Disclaimer: Though I try and I try, I simply cannot create a physical
incarnation of Snape that will say he is mine. Ergo, every version of him,
including the one trapped in prose, is still JK Rowling's, along with the
rest of the Hogwarts cast and crew. The fantasies are mine.
Chapter Thirty Four
The next morning, Snape did not appear at breakfast. Knowing he had taken the potion the previous evening, and fearing there had been something wrong with her brewing of it, Hermione sped through her meal and headed for the dungeons straight away.
She found Snape pacing restlessly in the classroom. He looked up at the sound of her entering, and Hermione noticed he looked a little flushed.
'Did the potion work?' she asked. 'There wasn't anything wrong with it, was there?' Snape gave a curt nod, and edged around the desk as Hermione moved further into the room to deposit her notes on a desk.
'So, were there any physical manifestations?' she asked, and Snape nodded again. When he remained silent, she rolled her eyes and made an encouraging motion with her hands.
'Come on, Snape, it's not like you to be recalcitrant. Where are the marks?'
'You have no need to see them,' Snape said, sitting down. Hermione gaped at him.
'I showed you mine,' she blurted. He looked briefly at her.
'Shall we begin?' he asked, indicating the books on the desk. Hermione looked at them, then at him.
'Are you not going to show me the marks?'
'No.' He appeared to rethink the workings of her question, and shook his head. 'Hermione, we have work to do. If you would care to sit down?' Hermione noted that Snape seemed disturbed by her stance as she leant on the desk in front of him. She raised an eyebrow, and pulled up a chair at the side of the desk. Before sitting, she reached across in front of him to retrieve a text, smiling to herself as he cleared his throat.
It was for the duration of the morning that Hermione came to see Snape's reasoning for teasing her the day before. It was quite fun to play with him, to observe how his posture changed directly in relation to hers.
Half-way through the morning, as they sat taking notes, Hermione saw that Snape's hair had fallen from around his collar, revealing his neck. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated it, and she reached out to move the collar aside.
Like lightning, Snape's hand shot up and grasped hers, tight enough to make her wince. He looked up, and his hold loosened slightly. He raised an eyebrow.
'I was just wondering...' Hermione said, wide eyed. She held her breath as Snape's thumb stroked the back of her hand, then he placed her hand back in front of her, on the desk. Hermione stared at it for a moment, feeling somewhat alien to it, before nodding and turning her attention back to her book.
***
After dinner that evening, Hermione dressed to go out on the town with the other female professors. Though she had enjoyed teasing Snape during the day, she was beginning to understand the full meaning of 'tension headache.' The one hour of sleep she had managed to catch during the night had been the one respite she'd had from the physical tension her dream visitor had left her under- though her dreams had only tormented her further.
Sleepiness gave her no relief, either. Her physical exhaustion had subdued her hormones in no way whatsoever. Being near him was like being tied up in the desert next to a nice pool of water, just out of reach. It had been all she could do all day to avoid rubbing up against him and purring like a cat.
It had been a relief to both of them when Hermione had escaped early.
Hermione frowned as she cast a smoothing charm on her hair. Her hand had been burning from his touch all day; even now, she had to rub it to make the tingle go away. She closed her eyes briefly. This was threatening to get the better of her.
Tucking her wand into her pocket, Hermione headed for the door. The witches were meeting in the entrance hall, and she had just a few minutes to go. Snape was safely ensconced in the dungeons, and Hermione resolved to lock her problems away there, too. Tonight was a night to relax and celebrate.
Later that evening, Minerva McGonagall and Esmerelda Sprout shared a meaningful look. The evening had gone well, so far. The five witches had made their way into Hogsmeade without mishap, and had worked their way from a genteel little restaurant in an alleyway to the Leaky Cauldron. The five of them had walked down the well-trodden road of alcohol consumption- the four older witches leading young Hermione on a path that, by now, she should have recognised.
Drunken confessions.
Sprout leaned over to talk in McGonagall's ear. 'I think Freya has done a good, job, don't you think?'
Minerva nodded. Hooch had been doing the ordering at the Leaky Cauldron, and as a result the witches, suffice it to say, were well provided for. Minerva herself had three glasses lined up before her, while she slowly worked her slightly tipsy way through her fourth drink. Hermione, encouraged firmly by Freya, had had no opportunity to let the drinks pile up as she tried to keep up with the sturdy sports mistress.
'You don't think we're rather ganging up on the girl?' Esmerelda whispered, uncharacteristically moral. Minerva shook her head.
'Of course we are. But she needs to talk about it.' She smiled at Sprout and then nodded at Poppy Pomfrey, who raised her eyebrows, then nudged Hooch. Their unsuspecting victim didn't notice the sudden shift in energies around the table.
Sprout began. 'So... Hermione. Were those lovebites I saw on your neck yesterday?'
Hermione looked around from her contemplation of the decor, eyes wide, and looked around the group. 'No,' she said, shaking her head, 'oh, no.'
'Come on, Hermione. Spill,' Hooch said. Hermione continued to shake her head.
'My dear,' Minerva said, leaning forward to pat her hand. 'You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to. But it will help to talk.'
Hermione squeezed her former teacher's hand gratefully. 'I...' She squinted briefly. 'I have to go to the loo.'
'Well, that's torn it,' Hooch said, as the four waited for Hermione to powder her nose. 'Well done, Minerva.'
'We can't make the poor girl gab about her love life, she's a virgin for the gods' sakes,' Poppy scolded.
'Meanwhile, I go off to the jungles of Africa without knowing the gossip about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said.
'As though you won't be doing anything gossip-worthy yourself, Esme,' Minerva said. Sprout waved her down.
'I still miss out on the stuff about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said, finishing off her drink. 'Really, it's like switching off a movie half-way through.'
'Well, we'll owl you,' Poppy said. 'I agree with Minerva. If Hermione doesn't feel ready to talk about it, we shouldn't push her.'
'Drat,' said Hooch, scowling.
'Hush, she's coming back,' Minerva warned.
Hermione resumed her place at the table and blankly looked at the drink Hooch pushed toward her.
'Minerva won't drink it,' the sports mistress encouraged. 'Shame to let it go to waste.' Hermione sighed, and reached for the drink.
***
So unoptomistic of sleep was Snape that evening that his bed could have been a downy cloud for all he cared. The torturous dreams of the evening before were enough to make him both want to give up the act of sleeping permanently, or spend the rest of his life in a coma.
If he had thought the first potion-induced dream, all those months ago, had been bad, he had no words to describe the horrors of the previous evening. After knowing, first-hand, exactly how Hermione lips tasted, how she reacted to a kiss, how fiery and mischievous she could be, and, most of all, exactly what she looked like in very little clothing, his subconscious had dredged up fantasies that had left him, frankly, permanently turned-on. It was only lucky that the male body needed a good blood supply for the rest of the vital organs, or he would be stuck in mid-summer wearing his most concealing robes all day.
Even so, it had been a blessing that Hermione had seen no need to move from their work at the desk in his office today.
As it was, it had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done to refrain from throwing her on the desk and performing a number of acts, which the words 'madly' and 'passionately' would no doubt be most accurately used in describing. She had driven him near madness with her conscious manipulation of the situation all day, though he supposed it was merely justified revenge for the day before. Still, he doubted the girl could possibly know what she had done to him.
The students were gone, and Snape had no real reason to be patrolling the corridors at night, but it was a handy way to work off the excess energy he suddenly found himself burdened with. Mental exhaustion hadn't worked any miracles physically so far.
He stopped and looked out into the clear night. The stone windowsill felt cold against his hands. He had lived in this castle most of his life; had left it only to return again and again. He supposed, if he thought about it, it was his true home; he had spent far more time in Hogwarts than even the various homes his family owned.
Snape sighed, and pressed his forehead to the cool stone. He would one day give his life for this castle, and yet it was not truly his. He wondered when he had given up all ambition to own, to possess, to achieve. Even his body was not his own, anymore.
The moment of weakness passed, and Snape stood straight once more. Dwelling on the past, and the impossibilities of the future, was a luxury for which he had no need. Leaving wistfulness at the window, Snape turned and strode down the corridor.
***
The witches made their slightly unsteady way up the path to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, their chatter dying down now that the early hours of the morning approached.
Hermione strolled arm in arm with Madam Hooch, more as a precaution against the latter's collapse than as a show of feminine affection. It had been a good evening, once the others had ceased dropping hints and questions on the nature of the relationship between herself and Snape. The potentially uncomfortable situation had faded into the background as the witches took her less-than-subtle hint that she didn't want to discuss it, and the others discussed their plans for the summer and the issues for the following school year. Any doubts she might have had about her reception as a real teacher at the school had been quashed by the way the others had included her in the conversation, as though she truly belonged.
The easy conversation and relaxing evening had given her tired brain a chance to work. It hadn't given her any answers, but at least was leaving her in peace while her subconscious went to the work of processing.
When the five of them reached the doors of the castle, the others sleepily smiled their goodbyes and moved off to their rooms, but left Hermione surprisingly awake.
A sleeping potion. That was the answer. It would give her some rest and, maybe at the same time, give her the ending to all those dreams she'd been having. It wouldn't take that long to brew a simple potion, although she probably didn't have all of the ingredients. An image streaked across her mind of sneaking down to the dungeons. Snape would inevitably wake, and see her there, bent over a mysterious brew. He would come up behind her and-
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away.
'Def'nitly need some sleep,' she decided, heading for the nearest staircase. There were sleeping draughts in Poppy's store cupboards.
It was only walking out of the infirmary that Hermione realised the potion she'd just taken might react badly to the alcohol in her system. About three seconds later, her theory was proven. Though she had given up her idea of keeping up with Hooch about half-way through the evening, she'd certainly had enough to drink to provoke a reaction, and the straight-up spirits she'd consumed just before they'd left the pub weren't helping any. Scotch, she reflected as the world became even more blurry and began to sway, is not good when followed by a sedative chaser.
Unsteadily, she began to make her way back to her room. A breeze from a window caught her across the face, and felt so refreshing she reflected it might do her good to sit for a while.
She closed her eyes and leant against the wall, images floating through her head. Snape, she reflected lazily. Snape, Snape, Snape. He was the problem. Though it was absurd, her body seemed to have developed some kinky attraction for her former professor. Former, however, was the operative word, she reminded herself. He wasn't her professor any more. In fact, he was her colleague, her equal. She was a teacher now. She smiled dreamily in her half-sleep. If she wanted to, she could go right on down to the dungeons and get him.
The fall of a footstep caught her attention, and Hermione opened her eyes to see the very subject of her thoughts walking down the corridor toward her. Such happy coincidences, she felt, shouldn't be passed up. Squaring her shoulders (and in the process almost falling over) she headed toward him.
***
Snape felt a certain sense of deja vu as he spied Hermione down the corridor. The fates, he felt, obviously despised him. He had known that the four wicked witches were planning to take Hermione out on the town this evening to celebrate her newfound position as Muggle Studies teacher. How uncharacteristically optimistic of him to think there was a chance of walking the corridors, in such circumstances, and not bumping into the woman of his dreams and waking nightmares.
As he watched, she moved away from the wall and walked unsteadily toward him, with a sense of determination that appeared to affirm she had spotted him. With a resigned sigh, he moved to meet her half way, putting out his arms to catch her as she inevitably fell. To his surprise, she smiled broadly up at him, putting her hands on his shoulders confidently for balance. She still wavered slightly, and Snape wasn't entirely displeased to have to keep his hands at her waist as a steadying influence.
'Are you drunk?' he asked her, knowing it was really a rhetorical question. She nodded vigorously, then squeezed her eyes shut and put her hand to her head. 'You're drunk,' Snape concluded. 'Again. Those wicked witches, I expect.' He allowed himself another sigh, wholeheartedly taking on the appearance of put-upon protector. He opened his mouth to suggest he escort her to her rooms but she lifted a finger to his lips, a frown of concentration on her face. She flicked his lower lip a few times before he rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, placing it gently back on his shoulder, a movement which seemed to bring her back on topic.
'I'm a teacher,' she said.
Snape nodded patronisingly. 'Yes,' he said tonelessly. 'I know.'
Hermione grinned. 'I,' she said, 'am very, very...' She blinked, then began again. 'We've been cele- celelebating. I'm a teacher, you know.'
'Yes,' Snape replied with a sigh, wondering if he could manage to walk her to her rooms, or if, again, he was going to have to carry her. Not that he minded terribly the idea of having her small, warm body pressed against his, but his back wasn't what it used to be.
Hermione held up a finger, and waggled it in front of his face.
'I,' she began once more, 'am very, very... very, very, very drunk.' She nodded to herself, then leant forward and kissed him. Her arms crept around his neck, firmly holding him in place for her clumsy kisses.
As her arms were locked around his neck with a strength he wouldn't have imagined possible in her current state, and were apparently immoveable, Snape simply stood unresponsively and waited to Hermione to give up. She pulled back, however, and glared at him.
'No,' she said in a voice that reminded him of her bossy school days, 'not like that.' With a last frown she leant forward again, this time angling her lips to his, curling her fingers through his hair and stroking his neck. Snape felt himself respond without any conscious order from his brain, but as Hermione sighed and leant even closer, he gave a shrug at his body's traitorous behaviour and gave up the struggle, meagre though it had been.
As Hermione's lips parted under his, Snape slid his arms around her waist, wrapping them around her and pulling her closer. He savoured the warmth of her, tasting her deeply and not feeling too guilty about it, as he knew he was probably half-dreaming anyway. Hermione took the opportunity to push him closer to the wall, leaning hard against him. Snape groaned at the certain knowledge that she did, indeed,
fit perfectly against him, pressed into all the most perfect places. He felt Hermione's hands run over him, one hand curled tightly in his hair and pressing his head close to hers, the other running between them and moving over him as though she was making a map. Snape's hands ran down her back with fingers that itched to touch her bare skin, but as he knew exactly how dangerous that would be he settled for resting his hands on the swell of her hips instead, pressing into her and holding her to him.
Stunned by sleepy, drugging kisses, Snape delved to taste her, consume her, feeling more starved for her by the minute. Some part of his brain shook its head and gave him a stern look with the realisation that this situation would be much, much worse from now on. And he couldn't get rid of her; he had actually helped her become a teacher. He didn't mind the irony so terribly at the present moment.
Eventually, Hermione pulled back and looked up at him with a sleepy smile.
'Sorry,' she said, dropping her head on his shoulder and snuggling in until her nose nuzzled his neck. Feeling a little breathless, Snape held her a while, waiting for the dizzy feeling to ease. As it did, the realisation gradually dawned that the woman cradled in his arms wasn't just resting. She was asleep.
'Wunderbar,' Snape muttered, managing to lean down and pick her up without dislodging her arms from around his neck. At least this time he knew the password.
The journey to her rooms was uneventful, though Hermione occasionally shifted or snuggled closer, apparently forgetting she was not in bed. One particular snuffle and wet kiss almost had them down a flight of stairs, her lips having zeroed in on the one spot on Snape's neck guaranteed to turn his legs to jelly.
Finally, the door to Hermione's rooms was gained, and Snape relieved his protesting muscles of his mostly unconscious burden. The unconscious burden, however, seemed to have other ideas, arms as clingy as tentacles wrapped firmly around Snape's neck and giving no appearance of letting go. As he struggled against her death grip, she gave another sigh and moved so his face was again close to hers.
'Kiss you much as I want,' she mumbled, and laid her lips gently on his again. Snape was in such a position as did not benefit from the sudden shift, and his tentative hold on a crouch failed, dropping him to his knees on the floor. He sighed inwardly at the irony.
Hermione's gentle kiss trailed off, and with a small smile of satisfaction she settled back into bed, still clutching Snape like a favourite toy.
Snape almost felt like giving up. The idea of simply sliding into bed next to her and allowing her to hold him for several hours was not a completely repulsive one, given that it was three in the morning, but at the same time he was aware of the utter impossibility of such a solution. Besides, he had never been one for- he grimaced- 'cuddles.'
He took a moment to recover, taking the opportunity to notice where he was. The moonlight from the clear summer's evening streamed in from the window, and Snape wondered how the woman could possibly manage to get any sleep. The light lit up her face, darkening her lashes against her creamy white skin. Snape frowned. Really, he thought, it would be like trying to sleep in the beam from a light house.
Hermione shifted, rolling slightly to the side and letting go of Snape with one hand. Unfortunately, her grip with the other arm did not loosen in the slightest, and her movement brought Snape forward to a position he sincerely, for the sake of his sanity, hoped he would forget. Not that being nearly suffocated by the soft heaven of one breast was entirely unpleasant, but it was not something he wished to remember in the dark nights of his own soul. Thankfully, with another sigh, Hermione let go of him completely, rolling over on to her stomach and snuggling into the covers.
Snape took a few minutes to get over the surreality of the situation before standing. It was probably a warm enough night for her to be quite comfortable sleeping in her clothes without covers, he reflected, and frankly the thought of passing his hands over her to undress her in any way disturbed him greatly. Hermione frowned against the moonlight in her sleep, and Snape settled for striding over to the windows and closing the curtains with a satisfying rush.
He managed to make his way out of the now pitch-black room without harm, and exited Hermione's chambers without mishap. Getting further away from her chambers, however, was another issue, as Minerva McGonagall happened to be peering down the corridor at the precise moment he emerged from Hermione's rooms.
Mentally he slapped his head as his colleague waited patiently for him at the end of the corridor. The Head of Gryffindor wasn't looking inclined to let the matter go.
'So, Severus,' Minerva said, looking him over. Snape resisted the urge to smoothe his undoubtedly messy hair- it was, after all, three a.m.
'So, Minerva,' he replied, beginning to walk down the main hall. McGonagall followed him.
'Helping our new colleague back to her rooms?' she asked, more than a trace of laughter in her voice.
'Indeed,' Snape said. 'Perhaps if you four witches had not got her so drunk in the first place...'
She chuckled at his suggestion, and Snape rolled his eyes in the comfort of darkness. A suspicion was forming in his mind.
'I see you didn't refrain from indulging yourself,' he concluded, looking at his rather befuddled colleague. 'Please don't tell me I have to help you safely back to your rooms also.'
Minerva smiled at him. 'Severus,' she said, 'if only I got the sort of help you just gave Hermione more often, I'd be a happy woman.' She chuckled again, and Snape shook his head in disgust. If she was sober enough to be making such atrocious jokes, she was sober enough to stagger back to her rooms alone.
Taking time only to point his colleague in the rough direction of her rooms, Snape turned his footsteps toward his own. He may not be able to get himself some sleep, he concluded, but at least the fumes of his workroom would force the scent of a sleepy Hermione from his nostrils.
Chapter Thirty Four
The next morning, Snape did not appear at breakfast. Knowing he had taken the potion the previous evening, and fearing there had been something wrong with her brewing of it, Hermione sped through her meal and headed for the dungeons straight away.
She found Snape pacing restlessly in the classroom. He looked up at the sound of her entering, and Hermione noticed he looked a little flushed.
'Did the potion work?' she asked. 'There wasn't anything wrong with it, was there?' Snape gave a curt nod, and edged around the desk as Hermione moved further into the room to deposit her notes on a desk.
'So, were there any physical manifestations?' she asked, and Snape nodded again. When he remained silent, she rolled her eyes and made an encouraging motion with her hands.
'Come on, Snape, it's not like you to be recalcitrant. Where are the marks?'
'You have no need to see them,' Snape said, sitting down. Hermione gaped at him.
'I showed you mine,' she blurted. He looked briefly at her.
'Shall we begin?' he asked, indicating the books on the desk. Hermione looked at them, then at him.
'Are you not going to show me the marks?'
'No.' He appeared to rethink the workings of her question, and shook his head. 'Hermione, we have work to do. If you would care to sit down?' Hermione noted that Snape seemed disturbed by her stance as she leant on the desk in front of him. She raised an eyebrow, and pulled up a chair at the side of the desk. Before sitting, she reached across in front of him to retrieve a text, smiling to herself as he cleared his throat.
It was for the duration of the morning that Hermione came to see Snape's reasoning for teasing her the day before. It was quite fun to play with him, to observe how his posture changed directly in relation to hers.
Half-way through the morning, as they sat taking notes, Hermione saw that Snape's hair had fallen from around his collar, revealing his neck. Her eyes narrowed as she contemplated it, and she reached out to move the collar aside.
Like lightning, Snape's hand shot up and grasped hers, tight enough to make her wince. He looked up, and his hold loosened slightly. He raised an eyebrow.
'I was just wondering...' Hermione said, wide eyed. She held her breath as Snape's thumb stroked the back of her hand, then he placed her hand back in front of her, on the desk. Hermione stared at it for a moment, feeling somewhat alien to it, before nodding and turning her attention back to her book.
***
After dinner that evening, Hermione dressed to go out on the town with the other female professors. Though she had enjoyed teasing Snape during the day, she was beginning to understand the full meaning of 'tension headache.' The one hour of sleep she had managed to catch during the night had been the one respite she'd had from the physical tension her dream visitor had left her under- though her dreams had only tormented her further.
Sleepiness gave her no relief, either. Her physical exhaustion had subdued her hormones in no way whatsoever. Being near him was like being tied up in the desert next to a nice pool of water, just out of reach. It had been all she could do all day to avoid rubbing up against him and purring like a cat.
It had been a relief to both of them when Hermione had escaped early.
Hermione frowned as she cast a smoothing charm on her hair. Her hand had been burning from his touch all day; even now, she had to rub it to make the tingle go away. She closed her eyes briefly. This was threatening to get the better of her.
Tucking her wand into her pocket, Hermione headed for the door. The witches were meeting in the entrance hall, and she had just a few minutes to go. Snape was safely ensconced in the dungeons, and Hermione resolved to lock her problems away there, too. Tonight was a night to relax and celebrate.
Later that evening, Minerva McGonagall and Esmerelda Sprout shared a meaningful look. The evening had gone well, so far. The five witches had made their way into Hogsmeade without mishap, and had worked their way from a genteel little restaurant in an alleyway to the Leaky Cauldron. The five of them had walked down the well-trodden road of alcohol consumption- the four older witches leading young Hermione on a path that, by now, she should have recognised.
Drunken confessions.
Sprout leaned over to talk in McGonagall's ear. 'I think Freya has done a good, job, don't you think?'
Minerva nodded. Hooch had been doing the ordering at the Leaky Cauldron, and as a result the witches, suffice it to say, were well provided for. Minerva herself had three glasses lined up before her, while she slowly worked her slightly tipsy way through her fourth drink. Hermione, encouraged firmly by Freya, had had no opportunity to let the drinks pile up as she tried to keep up with the sturdy sports mistress.
'You don't think we're rather ganging up on the girl?' Esmerelda whispered, uncharacteristically moral. Minerva shook her head.
'Of course we are. But she needs to talk about it.' She smiled at Sprout and then nodded at Poppy Pomfrey, who raised her eyebrows, then nudged Hooch. Their unsuspecting victim didn't notice the sudden shift in energies around the table.
Sprout began. 'So... Hermione. Were those lovebites I saw on your neck yesterday?'
Hermione looked around from her contemplation of the decor, eyes wide, and looked around the group. 'No,' she said, shaking her head, 'oh, no.'
'Come on, Hermione. Spill,' Hooch said. Hermione continued to shake her head.
'My dear,' Minerva said, leaning forward to pat her hand. 'You don't have to tell us anything you don't want to. But it will help to talk.'
Hermione squeezed her former teacher's hand gratefully. 'I...' She squinted briefly. 'I have to go to the loo.'
'Well, that's torn it,' Hooch said, as the four waited for Hermione to powder her nose. 'Well done, Minerva.'
'We can't make the poor girl gab about her love life, she's a virgin for the gods' sakes,' Poppy scolded.
'Meanwhile, I go off to the jungles of Africa without knowing the gossip about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said.
'As though you won't be doing anything gossip-worthy yourself, Esme,' Minerva said. Sprout waved her down.
'I still miss out on the stuff about Severus and Hermione,' Sprout said, finishing off her drink. 'Really, it's like switching off a movie half-way through.'
'Well, we'll owl you,' Poppy said. 'I agree with Minerva. If Hermione doesn't feel ready to talk about it, we shouldn't push her.'
'Drat,' said Hooch, scowling.
'Hush, she's coming back,' Minerva warned.
Hermione resumed her place at the table and blankly looked at the drink Hooch pushed toward her.
'Minerva won't drink it,' the sports mistress encouraged. 'Shame to let it go to waste.' Hermione sighed, and reached for the drink.
***
So unoptomistic of sleep was Snape that evening that his bed could have been a downy cloud for all he cared. The torturous dreams of the evening before were enough to make him both want to give up the act of sleeping permanently, or spend the rest of his life in a coma.
If he had thought the first potion-induced dream, all those months ago, had been bad, he had no words to describe the horrors of the previous evening. After knowing, first-hand, exactly how Hermione lips tasted, how she reacted to a kiss, how fiery and mischievous she could be, and, most of all, exactly what she looked like in very little clothing, his subconscious had dredged up fantasies that had left him, frankly, permanently turned-on. It was only lucky that the male body needed a good blood supply for the rest of the vital organs, or he would be stuck in mid-summer wearing his most concealing robes all day.
Even so, it had been a blessing that Hermione had seen no need to move from their work at the desk in his office today.
As it was, it had been one of the most difficult things he had ever done to refrain from throwing her on the desk and performing a number of acts, which the words 'madly' and 'passionately' would no doubt be most accurately used in describing. She had driven him near madness with her conscious manipulation of the situation all day, though he supposed it was merely justified revenge for the day before. Still, he doubted the girl could possibly know what she had done to him.
The students were gone, and Snape had no real reason to be patrolling the corridors at night, but it was a handy way to work off the excess energy he suddenly found himself burdened with. Mental exhaustion hadn't worked any miracles physically so far.
He stopped and looked out into the clear night. The stone windowsill felt cold against his hands. He had lived in this castle most of his life; had left it only to return again and again. He supposed, if he thought about it, it was his true home; he had spent far more time in Hogwarts than even the various homes his family owned.
Snape sighed, and pressed his forehead to the cool stone. He would one day give his life for this castle, and yet it was not truly his. He wondered when he had given up all ambition to own, to possess, to achieve. Even his body was not his own, anymore.
The moment of weakness passed, and Snape stood straight once more. Dwelling on the past, and the impossibilities of the future, was a luxury for which he had no need. Leaving wistfulness at the window, Snape turned and strode down the corridor.
***
The witches made their slightly unsteady way up the path to Hogwarts from Hogsmeade, their chatter dying down now that the early hours of the morning approached.
Hermione strolled arm in arm with Madam Hooch, more as a precaution against the latter's collapse than as a show of feminine affection. It had been a good evening, once the others had ceased dropping hints and questions on the nature of the relationship between herself and Snape. The potentially uncomfortable situation had faded into the background as the witches took her less-than-subtle hint that she didn't want to discuss it, and the others discussed their plans for the summer and the issues for the following school year. Any doubts she might have had about her reception as a real teacher at the school had been quashed by the way the others had included her in the conversation, as though she truly belonged.
The easy conversation and relaxing evening had given her tired brain a chance to work. It hadn't given her any answers, but at least was leaving her in peace while her subconscious went to the work of processing.
When the five of them reached the doors of the castle, the others sleepily smiled their goodbyes and moved off to their rooms, but left Hermione surprisingly awake.
A sleeping potion. That was the answer. It would give her some rest and, maybe at the same time, give her the ending to all those dreams she'd been having. It wouldn't take that long to brew a simple potion, although she probably didn't have all of the ingredients. An image streaked across her mind of sneaking down to the dungeons. Snape would inevitably wake, and see her there, bent over a mysterious brew. He would come up behind her and-
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, willing the image away.
'Def'nitly need some sleep,' she decided, heading for the nearest staircase. There were sleeping draughts in Poppy's store cupboards.
It was only walking out of the infirmary that Hermione realised the potion she'd just taken might react badly to the alcohol in her system. About three seconds later, her theory was proven. Though she had given up her idea of keeping up with Hooch about half-way through the evening, she'd certainly had enough to drink to provoke a reaction, and the straight-up spirits she'd consumed just before they'd left the pub weren't helping any. Scotch, she reflected as the world became even more blurry and began to sway, is not good when followed by a sedative chaser.
Unsteadily, she began to make her way back to her room. A breeze from a window caught her across the face, and felt so refreshing she reflected it might do her good to sit for a while.
She closed her eyes and leant against the wall, images floating through her head. Snape, she reflected lazily. Snape, Snape, Snape. He was the problem. Though it was absurd, her body seemed to have developed some kinky attraction for her former professor. Former, however, was the operative word, she reminded herself. He wasn't her professor any more. In fact, he was her colleague, her equal. She was a teacher now. She smiled dreamily in her half-sleep. If she wanted to, she could go right on down to the dungeons and get him.
The fall of a footstep caught her attention, and Hermione opened her eyes to see the very subject of her thoughts walking down the corridor toward her. Such happy coincidences, she felt, shouldn't be passed up. Squaring her shoulders (and in the process almost falling over) she headed toward him.
***
Snape felt a certain sense of deja vu as he spied Hermione down the corridor. The fates, he felt, obviously despised him. He had known that the four wicked witches were planning to take Hermione out on the town this evening to celebrate her newfound position as Muggle Studies teacher. How uncharacteristically optimistic of him to think there was a chance of walking the corridors, in such circumstances, and not bumping into the woman of his dreams and waking nightmares.
As he watched, she moved away from the wall and walked unsteadily toward him, with a sense of determination that appeared to affirm she had spotted him. With a resigned sigh, he moved to meet her half way, putting out his arms to catch her as she inevitably fell. To his surprise, she smiled broadly up at him, putting her hands on his shoulders confidently for balance. She still wavered slightly, and Snape wasn't entirely displeased to have to keep his hands at her waist as a steadying influence.
'Are you drunk?' he asked her, knowing it was really a rhetorical question. She nodded vigorously, then squeezed her eyes shut and put her hand to her head. 'You're drunk,' Snape concluded. 'Again. Those wicked witches, I expect.' He allowed himself another sigh, wholeheartedly taking on the appearance of put-upon protector. He opened his mouth to suggest he escort her to her rooms but she lifted a finger to his lips, a frown of concentration on her face. She flicked his lower lip a few times before he rolled his eyes and grabbed her hand, placing it gently back on his shoulder, a movement which seemed to bring her back on topic.
'I'm a teacher,' she said.
Snape nodded patronisingly. 'Yes,' he said tonelessly. 'I know.'
Hermione grinned. 'I,' she said, 'am very, very...' She blinked, then began again. 'We've been cele- celelebating. I'm a teacher, you know.'
'Yes,' Snape replied with a sigh, wondering if he could manage to walk her to her rooms, or if, again, he was going to have to carry her. Not that he minded terribly the idea of having her small, warm body pressed against his, but his back wasn't what it used to be.
Hermione held up a finger, and waggled it in front of his face.
'I,' she began once more, 'am very, very... very, very, very drunk.' She nodded to herself, then leant forward and kissed him. Her arms crept around his neck, firmly holding him in place for her clumsy kisses.
As her arms were locked around his neck with a strength he wouldn't have imagined possible in her current state, and were apparently immoveable, Snape simply stood unresponsively and waited to Hermione to give up. She pulled back, however, and glared at him.
'No,' she said in a voice that reminded him of her bossy school days, 'not like that.' With a last frown she leant forward again, this time angling her lips to his, curling her fingers through his hair and stroking his neck. Snape felt himself respond without any conscious order from his brain, but as Hermione sighed and leant even closer, he gave a shrug at his body's traitorous behaviour and gave up the struggle, meagre though it had been.
As Hermione's lips parted under his, Snape slid his arms around her waist, wrapping them around her and pulling her closer. He savoured the warmth of her, tasting her deeply and not feeling too guilty about it, as he knew he was probably half-dreaming anyway. Hermione took the opportunity to push him closer to the wall, leaning hard against him. Snape groaned at the certain knowledge that she did, indeed,
fit perfectly against him, pressed into all the most perfect places. He felt Hermione's hands run over him, one hand curled tightly in his hair and pressing his head close to hers, the other running between them and moving over him as though she was making a map. Snape's hands ran down her back with fingers that itched to touch her bare skin, but as he knew exactly how dangerous that would be he settled for resting his hands on the swell of her hips instead, pressing into her and holding her to him.
Stunned by sleepy, drugging kisses, Snape delved to taste her, consume her, feeling more starved for her by the minute. Some part of his brain shook its head and gave him a stern look with the realisation that this situation would be much, much worse from now on. And he couldn't get rid of her; he had actually helped her become a teacher. He didn't mind the irony so terribly at the present moment.
Eventually, Hermione pulled back and looked up at him with a sleepy smile.
'Sorry,' she said, dropping her head on his shoulder and snuggling in until her nose nuzzled his neck. Feeling a little breathless, Snape held her a while, waiting for the dizzy feeling to ease. As it did, the realisation gradually dawned that the woman cradled in his arms wasn't just resting. She was asleep.
'Wunderbar,' Snape muttered, managing to lean down and pick her up without dislodging her arms from around his neck. At least this time he knew the password.
The journey to her rooms was uneventful, though Hermione occasionally shifted or snuggled closer, apparently forgetting she was not in bed. One particular snuffle and wet kiss almost had them down a flight of stairs, her lips having zeroed in on the one spot on Snape's neck guaranteed to turn his legs to jelly.
Finally, the door to Hermione's rooms was gained, and Snape relieved his protesting muscles of his mostly unconscious burden. The unconscious burden, however, seemed to have other ideas, arms as clingy as tentacles wrapped firmly around Snape's neck and giving no appearance of letting go. As he struggled against her death grip, she gave another sigh and moved so his face was again close to hers.
'Kiss you much as I want,' she mumbled, and laid her lips gently on his again. Snape was in such a position as did not benefit from the sudden shift, and his tentative hold on a crouch failed, dropping him to his knees on the floor. He sighed inwardly at the irony.
Hermione's gentle kiss trailed off, and with a small smile of satisfaction she settled back into bed, still clutching Snape like a favourite toy.
Snape almost felt like giving up. The idea of simply sliding into bed next to her and allowing her to hold him for several hours was not a completely repulsive one, given that it was three in the morning, but at the same time he was aware of the utter impossibility of such a solution. Besides, he had never been one for- he grimaced- 'cuddles.'
He took a moment to recover, taking the opportunity to notice where he was. The moonlight from the clear summer's evening streamed in from the window, and Snape wondered how the woman could possibly manage to get any sleep. The light lit up her face, darkening her lashes against her creamy white skin. Snape frowned. Really, he thought, it would be like trying to sleep in the beam from a light house.
Hermione shifted, rolling slightly to the side and letting go of Snape with one hand. Unfortunately, her grip with the other arm did not loosen in the slightest, and her movement brought Snape forward to a position he sincerely, for the sake of his sanity, hoped he would forget. Not that being nearly suffocated by the soft heaven of one breast was entirely unpleasant, but it was not something he wished to remember in the dark nights of his own soul. Thankfully, with another sigh, Hermione let go of him completely, rolling over on to her stomach and snuggling into the covers.
Snape took a few minutes to get over the surreality of the situation before standing. It was probably a warm enough night for her to be quite comfortable sleeping in her clothes without covers, he reflected, and frankly the thought of passing his hands over her to undress her in any way disturbed him greatly. Hermione frowned against the moonlight in her sleep, and Snape settled for striding over to the windows and closing the curtains with a satisfying rush.
He managed to make his way out of the now pitch-black room without harm, and exited Hermione's chambers without mishap. Getting further away from her chambers, however, was another issue, as Minerva McGonagall happened to be peering down the corridor at the precise moment he emerged from Hermione's rooms.
Mentally he slapped his head as his colleague waited patiently for him at the end of the corridor. The Head of Gryffindor wasn't looking inclined to let the matter go.
'So, Severus,' Minerva said, looking him over. Snape resisted the urge to smoothe his undoubtedly messy hair- it was, after all, three a.m.
'So, Minerva,' he replied, beginning to walk down the main hall. McGonagall followed him.
'Helping our new colleague back to her rooms?' she asked, more than a trace of laughter in her voice.
'Indeed,' Snape said. 'Perhaps if you four witches had not got her so drunk in the first place...'
She chuckled at his suggestion, and Snape rolled his eyes in the comfort of darkness. A suspicion was forming in his mind.
'I see you didn't refrain from indulging yourself,' he concluded, looking at his rather befuddled colleague. 'Please don't tell me I have to help you safely back to your rooms also.'
Minerva smiled at him. 'Severus,' she said, 'if only I got the sort of help you just gave Hermione more often, I'd be a happy woman.' She chuckled again, and Snape shook his head in disgust. If she was sober enough to be making such atrocious jokes, she was sober enough to stagger back to her rooms alone.
Taking time only to point his colleague in the rough direction of her rooms, Snape turned his footsteps toward his own. He may not be able to get himself some sleep, he concluded, but at least the fumes of his workroom would force the scent of a sleepy Hermione from his nostrils.