Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.

Author's Note: Please observe the rating of the story has increased to M, and will remain that way indefinitely.


Chapter 21

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was packed with people when Hermione Flooed in. She heard various calls of welcome, but was distracted when Mrs Weasley gave a small cry and rushed over to embrace her tightly.

"Oh, Hermione, dear," she exclaimed. "We were so worried when we heard what happened! Are you all right?"

"I'm okay, Mrs Weasley. A little shaken," she admitted, "but we were lucky Professor Snape was able to help us."

"Hermione!"

Mrs Weasley released her, and she turned just in time to register Harry and Ron fighting their way through the crowd before her two best friends pulled her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Hermione, I'm so glad you're okay," Harry murmured into her shoulder.

"I still can't believe it," Ron muttered, shaking his head as they all pulled back from each other a little, but didn't let go. "How could they do such a thing? And on Christmas, no less!"

"I know," Hermione whispered, suddenly feeling like crying as she realised just how lucky she was to be with her friends again.

She heard the noise of the Floo behind her, and a moment later Mrs Weasley's voice saying, "Oh, Severus, how can we ever thank you?"

She noticed Ron's wide-eyed look, and turned to see Mrs Weasley embracing Snape... or trying to, since the Potions master was holding himself stiffly, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the attention.

"I did what I had to, Molly," he said shortly.

"Oh, don't be modest, man," Molly scolded, releasing him only to brush a stray dusting of soot from the shoulder of his robes. He frowned, but endured the treatment silently as she prattled on about how grateful they all were to him.

Hermione hid a smile and turned back to her friends, who took the opportunity to fire a barrage of questions at her about the previous night. Her explanation was cut short a few minutes later, though, as everyone gathered around the long kitchen table for the start of the meeting.

Dumbledore, at the head of the table, raised the first topic of discussion: the attack on the Grangers' home. Snape was standing somewhere in the shadows behind where Hermione was seated, and proceeded to outline how he had learned of the imminent attack, and what had happened when he had arrived at her house. She was grateful he didn't mention the fact that they would have escaped cleanly were it not for her stupidity in leaving her wand lying around upstairs.

"So, why were you in on this one, Snape?" a rough voice came from the other side of the room when Snape finished his account. Mad-Eye Moody was sitting at the opposite end of the table from Dumbledore, glaring at the Potions master.

"Pardon?" Snape said softly. Hermione instantly recognised the dangerous tone hidden in the single word.

"Voldemort doesn't usually have you out in the field, so to speak, does he?" Moody went on. "Got you hidden away, brewing all those nasty, illicit mixtures for him. Why this time?"

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I think I can answer that, Alastor," he said calmly.

Hermione turned to Dumbledore, but noticed everyone else in the room was looking at either her or Snape, who had stepped forward at Moody's accusation and was now directly behind her.

"Miss Granger has been assisting Severus with some of the potions he brews for the school," Dumbledore said, "to allow him time to work on more pressing projects. This arrangement seems to have come to Voldemort's attention, and I believe he thought the attack would be a, shall we say, test, for Severus."

A murmur went around the room until Moody spoke up again loudly.

"How did Voldemort find out she was working with you, Snape? Been bragging about your fortunate little arrangement to your Master, have you?"

Hermione heard the slightest intake of breath from Snape as the room went quiet, waiting for his reaction. The enmity between Moody and the Potions master was well-known, though the reasons were not. Normally their dislike of one another was confined to passing shots, however, not open accusations in front of the entire group.

"Alastor," the Headmaster started to say warningly, but Snape interrupted.

"Questioning my motives again, Moody?" he sneered at the ex-Auror. "It really is becoming tiresome, you know."

"I'll continue to question your motives as long as they're questionable, Snape," Moody replied. "You might have fooled everyone else around here, but I'm not so easily convinced."

"What does he have to do to convince you?" Hermione said suddenly. Moody's magical eye swung down to fix on her, a surprised look in the electric-blue orb.

"You keep out of this, missy," he growled. "Don't interfere in things you don't understand."

"Don't understand?' Hermione repeated in disbelief. "Keep out of this? I'm right in the thick of this, or weren't you listening to what happened last night?" She stood up angrily, looking around at the rest of the Order before turning back to Moody. "Professor Snape risked his position as a spy as well as his life last night to help me and my parents, and instead of thanking him, you have the gall to question his loyalties! Does he have to die for the cause before you'll believe he's really on our side?"

There was dead silence following her outburst, and she sat down again, breathing heavily and glaring at Moody with a defiant expression.

The ex-Auror stared back for a moment, then rose from his seat at the table and stumped around to the side of the room where she sat. He spared her one last glance and then turned to Snape, who was still standing behind her.

"Found yourself a loyal little supporter here, haven't you, Snape?" he leered, his face inches from Snape's own, which was fixed in a look of utter distaste. "Looks can be deceiving. Didn't think she'd be the type to take the only thing you have to offer in return, eh?"

There were a couple of gasps in the room, and Molly's exclamation of, "Alastor Moody!" could be heard over them. Hermione felt her cheeks go warm with embarrassment and she craned her neck around to see two angry spots appearing on Snape's cheeks, too.

"I'll thank you not to make such insinuations about a student in my care," Snape hissed.

Moody smiled contemptuously, narrowing his one good eye for a moment, before he brushed past the Potions master and stumped the rest of the way to the kitchen door.

"Keep an eye on him, Dumbledore," he called over his shoulder. "Remember what I keep saying: some spots never come off."

The kitchen door slammed in his wake.

Hermione looked at Snape again, who seemed to be concentrating on breathing evenly through his nose, a vein pulsing rapidly in his temple the only outward sign of his anger. She was seething at Moody's accusations, too. She'd never liked the ex-Auror much, despite Harry and Ron's high opinion of his skills. She had previously thought her distrust of him sprung from the fact that she was always wondering if it really was Moody, or merely another Polyjuiced imposter. She realised now it wasn't that, but his refusal to see anyone else's opinion that bothered her so.

"Well," said the Headmaster, frowning at the closed door, "now that we've cleared that up, perhaps we can move along. Where were we?"

"How Voldemort knew what Hermione was doing," Harry spoke up.

"Ah, yes," said Dumbledore gravely. "That is the question, since none outside the Order were aware of the arrangement, save for Madam Pomfrey, who is wholly above suspicion."

"How did he find out, then?" piped up a tall, blonde wizard standing across the room. Hermione had only seen him in the hallways of Grimmauld Place a few times, and didn't know his name.

"I don't know," said the Headmaster. "I am worried, however. This isn't the first piece of information to escape the confines of our membership recently."

A murmur rippled through the room again as everyone present realised the implication of Dumbledore's words.

"A spy?" Bill Weasley's voice came from across the room where the oldest of the six brothers was leaning against the mantel of the fireplace.

"I don't know," the Headmaster repeated wearily. "I see no other way the information can be escaping, though I cannot bring myself to suspect anyone in this room of working against us."

The members of the Order glanced around at one another, obviously coming to the same conclusion. Many of the group had been working together for years, even since before the first fall of Voldemort, and trusted one another with their lives. Still, Hermione could see the disquiet they all felt at the possibility one of their own was betraying them.

The meeting turned to other matters after a while. Hermione, Harry and Ron weren't asked to leave the meeting, and despite being genuinely interested in the Order's work, Hermione was struggling to stay awake. It wasn't surprising, she realised. She hadn't slept since Christmas night, aside from the short, restless nap at Snape's house after the escape from her own.

Various operations were discussed, and when the reports had been given, the crowd began to thin out as the many Order members retreated back to the tasks at hand, or to different areas of the house to which they were, for the moment, confined.

Harry and Ron beckoned for Hermione to follow them from the room, and she nodded briefly to Snape, who had moved over to where Dumbledore was speaking with Lupin.

He inclined his head, giving her a slightly curious look, and she followed her friends upstairs.


Snape watched Hermione exit the kitchen in tow of her friends. He'd seen Potter call on her, and he was surprised when she looked around at him before following her younger friend. She hadn't been seeking his approval, but he found himself slightly pleased she'd looked to him to acknowledge that she was leaving.

His thoughts were interrupted by Lupin. "So, Severus," he said amiably, "are you finding Hermione to be an acceptable assistant? You seem quite comfortable with one another."

Snape narrowed his eyes at the werewolf. Had Lupin seen the look he'd exchanged with Hermione as she left the room, and was he thinking along the same lines as Moody?

Lupin chuckled at the dark look, though. "Oh, lower your hackles, Severus," he said lightly. "I'm not implying anything. I'm only saying it's good that you've found someone both competent and agreeable to help you."

Snape merely grunted, and this time Dumbledore and Lupin both chuckled.

"He's not denying it," Lupin said to the Headmaster, "so it must be true."

Snape folded his arms across his chest and glared at Lupin.

"Miss Granger is a competent assistant and an intelligent young woman," he said stiffly.

Lupin chuckled again, but said no more and took his leave from the kitchen. Sitting at the now-deserted long table, Dumbledore smiled in his usual, infuriating way, and said, "Admit it, Severus; you enjoy having her around."

"It's not about what I enjoy," Snape protested, though he could feel faint spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks. "It's about her safety, which you cannot deny has been compromised by this plan of yours, whatever it is."

"Trust me, my boy," Dumbledore reassured him. "It will work out in the end. We will make sure you have enough useful information from Miss Granger to keep Tom happy, and once Saturday comes you'll need her assistance more than ever. I highly doubt a single batch of the Cruciatus Potion will satisfy Tom; he's likely to want a fresh brew every week."

"I've told both you and her repeatedly, Albus," he said, also taking a seat at the table. "I will not allow her to brew the potion."

"And well you shouldn't," the Headmaster agreed. "But you'll need her help with the rest of your work, if you are to manage it all on time."

Snape couldn't deny that. He already felt he was reaching the end of his tether, and the next few months were only going to become more demanding on him, both physically and mentally. He wouldn't admit it to the Headmaster, but the time he spent with Hermione in the lab was the only time he could really allow himself to relax and drop his guard these days.

"She will be well-protected within the school, Severus," the Headmaster reassured him, "and by the time she has reason to leave, I daresay this war will be over, one way or another."

For some reason Snape couldn't explain, that thought wasn't as comforting as it should have been.

Snape sighed. "I just hope you know what you're doing, old man."

The door to the kitchen swung open and Lupin, Tonks and Molly Weasley re-entered the room. Snape stood up from the table and was almost at the door to the hallway when Dumbledore stopped him.

"Severus, I may be here for some time tonight. There is still much to discuss. I wonder if you would be so kind as to escort Miss Granger back to school?"

"Oh, but Albus," Molly broke in. "Surely she could stay and catch the train back with Harry and Ron tomorrow? Merlin knows the girl hasn't had much of a holiday so far."

Dumbledore was shaking his head before Molly had finished speaking.

"I'm afraid not. It would be best if Miss Granger returned to Hogwarts tonight." He turned to Snape, smiling behind his beard. "Severus, if you don't mind?"

Dumbledore knew very well he didn't mind, but for the benefit of the other occupants of the room, Snape fixed a look of indifference on his face and drawled, "I daresay I shall manage, given it was I who escorted the girl here in the first place."

He spun on his heel, closing the kitchen door behind him as Molly called out, "I think she's in the library!"

"Typical," he muttered, though without a hint of displeasure, since there was no one to hear him.

He did, indeed, find her in the library, curled up fast asleep on one of the comfortable-looking couches, her head on Ron Weasley's shoulder. Snape felt an odd flash of jealously at the cosiness of the scene, but kept his face impassive.

The red-haired boy was playing a game of chess with Potter, who sat across from the pair in an armchair, and both boys looked up, startled, as Snape strode into the room.

"Professor?" Potter watched him warily as he stopped a short distance from them, arms folded.

"Miss Granger is to come with me back to Hogwarts tonight."

The bushy head didn't move, but Weasley's eyes flashed as he said, "Give her a break! She hasn't slept since Christmas night! Why can't she stay with us?"

Snape sneered at the young Weasley, noting with some surprise that Potter hadn't chimed in with an objection of his own.

"Despite what you may think is best, Mr Weasley, the Headmaster has spoken. I have neither the time nor inclination to stand here and wait for you to finish your little cuddling session," he said, smirking as the top of the boy's ears turned an interesting shade of red. More loudly, he added, "Miss Granger!"

She stirred and brushed her hair back from her eyes, her gaze falling on him.

"S-"

"Miss Granger!" he barked again, thankfully startling her into silence. He knew what she'd been about to say, sleep having clouded her brain. The last thing he needed was for Potter and Weasley hearing their best friend address him with such familiarity. They'd probably accuse him of slipping her a coercion draught.

"Professor Snape?" She recovered from her fright, sitting up straighter and regarding him with a mixture of anticipation and embarrassment.

"The Headmaster has decided you are to return to Hogwarts tonight," he said. "I shall expect you downstairs in no more than five minutes."

Without waiting for a response from any of the trio, he turned and exited the room, closing the door a little too forcefully in his wake.

Outside in the hallway, he stopped for a moment and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.

Pull yourself together, man, he admonished himself, straightening his shoulders and heading for the stairs at the end of the hall. She was merely spending some time with her friends... her other friends, he added.

He didn't quite know what had roiled him so much about the scene he had just witnessed... or more likely he didn't want to acknowledge why he had been consciously reminding himself to unclench his fists whilst in the room.

Perhaps it was the look of content on Hermione's face as she was curled up against Weasley's side, or the simple cosiness of the three friends enjoying a few moments in a quietness seldom found lately.

No, in truth, it was the memory of feeling her curled up against his side in the same fashion, fast asleep, less than twenty-four hours ago. It had been heartening for him to have her find comfort in his presence, and to realise she trusted him enough to allow herself to fall asleep. Upon seeing her with her friends and hearing Weasley's retort about her lack of sleep, the realisation had hit him that it probably hadn't been comfort in his presence at all; she'd just been too tired to keep her eyes open, regardless of who the warm body alongside her belonged to.

It must be lack of sleep on his part that was causing him to react in such an uncharacteristic way. Was he actually jealous of the easy camaraderie she shared with her fellow Gryffindors?

He would have sneered at himself for such a thought, were it not for the sudden pang in his chest that betrayed him. Merlin, he must be getting soft. Such ridiculous sentimentality he normally left for the Headmaster; Slytherins didn't show their true feelings, nor wear their hearts on their sleeves, especially not a Slytherin in a position such as his. Feelings and emotions would only serve to distract him, making him easy prey to the mind-games of the Dark Lord.

Yet, for all his protestations, he couldn't deny there was something about his young friend that made him wish he could just be who he was. Without consciously trying, he'd allowed her to see more and more of his real self these past few weeks, rather than the cold, uncaring person others thought he was.

She'd warmed to him, pushing him to open up even more, and he'd given in to her gentle prodding with hardly a protest, by his standards, anyway. Of course, he'd put up a good show of resisting her, especially earlier that day. He'd been reluctant to reveal too much of himself, lest she be scared or disapproving or, worst of all, revolted, and distance herself from him again.

But she hadn't. Her brown eyes had been filled with such compassion as she'd traced the old scars on his chest... a shiver ran along his spine at the phantom memory of her touch.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he reached the bottom of the stairs. He had enough to worry about in his current situation without such trivial insecurities adding to the problem.

And he had almost convinced himself his feeling for the young Gryffindor were trivial.

Almost.


Hermione stood up, smoothing her slightly-rumpled clothes as the door slammed behind Snape. If she didn't know better, she'd have thought he seemed almost angry to find her in the company of her friends.

"Bloody hell," exclaimed Ron. "After everything you've been through, you'd think the git would give you a break. How insensitive can he be?"

"You're talking about Snape, here," Harry muttered.

Hermione sighed. "It's okay. I think if anyone needs a break, it's probably him."

Ron shook his head. "I know you're spending a lot of time with him, 'Mione, but it's beyond me why you keep defending him when he's so nasty."

"He saved my life, Ron," she admonished, "and risked his own in doing so. Doesn't that count for something?"

Ron mumbled something under his breath but didn't concede the point.

"And he's not really nasty," she murmured, stretching slightly as she massaged her stiff neck.

"Could have fooled me," Ron said waspishly, prodding his knight forwards across the chess board.

"He is fooling you, Ron," she bit out, exasperated by his constant mistrust of the Potions master. "He has to fool everyone, or have you forgotten what he does when he's not teaching classes? What would Voldemort say if he found out Snape was favouring Gryffindors or Muggle-borns over the children of Death Eaters?"

"No one could hear him tonight," Ron replied. "I can understand him being a git in public – occasionally – but there's no excuse here."

"There might be someone to hear him, Ron," Harry cautioned. "Remember, we still don't know if someone in the Order is playing both sides... someone other than Snape, I mean. You heard what Dumbledore said; he has no idea how the information is leaking out."

"The walls have ears, especially in a house like this," Hermione added. "Until the spy is caught, everyone has to be careful, but especially Professor Snape."

Ron looked uncomfortable. "I suppose you're right," he said at length.

"I'll be off, then," Hermione said. "I don't want to keep Professor Snape waiting, so I'll see you two tomorrow when the train arrives."

She made for the door, but stopped when Harry called her name. Both her friends approached her, and then, in unison, embraced her in a tight hug.

"We're glad you're okay," Harry said quietly, his voice muffled in her hair. Ron echoed the sentiment over her other shoulder, and she murmured her thanks. Pulling away, she fixed both her friends with a brief smile, and left the room.

None of the trio had noticed the quiet rustling in a dark corner of the library; the walls had ears, indeed.


Hermione Flooed back to Hogwarts with Snape a short time later. She stood slightly awkwardly in the middle of the sitting room as the Potions master shucked off his outer robe and frock coat, tossing them over the back of the couch.

"What are you going to do?" she asked, watching him set up a large cauldron on one of the workbenches.

"I have a potion to make, if you recall," he said shortly.

The Cruciatus Potion, she thought, her eyes drifting to his desk and the notebook, still sitting where he had left it earlier.

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"I thought we'd been over this, Hermione," he sighed, turning to the cabinets and unwarding them with a flick of his wand.

"No," she said. "I meant, is there anything else I can do? Anything else that needs brewing?"

He shook his head, regarding her with a contemplative look as he returned to the workbench, arms full of phials and jars of ingredients.

"You really do need to rest," he said again. "As much as it pains me to admit it, Weasley was right; you can't have had more than a few hours sleep in the last couple of days."

"Neither have you," she pointed out.

"I am accustomed to sleeping very little," he answered. "You, on the other hand, are not. I believe you have Potions first thing Monday morning, and it would be a shame for me to have to deduct points from Gryffindor if you fall asleep in my class."

She narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't!"

"Don't think our friendship is going to change the way I treat you in class, Hermione," he warned darkly. "You know what the consequences of such a display would be."

"I know," she sighed, pulling up a stool and sitting across from where he'd begun to chop a handful of fluxweed roots. "I just wish it was different."

His dark eyes met hers, a mixture of surprise, appreciation and regret in their depths. "So do I, Hermione," he murmured. "So do I."

She sat silently, watching his hands expertly preparing the ingredients with a precision she could only dream of having. She supposed it came with years of practice, but there was no doubting his natural talent for the art, either. He seemed to follow his instincts as much as any written recipe, and from what she'd read of his research – which was very little of the whole – his instincts often proved to be the more successful of the two.

After some half hour of silence, Snape put his knife down and laid his hands flat on the table. The stillness brought Hermione back from her wandering thoughts, and she looked up at his face.

"At the risk of repeating myself," he said earnestly, "are you going to sit there and watch me all night?"

She looked away. The truth was, she didn't fancy going back to the deserted Gryffindor Tower. She knew the castle was safe enough; safer, possibly, than when it was full of students, but she didn't think spending the night alone, half a castle away from the nearest person, would give her a good night's sleep. Not after what had happened just last night.

"Something is bothering you," Snape commented. It wasn't a question, but he was watching her expectantly for an answer, nonetheless.

She sighed, and after a moment of indecision, told him what she was feeling.

"…I just feel safer being around... someone," she said at the end of her explanation, adding wryly, "It's silly, I know."

"It's perfectly understandable, given all that has happened. However, that still doesn't solve the issue of sleep. You'll get no rest if you sit here watching me all night, though-" his lips quirked up a little, "-potions has been known to put the odd student to sleep."

She smiled faintly and Snape went back to his ingredients, carefully adding the fluxweed to a small phial of Chinese ephedra infusion.

Hermione waited a bit longer, her eyes growing heavier by the minute, before she hesitantly asked, "Do you think I could sleep on your couch, just for a few hours?"

"The couch is for sitting, not sleeping," he replied with a frown.

"You didn't have any trouble earlier," she retorted.

He raised an eyebrow at her tone. "I'll thank you to remember these are my quarters and I can do as I please. You, however, do not have that luxury."

"I still don't see the problem," she grumbled. "I'll sleep better on a couch down here than in a bed five floors away from the nearest person."

"The difference, Hermione," he said, putting down the flask he had been about to measure a viscous red liquid from, "is that you need a full night of decent sleep, and a couch is not conducive to a restful slumber."

"But-"

He held up a hand to stop her protest, and appeared to deliberate something before he spoke again.

"Do you truly think you cannot sleep in Gryffindor Tower tonight?"

She shook her head.

"You may stay here, then," he sighed. "However, you will have a proper night of sleep in a bed."

"You have a second bedroom?"

It was his turn to shake his head, and she stared at him incredulously. "Your bed?"

He straightened his back slightly and folded his arms across his chest, correcting interpreting her shocked expression.

"Don't you start thinking like that paranoid Moody," he said stiffly. "This potion requires my full attention for the next ten hours, and I won't have you sleeping on a couch while a perfectly good bed lies empty."

The offer was completely unexpected, though very welcome. It was also, she realised later, a mark of how much he really trusted her, that he would not only allow her into his personal domain as he had earlier that day, but let her stay there by herself, without fear of her nosing around and exploiting that trust.

"Are you sure that's okay?" she asked hesitantly.

He raised an eyebrow again. "I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't," he said seriously.

"Thank you," she said, prompting a strange look from him.

"You seem to be saying that a lot lately," he commented in response to her expression.

"I seem to have good cause to," she replied, earning a smirk from him.

"Well," she said a short while later, having watched him set up the cauldron and add the first ingredients. "I guess I should be, um, going to sleep, then."

He nodded absently, concentrating as he measured out a dark blue liquid and poured it into the large cauldron, increasing the flame beneath it with his wand. "The door isn't warded. If you need anything, you'll have to arrange it yourself. I cannot leave this now."

She stood up and crossed the room. Stopping next to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it lightly and trying to convey her thanks without resorting to saying the word every time. She withdrew after a moment and headed for the door.

"Goodnight, Hermione."

She turned, but his attention was on the potion once again, his face illuminated by the glow of the flames beneath the cauldron over which he was bent.

"Goodnight, Severus," she echoed, and pulled the door over behind her, leaving it slightly ajar.

Making her way through to the Potions master's bedroom, the strangeness of the situation suddenly hit her. She wondered whether this was what the Headmaster had in mind when he told her back in November, "He is going to need someone he can rely on before this war is over."

She doubted even the Dumbledore could have imagined how well they would get on together; she'd certainly never dreamed of having anything beyond a uneasy truce with the Potions master she thought she had known before this all began.

She was in his private quarters, there was hardly another soul in the school, and she was going to sleep in his bed. Without him, she added, but pushed that thought away before she had time to dwell on how she felt about it.

Walking over to the windows, she pushing the heavy curtains back slightly, allowing a little moonlight to filter into the room. She toed off her shoes and pulled her jumper over her head, opting to leave everything else on, even though her jeans would be slightly uncomfortable to sleep in.

The covers of the bed were slightly rumpled from where he'd lain earlier that day for her to heal his ribs. She shivered involuntarily, remembering the cool skin under her touch and the raised welts of the scars he hadn't wanted her to see. The look on his face when she had seen them had startled and confused her; did he really think she would be revolted by them, that she would pass judgement on him based on something beyond his control?

The fact that her opinion obviously mattered to him was strange, too. He'd never struck her as someone who cared much for what others thought of him.

Musing on that, she climbed under the bedclothes and sank back into the soft pillows. The fresh, earthy smell that always hung about Snape filled about the room, and she turned on her side, clutching one of the pillows to her in a mock embrace.

If she listened very carefully, she could hear faint sounds from the lab; the clinking of glass phials, and the sharp tap of the knife as the Potions master worked tirelessly.

Her eyelids grew heavier and she inhaled deeply through her nose, taking in the familiar scent which had come to mean comfort and safety to her in such uncertain times. If she hugged the pillow a little tighter, she could almost imagine it was a warm body next to her.

Almost.


Hours later, Severus Snape put down his stirring rod and stepped back from the cauldron. The next fifteen minutes were the only time in the marathon ten hour brewing process that he could allow his attention to wander at all, as it had to stand undisturbed before the next ingredient could be added.

He eyed the many phials and jars of ingredients he had lined up in preparation for the next stage. Everything was ready, and he could take a break for a few minutes.

Unconsciously, he found himself leaving the workroom and crossing the sitting room to stand just outside his bedroom door. He couldn't hear anything from within, though the door was ajar, and he questioned exactly what he was doing.

It couldn't hurt just to poke his head around the door and make sure she was okay, could it?

Pushing the door open slightly more, he slipped just inside the room and glanced across to the bed. A sliver of moonlight was shining across it through the open curtains, falling across the sleeping figure of Hermione.

She was lying on her side, clutching one of his pillows to her body in a fierce embrace, and her untameable hair had fallen across her face, obscuring it from his view. Before he knew what he was doing, he found himself across the room, standing alongside the bed and reaching out to carefully brush the twisted locks aside.

The moonlight fell across her face, illuminating her sleeping features and the soft brown eyelashes resting on her cheeks. He stared, mesmerised by the smoothness of her skin and the quiet sound of her breathing.

Though he had denied it earlier, he realised he was only fooling himself if he couldn't admit he felt something beyond friendship for this young woman. She had surprised him in so many ways.

She made a sudden movement in her sleep and he stepped back. It wouldn't do for her to wake to find him looming over her in such a manner. She would want to know why, and he didn't think he'd be able to lie convincingly enough; not about that, and not to her.

He cursed silently as he reluctantly left the room and returned to the potion. As welcome as it was, she was certainly proving to be a distraction. He wondered idly if this was what the Headmaster had in mind when he pushed them together in the first place.

Knowing Albus Dumbledore, he wouldn't discount anything.


Hermione awoke the next morning feeling more rested than she had in weeks. She found Snape in the workroom, still labouring over the cauldron, and looking more tired than ever.

She knew he couldn't rest until that particular stage of brewing was over, though, so not wanting to distract him, and still feeling just a little bit awkward about having spent the night in his bed, she excused herself from his presence and made her way up to Gryffindor Tower.

The day passed quickly, between finishing the last of her holiday assignments and ordering new books via Owl Order to replace the ones she'd taken home with her before Christmas. She went down to visit Hagrid after lunch, and then, later in the afternoon, went with him to Hogsmeade Station to meet the Hogwarts Express.

She embraced Harry and Ron fiercely even though she'd only seen them the night before, and they talked endlessly as they made their way up to the castle for dinner.

The common room was noisy that night, with many students showing off their Christmas presents in the form of Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, Zonko's jokes, chess sets, Gobstones and Exploding Snap.

Hermione's only two surviving Christmas presents were the book Snape had given her, now stowed safely in her room, and the necklace from her parents. She had still been wearing it the night the Death Eaters attacked, and wondered if it was merely superstition that the rune offered some real protection… maybe they'd just been lucky.

The attack on Hermione's home, much to her relief, didn't seem to be public knowledge, and the only person who asked her about it was Neville, who'd obviously heard of the ordeal through his grandmother and her connections.

It wasn't long before Hermione was yawning, and she bid her friends goodnight and headed to her room, placing a Silencing Charm on her door out of habit.

Climbing into bed in the darkness, she lay on her back, staring up at the canopy. Something felt wrong, but she couldn't put her finger on what it was. Clutching her pillow tightly, she stared into the silent darkness, tossing and turning for a good many hours before sleep finally came.


Long after Hermione had fallen asleep high up in Gryffindor Tower, Severus Snape finally made it to his own bed, stripping off his clothes and sinking tiredly into the layers of bedclothes. He'd been up for three days straight and despite telling Hermione he didn't need much rest, even he had his limits.

Hermione.

She was only one of the many things that had been giving him sleepless nights lately, and not only because of what had happened over Christmas.

In befriending her, he had ceased to view her as a student, for the most part. The downside of that was that he was instead forced to view her as a young woman, and despite vehemently repeated protests by the moral part of his brain, his body was telling him that he very much liked what he saw.

Every time his thoughts began to wander, a niggling voice in his mind began to chant, "Student, student, student," over and over in strange mantra, but his body and the rest of his mind was paying no attention.

Under any other circumstances, he would have been appalled by his traitorous thoughts. There was nothing more repulsive than a teacher lusting after a student in their care, but although he'd described Hermione as exactly that when questioned the previous night by Moody, she really was much more. Despite her student status, she was an adult, a friend, an equal and someone who, despite his initial misgivings, he knew he could trust more implicitly than he ever had anyone, save perhaps the Headmaster.

Not that it really mattered anyway, because he was merely thinking aloud. He would never betray the trust placed in him as a teacher, and the chances of her reciprocating his feelings were even lower than the chances of him surviving this infernal war... in other words, next to nothing.

Sinking further under the bedcovers, he shut his eyes and tried to push all thoughts of her from his head, but something was preventing it from happening. Turning his head slightly into one of his pillows, he realised what it was. The image from the previous night came into his mind, of her clinging to the same pillow as she slept. He inhaled the scent that still clung about the bed. It was an intoxicating fragrance; fruit and jasmine, with a hint of vanilla.

He cursed loudly as he felt his body reacting to the thought of a woman in his bed, and rolled onto his stomach in a vain effort to quash his arousal. Perhaps his thoughts were merely a by-product of being near a woman – any woman - who voluntarily placed herself in close proximity to him. It wasn't something he experienced on a regular basis, and his body was going to great lengths to remind him of the fact.

Still, he couldn't quite push the image out of his mind of her sleeping form the previous night, and found himself dangerously close to admitting how much he'd wanted to be there with her.

With thoughts such as that, it was little wonder his body wouldn't allow him any respite. After an hour of restless indecision grappling with his mind and his morals, he groaned and rolled onto his back, giving in to the traitorous desires of his body.

There was no pleasure in the quick, insistent strokes of his hand; only the need for a release that would put his body at ease, even if his mind remained in turmoil.

There was no sound in the room but the soft slick of flesh on flesh beneath the sheets, and a harshening of his breath as he neared his peak. He could still smell her scent clinging to the bedclothes around him as a single, whispered word spilt from his mouth.

"Hermione."


To be continued

Author's Notes:

1. Yes, I'm still here. HBP was certainly a kick in the guts as far as this story goes (don't get me wrong – I still loved it) but I plan to continue in AU territory for as long as people still want to read it.

2. If you've read this far, you can now see why I've permanently increased the rating for the story. Er... yes, that was a little different, wasn't it? Well, he is a man, after all.

3. As always, you can find the next chapter at the On-line Wizarding Library right now! See my author page for the link.

4. There is no doubt in my mind Snape is good, and I will believe that until Book 7 tells me otherwise. If that should happen... well, you know what they say... the bad girls have more fun. Dark side, here I come. :P