I've kept this chapter this short for a reason, I just wanted you all to see what Hell poor Severus is going through. Hope you like this chapter!

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Teaching was the last thing on Severus Snape's mind when he woke Monday morning. His head was throbbing terribly and his mouth and throat felt as though he had exposed them to Blast Ended Skrewts – dry and burnt.

Groaning and struggling to sit up in bed, he wondered why he had allowed himself to drink into a ridiculous stupor. When the image of a young Gryffindor witch crept into his fatigue fogged mind, his body gave way he flopped unceremoniously back onto the bed, bringing his hands up to squash against his eyes, fighting the images to leave. Despite knowing he should get up and prepare for the day ahead, he chose to lie still in the warmth of his bed. Dragging his hands from his face, it was then that he noticed the flask sitting quietly beside his bed. AT once he was incredibly thankful that even in his drunken state; he had remembered to brew a hangover potion.

Yet it was with a frown that he realised that he actually could not remember brewing the potion. Examining his mind, he realised that he couldn't really remember anything beyond early evening, when he opened his third bottle of fire whiskey.

Despite his head screaming for relief he was still hesitate in his examination of the potion. Just by smelling it he could tell what was in it, and he knew it to be a potion for dealing with hangovers. With a sigh, he took a mouthful. Within moments, he felt his headache dissolving, and his throat felt as thought it would actually work. With another sigh, this one of relief, he pulled himself out of bed and made for the bathroom.

Turning the shower on to hot, his hands moved to undo his pants and he couldn't hide his shock at finding that he was still wearing his black pants from yesterday. No matter how drunk he'd been, it had been a long time since he'd left them on. Maybe he'd been worse then he thought.

It was while he was in the shower that he remembered that Miss Granger was meant to return his book last evening. As warm as the shower was, he felt as though ice was slipping through his veins at this recollection. Had she come to his rooms last night and seen him in the state that he was? Oh, how he hated having black outs in his memory.

He could only hope that he had either been passed out, or simply too drunk to walk in a straight line to answer the door. He didn't dare hope that the witch had not returned the book – it was Miss Granger after all. The book would have been returned on time, in exactly the same condition that it had left in.

After his shower, he stepped into the living room, hoping that he wouldn't see Eighteenth Century Hexes, Curses and Charms in its usual spot upon his shelves. When he did see it, he could hardly suppress the howl of anguish that rose from him. She had been here, last night, during a period which he could not remember. What might have happened? Desperately, he racked his brains to find an answer, some sort of answer, but nothing came, causing another howl want to burst forth from his chest.

His entire weekend had been plagued mercilessly by the little wench, whether she intended it to or not. As cold as his exterior had been Friday night, he had been somewhere… excited by the presence of her, the idea that she would voluntarily make a trip down here. These thoughts jolted something in his mind… "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?"

Knowing the words, he tried hard to focus on where they had been said. Had he said them? Had she said them? Maybe someone else had said them? The harder he thought about it, the further the problem seemed to be sliding away from him until he could hardly remember the words.

Since he couldn't remember brewing the potion, he decided to check on his lab before ascended to the Great Hall to join the school in breakfast – his body needed the food to help settle it after the trauma it was put through the evening before.

Pushing open the door to his lab, he was relieved to find everything was where it should be, there were no messed. He had once come in one morning after a very entertaining evening at Hog's Head to find he had mistaken the lab for another room within his suite, and had been forced to clean up a puddle. While it was simple to do this, the fact that he had been forced to do so put him off drinking for a while.

The thought hit him though, what if he had done that when Miss Granger had been in his presence? He had no idea how long she might have been around, had he only greeted her drunkenly at the door, and then shooed her off? Or had he done what he had been thinking about all weekend – inviting the little minx into his quarters to see what she had found out about the Organ Freezing Hexes. He was very interested in them, being as he was one of the few people within the last hundred years to know what they were really like.

The idea that she had wished to research those rare hexes had intrigued him indescribably. But instead of talking to her, asking her what she had found, what she intended to do, if she needed a hand, he had drunk himself blind, and now couldn't remember a thing, except that she had been there, and those bloody words.

Leaving his room and mounting the stairs that would take him to the Great Hall, Snape wondered if the young woman would be at breakfast. Oh, yes, over the weekend, she had progressed to young woman. He wasn't sure why, or even how, but after her visit Friday night, he had begun to see her in a much different light, and much to his disgust, he found himself liking her in this light.

Friday's visit to retrieve the book was just what his mind had not needed. It was a reminder of the week she had spent in his rooms ill, the week in which they had spent evenings talking and sitting. It was with much frustration that he had spent the weekend missing that time again, knowing he shouldn't miss it, that it was ridiculous. By Sunday the frustrations had gotten so bad that he had turned to the bottle to attempt to get some rest from his mind. Except now he couldn't remember anything.

Hoping that he wouldn't be greeted by the face of a traumatised Miss Granger, Snape strode into the Great Hall, where students were milling around. He was again thankful for the Hangover Potion, as if he hadn't have taken it, surely the racket the students were making would have killed him then and there. Careful not to break his stride, despite the dull pain that sometimes still bothered him, he strode to the Head Table where he took his usual seat and began to survey the great room before him.

His eyes were drawn directly to Miss Granger, who sat at the Gryffindor table amongst her usual friends. He almost let out a sigh of relief when he saw that she did not look traumatised. Perhaps the visit had only been brief then, perhaps she had only seen him for a moment, like he hoped so badly. He did not want to ask her, but he knew that he had to find out what had happened the evening before.

Teaching that morning was incredibly extra-stressful for Snape, as his mind was elsewhere, trying so hard to remember something that seemed so far out of reach. Points were deducted here, there and everywhere as students made even the tiniest mistakes. Even Slytherin lost a fair few points – Snape had given up favouring his own house as of this year, knowing what slimy, evil bastards they would grow into. He should know, he always thought. He had become one of them bastards himself.

As students whined silently to their peers of the points deduction, another memory slipped unseen into Snape's mind. Him, leaning in close to Miss Granger, his hands on her arms. Her soft voice telling him "I'll do it, but not for the points. Surely, if I didn't, my house would lose more then ten points tomorrow." Scrabbling, he tried to remember more, but this memory was more then enough to make him want to rip about the Ravenclaw chit that just spilt Herrow clippings over the floor. But instead, he deducted more points in his silky tones.

What the hell had been going on, for him to stand so close to her, to touch her, to have her him that she would do something for him, because he had offered her points? What had he offered her, that if she had of refused, her house would have suffered at his hands because of that. Shaking with terror, terror he had not felt all year, he needed to know what he had done to her, if he had given in to what he had come to recognise as desire. He had only thought he had desired her mind, to really get to know her and just what depth of knowledge she could expand to?

In his drunken state, had that attraction grown physical? Had he offered her…?

He retched at the thought of that, offering her that in exchange for points. Even he wouldn't do that, would he? Oh, he wouldn't?

By the time Advanced Potions with the seventh years came about, Snape was ready to shred anyone who looked at him wrong. He felt so terrible that he might not have been fit to teach, need he not find out what happened the night before. During the day, his mind had allowed him the memory of him standing by his bed, his hands at his waist, she was nearby. His nails had just about clawed right through his desk at this thought. What had he done to her?

He watched the class enter with black, glittering eyes. He could not help but pay particularly close attention to Miss Granger as she crept through the room and places her things on the desk in front of her. She did not look any worse for wear, he was sure of it now. Something in his chest jumped. Surely that meant that he hadn't… that he couldn't have…

Standing, he barked out instructions to the small class before beginning his ritual of sweeping around the dungeon, making sure they were working from the correct pages, that they had the right ingredients. He purposefully left the visit to Miss Granger's desk last.

When he finally arrived, another searing memory crossed his mind, as he stood behind her, watching her. Instantly he knew he had stood like this only last night, except somewhere else. His own lab. He had stood behind he, watching her. Except his hands…

Clenching them by his side, he barked "Miss Granger, I want to see you after class!" before sweeping back up between the rows and coming to rest behind his desk. He saw the worry in her eyes as she studied him. He knew now that she was the one who had brewed the Hangover Potion, not him. Which meant she had spent quite some time with him the evening before. His mind begged him to reassure him that he had not touched the girl anymore then what he had just remembered, that he had not done anything inappropriate.

As the class packed up an hour later, and the chits left - with a sympathetic glance towards Hermione, he noted – that he knew that he would find out.

He just wasn't sure if he was ready for what he was about to hear.

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How was that? Any good? Next we'll hear just what Hermione thought of the whole situation afterwards, and what's going to happen now? Severus is very curious about this young Gryffindor now…