Sorry on the day-delay – my net crashed last night just as I was about to post, grr! But then I thought of some things to add to this chapter, so I guess it worked out alright. Was planning on writing another one for tonight, but just didn't seem to happen –cries--

This chapter is actually based sort of on an experience for me… a friend of mine who sort of is like Snape got very drunk one night, and was just being sooo random. I thought maybe Snape would be a little like that too. Who knows?

Quick thanks to all those who pointed out the orange mistake from last chapter, my most humble apologies!

Also want to welcome back Kiki¸ who hasn't reviewed for ages, but now has! I've missed your quirky reviews!

Enjoy!

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Chapter Twenty-Four

When Snape answered the door with a smile, Hermione wondered what had happened and if this man really was Professor Snape. For he certainly did look different with a smile on his face. It was his deep voice that confirmed his identity.

"Finished with my book?" he asked, his eyes taking on a glazed appearance as he seemed to try to focus on her.

Stunned by the man who stood before her, once again wearing only his black pants and top, Hermione wasn't sure what to say, so opted for simply holding out the tick book to him. Not taking the book, he turned on his heel and strode unsteadily through his office, leaving her standing in the doorway. Unsure, she followed him into his sitting room.

Sitting upon the table, amongst the many books, there was an almost empty bottle of amber liquid. With her knowledge, and Snape's state, she knew at once it alcohol, but she was unable to identify it further. Next to that, however, sat another bottle of the same size and shape; The only difference being that this one was empty. Hermione took this as a bad sign. Just how drunk was her Professor? And what would he do to her, now that she was in his rooms? She dreaded the amount of points that would most likely be deducted from Gryffindor tonight.

"Where do you want me to put the book?" She asked, holding it up for him to see.

"On the shelf," he waved one hand over to the wall filled with books, while his other hand reached for the bottle with the amber liquid in it. He was still standing, and tipped slightly. Hermione automatically reached out to steady him. Once this was done, she quickly pulled her hands away from him as if burnt. He appeared not to have noticed, and she wondered if he just didn't want to mention it.

"Are you okay, Professor?" she asked.

His lip curled. "Fine, Miss Granger." The sneer quickly faded from his face. "Did you find what you wanted to about Frightening Ogre Curses?" He asked, sinking into the handsome leather couch.

"Organ Freezing Hexes, sir." She corrected quietly.

Again his hand fluttered in the air. "Yes, them." He paused. "Nasty things them, had one put on me once." He raised the bottle to his lips again, but not before Hermione caught the dark look that crossed his pale features. Shock ran through her body as she remembered what he had said Friday night "except for the memory".

An awkward silence filled the space around them before she broke it. "Well, sir, I'd best be leaving you." She turned towards the door.

"No, do stay!" She heard him say quickly. "It's been… quiet down here this past week, and the Hog's Head is closed."

He wanted her to stay? Hermione wondered briefly if the two bottles on the table were in fact not the only two that he had consumed. "You could not go to The Three Broomsticks?"

Much to her surprise, he threw his head back and laughed a deep, rich sound. "I? In The Three Broomsticks?" Dear girl!" He chuckled some more.

She felt herself growing hot with anger at his words. "I forgot, sir, that such a place would be below you." She replied scathingly, then instantly regretting it. Oh, what would he do to her now?

He laughed again. "No, no, you've got it all wrong!" He chuckled. "I just know that Sybil Trelawny has a habit of haunting that particular pub on Sundays, and she'll have a go at anything once she's had some mead."

Unbidden, Hermione allowed herself a smile at these words. "Bad experience?" She asked, and was greeted by a grimace from the drunken Professor. Silence then fell over then, as Snape bought the bottle to his lips again. Hermione wondered why the hell she was still there. Gathering her courage, she moved to sit in one of the green leather armchairs.

The silence this time was broken by Snape letting out a hiccough as he moved to take another drink. Consequently, the amber liquid slopped down his front as his body jumped when the sound erupted. At this, Hermione couldn't help but giggle. The Great Potions Master of Hogwarts, making a complete mess of himself? When he looked up to meet her eyes, however, she quickly tried to smother the giggles. But it was already too late.

His reaction was certainly not what she was expecting; he dripped a little liquid out of the bottle onto his fingers, and then proceeded to flick them at her, causing the alcohol to land on her.

"Professor!" She squealed, noticing the huge grin on his face. Doing so, she also noticed that his usually so pale complexion was gaining a little more colour. She honestly didn't think it was possible for him to be any colour but pasty white. But then again, she had never thought about Snape getting drunk and giggling. She was certainly leaning new things about the man everyday.

"Teach you to giggle," he grumbled. Hermione waited for the deduction of points, but it never came. Fleetingly, she wondered if it were at all possible for an impostor to be taking Snape's place. But then, noticing the alcohol soaking through her dusty pink jumper her thoughts were pulled away from this. Disgusted, she pulled her wand from her pocket and quickly cast a cleaning spell. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him do the very same. Only he was holding his wand the wrong way and it didn't work.

His brow furrowed at this, an expression Hermione had seen many times before. Standing, she moved over to him, gently taking his wand from his hands.

"No!" He snapped at her.

"Sir," she persisted. He sneered, but gave in.

A look of disgust crossed his face. "I hate being called 'sir'." He snarled. "Reminds me of my father. He was sir I am…" he paused, thinking hard. "A Hogwarts Professor." He concluded, sounding confused.

"You'd like students to refer to you simply as 'A Hogwarts Professor'?" Hermione couldn't resist, for once raising an eyebrow at him.

"No, it's just that…" his voice trailed off again. He looked at her thoughtfully. "You're a very intelligent witch."

Looking at him, startled, Hermione wondered where this had come from. "Um… thank you." She didn't dare end with "sir", just to be on the safe side. Her thanks were greeted by a glazed smile.

Shaking her head, she could not begin to comprehend the absurdity of the situation. Yet, once she recovered from her initial fear, she felt herself becoming quite comfortable. She really did enjoy spending time with Snape, and this sloshed Snape was proving to be a giggle, even if he was a puzzling one.

"You could go far." He nodded at her, his black hair falling in front of his face as he slouched down on his seat. "Or, you could stay here and work with me. Silly me." He giggled at her. "Silly, drunk me."

She attempted to give him a stern look. "Yes, just how much have you drunk?"

The look of concentration that flitted across his face looked like it almost hurt him. "Well, I started with a shot glass, yes, yes, and that lasted the first bottle. Then I lost it when I went to make my potion…. Potion!" He suddenly flung himself up, but lost balance and tipped over the table, landing with her hands down, almost knocking the bottles flying. Several books did hit the floor though.

"Potion?" She asked, rushing to help him up as he giggled.

"Teaching tomorrow, Hermione, teaching tomorrow!" He waggled a finger at her as she fought to keep him steady. "Can't teach with a hangover, but I have to, because the stupid drink told me to forget about the potion, to sit down, to…" he giggled again, his hair once again shrouding his face. He reached for the bottle. Hermione attempted to take it first, but he was too quick, even in his drunken state. "No! You're a student, you're underage"

"I'll have you know that I'm actually 18 and a half years old, old enough in either the wizarding or muggle world to do as I please." She replied. "Now, what potion? Were you making a hangover potion?"

Tipping again on his feet, he leaned in close to her. She could smell the alcohol on his breath; it was a sweet, citrus-type smell. Not at all what she expected Snape to be drinking. His breath tickled her neck as he leaned in so that their faces were barely centimetres apart. "I'll give you extra credit if you brew me a hangover potion." He whispered in his ear.

Hermione was shocked to hear the seduction in his voice, despite the words. It took her breath away, before she quickly scolded herself. "I'll do it, but not for the points. Surely, if I didn't, my house would lose more then ten points tomorrow." She replied, trying to keep her voice steady.

His hands run up her arms, before he giggled yet again, and then stood back. "Come here, lab!" He called out, swaying on the spot. "Oh yeah, I forgot that doesn't work here…" he sighed, then took a swig of the bottle. "We go to lab." He spun around with great difficulty, and made his way over to the door leading to his private lab.

She was completely unsure what to do. Her senses were telling her to run, to turn around, to go back to her Common Room and forget that she'd ever seen the drunken Snape. Forget about the way he had giggled, the way he had so seductively invited here into his lab. Oh, the chance to brew up a potion, any sort…

Quickly, her mind went over the pros and cons of the situation. There weren't many cons, she found, as she would be saving Hogwarts from a very irritable Potions Professor tomorrow, for surely he would be Hell to deal with in such a state. Along with the chance to brew the potion, Snape was being much more open, willing to talk. He'd mentioned his father! Despite it truly falling into the category of her taking advantage of the situation, she wondered what else he would say in this state.

Making her decision, she followed him into the lab. She found herself liking the room the first time she had stepped in, while she was ill. It was filled with cauldrons, ingredients, flasks and everything one could need for potion making. Along one wall there was a shelf, which was filled with thick black books. Since they were separated from the books in the rest of the quarters, she could only think that they were his personal potion making journals. Oh, what she wouldn't give to get her hands on them! Imagine all the experimenting he'd done!

Attempting to snap out of her little daze, she turned to the Professor, who was standing over a cauldron. "Funny that," he was saying vaguely. Then he turned to her, and tried to take on a professional look. "Miss Granger," his voice was quite slurred by this stage, "I wish for you to make me a simple cure for hangover potions. Do you know any?"

She nodded, still rapt with being in his private lab again. "Just one."

His glazed eyes looked at her. "Begin." Then he snorted with laughed. "How silly does that sound? Do I really do that at the start of every class?"

Choosing not to answer, Hermione made her way over to the supplies and gathered up what she needed, listening to Snape giggle and talk in the corner. Until he came out with "I hate snakes, did you know that?"

For a moment, she turned to face him. He was slumped in a chair in the corner, his head resting against his chest, looking out at her through the curtain of his hair.

"Yet, you are in Slytherin." She commented dryly, returning to her potion.

"Mmm, only because I don't care about other people, I like small dark spaces and I'm cunning, and I know exactly how to get what I want… and usually get it." Before she could do anything, he was over next to her, his hands on her hips. "I can get anything I want, Miss Granger," he whispered in her ear. Against her will, her body shivered in response, until she realised the complete stupidity of the situation. She gently pushed his hands off of her hips.

"I'm sure you can," she whispered, returning to the potion.

"Unless it involves bloody Potter." He snarled, returning to his seat.

She turned her head to face him, her eyebrow quirked up. "Which Potter is this?"

He laughed. "Smart little witch." He paused. "I don't know. Both." His hands fluttered in the air in front of him. "They're just as annoying as each other. Only, one of them, I'm legitimately allowed to punish." He laughed again. "Oh, how I hated that boy. James the Fucking Perfect Potter. He started my hate for Gryffindors, you know? Thought he was so wonderful. Of course, because he was in the 'good' house, no one ever gave him a second look. Me, being in Slytherin, because of my mind, because of my family… I hate my family too, now that I think about it."

Hermione wondered how much she'd be hearing, and was fascinated to finally be learning about her Professor's life when he trailed off again, standing up and moving around the room.

"Everyone said I should have been Ravenclaw." She said quietly, stirring the potion.

She heard, rather then saw the smirk. "Yes, well, you are extraordinarily talented. But you're also brave… who else would be brave enough to spend a week with the evil, greasy bat Potions Master, to stay in his bed and let him take care of them?" Once again, she felt him right behind her, felt his warm breath on her neck. "Do you think I'm an evil, greasy bat?" He asked, his voice a deep purr.

Oh no, we're back to this she thought. Her breath caught as he stood behind her, and she was loss for what to say. Finally, she came up with, "No, I do not see you as an evil, greasy bat," she whispered, trying to focus on her potion, but finding it hard with him standing barely centimetres behind her, quite drunk. "Remember, I saw you with feathered wings, not bat wings."

Surprisingly, he let out a great laugh at this. "You are too right. And we flew together, didn't we?"

Hermione's mind caught at the memories – she wasn't sure whether he was referring to the dreams she had had while affected by the potion, or the evening they had soared in the open air upon broomstick. "Yes, we did fly." She murmured, feeling a hand brush against her waist. Remembering the way his arm had felt wrapped around her waist that evening on the broomstick, she didn't push it away. When he did step back though, feelings of shame washed over her body.

"Beautiful…" he whispered, as he stepped back. She tried to tell herself that he was talking about the potion, and nothing else. Not daring to turn around, she heard him returning to his seat in the lab. "I would like to really teach you how to fly." He stated clearly.

"That would be nice," she commented, turning her full attention to the potion in front of her.

Just before she'd finished, however, he got up and abruptly stumbled out the door. Too busy to leave the potion, she let him go. Once she had finished the brewing, she quickly bottled some, and cleaned up the area where she had been working.

Making her way out into the sitting room carrying a flask of the light green potion, she found it empty, much to her surprise. Looking around, bewildered, she found the bedroom door was wide open. Stepping over the threshold, she noticed one Professor Snape passed out on his bed, fully clothed, what was left of the alcohol spreading into a wet stain on his beautiful green bedspread. Unable to believe the situation she'd gotten herself into, Hermione knew that she couldn't leave him just like that. Moving to the bed, clicking her tongue, she picked up the bottle and cast a cleaning spell on the bedspread.

Placing the flask on his bedside table, Hermione mused on just how ironic the entire situation was. Wasn't it only two weeks ago that he'd been helping her into this bed, caring for her? And now was her chance to repay him.

As she reached down to wake him up, he woke up himself. His first reaction was to hit what was in front of him, but thankfully she realised when he raised his hand sluggishly. But in dropping to avoid the hand, she fell onto the bed next to him. He rolled onto his side, and she feared what would come next, but he was asleep again. Daringly, she took a moment to study his face. His complexion was now red, and even to Hermione it was getting too warm in the room. She couldn't let him sleep like this…

For the third time that night, she gathered up all her courage, and stood up before her Professor. "Sir?" she called. "Professor Snape?"

Her callings were answered by a small snort as he woke up, and a mumble of "no…"

"Come on, Professor, you need to get into bed." She said, feeling herself go bright red at the words. He obediently dragged himself from where he was, and made his way over to the other side of the bed. Before she could stop him, he began to unbutton his shirt, revealing his thin body.

Oh God! She thought, and found herself frozen in spot. She couldn't leave, he was so drunk, and he might hurt himself. Yet here he was undressing himself with her in the room. Praying that he could stop at the top, she was horrified when his top slid to the floor, showing off every inch of skin, and his hands moved to the top button of his pants.

"Professor!" She quickly jumped in. "I think you'll be fine like that." She moved to his side and helped him into the bed. At least he had stopped with the annoying giggling, he was now dead silent, and his eyes looked incredibly droopy.

He was asleep before he lay down properly.

Hermione hoped that he was so drunk that he wouldn't remember anything in the morning, hoping he wouldn't remember the way he had seductively whispered in her ear… oh no, here she was thinking about this again. Sighing, she set the potion on the beside table. Then, on a rash decision, she leaned down a planted a small kiss on his forehead, as her mother used to do to her all the time.

Realisation of what she'd just done shook her, and she fled the dungeons.

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Bad ending, I know. Next chapter, does he remember?