Outside the Potion's Classroom

Disclaimed over and over again. Like a record, baby.

AN: a long(er) chapter, so I hope it was worth the wait.

Chapter Three

After being very thoroughly chastened by the Headmaster on the expectations of a professional student/teacher relationship (what it entails and what it does not), being put on probation and sentenced to six weeks of double shifts on patrol, a budget cut in less-than essential ingredients and now having to sit through all NEWT detentions, Severus Snape felt slightly worse for the wear. Why didn't the man cut off his right hand while he restricted and snatched away his liberties? The loss of potions ingredients was perhaps the hardest to bear. Now he had to fund his potions research out of his own pocket, something that would hurt his savings greatly.

The shining moment, his most Slytherin victory, was when Dumbledore admitted that he had over-extended Severus to the point of breakage for almost twenty years, and that given the circumstance, he could see 'how' it 'happened'. While he didn't fire him because of pity, Severus knew it was triumph nevertheless. Severus was nothing if not an opportunist – and frankly – he already knew what would happen to him if he were fired from Hogwarts. With nothing to do and no paths for him to cross, he figured he would end up turning to the drink, much as his own father did to his chagrin as a child, and it would kill him. It would have only taken months, but he would have ended up killing himself. Dumbledore saved his life again.

So maybe he valued it more than he let on.

Maybe.

So after digesting as much information as he could from the Headmaster, a few glasses of Ogdens (or, more aptly known as 'liquid courage') and deducting a few unsuspecting Gryffindors some house points, he felt reasonably equipped to visit Granger. He had decided it was best to refer to her as such – not Miss Granger, reminding him of giving her detention on her knees – and definitely not Hermione, for whom he had kissed with such wild abandon that even years later he had to admit the memory still made him weak in the knees.

How had the downward spiral begun? It started long before the potion's accident. He used to catch her staring at him with the most unusual expression upon her features; not abhorrence, like most students, or pity, like most colleagues, but a startling combination of approbation and marvel, like he was a riddle just waiting to be solved. He was not used to intelligent, attractive, sincere (albeit proud, stubborn and demanding) young women seeing him is such a light. It was flattering, in a way.

Then came the "incident." The silly chit had purposely spilled an aphrodisiac all over them both. If he had not been acutely aware of her hormones before, oh, he knew now. Not that he could even think for the first few days. He was so deeply in lust he could barely sleep or eat – rabbit's blood had that kind of effect on a grown male. Granted, he should have thrown her out on her ear, Apparated to Knockturn Alley and locked himself and a prostitute in a cheap hotel room - granted, he should have confessed to Dumbledore and had the older wizard deal with the situation - granted yet again, he should have steeled himself as he had a habit of doing and brewed a remedy to their induced desires – but he did none of these things. He had buried himself in her, taking her with all the desires he had suppressed during years of forced celibacy.

But he found he had few regrets when it came to the affair. Herm…. Granger was as demanding and honest in real life as she was in the bedroom, taking in all the information she could, vocalizing what she liked and what she did not. It was rather breathtaking to have a willing and nubile female order him to go down on her in between classes. It was exhilarating to have a secret love that he was supposed to hate. It was liberating to have sex with a student right under Dumbledore's nose all over the school grounds.

It had been years since he'd enjoyed himself so thoroughly. That statement was as true today as it had been before their affair ended.

So the affair had dissolved when she left Hogwarts. She was full of plans with a very bright future ahead of her; a future that did not include him. He admittedly was disappointed to end the affair, but he had his own problems to deal with. Neither of them were ready to pursue anything that required so much commitment outside a fuck and little post-coital chatting, or so he'd thought.

She had been pregnant and felt it pertinent not to reveal this information to him. He could understand some rational behind it, they were only fucking. He probably would have cursed her at the time or sent her to have the problem terminated. He still didn't know if he liked the idea of himself as a father. His own father had been an abysmal failure and his mother wasn't much better – so he hated to think of the emotional baggage he could put upon a child in light of his own horrible upbringing.

But he still should have had the option. Damn her self-righteousness. She said she was taking the potion, so was it up to him to remember the contraceptive charm all the damn time? He couldn't even remember the details properly anymore. It had been over a decade ago.

Yet eleven years had produced Hadrian Snape. A boy who he had seen for maybe a moment and already felt he owed a wizard's debt. A boy made of his seed, with his name and his features. He seemed to have inherited Hermione's curls, and somewhere inherited a dutiful sense of being hardworking. Lord, he could have consumed a bottle of Firewhisky when he remembered where his son was sorted. Hufflepuff – oh really! That stupid hat must have been pissed or was going senile or had eaten one to many of Dumbledore's sweets. It was definitely way off its rocker - that was for certain. Every generation of Snape males had been sorted into Slytherin. Every single generation since that stupid curse came upon them. He could imagine his father rolling around in his coffin – if he had one to roll in, that is.

So, first on his list was visiting Granger. Find out what the fuck she was thinking and why she would think such foolishness. He felt it important to speak with her first before he dared speak to the miniature Snape.

His second was to make sure the child was adequately comfortable. He was the next Snape heir after all, and arrangements had to be made. He would have to rewrite his will, change some names upon his holdings, and then tell his mother.

Merlin, he could just imagine that visit. She was confined to the Elder ward at St. Mungos. He usually visited her on her birthday and at Christmas, bringing her favorite things, like books and chocolates. She was confined to a wheelchair and was now blind. She had never been very attentive – she was the picture perfect pureblood mother after all. Usually on his visit they talked about politics and why the mudbloods and muggle-lovers were trying to run the country. While he didn't agree with her ignorant and archaic beliefs, he still felt it was his responsibility to play dutiful son and listen to her tirades. It was usually the end of the visit when she began to harp on him for not being a loyal Death Eater or for only being a teacher. She also thought Potions were a waste of time. Needless to say, the visit would not be painless, but thankfully, it would be brief.

The third and last item on his list was actually speaking to the boy in question. No doubt they would meet in the classroom, but he had to know what the boy was like, what he should expect beforehand. The best offense was a good defense. This was last on his list because it would prove the most difficult. He was more confident facing Granger and his mother and Dumbledore and the Dark Lord himself altogether at high noon in a Wild West showdown than face this child.

He was terrified. He was truly scared of the boy for reasons he couldn't explain, let alone admit aloud. The irony of it wasn't lost on him, that of all the horrible acts he had seen and committed, the fear of heaven and hell would be put upon his persons by an eleven year old who probably still needed a candle by his bed every night.

Maybe he was going soft in his old age.

Maybe not.

'Maybe' seemed to be the word of the day. And he usually hated uncertainty.

Now he had to face his fears, as was his usual resolve. He smoothed out his dark robes and steeled his nerves as he stood on the front step of Granger's home in North London that evening. It was a rather charming house, small but with a well-kept yard filled with herbs and flowers. There was even a welcome mat and a wreath of lavender and forget-me-nots above the knocker. He raised his hand only to have the door swing open – and there she stood, bathed in light.

She was even more attractive. Her unruly hair was pulled back from her face, revealing the curve of her neck and stubborn jaw. Her eyes still shone like brilliant amber, her mouth was still as lush and full. She was dressed in muggle clothing, an oxford shirt and plain brown trousers, but he didn't mind as he could appreciate her form in them. She was somehow slimmer than before – by her coloring he guessed she was still working as hard as ever, ignoring even the most basic human needs to complete tasks and assignments. She looked like Hermione all grown up. Still an enchantress.

"Well, are you going to gawk at me all night or come in? Dumbledore flooed at lunchtime. What took you so long?"

As she ushered him in he couldn't help but wonder if maybe he should have seen his mother first after all. Something told him this trip down memory lane would not be very pleasant at all.

Tbc…

Thanks for reviewing everyone! I really appreciate the feedback. While I definitely don't believe in holding chapters up for ransom for reviews, I must say they have hastened the progress. So really, hugs to all of you who take the time to tell me what you thought, good OR bad.

Also, this is unbeta-ed, but I'm excited, so I'll be posting anyway.