She did not want gentility or softness. That he gave to every woman he was
with. She wanted the unleashed passion he guarded so closely. She wanted
him to lose control and make love to her as he did to no other woman. With
her own desire raging through her, and the love she harbored so deeply in
her heart for him, it was easy to be bold. She slipped her hand down
between his legs and –
Hermione Granger's head jerked up. She could almost have sworn she heard something, but, she imagined she might be the tiniest bit paranoid. Still it... yes, those were footsteps. And wasn't that Professor Snape's rumpled form careening back and forth between the walls?
"Oh my God," thought Hermione, "he's going to think I've been reading porn!"
Quickly she shuffled The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé under the hem of her robe. An action brilliantly timed, as it was a mere five seconds later that Severus Snape fell in a bleeding heap at her feet.
"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, poking his abdomen with her germ riddled toe.
"I suppose you'd like to heal me, Miss Granger? Strip my robes from my maimed, needy – oh, so needy - body and apply a certain soft touch, a woman's touch if you will..."
"But I'm not certified! That's a really awful idea, sir. I'd probably kill you. Are you dying? I could run get Madame Promfrey."
"No, actually I'm fine. I just felt it was the proper thing to say, considering the situation. I am a Slytherin after all. Etiquette is in our blood. Though we have been known to overcome it when in the presence of cretins."
"Oh. Well, I appreciate that. It's very sweet of you, really. But I don't have anywhere near the talent, really, years of training go into that, and I simply haven't the long term stamina, well, not at present, that's not to say that I never will, I've put some quite serious consideration into the prospect of medi-witching but...."
"I understand, Miss Granger. I'm very glad you declined. Honestly, it would have been very awkward had you tried to heal me."
"Is it Crucio again, sir?"
"Yes. Yes, it's Crucio."
"Oh, poor, poor Professor Snape! The monster! How can you bear it?"
"Much less painful than you'd expect, actually. Rather like having rubber bands snapped at you, annoying, certainly, and it makes for an intensely panicked moment, but no long term damage."
"But Harry said..."
"I think, if we were to shift aside his tendency towards the melodramatic, that Mr. Potter could well have suffered from an anxiety attack. It's not unnatural, really; he expected the pain to be enormous, and as such he experienced enormous pain. Take, for instance, the case of Augurey birds – as many wizards thought that their cry predicted death, upon hearing it they suffered heart attacks and died."
"But modern research tells us that Auguries only cry to predict rain."
"Precisely, Miss Granger."
"But Neville's parents..."
"They were always, to put it mildly, peculiar... they were a little unhinged to begin with, you know. It really wouldn't have taken a whole hell of a lot. I don't mean to be rude, but why are you down here, Miss Granger? Lost on your way to the library, I suppose?"
"No... no, actually I come down here every night. You've just never noticed me. That's alright, I'm really very good at blending in with the dank scenery."
"Because you want to hear about Death Eater exploits when I discuss them loudly in my bedchambers?"
"No. Well, not that that isn't interesting, I'm sure it is, but I just need a quiet place to read. And people aren't usually down here. They're a little afraid of you, you know."
"But you don't, in fact, have a book with you now, do you?"
It was moments like these that Hermione was unspeakably grateful for the nimble dexterity of her young mind. "No," she said, "that's because there are some books I know so well that I don't need to have them in front of me, anymore. Their words are my soul. And I can read my soul simply by staring intently at this bare wall. Souls are like that."
"Really. That's very odd. Well, carry on then, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, sir. I'm just going to sit here. Staring at the wall. My soul. The wall."
"Yes. Very odd. I'm going to bed, now. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew. Good night, Miss Granger."
Hermione reached under her robes to withdraw her novel, but as she watched him go, she couldn't help noticing that his back bore a striking resemblance to the Duke of Reddington's from The Lascivious Libertine Lusts of Luxurious Lady Liane. "Hmm," she thought, "It must be the robes."
Snape awoke the next morning staring at the egg shaped face and somehow yolky lips of Minerva McGonagall. She peered at him intently.
"Must you do that?" he asked.
"The headmaster wants to see you."
"Could I have five more minutes?"
"Immediately, Severus."
"May I get dressed?"
"I suppose so."
"Will you leave?"
"I'll be waiting outside. Don't try anything funny."
As Minerva shut the door behind her, Severus muttered a myriad of creative obscenities, implying that she had been conceived due to her mother's incestuous relationship with a goat. His mood was elevated somewhat as he opened his dresser doors to reveal rows of crisp, pristine, white boxer shorts. "Mmm," thought Snape, "there really is nothing I enjoy more than a good clean pair of white boxers." He zipped up the rest of his clothing quickly, and strode forth to meet Minerva in the hallway.
"Headmaster Dumbledore may think you've reformed," snarled McGonagall, "but I see right through you, Severus Snape. Right through you like... like glass."
"Really?" drawled Snape, "tell me, do you always call him Headmaster Dumbledore? Even in more intimate situations? I think that must cast the most bizarre air on the whole milieu."
"Don't try any of your shit with me, Severus."
"Now, now, don't get catty Minerva..."
After an interminably long walk, Severus reached Headmaster Dumbledore's office, where he was informed that the headmaster was running late. He proceeded to wait for a little over half-an-hour. As he sat outside, he thought about how punctual the Dark Lord was. He thought about cupcakes. He thought about how Crucio could make him feel a little giddy and tingly. And just as he was nodding off to a pleasurable dream about chocolate chip scones and world domination, the door was flung open before him and Molly Weasley ran down the stairs, waving her hands about wildly. Dumbledore emerged leisurely behind her, his robes covered in gold dust, twinkling radiantly.
"Severus!" he exclaimed, ushering Snape into his office, "do come in."
As Severus sat down, he watched Fawkes out of the corner of his eye, who was tearing a young rat to shreds with his beak. A bit awkward perhaps - Suggestion: As Severus sat down, he watched Fawkes out of the corner of his eye; the bird was tearing a young rat to shreds with his beak.
"I'm sorry I'm late," remarked Dumbledore, "but it's Molly Weasley. She's trying another petition about proper student teacher relations. Poor woman simply doesn't seem to understand how things are done at Hogwarts."
"Oh dear," said Severus, "is it Professor Binns, again?"
"Yes," Dumbledore giggled, reaching for a piece of caramel, "it's quite droll, actually. He's been saying the filthiest things to the young girls. You can imagine the effects... but then, I'm sure it's all in good fun."
"Of course."
"But on a more serious note – the Death Eater meeting yesterday. What happened?"
"They raped a muggle born, again, sir. And then we drank blood out of a skull."
"A pretty muggle born?"
"Yes."
"Young? Lithe?"
"Yes."
"Probably absolutely panting for it, wasn't she?"
"I imagine so, sir."
"God, how awful. Now," he leaned across the desk, cradling his head in his palms, "you just tell me all about it..."
Later that evening, Severus couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit proud of his story. He had woven a tale of such incendiary lust and depravity that Dumbledore was reduced to a gleeful giggling fit, preceding his adamant speech on the necessity of eliminating the Dark Lord, whose actions were an insult to decent Wizards everywhere. So Severus was in one of his most cheerful moods as he sat down to grade papers. But, as he was merrily humming a Puccini aria, and scrawling all manner of imaginative insults on students papers (the next morning poor Terry Boot would read that he was "without question the stupidest person alive, possibly suffering from auto- intoxication and should consider an enema" and would cause a great commotion in the common room when he demanded to know what an enema was) he suddenly caught sight of a blue robed torso wriggling frantically in his ventilation duct.
"Severus?" mewled the torso, "I seem to be just a little bit stuck."
"Master!" exclaimed Severus, as he darted across the room, tugging frantically upon the Dark Lord's amphibious ankles. Voldemort crumpled in a pile on the floor, clutching his robes around himself as he fell in a desperate attempt to preserve his modesty.
"You have no idea," Voldemort said, shaking his head grimly, "how really difficult it is to insure that my dignity is never for one moment compromised."
"It might be easier if you stopped dropping out of ventilation ducts," replied Severus.
"But you can't apparate onto the school grounds. I certainly can't floo myself in. But they've never considered the ventilation system! It's moments like these I'm grateful for my rascally orphan past. And I wanted to see you. I told Bella last night... oh, she stayed the night, by the way."
Snape raised his eyebrows.
"No. No, just on the couch. I think I just wanted to see how the phrase sounded. But you know, she's really, really pretty when she's asleep. Every few hours I kept creeping in to make sure she was still breathing. Is that strange?"
"I think it would fit with many people's perception of you, my Lord."
"Oh, no. That's your nice way of telling me I'm being quirky again, isn't it? Well, anyhow, we brought you these."
Voldemort bent down and offered Snape an exceedingly tattered and partially shredded bouquet.
"Ventilation systems are hell on flowers, I'm afraid. I told Bella that I felt bad about crucio-ing you, and she said that it would be sweet if we sent flowers. They were yellow roses originally. Now, Bella is going by the whole 19th century language des fleurs system, and she said that we shouldn't send yellow roses because they meant a decrease of love. But I said that yellow roses made me feel really fuzzy inside. So we decided that we could send yellow roses. When I take over the world, people are going to be seeing a whole lot more yellow roses."
"Well, that's very kind of you," replied Severus, laying the collection of stems down on his desk, next to the aspidistra. "Oh, and I heard something today that will make you so happy."
"A corruption!?" exclaimed Voldemort, clapping his claws gleefully.
"Yes, indeed!"
Money?"
"No."
"Power."
"No."
"Then it must be sex!"
"Exactly. It would seem Professor Binns makes incredibly lewd comments towards the young girls, and Dumbledore knows all about it and chooses to gloss over it. It could be turned into quite a scandal."
"Oh, my. You never can trust those ghosts. Oh, it would be a scandal. The spirit division of the Ministry would have a breakdown – they're so into that high horse, morality non-physical thing. And I think they'd want to detract attention from ghosts and try to focus the blame on Dumbledore. If we could get Dumbledore out, or at least somewhat less glorified, we might have an opening for more mainstream political involvement. Who should we go to?"
"Fudge?"
"I think in the past we've found Fudge to be about as effectual as an ice cream sundae."
"True. The media?"
"Brilliant. Who do we know in the media? The Daily Prophet isn't really up for our stories after Potter's article."
"I'm sure we can find someone."
"I imagine we can. Did you talk to Hermione? Such a coup, such a coup. A major coup."
"You like that word, don't you?"
"It's a great word. I'll use that word a lot after I take control of the wizarding world. But did you talk to her?"
"A little. Last night."
"Were you charming?"
"I only took 20 points off Gryffindor."
"No, no, no Severus. That's not how we behave when we're being charming. You should go talk to her immediately. She spends the night outside your door, you know."
"How did you know?"
"Well, because every time I walk by I see this girl sitting there with a book bag that has 'Hermione Granger' written on it in large letters. And then one day she came up to me as I passed and said, 'Hello, my name is Hermione Granger.'"
"You talked to her? But you're..."
"Oh, no, don't worry. She thinks I'm the friendly squib caretaker who had an unfortunate run-in with a bowtruckle which disfigured me for life. I was saving a baby crup when it happened. Tragic, really."
"But your looks are so... deliciously unique, my Lord. Wouldn't she have recognized you?"
"Severus, really. Have you never noticed that I always wear my periwinkle robe when I come to Hogwarts? It's a fact universally acknowledged that evil overlords wear black robes, and friendly, stoically disfigured caretakers wear blue ones. Everyone knows that."
"Of course."
"Now, I'm going to leave. You stay in for a minute, and then you go out and talk to Miss Granger."
"Must I?"
"You must, you must."
Voldemort capered out, prancing delicately upon his satanic hooves, wriggling his forked tail as he went.
Severus timidly withdrew a few minutes later and approached Hermione, who looked flustered for a moment, and then resumed staring at her wall.
"Hello, Miss Granger."
"Oh, hello Professor Snape. Do you know Willard?"
"Willard?"
"The caretaker. You must; I just saw him coming out of your rooms. He's the most darling man. You know he had the most terrible run in with a Bowtruckle..."
"I've heard. Saving a crup, at the time. Awful."
"Isn't it. Well..."
"I see you've brought a book with you, this time."
"No, I haven't. What book? I don't have any book."
"Yes, you do, it's right there, under the hem of your robe. I can see the corner of it."
"No. No, that's not a book."
"Yes, it most certainly is. Here," he bent down quickly snatching Hermione's paperback "My word, Miss Granger, The Predilections and Passions...?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, grabbing her book out of his grasp, "I'm sorry, I know it's horrible and beneath me, and I'm really ashamed of it, and..."
"Please, Miss Granger, it's perfectly normal. I've got some Genet and a complete De Sade in my private library. Want to see?"
"No, no, I'm not falling for that again."
"Falling for what?"
"Professor Binns told me that he had a complete series of a rare Herbology volume from the 16th century, and as soon as I went in there he started saying the filthiest things. It was quite traumatizing, really."
"Oh. Well. I do, in fact, unlike Binns... well, really suffice to say I'm not like Binns."
"You're sure?"
"It's a great library. Here, come with me."
He guided her into his private rooms, and she let forth an animated squeal.
"Anything surprising, Miss Granger?"
"The walls! They're all red!"
"Maroon, actually, but you could say red. I rather like maroon. I think it's a very stately shade."
"But it's a Gryffindor color!"
"Only Gryffindors would be so unbelievably arrogant as to believe they actually own a color."
Hermione paused for a moment, and then giggled. "You may have a point," she replied, "but you have to admit it's like going into the Dark Lord's bedroom and finding all the walls painted pink."
"Actually..."
"Oh, no!" She giggled again.
"But here, you'll note that the books are pretty much everywhere. What kind of romances do you like?"
"Well, ones with alliterative titles excite me."
"And..."
"I like to read novels where the heroine has a costume that rustles discreetly over her breasts, or discreet breasts rustling under her costume; in any cast there must be a costume, and some breasts, some rustling, and, overall, discretion."
"Regency, then."
"Yes."
"You know," Severus said, skimming his shelves "You really might like Candide by Voltaire."
"Is it fiendishly erotic?"
"Well, there is an insinuation that women might be having sex with monkeys. But no... but it is seen as one of the first novels to focus on emotions. And it's very funny. And it's in the period you like."
"Well, I could give it a try."
"If you like we could discuss it when you're through. Say, next week, at the same time?"
"I'd like that. But what should I tell people? They won't believe we're just having a book club; they could get suspicious."
"Well, you could say you've signed up to be my potion's assistant. Or that you're helping me create a potion that will overthrow the Dark Lord."
"They might believe that. Alright. Next week, then. But if you're giving me one of your books, I really ought to leave you one of mine. Quid pro quo, you know." She laid The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé on his bedside table.
"I don't read dreck, Miss Granger. But thank you for the offer."
"Well, just in case you get bored, I'll leave it here."
"It's hardly necessary. But thank you. 20 points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew. Good night, now."
"Good night Professor Snape."
She withdrew, clutching her copy of Candide and Severus resumed grading his papers. But later that evening, as he cuddled under his cherry colored quilt, he couldn't resist reaching out and beginning The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé. It was his job after all, and... "My word," thought Severus, as he reached page forty-nine, "is that maneuver physically possible!?"
A/N: Not to sound needy, but reviews make me nearly as happy as yellow roses make Voldemort.
Hermione Granger's head jerked up. She could almost have sworn she heard something, but, she imagined she might be the tiniest bit paranoid. Still it... yes, those were footsteps. And wasn't that Professor Snape's rumpled form careening back and forth between the walls?
"Oh my God," thought Hermione, "he's going to think I've been reading porn!"
Quickly she shuffled The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé under the hem of her robe. An action brilliantly timed, as it was a mere five seconds later that Severus Snape fell in a bleeding heap at her feet.
"Oh, sir!" she exclaimed, poking his abdomen with her germ riddled toe.
"I suppose you'd like to heal me, Miss Granger? Strip my robes from my maimed, needy – oh, so needy - body and apply a certain soft touch, a woman's touch if you will..."
"But I'm not certified! That's a really awful idea, sir. I'd probably kill you. Are you dying? I could run get Madame Promfrey."
"No, actually I'm fine. I just felt it was the proper thing to say, considering the situation. I am a Slytherin after all. Etiquette is in our blood. Though we have been known to overcome it when in the presence of cretins."
"Oh. Well, I appreciate that. It's very sweet of you, really. But I don't have anywhere near the talent, really, years of training go into that, and I simply haven't the long term stamina, well, not at present, that's not to say that I never will, I've put some quite serious consideration into the prospect of medi-witching but...."
"I understand, Miss Granger. I'm very glad you declined. Honestly, it would have been very awkward had you tried to heal me."
"Is it Crucio again, sir?"
"Yes. Yes, it's Crucio."
"Oh, poor, poor Professor Snape! The monster! How can you bear it?"
"Much less painful than you'd expect, actually. Rather like having rubber bands snapped at you, annoying, certainly, and it makes for an intensely panicked moment, but no long term damage."
"But Harry said..."
"I think, if we were to shift aside his tendency towards the melodramatic, that Mr. Potter could well have suffered from an anxiety attack. It's not unnatural, really; he expected the pain to be enormous, and as such he experienced enormous pain. Take, for instance, the case of Augurey birds – as many wizards thought that their cry predicted death, upon hearing it they suffered heart attacks and died."
"But modern research tells us that Auguries only cry to predict rain."
"Precisely, Miss Granger."
"But Neville's parents..."
"They were always, to put it mildly, peculiar... they were a little unhinged to begin with, you know. It really wouldn't have taken a whole hell of a lot. I don't mean to be rude, but why are you down here, Miss Granger? Lost on your way to the library, I suppose?"
"No... no, actually I come down here every night. You've just never noticed me. That's alright, I'm really very good at blending in with the dank scenery."
"Because you want to hear about Death Eater exploits when I discuss them loudly in my bedchambers?"
"No. Well, not that that isn't interesting, I'm sure it is, but I just need a quiet place to read. And people aren't usually down here. They're a little afraid of you, you know."
"But you don't, in fact, have a book with you now, do you?"
It was moments like these that Hermione was unspeakably grateful for the nimble dexterity of her young mind. "No," she said, "that's because there are some books I know so well that I don't need to have them in front of me, anymore. Their words are my soul. And I can read my soul simply by staring intently at this bare wall. Souls are like that."
"Really. That's very odd. Well, carry on then, Miss Granger."
"Thank you, sir. I'm just going to sit here. Staring at the wall. My soul. The wall."
"Yes. Very odd. I'm going to bed, now. Twenty points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew. Good night, Miss Granger."
Hermione reached under her robes to withdraw her novel, but as she watched him go, she couldn't help noticing that his back bore a striking resemblance to the Duke of Reddington's from The Lascivious Libertine Lusts of Luxurious Lady Liane. "Hmm," she thought, "It must be the robes."
Snape awoke the next morning staring at the egg shaped face and somehow yolky lips of Minerva McGonagall. She peered at him intently.
"Must you do that?" he asked.
"The headmaster wants to see you."
"Could I have five more minutes?"
"Immediately, Severus."
"May I get dressed?"
"I suppose so."
"Will you leave?"
"I'll be waiting outside. Don't try anything funny."
As Minerva shut the door behind her, Severus muttered a myriad of creative obscenities, implying that she had been conceived due to her mother's incestuous relationship with a goat. His mood was elevated somewhat as he opened his dresser doors to reveal rows of crisp, pristine, white boxer shorts. "Mmm," thought Snape, "there really is nothing I enjoy more than a good clean pair of white boxers." He zipped up the rest of his clothing quickly, and strode forth to meet Minerva in the hallway.
"Headmaster Dumbledore may think you've reformed," snarled McGonagall, "but I see right through you, Severus Snape. Right through you like... like glass."
"Really?" drawled Snape, "tell me, do you always call him Headmaster Dumbledore? Even in more intimate situations? I think that must cast the most bizarre air on the whole milieu."
"Don't try any of your shit with me, Severus."
"Now, now, don't get catty Minerva..."
After an interminably long walk, Severus reached Headmaster Dumbledore's office, where he was informed that the headmaster was running late. He proceeded to wait for a little over half-an-hour. As he sat outside, he thought about how punctual the Dark Lord was. He thought about cupcakes. He thought about how Crucio could make him feel a little giddy and tingly. And just as he was nodding off to a pleasurable dream about chocolate chip scones and world domination, the door was flung open before him and Molly Weasley ran down the stairs, waving her hands about wildly. Dumbledore emerged leisurely behind her, his robes covered in gold dust, twinkling radiantly.
"Severus!" he exclaimed, ushering Snape into his office, "do come in."
As Severus sat down, he watched Fawkes out of the corner of his eye, who was tearing a young rat to shreds with his beak. A bit awkward perhaps - Suggestion: As Severus sat down, he watched Fawkes out of the corner of his eye; the bird was tearing a young rat to shreds with his beak.
"I'm sorry I'm late," remarked Dumbledore, "but it's Molly Weasley. She's trying another petition about proper student teacher relations. Poor woman simply doesn't seem to understand how things are done at Hogwarts."
"Oh dear," said Severus, "is it Professor Binns, again?"
"Yes," Dumbledore giggled, reaching for a piece of caramel, "it's quite droll, actually. He's been saying the filthiest things to the young girls. You can imagine the effects... but then, I'm sure it's all in good fun."
"Of course."
"But on a more serious note – the Death Eater meeting yesterday. What happened?"
"They raped a muggle born, again, sir. And then we drank blood out of a skull."
"A pretty muggle born?"
"Yes."
"Young? Lithe?"
"Yes."
"Probably absolutely panting for it, wasn't she?"
"I imagine so, sir."
"God, how awful. Now," he leaned across the desk, cradling his head in his palms, "you just tell me all about it..."
Later that evening, Severus couldn't help feeling the tiniest bit proud of his story. He had woven a tale of such incendiary lust and depravity that Dumbledore was reduced to a gleeful giggling fit, preceding his adamant speech on the necessity of eliminating the Dark Lord, whose actions were an insult to decent Wizards everywhere. So Severus was in one of his most cheerful moods as he sat down to grade papers. But, as he was merrily humming a Puccini aria, and scrawling all manner of imaginative insults on students papers (the next morning poor Terry Boot would read that he was "without question the stupidest person alive, possibly suffering from auto- intoxication and should consider an enema" and would cause a great commotion in the common room when he demanded to know what an enema was) he suddenly caught sight of a blue robed torso wriggling frantically in his ventilation duct.
"Severus?" mewled the torso, "I seem to be just a little bit stuck."
"Master!" exclaimed Severus, as he darted across the room, tugging frantically upon the Dark Lord's amphibious ankles. Voldemort crumpled in a pile on the floor, clutching his robes around himself as he fell in a desperate attempt to preserve his modesty.
"You have no idea," Voldemort said, shaking his head grimly, "how really difficult it is to insure that my dignity is never for one moment compromised."
"It might be easier if you stopped dropping out of ventilation ducts," replied Severus.
"But you can't apparate onto the school grounds. I certainly can't floo myself in. But they've never considered the ventilation system! It's moments like these I'm grateful for my rascally orphan past. And I wanted to see you. I told Bella last night... oh, she stayed the night, by the way."
Snape raised his eyebrows.
"No. No, just on the couch. I think I just wanted to see how the phrase sounded. But you know, she's really, really pretty when she's asleep. Every few hours I kept creeping in to make sure she was still breathing. Is that strange?"
"I think it would fit with many people's perception of you, my Lord."
"Oh, no. That's your nice way of telling me I'm being quirky again, isn't it? Well, anyhow, we brought you these."
Voldemort bent down and offered Snape an exceedingly tattered and partially shredded bouquet.
"Ventilation systems are hell on flowers, I'm afraid. I told Bella that I felt bad about crucio-ing you, and she said that it would be sweet if we sent flowers. They were yellow roses originally. Now, Bella is going by the whole 19th century language des fleurs system, and she said that we shouldn't send yellow roses because they meant a decrease of love. But I said that yellow roses made me feel really fuzzy inside. So we decided that we could send yellow roses. When I take over the world, people are going to be seeing a whole lot more yellow roses."
"Well, that's very kind of you," replied Severus, laying the collection of stems down on his desk, next to the aspidistra. "Oh, and I heard something today that will make you so happy."
"A corruption!?" exclaimed Voldemort, clapping his claws gleefully.
"Yes, indeed!"
Money?"
"No."
"Power."
"No."
"Then it must be sex!"
"Exactly. It would seem Professor Binns makes incredibly lewd comments towards the young girls, and Dumbledore knows all about it and chooses to gloss over it. It could be turned into quite a scandal."
"Oh, my. You never can trust those ghosts. Oh, it would be a scandal. The spirit division of the Ministry would have a breakdown – they're so into that high horse, morality non-physical thing. And I think they'd want to detract attention from ghosts and try to focus the blame on Dumbledore. If we could get Dumbledore out, or at least somewhat less glorified, we might have an opening for more mainstream political involvement. Who should we go to?"
"Fudge?"
"I think in the past we've found Fudge to be about as effectual as an ice cream sundae."
"True. The media?"
"Brilliant. Who do we know in the media? The Daily Prophet isn't really up for our stories after Potter's article."
"I'm sure we can find someone."
"I imagine we can. Did you talk to Hermione? Such a coup, such a coup. A major coup."
"You like that word, don't you?"
"It's a great word. I'll use that word a lot after I take control of the wizarding world. But did you talk to her?"
"A little. Last night."
"Were you charming?"
"I only took 20 points off Gryffindor."
"No, no, no Severus. That's not how we behave when we're being charming. You should go talk to her immediately. She spends the night outside your door, you know."
"How did you know?"
"Well, because every time I walk by I see this girl sitting there with a book bag that has 'Hermione Granger' written on it in large letters. And then one day she came up to me as I passed and said, 'Hello, my name is Hermione Granger.'"
"You talked to her? But you're..."
"Oh, no, don't worry. She thinks I'm the friendly squib caretaker who had an unfortunate run-in with a bowtruckle which disfigured me for life. I was saving a baby crup when it happened. Tragic, really."
"But your looks are so... deliciously unique, my Lord. Wouldn't she have recognized you?"
"Severus, really. Have you never noticed that I always wear my periwinkle robe when I come to Hogwarts? It's a fact universally acknowledged that evil overlords wear black robes, and friendly, stoically disfigured caretakers wear blue ones. Everyone knows that."
"Of course."
"Now, I'm going to leave. You stay in for a minute, and then you go out and talk to Miss Granger."
"Must I?"
"You must, you must."
Voldemort capered out, prancing delicately upon his satanic hooves, wriggling his forked tail as he went.
Severus timidly withdrew a few minutes later and approached Hermione, who looked flustered for a moment, and then resumed staring at her wall.
"Hello, Miss Granger."
"Oh, hello Professor Snape. Do you know Willard?"
"Willard?"
"The caretaker. You must; I just saw him coming out of your rooms. He's the most darling man. You know he had the most terrible run in with a Bowtruckle..."
"I've heard. Saving a crup, at the time. Awful."
"Isn't it. Well..."
"I see you've brought a book with you, this time."
"No, I haven't. What book? I don't have any book."
"Yes, you do, it's right there, under the hem of your robe. I can see the corner of it."
"No. No, that's not a book."
"Yes, it most certainly is. Here," he bent down quickly snatching Hermione's paperback "My word, Miss Granger, The Predilections and Passions...?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Hermione, grabbing her book out of his grasp, "I'm sorry, I know it's horrible and beneath me, and I'm really ashamed of it, and..."
"Please, Miss Granger, it's perfectly normal. I've got some Genet and a complete De Sade in my private library. Want to see?"
"No, no, I'm not falling for that again."
"Falling for what?"
"Professor Binns told me that he had a complete series of a rare Herbology volume from the 16th century, and as soon as I went in there he started saying the filthiest things. It was quite traumatizing, really."
"Oh. Well. I do, in fact, unlike Binns... well, really suffice to say I'm not like Binns."
"You're sure?"
"It's a great library. Here, come with me."
He guided her into his private rooms, and she let forth an animated squeal.
"Anything surprising, Miss Granger?"
"The walls! They're all red!"
"Maroon, actually, but you could say red. I rather like maroon. I think it's a very stately shade."
"But it's a Gryffindor color!"
"Only Gryffindors would be so unbelievably arrogant as to believe they actually own a color."
Hermione paused for a moment, and then giggled. "You may have a point," she replied, "but you have to admit it's like going into the Dark Lord's bedroom and finding all the walls painted pink."
"Actually..."
"Oh, no!" She giggled again.
"But here, you'll note that the books are pretty much everywhere. What kind of romances do you like?"
"Well, ones with alliterative titles excite me."
"And..."
"I like to read novels where the heroine has a costume that rustles discreetly over her breasts, or discreet breasts rustling under her costume; in any cast there must be a costume, and some breasts, some rustling, and, overall, discretion."
"Regency, then."
"Yes."
"You know," Severus said, skimming his shelves "You really might like Candide by Voltaire."
"Is it fiendishly erotic?"
"Well, there is an insinuation that women might be having sex with monkeys. But no... but it is seen as one of the first novels to focus on emotions. And it's very funny. And it's in the period you like."
"Well, I could give it a try."
"If you like we could discuss it when you're through. Say, next week, at the same time?"
"I'd like that. But what should I tell people? They won't believe we're just having a book club; they could get suspicious."
"Well, you could say you've signed up to be my potion's assistant. Or that you're helping me create a potion that will overthrow the Dark Lord."
"They might believe that. Alright. Next week, then. But if you're giving me one of your books, I really ought to leave you one of mine. Quid pro quo, you know." She laid The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé on his bedside table.
"I don't read dreck, Miss Granger. But thank you for the offer."
"Well, just in case you get bored, I'll leave it here."
"It's hardly necessary. But thank you. 20 points from Gryffindor for being out past curfew. Good night, now."
"Good night Professor Snape."
She withdrew, clutching her copy of Candide and Severus resumed grading his papers. But later that evening, as he cuddled under his cherry colored quilt, he couldn't resist reaching out and beginning The Predilections and Passions of Pygmalion's Piquant Protégé. It was his job after all, and... "My word," thought Severus, as he reached page forty-nine, "is that maneuver physically possible!?"
A/N: Not to sound needy, but reviews make me nearly as happy as yellow roses make Voldemort.