Chapter Fourteen Snape's revenge, or Hermione Gets Hers
The next few weeks passed uneventfully in Hogwarts. Students returned to their studies, professors returned to their classes, and Snape and Hermione returned to their squabbles.
Ailie's 'punishment' had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. The girl had taken to wizard magic with zest, having been deprived of her own, natural magic. Her assistance in Snape's classroom had evolved into a grudging apprenticeship, as Snape realised that her existing knowledge of herbs and elements would only need a little supplementation to give her a good grounding in potions-making.
It seemed Hermione and Snape argued almost as often as they could. To outside observers, they appeared unable to hold a civil conversation, one always provoking the other to anger- Snape usually initiating it. Only the most astute of observers would have noticed that they appeared to be enjoying it.
There was one particularly astute observer keeping an eye on Hermione, and that was Snape himself. He had begun researching potions that would have the same effect as that which he had imbibed on Christmas Eve, and was not pleased with the results. The list had been narrowed down, but he was stuck because he did not know Hermione's true motivation in giving him the potion. Had she deliberately set out to provoke him in a sexual manner, or had she only wished to taunt him in a general way?
From what he knew of Hermione Granger, and his breadth of knowledge was fairly wide, having not only taught her for seven years but having had her mischievous presence forced on him more times than he would care to remember, she was not the sort to deliberately attract a man. It simply didn't gel with the studious aspects of the girl, the annoyingly Gryffindor way she had of being up-front about her ideas and thoughts.
However, her behaviour of late had changed somewhat. He was, through years of training, an observant man, and had noticed the changes in Hermione's wardrobe and behaviour. Her carriage was more that of a woman, now, less unsure. She wore her clothes with more sense of grace and style, and, consciously or not, was as a consequence more alluring. Why, the other evening, sitting on opposite sides of the fire in the staff room, Snape had noticed several of these changes at once. Hermione had sat with her chin resting on her hand, staring into the fire; an apparently innocent pose, but it had drawn attention to the graceful curve of her neck, revealed as it was when her hair was up. The collar of her blouse had been open, revealing just enough to tease the eye into wanting to see through the shadow cast by the shirt. Then, she had stretched, running her hands over her neck and into her hair, reaching up to stretch her shoulders. This movement had brought her robes tight across her chest, and it would have taken a stronger man than Snape was not to notice the curving lift of her breasts as she stretched and yawned.
It was possible that these had been the actions of an innocent. He would be able to accept that more easily if it had merely been an isolated incident, but there had been other occasions. Once, he had caught Miss Granger watching him eat his soup, though she had immediately turned away from his glare. Another time she had seated herself at his side for a meal, and he had been forced to endure her delicate lips curving around a spoonful of syllabub. Yet another time, he had followed her to the library after catching her again on one of her late-night jaunts (only to annoy her, of course), and she had deliberately sat across the table from him, running her fingers up and down her neck in apparent contemplation of what she had been reading.
Snape was by no means a vain man, and knew that it could be construed as stupid to assume Hermione's new awareness of the gifts of womanhood were aimed at him. However, his suspicions were aroused. There seemed to be too many coincidences.
His own methods of research seemed to be bringing him no closer to an answer, so Snape decided the best path was to needle the information out of Ailie. Their work together had consolidated the truce between them, and the girl seemed to trust him, to a point. It would take careful questioning, done over a long period, to get the information he wanted, but Snape was a patient man. He could wait, and his revenge would be all the sweeter.
Things progressed well, and soon Snape was able to discern that, while Ailie herself was uncertain of the makings of the particular potion used, the recipe lay in a book in Hermione's room.
The obvious way to retrieve the book was to enter her room by stealth, and, as the wards on most Hogwarts doors were almost unbreakable, he would have to enter when the woman herself opened it. Snape managed to find out that Ailie and Hermione conversed in the latter's rooms most nights after dinner, and beyond that it was simply a case of deciding which night would be preferable.
Snape knew there was a chance of discovery if Ailie discerned his motives or presence, but fortunately the girl had given him a bounty in the form of texts teaching methods of meditation. Hermione, Ailie said, had given them to her in the hope that their use might prevent some of the more serious effects of their soul-bondage, and according to Ailie, they had been relatively successful. Grasping at any way to regain the privacy of his own head, Snape had studied the texts and added a few methods of his own. Now, the psychic link between them seemed manageable, and could almost be blotted out with concentrated effort.
So it happened that one evening, Snape, always keeping a careful eye on the two girls, slipped out of the Great Hall almost directly behind them and, feeling carefully behind a gargoyle he had discovered earlier, pulled out and donned his invisibility cloak. Following silently behind them, Snape stalked Ailie and Hermione through the corridors to Hermione's rooms.
It was a matter of simple agility to slip in the door before it closed itself, and Snape found himself for the second time ever in Hermione's rooms. He watched as the two girls pottered around preparing tea, and as they settled down in front of the fire. As they did so, Snape grimaced. This was the part of his plan that he decidedly did not like; in order to remain unnoticed, he would need to stay until the two women retired for the evening, search Hermione's bookshelves, and depart when she opened the door the next morning. That would mean listening to their insipid girlish conversation until they decided they had had enough for one evening; it would be much longer, he surmised, than his tolerance could reasonably bear.
Snape leant against a wall and prepared for the interminable wait.
He attempted to ignore their quiet chatter for all of ten minutes, when he heard his own name mentioned. His interest piqued, Snape gave up his feeble attempts.
'I just can't understand his motives,' Ailie was saying, her face puzzled. 'He's almost being nice to me at the moment.'
A small smile crossed Hermione's face. 'Well,' she said, 'he does have a selfish motive. The better you feel, the easier his life is, at least until we can find some sort of remedy for you two.'
'There is none,' Ailie said despondently. 'Trust me.'
'There has to be something,' said Hermione, a stubborn look crossing her features. She got up and crossed to the fire, a frown of contemplation on her brow. For a microsecond, her eyes flashed across the place where Snape leant, and a brief spike of alarm darted through his chest. The moment passed, however, and Snape reminded himself that he was beyond her powers of perception. Hermione's eyes rested back on Ailie.
'I think we need to visit the libraries in London before I can go any further,' Hermione said, sitting back down next to her friend. 'There are quite a few new texts on the power-of-the-mind research being conducted in Florida. Besides, it will be good to show you some of muggle London, and you'll get to meet Ron.'
Ailie smiled. 'Yes, I would like to meet this 'Ron.' Harry told me quite a few tales about him.' Snape saw Hermione's bright smile, and rolled his eyes. Of course. Weasley. The red-headed idiot had been slavering after Hermione for years. An interesting sparkle crossed Ailie's eye, and Snape paid more interest. Ailie smiled slyly. 'Sirius told me a few things about Ron, too.'
Hermione looked at her friend, puzzled, and Ailie's smile grew wider. 'Apparently you and Ron were especially bored one day...?' she said. Hermione closed her eyes and groaned.
'Oh, no. He told Sirius.' She brought her hands to her temples, covering her eyes. 'Well, at least he was discreet about it. Harry would have had a breakdown, I swear. He was bad enough when he walked in on-' Hermione looked up, and shut her mouth firmly. Snape leant forward curiously. This conversation was incredibly revealing, but it was hardly his fault that two grown women decided to prattle on like children in front of him. The thought that he was the invader failed to cross his mind.
Ailie's eyes widened. 'He walked in on what? When?'
'No!' Hermione blushed.
Ailie sat back, surveying her friend contemplatively. 'Hmm. It had to be recently, because you wouldn't be so embarrassed about it if I hadn't been here. And the only time Harry's been here since I came was Christmas. Hmm. Christmas...' She trailed off, and the blush on Hermione's cheeks grew to beet-red hue. A slow smile spread across Ailie's face, but she shook her head. 'No, it wasn't a certain Potions Master, because you would have told me, and Harry, I think, would have gone spare. It couldn't have been Harry himself, and the rest of the male teaching staff is unlikely, therefore I deduce... Sirius!'
Snape, abandoning all pretence to himself of disinterest, had been following a similar logic path, though the conclusion shoved aside any musings on Ailie's interesting statement in the middle of her reasoning. His attention was caught by the last word. Black? Potter had caught Hermione with Black doing... what?
'I knew I shouldn't have let you read my Sherlock Holmes collection,' Hermione mumbled, and Snape frowned. His jaw clenched as he watched Hermione's blush grow even hotter, and a little smile rest on her lips. Ailie laughed in a surprised fashion, and looked at Hermione incredulously.
'You never told me that you and Sirius were- well, I don't know. What did you do? What happened?'
Hermione looked at Ailie, sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. 'I just- ' she looked down. 'Well, I was just wondering- and I asked- and then Harry- ' She took a deep breath, embarrassment obviously halting her words. 'Well, Sirius isn't a bad kisser.' Her mouth clamped shut and Hermione looked steadily at the ground, obviously embarrassed as hell. Snape felt the nails of his hands digging into his palms. Ailie's smile couldn't get any wider.
'Well, well, well. I knew he had a thing for you,' she said.
Hermione shook her head. 'It wasn't like that.' She caught the look on Ailie's face and rolled her eyes. 'Oh, forget it.' Ailie laughed, and continued laughing when she caught Hermione's chastising look.
'Oh, wow,' Ailie said breathlessly, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of an eye. 'Anyway, when will this London visit happen?'
Hermione rubbed her temples. 'I don't know. I need to do some preparation with some of the students- there are a few that I'm tutoring in Potions-' Snape bit back a snort- 'and I need to summarise my research in the library, if only Snape will leave me alone long enough to get some actual work done.'
Ailie's face once again assumed a knowing look. 'Our Potions professor has been keeping you up late of nights, has he?'
Snape's ears perked up again. He had assumed that any conversation between these two girls would have to be tolerated rather than used as entertainment. Some of the remarks Ailie was throwing forth were very interesting indeed.
Hermione glared at her. 'Ailie, I don't like what you're insinuating. Severus Snape has been, if anything, making more of a pest of himself than usual, and is preventing my research from continuing at a decent pace. At least in London, I won't have to worry about being watched over by that malignant bat!' A slight flush returned to Hermione's cheeks, and her lips compressed in anger. Snape was intrigued to hear himself described as a 'pest.' Obviously his intimidating demeanour no longer impressed Miss Granger.
Ailie smiled widely. 'Don't get angry when you're the one wandering about at night when you know he's going to be prowling the corridors.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione gasped.
'I do not!' she said. 'He has no right to harass me simply because I need to work when things are peaceful-' She was cut off by Ailie's laughter, and glared at her friend. 'Stop it, Ailie. He hates me. The other night he sat directly opposite me for one and a half hours, glaring at me while I tried to work. Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate with someone staring at you like... that?'
Ailie stopped laughing, but still smiled at Hermione. 'Hermione, I know it's difficult. You need to fight back.'
'I don't know how you would fight back against that,' Hermione said, looking down. Snape briefly admired the charming portrait her figure made silhouetted against the couch. She bit her lip. 'How do I fight back when the only tactic he uses is that stare?' Her voice was low, and Snape had to strain to catch it. Hermione frowned. 'You don't know how horrible it can be. He makes me feel so self-conscious.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Well, that had been his exact intention, but he had thought Granger had gone beyond being intimidated by his tactics. She was obviously a better actress than he had given her credit for. He wondered exactly what else he should give her credit for.
Ailie leant forward and patted Hermione's shoulder gently. ''Mione,' she said softly. 'We've talked about this before. You know what I would do.'
Hermione's frown deepened and she shook her head. 'You know what I think, Ailie.'
Snape pondered on the conversation for a while as the two girls sat quietly. Ailie had made several references that were very interesting indeed. Snape considered what her motives could be. He doubted that she knew he was in the room- he had worked hard to assure that that wouldn't happen, and he was a careful man- so her comments were unlikely for his benefit. Her remarks seemed to indicate that Hermione was either aware of his attraction to her, or... there was another reason, but Snape's logical mind shied away from considering it. The idea that a former student of his would be in any way attracted to him was beyond consideration, especially when it came to Hermione Granger. No.
So Ailie had told Hermione about his... chemical reaction in her general presence. Snape's lip curled. The girl, no doubt, could hardly eat for the nausea. He let out a silent sigh. Well, he could not blame her. She had done nothing to warrant his unwilling observance, and she had every reason to despise him.
This did, however, solve his dilemma as to her behaviour toward him over the past weeks. She was deliberately taunting him. There could be no other answer.
Snape pursed his lips in thought. Around him, the two girls began to prepare to retire, putting away the tea things and tidying up in general. Snape noted in passing that Ailie left Hermione's apartments as the other girl retreated to her bed chamber- interesting, as Snape had imagined that the girls were sharing rooms. He stayed in the same position until Hermione's light was put out, thoughts churning around in his head. With a frown, he finally made his silent way forward, eyes searching the dimness of the sitting room for an appropriate bookshelf. He searched over the shelves in the room, but it didn't take long to assert that the book he was looking for was not there. A brief glance into the other room confirmed more bookshelves within. Snape stepped back from the doorway, considering. Entering Hermione's bedchambers would not be an invasion of her privacy because she would never know he was there. The risk of detection, however, would increase. It was a necessary evil.
Snape avoided looking at the figure on the bed as he entered the chamber, heading directly toward the small set of bookshelves on the far wall. Though he felt no compunction in searching for the book that contained the potion, he did see the impropriety in invading Hermione's bedroom, and to look at her in such a vulnerable state without her consent was violating the trust of Hogwarts.
Quickly, he perused the shelves of books. An eyebrow quirked at what he found there. While the shelves in the living area had contained serious tomes on muggle and wizard science, potions scriptures and intellectual literature, the books Hermione kept for her most private chambers were a study in eclecticism. Snape was well aware that a collection of books provided an interesting look into the mind of their owner. This collection was very interesting indeed. Unable to help himself, Snape ran a finger over the spines of the neatly stacked but care-worn volumes, holding the softly illuminated tip of his wand up to the books to view their titles. Before his eyes such names as Austen and Bronte floated by- muggle authors, he knew, though he had not devoted much time to their works. Other tomes bore the fanciful names of anthologies of poetry- 'Minds Unbound,' 'Wings of Desire,' and the interestingly named and well-loved copy of 'Mrs Periwinkle's Poems for Children.' Another collection he recognised- Donne, he noted with a slight smile. He should have known that the style of the poet would appeal to such a one as Hermione Granger, with the logical exploration of romantic depths. Tucked neatly beside what was obviously the poetry section- Hermione, Snape mused, had the soul of a librarian- was a tattered old exercise book. He resisted the impulse to draw it from its place and explore its contents- plundering Miss Granger's teenage compositions or whimsical musings was an invasion even he could not excuse.
A few well-thumbed novels rested at the end of the bottom shelf, but what surprised was the collection taking up much of the top shelves. Snape noted with interest that several old schoolbooks occupied this place, orderly little notes sticking up from various pages of many books he had prescribed himself, including two editions of Moste Potente Potions. A copy of Hogwarts: A History, neatly covered with a dust-cover, rested against a stack of notebooks. Snape recalled seeing the more recent editions of some of these texts on Hermione's shelves in the living room; these were obviously infinitely more dear.
With a shake of his head, Snape concentrated on the Potions section of Hermione's private shelves, telling himself that he most certainly was not interested in the woman's notes in any of the books she used for his class. Eventually, he noticed a thin little volume tucked in between two other books, and plucked it out. The red cover displayed the glitzy title: Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook: The Essential Teenage Witch's Guide. Jackpot.
Snape cringed as he flicked through the pages. This stuff was puerile; the potions equivalent of a teen magazine. It was impossible to discern at a glance the difference between one and another. A sigh from the direction of the bed reminded him that his current precarious position, and Snape hastily cut off his light and snapped the book closed. He was trapped in here until dawn, or until Hermione left, as only she could unlock the door. He could wile away the hours with undoubtedly fascinating perusal of the potions book.
Snape bit back a groan as he stood. The years were telling in his knees. He wondered when he had grown old. Probably years ago. Another sigh sounded from the bed, and Snape turned his head. Though it was dim in the room, the figure of Hermione curved gently into the night. He could see her darkly curled hair fanning out on the moonlit pillowcase, could see one white shoulder peeking out from underneath the blanket. For a moment, Snape allowed himself to drink in the sight of such beauty. Then he passed on.
Snape moved to the window, hunched into the pool of light there, and began to sift through the sickening trash that was Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook.
***
Hermione yawned and stretched. She looked over at the clock: only 7am. She yawned again, and smiled. There was something so wonderful in that moment when one emerged from the land of dreams into a nice warm bed and sunlight on your pillow.
Though she could remember none of her dreams, their tendrils still clung to Hermione as she rose from the bed. Her skin buzzed. She remembered the time she and Harry had taken the Weasleys to Blackmoor pier, and she and Ron had sat at the front of the roller coaster. This was the way she had felt exiting the ride- full of bubbles and anticipation and the sweetness of the day.
She drew in breath sharply as her bare feet touched the floor. Nothing like an icy cold floor to wake a person up, she thought. With a gleeful feeling she sprang away from the bed and padded into the bathroom.
'A bath this morning,' she said quietly to herself, smiling as she set it to pour. With a wave of her wand she magicked a favourite concerto to fill the air. Satisfied, Hermione undressed and began to bathe.
What was with her this morning? she wondered. She felt as if she were floating in a bubble. This happily expectant feeling was almost as perturbing as feeling depressed. With a short sigh, Hermione shook her head, clearing the cobwebs that seemed to addle her brain, and began to wash her hair.
A short while later, she emerged from the more private areas of her rooms, fully dressed and ready for the day. It was still too early to go to breakfast. With a shrug Hermione lit the fire and apparated a tea set. Some quiet moments drinking tea were just what she needed.
As soon as the tea was poured, Hermione sat back and stared into the fire. The jumping flames helped to order her thoughts, of which she was glad. Her thinking had been far too disordered lately.
She had to admit to herself that most of the disruption had centered on Severus Snape. When she had started thinking about him this way, she did not know. Certainly it had to be before Ailie and Sirius had suggested he was in some way attracted to her. Hermione knew, deep within herself, that the revelation had been so shocking because she simply couldn't imagine a man like Severus Snape even sparing her a second glance.
Perhaps it had been Ailie's arrival that had shown Hermione how little of a woman she really was, but she suspected she had been feeling this way for a long time. There seemed so much to learn. In book learning she was supremely confident; her passion had always been study, of anything, and she knew that her intelligence could carry her through any academic territory that she hadn't yet covered. That was it, however; all her knowledge was academic. She needed some hands-on learning.
Hermione had not yet allowed herself to dwell on what she thought of Snape. Letting her mind dwell on him seemed a dangerous action. He was a complete bastard, after all. She had gained some ground with him, she felt sure, by her new-found ability to stand up to him, but any sign of weakness would be pounced upon mercilessly.
She did, however, realise that she felt some sort of... attraction was too strong a word. Fascination, perhaps? Curiosity. Yes, she felt a curiosity about him. It was entirely born from her inexperience, she assured herself; Snape was, after all, perhaps the only such man she could contemplate in Hogwarts, and the idea that he had dreamt about her had brought him forward in her mind. It was as good an explanation as she could endure at such an early hour, anyway.
Impatiently, Hermione put down her tea cup and rose. Her bath had succeeded in blowing away some of the cobwebs of sleep that had clung to her, but the excited, anticipatory feeling under her skin would not go away. She wanted to run, to dance; she wanted to hear flattery drip from the tongue of some handsome man and feel his eyes on her. She could almost feel eyes on her as she walked across the room, picking up the materials she would need for the day. She glanced at the clock: still too early to appear at breakfast. A small frown marred her forehead, and she ran a hand idly through her hair. As her hand slid down her neck, a sudden picture slipped into her mind. Severus Snape's chin would feel stubbly on her neck, she was sure, and that grating against her sensitive skin would make her shiver...
With a disgusted snort, Hermione strode over to the coat rack to retrieve her cloak. She needed to walk these thoughts out of her head.
She didn't notice the slight breeze that swept past her in the corridor.
***
Snape heard the slam of the door behind him with a grim satisfaction, and threw off his cloak as he stalked through his rooms. His anger was directed at himself.
He had been very close to following Hermione as she left her rooms. Somehow, the woman had got under his skin, her cloying sweetness drawing him in, making him want... Snape gritted his teeth and began to rip off his robes. This was entirely out of order. This physical attraction to her was utterly impossible; all it took was a graceful movement on the girl's part and he was practically salivating for her.
The way she had ran her had over her neck... Snape closed his eyes and turned the cold water in the shower to full, refusing to gasp at the harshness of it on his heated skin. What had she been dreaming about? Had it been Black meeting her in her dreams, his hands she had been picturing on her neck? The conversation between the two girls the night before had played on his mind. The very thought of Sirius Black laying a hand on Hermione made his stomach roil. The dreamy look on her face this morning tantalised him. What would it be like to prompt such musings in such a beautiful woman?
Snape clenched his fists in frustration. It was exactly such thoughts that angered him most. He had no business pondering such ridiculous ideas and even less business wanting them. If he had to oblivate himself, he would forget this ridiculous attraction to Hermione Granger.
With such resolutions in mind, Snape purged his frustrations in water.
The next few weeks passed uneventfully in Hogwarts. Students returned to their studies, professors returned to their classes, and Snape and Hermione returned to their squabbles.
Ailie's 'punishment' had turned out to be a pleasant surprise. The girl had taken to wizard magic with zest, having been deprived of her own, natural magic. Her assistance in Snape's classroom had evolved into a grudging apprenticeship, as Snape realised that her existing knowledge of herbs and elements would only need a little supplementation to give her a good grounding in potions-making.
It seemed Hermione and Snape argued almost as often as they could. To outside observers, they appeared unable to hold a civil conversation, one always provoking the other to anger- Snape usually initiating it. Only the most astute of observers would have noticed that they appeared to be enjoying it.
There was one particularly astute observer keeping an eye on Hermione, and that was Snape himself. He had begun researching potions that would have the same effect as that which he had imbibed on Christmas Eve, and was not pleased with the results. The list had been narrowed down, but he was stuck because he did not know Hermione's true motivation in giving him the potion. Had she deliberately set out to provoke him in a sexual manner, or had she only wished to taunt him in a general way?
From what he knew of Hermione Granger, and his breadth of knowledge was fairly wide, having not only taught her for seven years but having had her mischievous presence forced on him more times than he would care to remember, she was not the sort to deliberately attract a man. It simply didn't gel with the studious aspects of the girl, the annoyingly Gryffindor way she had of being up-front about her ideas and thoughts.
However, her behaviour of late had changed somewhat. He was, through years of training, an observant man, and had noticed the changes in Hermione's wardrobe and behaviour. Her carriage was more that of a woman, now, less unsure. She wore her clothes with more sense of grace and style, and, consciously or not, was as a consequence more alluring. Why, the other evening, sitting on opposite sides of the fire in the staff room, Snape had noticed several of these changes at once. Hermione had sat with her chin resting on her hand, staring into the fire; an apparently innocent pose, but it had drawn attention to the graceful curve of her neck, revealed as it was when her hair was up. The collar of her blouse had been open, revealing just enough to tease the eye into wanting to see through the shadow cast by the shirt. Then, she had stretched, running her hands over her neck and into her hair, reaching up to stretch her shoulders. This movement had brought her robes tight across her chest, and it would have taken a stronger man than Snape was not to notice the curving lift of her breasts as she stretched and yawned.
It was possible that these had been the actions of an innocent. He would be able to accept that more easily if it had merely been an isolated incident, but there had been other occasions. Once, he had caught Miss Granger watching him eat his soup, though she had immediately turned away from his glare. Another time she had seated herself at his side for a meal, and he had been forced to endure her delicate lips curving around a spoonful of syllabub. Yet another time, he had followed her to the library after catching her again on one of her late-night jaunts (only to annoy her, of course), and she had deliberately sat across the table from him, running her fingers up and down her neck in apparent contemplation of what she had been reading.
Snape was by no means a vain man, and knew that it could be construed as stupid to assume Hermione's new awareness of the gifts of womanhood were aimed at him. However, his suspicions were aroused. There seemed to be too many coincidences.
His own methods of research seemed to be bringing him no closer to an answer, so Snape decided the best path was to needle the information out of Ailie. Their work together had consolidated the truce between them, and the girl seemed to trust him, to a point. It would take careful questioning, done over a long period, to get the information he wanted, but Snape was a patient man. He could wait, and his revenge would be all the sweeter.
Things progressed well, and soon Snape was able to discern that, while Ailie herself was uncertain of the makings of the particular potion used, the recipe lay in a book in Hermione's room.
The obvious way to retrieve the book was to enter her room by stealth, and, as the wards on most Hogwarts doors were almost unbreakable, he would have to enter when the woman herself opened it. Snape managed to find out that Ailie and Hermione conversed in the latter's rooms most nights after dinner, and beyond that it was simply a case of deciding which night would be preferable.
Snape knew there was a chance of discovery if Ailie discerned his motives or presence, but fortunately the girl had given him a bounty in the form of texts teaching methods of meditation. Hermione, Ailie said, had given them to her in the hope that their use might prevent some of the more serious effects of their soul-bondage, and according to Ailie, they had been relatively successful. Grasping at any way to regain the privacy of his own head, Snape had studied the texts and added a few methods of his own. Now, the psychic link between them seemed manageable, and could almost be blotted out with concentrated effort.
So it happened that one evening, Snape, always keeping a careful eye on the two girls, slipped out of the Great Hall almost directly behind them and, feeling carefully behind a gargoyle he had discovered earlier, pulled out and donned his invisibility cloak. Following silently behind them, Snape stalked Ailie and Hermione through the corridors to Hermione's rooms.
It was a matter of simple agility to slip in the door before it closed itself, and Snape found himself for the second time ever in Hermione's rooms. He watched as the two girls pottered around preparing tea, and as they settled down in front of the fire. As they did so, Snape grimaced. This was the part of his plan that he decidedly did not like; in order to remain unnoticed, he would need to stay until the two women retired for the evening, search Hermione's bookshelves, and depart when she opened the door the next morning. That would mean listening to their insipid girlish conversation until they decided they had had enough for one evening; it would be much longer, he surmised, than his tolerance could reasonably bear.
Snape leant against a wall and prepared for the interminable wait.
He attempted to ignore their quiet chatter for all of ten minutes, when he heard his own name mentioned. His interest piqued, Snape gave up his feeble attempts.
'I just can't understand his motives,' Ailie was saying, her face puzzled. 'He's almost being nice to me at the moment.'
A small smile crossed Hermione's face. 'Well,' she said, 'he does have a selfish motive. The better you feel, the easier his life is, at least until we can find some sort of remedy for you two.'
'There is none,' Ailie said despondently. 'Trust me.'
'There has to be something,' said Hermione, a stubborn look crossing her features. She got up and crossed to the fire, a frown of contemplation on her brow. For a microsecond, her eyes flashed across the place where Snape leant, and a brief spike of alarm darted through his chest. The moment passed, however, and Snape reminded himself that he was beyond her powers of perception. Hermione's eyes rested back on Ailie.
'I think we need to visit the libraries in London before I can go any further,' Hermione said, sitting back down next to her friend. 'There are quite a few new texts on the power-of-the-mind research being conducted in Florida. Besides, it will be good to show you some of muggle London, and you'll get to meet Ron.'
Ailie smiled. 'Yes, I would like to meet this 'Ron.' Harry told me quite a few tales about him.' Snape saw Hermione's bright smile, and rolled his eyes. Of course. Weasley. The red-headed idiot had been slavering after Hermione for years. An interesting sparkle crossed Ailie's eye, and Snape paid more interest. Ailie smiled slyly. 'Sirius told me a few things about Ron, too.'
Hermione looked at her friend, puzzled, and Ailie's smile grew wider. 'Apparently you and Ron were especially bored one day...?' she said. Hermione closed her eyes and groaned.
'Oh, no. He told Sirius.' She brought her hands to her temples, covering her eyes. 'Well, at least he was discreet about it. Harry would have had a breakdown, I swear. He was bad enough when he walked in on-' Hermione looked up, and shut her mouth firmly. Snape leant forward curiously. This conversation was incredibly revealing, but it was hardly his fault that two grown women decided to prattle on like children in front of him. The thought that he was the invader failed to cross his mind.
Ailie's eyes widened. 'He walked in on what? When?'
'No!' Hermione blushed.
Ailie sat back, surveying her friend contemplatively. 'Hmm. It had to be recently, because you wouldn't be so embarrassed about it if I hadn't been here. And the only time Harry's been here since I came was Christmas. Hmm. Christmas...' She trailed off, and the blush on Hermione's cheeks grew to beet-red hue. A slow smile spread across Ailie's face, but she shook her head. 'No, it wasn't a certain Potions Master, because you would have told me, and Harry, I think, would have gone spare. It couldn't have been Harry himself, and the rest of the male teaching staff is unlikely, therefore I deduce... Sirius!'
Snape, abandoning all pretence to himself of disinterest, had been following a similar logic path, though the conclusion shoved aside any musings on Ailie's interesting statement in the middle of her reasoning. His attention was caught by the last word. Black? Potter had caught Hermione with Black doing... what?
'I knew I shouldn't have let you read my Sherlock Holmes collection,' Hermione mumbled, and Snape frowned. His jaw clenched as he watched Hermione's blush grow even hotter, and a little smile rest on her lips. Ailie laughed in a surprised fashion, and looked at Hermione incredulously.
'You never told me that you and Sirius were- well, I don't know. What did you do? What happened?'
Hermione looked at Ailie, sighed, and shrugged her shoulders. 'I just- ' she looked down. 'Well, I was just wondering- and I asked- and then Harry- ' She took a deep breath, embarrassment obviously halting her words. 'Well, Sirius isn't a bad kisser.' Her mouth clamped shut and Hermione looked steadily at the ground, obviously embarrassed as hell. Snape felt the nails of his hands digging into his palms. Ailie's smile couldn't get any wider.
'Well, well, well. I knew he had a thing for you,' she said.
Hermione shook her head. 'It wasn't like that.' She caught the look on Ailie's face and rolled her eyes. 'Oh, forget it.' Ailie laughed, and continued laughing when she caught Hermione's chastising look.
'Oh, wow,' Ailie said breathlessly, wiping tears of laughter from the corner of an eye. 'Anyway, when will this London visit happen?'
Hermione rubbed her temples. 'I don't know. I need to do some preparation with some of the students- there are a few that I'm tutoring in Potions-' Snape bit back a snort- 'and I need to summarise my research in the library, if only Snape will leave me alone long enough to get some actual work done.'
Ailie's face once again assumed a knowing look. 'Our Potions professor has been keeping you up late of nights, has he?'
Snape's ears perked up again. He had assumed that any conversation between these two girls would have to be tolerated rather than used as entertainment. Some of the remarks Ailie was throwing forth were very interesting indeed.
Hermione glared at her. 'Ailie, I don't like what you're insinuating. Severus Snape has been, if anything, making more of a pest of himself than usual, and is preventing my research from continuing at a decent pace. At least in London, I won't have to worry about being watched over by that malignant bat!' A slight flush returned to Hermione's cheeks, and her lips compressed in anger. Snape was intrigued to hear himself described as a 'pest.' Obviously his intimidating demeanour no longer impressed Miss Granger.
Ailie smiled widely. 'Don't get angry when you're the one wandering about at night when you know he's going to be prowling the corridors.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Hermione gasped.
'I do not!' she said. 'He has no right to harass me simply because I need to work when things are peaceful-' She was cut off by Ailie's laughter, and glared at her friend. 'Stop it, Ailie. He hates me. The other night he sat directly opposite me for one and a half hours, glaring at me while I tried to work. Do you know how difficult it is to concentrate with someone staring at you like... that?'
Ailie stopped laughing, but still smiled at Hermione. 'Hermione, I know it's difficult. You need to fight back.'
'I don't know how you would fight back against that,' Hermione said, looking down. Snape briefly admired the charming portrait her figure made silhouetted against the couch. She bit her lip. 'How do I fight back when the only tactic he uses is that stare?' Her voice was low, and Snape had to strain to catch it. Hermione frowned. 'You don't know how horrible it can be. He makes me feel so self-conscious.' Snape raised an eyebrow. Well, that had been his exact intention, but he had thought Granger had gone beyond being intimidated by his tactics. She was obviously a better actress than he had given her credit for. He wondered exactly what else he should give her credit for.
Ailie leant forward and patted Hermione's shoulder gently. ''Mione,' she said softly. 'We've talked about this before. You know what I would do.'
Hermione's frown deepened and she shook her head. 'You know what I think, Ailie.'
Snape pondered on the conversation for a while as the two girls sat quietly. Ailie had made several references that were very interesting indeed. Snape considered what her motives could be. He doubted that she knew he was in the room- he had worked hard to assure that that wouldn't happen, and he was a careful man- so her comments were unlikely for his benefit. Her remarks seemed to indicate that Hermione was either aware of his attraction to her, or... there was another reason, but Snape's logical mind shied away from considering it. The idea that a former student of his would be in any way attracted to him was beyond consideration, especially when it came to Hermione Granger. No.
So Ailie had told Hermione about his... chemical reaction in her general presence. Snape's lip curled. The girl, no doubt, could hardly eat for the nausea. He let out a silent sigh. Well, he could not blame her. She had done nothing to warrant his unwilling observance, and she had every reason to despise him.
This did, however, solve his dilemma as to her behaviour toward him over the past weeks. She was deliberately taunting him. There could be no other answer.
Snape pursed his lips in thought. Around him, the two girls began to prepare to retire, putting away the tea things and tidying up in general. Snape noted in passing that Ailie left Hermione's apartments as the other girl retreated to her bed chamber- interesting, as Snape had imagined that the girls were sharing rooms. He stayed in the same position until Hermione's light was put out, thoughts churning around in his head. With a frown, he finally made his silent way forward, eyes searching the dimness of the sitting room for an appropriate bookshelf. He searched over the shelves in the room, but it didn't take long to assert that the book he was looking for was not there. A brief glance into the other room confirmed more bookshelves within. Snape stepped back from the doorway, considering. Entering Hermione's bedchambers would not be an invasion of her privacy because she would never know he was there. The risk of detection, however, would increase. It was a necessary evil.
Snape avoided looking at the figure on the bed as he entered the chamber, heading directly toward the small set of bookshelves on the far wall. Though he felt no compunction in searching for the book that contained the potion, he did see the impropriety in invading Hermione's bedroom, and to look at her in such a vulnerable state without her consent was violating the trust of Hogwarts.
Quickly, he perused the shelves of books. An eyebrow quirked at what he found there. While the shelves in the living area had contained serious tomes on muggle and wizard science, potions scriptures and intellectual literature, the books Hermione kept for her most private chambers were a study in eclecticism. Snape was well aware that a collection of books provided an interesting look into the mind of their owner. This collection was very interesting indeed. Unable to help himself, Snape ran a finger over the spines of the neatly stacked but care-worn volumes, holding the softly illuminated tip of his wand up to the books to view their titles. Before his eyes such names as Austen and Bronte floated by- muggle authors, he knew, though he had not devoted much time to their works. Other tomes bore the fanciful names of anthologies of poetry- 'Minds Unbound,' 'Wings of Desire,' and the interestingly named and well-loved copy of 'Mrs Periwinkle's Poems for Children.' Another collection he recognised- Donne, he noted with a slight smile. He should have known that the style of the poet would appeal to such a one as Hermione Granger, with the logical exploration of romantic depths. Tucked neatly beside what was obviously the poetry section- Hermione, Snape mused, had the soul of a librarian- was a tattered old exercise book. He resisted the impulse to draw it from its place and explore its contents- plundering Miss Granger's teenage compositions or whimsical musings was an invasion even he could not excuse.
A few well-thumbed novels rested at the end of the bottom shelf, but what surprised was the collection taking up much of the top shelves. Snape noted with interest that several old schoolbooks occupied this place, orderly little notes sticking up from various pages of many books he had prescribed himself, including two editions of Moste Potente Potions. A copy of Hogwarts: A History, neatly covered with a dust-cover, rested against a stack of notebooks. Snape recalled seeing the more recent editions of some of these texts on Hermione's shelves in the living room; these were obviously infinitely more dear.
With a shake of his head, Snape concentrated on the Potions section of Hermione's private shelves, telling himself that he most certainly was not interested in the woman's notes in any of the books she used for his class. Eventually, he noticed a thin little volume tucked in between two other books, and plucked it out. The red cover displayed the glitzy title: Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook: The Essential Teenage Witch's Guide. Jackpot.
Snape cringed as he flicked through the pages. This stuff was puerile; the potions equivalent of a teen magazine. It was impossible to discern at a glance the difference between one and another. A sigh from the direction of the bed reminded him that his current precarious position, and Snape hastily cut off his light and snapped the book closed. He was trapped in here until dawn, or until Hermione left, as only she could unlock the door. He could wile away the hours with undoubtedly fascinating perusal of the potions book.
Snape bit back a groan as he stood. The years were telling in his knees. He wondered when he had grown old. Probably years ago. Another sigh sounded from the bed, and Snape turned his head. Though it was dim in the room, the figure of Hermione curved gently into the night. He could see her darkly curled hair fanning out on the moonlit pillowcase, could see one white shoulder peeking out from underneath the blanket. For a moment, Snape allowed himself to drink in the sight of such beauty. Then he passed on.
Snape moved to the window, hunched into the pool of light there, and began to sift through the sickening trash that was Tabitha's Sensual Spellbook.
***
Hermione yawned and stretched. She looked over at the clock: only 7am. She yawned again, and smiled. There was something so wonderful in that moment when one emerged from the land of dreams into a nice warm bed and sunlight on your pillow.
Though she could remember none of her dreams, their tendrils still clung to Hermione as she rose from the bed. Her skin buzzed. She remembered the time she and Harry had taken the Weasleys to Blackmoor pier, and she and Ron had sat at the front of the roller coaster. This was the way she had felt exiting the ride- full of bubbles and anticipation and the sweetness of the day.
She drew in breath sharply as her bare feet touched the floor. Nothing like an icy cold floor to wake a person up, she thought. With a gleeful feeling she sprang away from the bed and padded into the bathroom.
'A bath this morning,' she said quietly to herself, smiling as she set it to pour. With a wave of her wand she magicked a favourite concerto to fill the air. Satisfied, Hermione undressed and began to bathe.
What was with her this morning? she wondered. She felt as if she were floating in a bubble. This happily expectant feeling was almost as perturbing as feeling depressed. With a short sigh, Hermione shook her head, clearing the cobwebs that seemed to addle her brain, and began to wash her hair.
A short while later, she emerged from the more private areas of her rooms, fully dressed and ready for the day. It was still too early to go to breakfast. With a shrug Hermione lit the fire and apparated a tea set. Some quiet moments drinking tea were just what she needed.
As soon as the tea was poured, Hermione sat back and stared into the fire. The jumping flames helped to order her thoughts, of which she was glad. Her thinking had been far too disordered lately.
She had to admit to herself that most of the disruption had centered on Severus Snape. When she had started thinking about him this way, she did not know. Certainly it had to be before Ailie and Sirius had suggested he was in some way attracted to her. Hermione knew, deep within herself, that the revelation had been so shocking because she simply couldn't imagine a man like Severus Snape even sparing her a second glance.
Perhaps it had been Ailie's arrival that had shown Hermione how little of a woman she really was, but she suspected she had been feeling this way for a long time. There seemed so much to learn. In book learning she was supremely confident; her passion had always been study, of anything, and she knew that her intelligence could carry her through any academic territory that she hadn't yet covered. That was it, however; all her knowledge was academic. She needed some hands-on learning.
Hermione had not yet allowed herself to dwell on what she thought of Snape. Letting her mind dwell on him seemed a dangerous action. He was a complete bastard, after all. She had gained some ground with him, she felt sure, by her new-found ability to stand up to him, but any sign of weakness would be pounced upon mercilessly.
She did, however, realise that she felt some sort of... attraction was too strong a word. Fascination, perhaps? Curiosity. Yes, she felt a curiosity about him. It was entirely born from her inexperience, she assured herself; Snape was, after all, perhaps the only such man she could contemplate in Hogwarts, and the idea that he had dreamt about her had brought him forward in her mind. It was as good an explanation as she could endure at such an early hour, anyway.
Impatiently, Hermione put down her tea cup and rose. Her bath had succeeded in blowing away some of the cobwebs of sleep that had clung to her, but the excited, anticipatory feeling under her skin would not go away. She wanted to run, to dance; she wanted to hear flattery drip from the tongue of some handsome man and feel his eyes on her. She could almost feel eyes on her as she walked across the room, picking up the materials she would need for the day. She glanced at the clock: still too early to appear at breakfast. A small frown marred her forehead, and she ran a hand idly through her hair. As her hand slid down her neck, a sudden picture slipped into her mind. Severus Snape's chin would feel stubbly on her neck, she was sure, and that grating against her sensitive skin would make her shiver...
With a disgusted snort, Hermione strode over to the coat rack to retrieve her cloak. She needed to walk these thoughts out of her head.
She didn't notice the slight breeze that swept past her in the corridor.
***
Snape heard the slam of the door behind him with a grim satisfaction, and threw off his cloak as he stalked through his rooms. His anger was directed at himself.
He had been very close to following Hermione as she left her rooms. Somehow, the woman had got under his skin, her cloying sweetness drawing him in, making him want... Snape gritted his teeth and began to rip off his robes. This was entirely out of order. This physical attraction to her was utterly impossible; all it took was a graceful movement on the girl's part and he was practically salivating for her.
The way she had ran her had over her neck... Snape closed his eyes and turned the cold water in the shower to full, refusing to gasp at the harshness of it on his heated skin. What had she been dreaming about? Had it been Black meeting her in her dreams, his hands she had been picturing on her neck? The conversation between the two girls the night before had played on his mind. The very thought of Sirius Black laying a hand on Hermione made his stomach roil. The dreamy look on her face this morning tantalised him. What would it be like to prompt such musings in such a beautiful woman?
Snape clenched his fists in frustration. It was exactly such thoughts that angered him most. He had no business pondering such ridiculous ideas and even less business wanting them. If he had to oblivate himself, he would forget this ridiculous attraction to Hermione Granger.
With such resolutions in mind, Snape purged his frustrations in water.