparated without a word to anyone.
Help! by Katta (KET on ff.net) (katta_t2002@yahoo.co.uk)
Chapter 3
He had done the right thing - of that he was quite sure. Walking out on her was the only possible course of action. If he had continued - no, that way lay madness. But he could not understand why he felt so bereft. Solitude was a way of life for him. He couldn't possible discover, aged 42, that he was lonely of all things. It was ridiculous! He was Snape - feared and despised by all. That was the life he had chosen because it would prevent him from corrupting and tainting anyone else. He had made his bed and now he must lie in it - alone. Regret would be futile. Snape gritted his teeth and started to pack for his departure tomorrow.
***
Hermione stood for a moment looking after Snape as he left. It had been strange, dancing with him. Ever since that dream two years ago, her mind had been plagued by erotic fantasies featuring him. They had abated a bit during her first year at university when he wasn't there, to surface only at the dead at night. But now this last year, they had grown stronger with his presence. With the real Snape, she had shared some of the most interesting and fruitful tutorials of her university life so far. She had flirted gently with him, even though he probably hadn't noticed it. And he had been almost civil, polite, as if he was trying very hard to live down his reputation. In return, she had done four times as much work on the project as she had really intended. Not that she really minded - it was interesting. He had never praised her directly, but the suggestion she might publish it was as valuable as the most florid praise.
What now? The meeting in Snape's room and the dance had turned her on so that she almost couldn't stand. She was slightly drunk, but she was sure that this was not a factor, except to the extent that it was loosening her inhibitions. To go back to her rooms alone was unthinkable, an anti-climax beyond belief. She considered briefly chatting up one of the other students who would no doubt queue up to offer her coffee or to show her their etchings. But the disappointment at not being asked to the ball by anyone rankled. And it was Snape she really wanted. There was only one decision she could really make.
***
He recognised her strange double-handed knock on his door. For a moment he considered ignoring it, pretending he wasn't there, but then he remembered how persistent she could be. Most probably she'd make a scene in the corridor. So he walked over to the fireplace, turned his face away from the door and said, 'Come in'. Despite his best efforts not to look at her, he caught sight of her in the mirror above the mantelpiece. The makeup was perhaps not as immaculate as it had been a few hours earlier, and some strands of her unruly hair had escaped from their allotted positions, but she was still a vision of loveliness. Snape felt his resolve weakening.
'Why did you walk out?' she asked in a low voice, though she knew the answer really. 'Don't pretend you don't want me - I know you do.' Snape muttered something that contained the words 'teacher', 'student' and 'inappropriate'. Hermione considered this argument for a moment. 'Not any more,' she said. 'The exams and projects are marked. The grades have been assigned. Next year, I'll still be here, but you'll be gone.' He turned then, unable to refrain from gazing at her, and found himself wondering whether his long fingers would reach around her slim waist.
Hermione took as step towards Snape. When he didn't move she took another and then another, until she was close enough to touch him. His eyes seemed to drink her in but he stood perfectly motionless. Slowly, she raised herself on tiptoes and stretched her mouth towards his. Still, he didn't move. So she simply took the initiative and kissed him. For a moment she thought he would not respond, but finally the dam of emotion burst and he put his arms around her and kissed her back. And discovered that his fingers did indeed reach round her waist. 'Make love to me,' she whispered. His eyes widened with surprise, but he made no objection and swept her up in his arms and carried her towards the bedroom.
Snape had always regarded sex as a zero-sum game - each partner trying to take as much pleasure as they could at expense of the other. For the first time in his life, he discovered that night how marvellous it could feel to give pleasure. A feeling so intoxicating that it made him feel drunk and he was sure he could become addicted to it.
***
At what point does a one-night stand transmute into a tentative relationship?
Perhaps it is when one partner wakes up in the night and finds the other still there. Snape woke three times and each time he reached out in panic to check that Hermione was still there - fearful that she had either come to her senses and left, or that she had never been anything other than a figment of his imagination. But each time she was there, fast asleep.
Or perhaps it's when one partner wakes in the morning and the overwhelming emotion at seeing last night's date is not disgust or embarrassment, but delight and desire. When Hermione woke at 6 o'clock, Snape had finally fallen into a deep sleep. She watched his relaxed and unguarded face for a long time. He looked younger without the scowl. She did some sums in her head. Snape had been in the same year as Harry's parents. As far as she and Harry had been able to piece it together, James and Lily had left school and got married within three years, Harry being born about a year after that. That would make Snape about 22 years older than her. She was now 20, so he must be about 42. When awake, he looked older, but asleep, with his hair tousled and his face vulnerable, he looked like a little boy. Still, she was amazed that she had fallen for an older man. Admittedly, she thought boys her own age immature and silly, but she had always imagined finding a nice postgrad or young lecturer in his late twenties or early thirties.
Or perhaps it is when the two people start making tentative plans for what to do once they get out of bed. By eleven that morning, Snape and Hermione had made love again. Twice. And sent a house elf to fetch them breakfast in bed. But now the time had clearly come to get up. 'I need to pack,' said Hermione. 'I have to leave my rooms today.' 'Me, too,' said Snape. He hesitated a moment over his next question, frightened that he might be pushing the boat out too far. 'What are you planning on doing over the summer, Hermione?' Hermione also hesitated for a moment - not because she wasn't sure whether to answer him, but because she genuinely wasn't sure what she was doing over the holidays. She didn't have enough money to travel, having spent her time studying rather than taking a part-time job. There was some research she wanted to do - she was already thinking ahead to starting a PhD in a year's time and she had an idea which she wanted to work up a bit. But that would again preclude her from earning any money, so she would have to fall back on the one place where she could stay for free. 'I was thinking of going home to my parents,' she said finally. 'They only live down the road in Reading and it will be easy for me to apparate back to Oxford, to use the library and lab here.' 'Would you consider coming to my house for a little while?' asked Snape, desperate to ask the question, but fearful of what the answer might be. The words 'a little while' helpfully covered a multitude of possibilities - a few minutes for a cup of tea, a few days, a few weeks, the rest of the summer holidays. Hermione smiled at him. 'That would be very nice,' she said and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
***
And so, Sunday morning two weeks later found them sitting at the breakfast table, fussed over by Piggy, Snape's house elf. She had already plied them with bacon, eggs, mushrooms, fried tomatoes and toast, and now she was trying to get them to have another cup of tea. Hermione submitted to this with quiet humour, but Snape, who suspected that Piggy was simply curious about this the first female he had ever brought home, snapped at her with mock anger. To block out the argument, Hermione immersed herself in the muggle Sunday newspapers she had insisted on getting delivered.
Snape contemplated her silently. After two weeks, he still had no idea how she regarded their relationship. During the day, she was working on some sort of research project and had been delighted to discover his library and potions lab. During the nights, she made passionate love to him, with an enthusiasm that bordered on desperation. But she had not commented on the situation, and he couldn't raise the courage to ask her for fear of what the answer might be. He thought she was scratching an itch. Yes, that had to be it. She had not been a virgin, but he suspected she had not had a lot of sex. She was simply frustrated and she was working the frustration out on him. In a day, or a week, or a month, the itch would pass and then she would leave. He felt a strange contraction round his heart at the thought. But he had no right to expect any better. Enjoy it while it lasts, he thought grimly.
To take his mind off his depressing line of thought, he picked up one of the muggle papers and started to flick through it. And then he froze. He sat motionless for a full minute. Then he stood up and walked quietly out the room, out of the house and disapparated without a word to anyone.