A/N: Hello all! Thank you for the reviews. I know, all those who had been watching my updates are probably moved on, but I am glad somebody found this. Hopefully I can keep updating regularly, but as you know, it has to be in utmost secret and stealth, and these chaps are on average 3k words…my point exactly. I really hope I am keeping up a plot that is not entirely boring. A few comments:

Ninde Annare-Worth it, eh? Perhaps. Lucky for you, this story now has a freaking title! (Yay!) As usual, another update for your enjoyment.

Werecat-You know, you should not be reading with this if you are not a fan of HGSS, I mean really…And by the way, there IS 4 fanfics out there (searched and found them myself) for Lucius and Molly Weasley. So take that back, missie. Can't compare that anymore. If you're gonna get mad at me, don't read it!

Dragonero-Do you mean "caring" or "sharing"? Child, you gotta watch those typos, they're confusing me! (Ack)

Momsangel-Love the drama. Exactly what I would do.

Wacko the Sane-Yes, it does seem like it's leaning towards LDCFAP, but I will assure you, I will do my best to add extra twists so it is varied. Also, Harry's glasses, when thrown off his face, were zoomed back to his head by a spell performed by Hermione. Not really his fault for faulty eyewear.

Natsuyori-You seem to be following my every move (for both of my fics). That's cool, I'm glad you're keeping up, and I can always use the reviews! (And I will point out it is not Snape who is saying Rock on, it is me!)

For everybody, I now have a title! Now you can read and review a Titled Fic!

(0)(0)

"Which one of you came up with the bloody idea?" Hermione retorted. The boys sheepishly looked at each other, and Harry raised his hand a little, defeated. "Then you're the victim for the next dare!" Hermione said evilly, and beckoned Ron over so they could converse. "He's lying, isn't he?" Ron started.

"No. It really was. I don't think I'd have ever thought of that. I was thinking you could fail an essay on purpose," he said, and Hermione just glared. "Sorry."

"Okay, now what do we want for Harry to do for a dare?" she said thoughtfully.

"It's gotta be something good," Ron replied eagerly.

"Really good." They looked at Harry, then at each other, nodded once, and turned towards Harry again after some brief whispering; they had the same idea.

"Ready for your dare?" Ron said, rubbing his hands together in glee. Harry shifted in his seat, dreading what might be coming, but nodded bravely.

"Your dare, is to take Ginny on a date!" Hermione said, her and Ron feeling this was very appropriate. Harry had always tried not to act like Ginny's undying love of him was getting to him, that she was younger and he was older, case closed. How wrong he was. They could tell he liked her a lot, but was way too nervous, the strange and uncomfortable relationship with Cho from previous years hanging over his conscience. "Well?" Harry was stark white.

"No…" he answered weakly. "You couldn't, you can't…" he said desperately, looking at both of them in absolute fear.

"Yes, we can," Hermione said gently, hoping Harry wasn't about to drop dead or something.

"Oh come off it, Harry," Ron blurted, "I know and you know that you've liked my sis since sixth year. Admit it." Harry said nothing. "Thought so."

"Come on, Harry. This isn't even a dare if you think about it," Hermione said diplomatically. "It's more of a, well, forced opportunity." Ron nodded.

"Fine." Harry grumbled reluctantly. "But I don't like it, and I will get you guys back. This is way to cruel," and with that he stalked off to bed, trying to look very angry and terrified at the same time.

"He is psyched, you can tell," Ron said knowingly.

"Yeah, I could see the smile he was so desperately was trying to hide. It's a great excuse for him to ask her out when he's been too scared to," Hermione agreed. They discussed the finer details of what Harry would do, and agreed that it would be done on the upcoming Friday, which just so happened to be the very next day. Harry once again went pale when he realized he had absolutely no time to think about it, and went up to the boy's dorm without another word. Ron, saying he would go talk to him, followed him up shortly after. Hermione placed herself on the couch in front of the fire, and began to read.

An hour or so passed by, and Hermione yawned, stood, and looked up at the clock. The book fell with a thud on the floor, and she immediately dashed out the portrait door, swearing under her breath, her mind racing. She had completely forgotten that she was supposed to serve detention with Professor Snape tonight…and almost every night after that, for what he described as "an undetermined length of time". Bastard, she thought bitterly. She really did not want to go through with this.

She finally slowed, gasping for air from her bolt to his classroom, and paused in front of the door. Why should I serve detention with him? Why did he suggest it anyway? He could have sent me to Filch or something…But he didn't. She placed her hand on the door, praying she would live through the night, and pushed it open.

Snape looked up to see the door swinging open with its usual eerie creak. Who on earth is disturbing me? He really had no clue. The only people who willingly came to see him were Dumbledore and the teachers, and even the other teachers avoided coming to see him, at this time of night, in his own domain. Yes, his domain. It was the domain of a pathetically leaking and muggy classroom pathetically at the very bottom of the school. The irony that he, a world famous Potions Master, was reduced to this meager establishment, teaching young children an art they would never appreciate. I appreciate it, she thought.

He was further surprised when none other than Miss Granger stepped into the classroom, rather hesitantly, and stood there. She made no move to shut the door. He decided to say nothing, and see if she would go away.

"Sir?" came a soft voice from the other end of the room. He looked up expectantly, but still said nothing.

"I am here." This statement caused him to snort slightly in laughter. Really, did she think he was that thick?

"I am aware of your presence, Miss Granger," he said coolly, "and would appreciate it if you would leave. Goodnight." And with that he settled back down to grading more papers in another pile than the one on his desk, of third year papers.

"Sir," came the voice again, louder and more confident. "I am here for my detention." He froze. Damn, damn, damn, he thought angrily, did I really assign her to have her detention for her little "prank" with me? Why? He didn't know.

"Very well. You can start by grading these papers. I want them all done." And he stood stiffly and vacated the seat behind his desk, and crossed to another table in the back of the room behind his desk, where he had some of his experiment equipment out. He was planning to make a potion, and was glad he would not have to grade essays anymore. "If you have any questions about the essays, I will be over here, but otherwise don't disturb me." She quickly went towards his desk, and Snape turned to begin his work, glad that she did not say anything more.

Hermione sank carefully into the large leather chair that was Professor Snape's perch in front of the classroom. It was quite comfortable, and she couldn't help but realize it smelled interesting: a sort of herbal and musky smell. It smelled good. Shaking her head to clear her mind, she set to work grading the essays. She felt some pride that he trusted her knowledge (not her, herself, of course) was enough to grade the essays, which was substantially better than the alternative, which was cleaning.

After grading about ten essays (they were short, or shorter, than what she had to write) she put the quill down and put her head in her hands to clear her mind. She hadn't realized how tired she was. She listened to the subdued movement of her Professor behind her, and couldn't resist a peek at what he was doing.

He was standing, hunched over his work, but still very graceful about it. His hair had fallen into his face, and he seemed to simply ignore it, which for some reason looked very, well, how could she put it, appealing? He wasn't constantly fidgeting and brushing his hair back, and she badly wanted to go over there (being a girl) and get his hair out of his face. But of course she resisted. She simply watched him work, completely fascinated. He had a certain way of moving, and with quick and deft precision, he measured out ingredients and added them to the cauldron with utmost care. She admired his ease and skill. Clearly he really was one of the greatest, maybe even the greatest Potions Master in the UK, and maybe the world. But suddenly she noticed him reach out and measure out a vial of ground up dragon's tooth. She had guessed what the potion was already: a healing remedy for boils caused by the common hex, which was used by Madame Pomfrey often enough. And he was adding the wrong amount of the dragon's tooth. He was putting twice the amount needed, and that would in effect, not effect the performance of the potion, but would cause the drinker to be nauseated and come down with a high fever after the boils were gone, and, if not linked to the miscalculation of the potion, would kill them within a month if the proper anecdote was not found. She stood immediately and went towards him as fast as she could, hoping to stop him before he added the ground dragon's tooth, and make a horrible and deadly mistake.

"Professor!" she said loudly, and as he turned to confront her, she noticed for the first time how tired he looked. His eyes were now bloodshot from working around the hot fumes of the potion and he physically was drooping, and his hand was shaking. She swiftly grabbed the vial out of his hands.

"What are you doing, Miss Granger?" he barked angrily.

"Saving your ass, that's what," she replied hotly, and covered her mouth in horror for a second, and then without further ado, pitched the vile across the room, where it landed with a smash of glass.

"What the bloody hell are you doing!" he roared. She quailed slightly under his tall figure.

"Like I said before, I was saving you from killing someone," she replied evenly, hoping if she stayed calm, he would.

"And why in Merlin's name would that be possible?" he said angrily, although his tone was lighter than previously.

"You were about to add nearly twice as much ground dragon's tooth as was necessary for that potion. You do know what wouldn't happened if you had?" Realization suddenly hit his face, and he stumbled backward, half in shock, half in exhaustion. Hermione instinctively grabbed his robes before he fell, and he yanked them away.

"Get your hands off me!" he snarled. But he was not very threatening as he staggered backwards and practically fell into his chair at his desk, knocking his ink well over and sending the essays and ink splattering everywhere. Hermione rushed over to him, but kept her distance, not wanting to anger him further. She finally understood.

"Professor, I order you go to bed immediately. You are exhausted and are punishing yourself horribly by working like this. You almost made a horrible mistake that would have cost a student their life. You are not in a fit state to be doing anything, physically or emotionally. Now I want you to lie down, and rest." She was surprised the nerve she had to say that.

"You, of all people, do not order me around," Snape gasped angrily. Ignoring him, Hermione grabbed his arm, pulled him up with considerable difficulty, and practically dragged him into his office. He was cursing the entire time, but complied, strangely, even though, even in this drained state, he could have thrown her off easily…but he didn't. Once in his office, she looked around wildly, wondering where his room was, or at least where a couch might be or something.

"Where is your room?" she hissed, dragging him closer to her, and he finally found the strength to shake her off.

"Miss Granger!" he spat. "You will not be dragging me around anywhere. I suggest you leave, before I hex you."

"For your information, if you were not so exhausted, you would have noticed that I took your wand out of your pocket a long time ago," Hermione said haughtily, and watched him quiver in anger.

"If you do not give me my wand back and leave this instant, I'll-"

"You'll what? Smite me where I stand?" she interrupted innocently, crossing her arms stubbornly.

"Damn right I will," Snape snarled.

"No you won't. You will going to bed," Hermione said firmly, brandishing her wand menacingly. Snape took a step back.

"Lead the way, Professor. I'm right behind you," Hermione said cheerfully, and as he turned slowly away, she glanced at the shelf on her right, where numerous vials sat on a bookcase, all alphabetized and labeled. Finding the one she was looking for, she grabbed it, slipped it into her pocket, and followed Snape as he walked through the opposite door to his bedchambers.

Hermione could not believe she had the nerve to do this; this man, dead tired, could still throttle her. And yet, he was complying…somewhat, and was leading her to the most private place he occupied: his bedroom. Now, for some reason, this made her feel jittery all over, and the goose bumps began crawling over her skin and filling her up inside with a kind of fiery and bubbling excitement. She didn't know why, but she was eager to see his bedchamber…what did it look like? She tried to imagine it in her head, and she came up with nothing but green and silver colored things everywhere…he was a Slytherin, after all, so it made sense he would have those colors in his room. The bedroom was probably very cold; no doubt he never had a fire going, and it was probably dark. It almost reminded her of this story she had read when she was younger. It was a story by Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, and the grumpy and horrible man named Scrooge in it. She figured Snape was probably just like that; she certainly had enough evidence to prove it.

They finally came upon a grand mahogany door, and Snape reached out and placed his hand, palm down, on a brass square on the center of the door, and it opened. Hermione was impressed. It seemed very similar to the finger and eye scanners that are in some muggle buildings (or at least they said they had such technology) that allowed only certain people entrance. When he dramatically swung open the door (for her benefit, she assumed) and stepped in, she froze in the door in complete surprise and wonder.

His room was not what she expected at all. There was not a single hint of green and silver in the entire chamber. What she saw was a deep rich-colored mahogany (similar to the door) closet, a identical set of a dresser, three different enormous bookcases, a coffee table, a small desk, and chair. The bed was the same as the rest of the wooden furniture; it was a grand four-poster bed with curtains. There were several paintings on the wall, with one above the fireplace, and one on wall (that wasn't occupied by a bookcase). One she even recognized as Starry, Starry Night, by Van Gogh, which pleased her immensely. In the corner, there was a beautifully paned window and under was a plush window seat and several pillows. The colors of the room consisted of a deep maroon, a kind of obsidian black, and in some areas of the room were a few items that were a deep blue almost black, and creamy white almost yellow. His color choices were beautiful, but completely different from what she imagined. He has really good taste, she murmured to herself thoughtfully.

He had already entered his walk-in closet and emerged, wearing black polyester pants and a simple black shirt. She had never seen him dressed so casual, let alone in muggle-like clothes. She finally took a step into the room, wisely keeping the door open, and after looking at the roaring fire in the grand fireplace, she almost cried out in joy; the hardwood flooring of his room was mostly covered by extremely soft plushy maroon rugs, so soft and palpable she could practically feel the texture of it even with her shoes on. He truly had very good taste, and she liked that.

"Why are you still standing there?" Snape asked indignantly, looking up over his reading glasses at her from where he was sitting in a very comfortable-looking black leather chair.

"Umm…" Hermione mumbled uncomfortably.

"Well? Go!" Snape snapped and returned to his book. But Hermione made no move. "Didn't you hear me, girl?" he said exasperatedly, staring her down. She shrugged.

"I suppose I did," she said non-committal, and continued. "But I said you were to rest…in bed, or in other words, s-l-e-e-p," she finished, and grimaced at her uncalled for rudeness. Snape said nothing for a minute, and then very slowly, got up, put his book away and walked over to his bed, opening the velvet curtains and laying down under his feather down blanket. Hermione just stared, and then suddenly remembered. "Drink this…all of it," she ordered, crossing the room and with much daring standing over him as he sat with his back propped up against his pillows. He smirked.

"Miss Granger." She looked at him suddenly very afraid. "I never thought I would ever see my mother again after she died…but I mustn't worry," his eyes glittered, "she's right in front of me."

"You are impossible!" Hermione blurted in annoyance. "Just drink the damn stuff!" And with that she shoved it in his hand, and, after he read the label, and approved, he downed it in one gulp, grimacing.

"I thought I ran out of that deep slumber potion, guess…not…" he trailed off, his eyes fluttering closed and he sank further into his bed, completely asleep. Hermione couldn't help but smile. He looked so…innocent (if that was even possible) and vulnerable. Not able to help herself, she drew up his sheets and covers, pulled them over him making sure he was comfortable. Then, turning on her heel, she took one last look at the tantalizing and wonderful chamber of Professor Snape; it almost made her sad that she would never see it again. With a deep sigh, she stepped away from the bed and her exhausted and now sleeping Potions Professor, and walked out of the room into the hall as the clock struck one. She felt better about helping her teacher, but how could she know if it was the right thing to do? What she paid later? Only tomorrow would resolve that.

(0)(0)

A/N: Okay, the title was going to be "No Strings Attached", but I decided I'd name it "Starry, Starry Night". Is it too fruity? Or is the other one better? Review the chapter, and tell me which one you like better, OR if you have another suggestion…but I like the Starry title the best so far.