Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 13: A Different Sort of Intimacy

"Perhaps a detention would help you to pay more attention, Miss Granger," Snape announced ominously to the class.

His voice washed over her in a teasing caress where she had her head down on the desk to avoid looking at him more than necessary. The tingling had begun just before class, but she was determined to push things farther and not give herself away.

If he could do it, so could she.

She would project a calm, controlled persona. She could be as detached and remote in public as he was. She would.

"Yes, sir," she answered meekly, sighing heavily and forcing herself to sit up and keep her face neutral.

"You all right there, Hermione?" Harry asked, a little amazed. "That's two detentions you've gotten this term. And you don't even seem to care."

"Yes," she said, swallowing and focusing on maintaining steady, even breathing as she lied, "I just didn't sleep well, and I have a headache." He looked ready to push the subject, so she hastily added, "Girl problems."

"Right," he said awkwardly, letting the subject drop as she knew he would.

The reality was that Hermione hadn't had a period since everything happened. She'd been panicked at first, fearing the potion Snape provided her with had failed, but when she'd mentioned it to him a few months ago, he'd tersely informed her that the potion stopped her from menstruating at all, cheeks a deep scarlet before the words ever even left his mouth. Probably, he'd selected that particular potion so he'd never have to experience a spell-induced encounter with her while she was on her period.

Privately, she suspected that he was terrified of how she'd react and handle it all, and he'd have to deal with an overwrought and emotional female. She wasn't sure herself if she'd have been comfortable with him like that, though she was aware that others considered it perfectly ordinary. She'd just never been in the situation to know for sure how she felt about it.

Hermione remained behind when class ended under the guise of waiting for the verdict on her detention. Snape motioned to the door, intending to lead her to his office, but she forestalled him, saying, "I can wait until lunch."

"Are you certain?" he asked, scrutinizing her face closely. She imagined he was tracing the tight lines bracketing her eyes and lips. Not to mention the barest hint of indecision. "I can tell that you are affected. I don't wish for you to struggle."

She was, it was true, but the degree of discomfort was already magnitudes lower than it was in the initial weeks. The severity and frequency had faded noticeably too. It was easier to see how such a spell might have once been acceptable in society, even if she still disagreed with anything that removed a person's free will.

"I'll be all right until lunch," she promised, forcing a faint smile to alleviate his concerns.

"Take this," he instructed, fishing a phial of faint pink, tinged with lavender, liquid from his robes.

The shifting fabric stretched across his chest, and Hermione imagined running her hands over the hidden planes. Maybe scratching her nails down his torso hard enough to leave pink lines that would last for hours after they were done…a little reminder to distract him as much as he had her during class.

Shaking the stray thought away, Hermione accepted the offering, studying the swirling pearly iridescent shimmer reflecting off the potion as she asked, "What is it?"

Her question was met with an approving look as Snape replied, "It should mute the cramping. I have been experimenting with a few potions recently. This is my latest effort."

"You have? And you're trying them all on yourself?"

"I do recall informing you that I would be," Snape chided, lips thinning in irritation at having to remind her of the fact. Or perhaps it was because he didn't like having his actions questioned. She wanted to kiss the frown clear off his face. "If you wish to speed up the process, you should begin trying them out as well. If you're willing…considering the side effects are unknown at this point in time."

"Yes, but I didn't think that book you ordered had come in yet," Hermione said tartly, giving him as much attitude as she dared in response to his own. It was difficult though when part of her brain was screaming at her to nibble at his lips until he stopped grinding his teeth and relaxed.

"It hasn't. But I do have some experience with potions if you recall," he bantered back, uncrossing his arms.

Sometimes she wondered if he was as prickly as he was because he was trying to be funny. Usually, so long as she didn't let his barbs slice her any more than superficially, it was.

"I'd hoped to help," she admitted, the words slipping out before she could stop them. As if she knew enough to be of any help to him.

"I believe we have already established that you aren't very open to deviating from what's written," he remarked, echoing her internal concerns perfectly. "Brewing an entirely new potion requires quite a bit of trial and error. Not to mention taking chances."

"So teach me," she challenged, inhaling deeply as she waited for him to mock or belittle her. Except doing so had the unintended consequence of filling her with his sandalwood and butterscotch scent, thoroughly distracting her.

His scent reminded her of the wilderness. Some uncharted, untamed area filled with adventure and the unknown. Her eyes felt heavy and she deliberately breathed deeply again to catch more of him.

Dampness filled her panties, and she clenched her thighs to keep from rubbing them together in an effort to give her core the attention and contact it craved. Would he mind terribly if she pressed his hand between her legs as they spoke? Probably.

Snape contemplated her thoughtfully, and she shivered beneath the power and magnetism of his eyes. They were twin black holes suggesting yet another mystery. One she wished to explore. The answers were there…just there…just out of reach.

"Perhaps," he said softly, shaking her out of the momentary lapse. "The potion, if you please. Or my office. Decide quickly seeing as we haven't much time," he said, reminding her that she was still holding it.

Blinking through the lust induced fog, Hermione downed the potion in one gulp.

It was sweet, but not cloying or sticky. More, a perfectly ripe strawberry dipped in fresh cream, almost decadent. A million tiny butterflies all flapped their wings beneath her skin, full of life and energy. Once. Twice. Then nothing.

It was gone. The flutters. The desire. The tension. All of it. Entirely gone.

"Well?" he asked impatiently, observing her like a test subject, which for all intents and purposes, she was.

"I think it's working," she gasped, stunned.

There were no lingering traces of the spell at all. Her mind was clear. Clear enough to realize she was going to be late to her next class, and didn't have time to give Snape the thorough description of the effects he looked keen on having.

"Hmm," he hummed, noting her furtive glance at the door. Huffing, he allowed, "Go to class, and we shall see if it lasts until lunch. Come to me sooner if it doesn't – say McGonagall sent you if need be."

"I think it'll last. There's literally no trace from before, but yes, that should work."

And it did. Until it didn't.

The instant she stepped into his office and was within touching distance of him again, Hermione felt like a rabid dog. She threw herself on him, climbing him like a tree.

Mindless.

Frenzied.

Her actions held no rational thought. Not an ounce of it.

Her blouse was open and he was fully inside her without her even registering his participation. Assuming he had. Though she might have just ripped his robes and impaled herself on him. It was entirely possible.

Ordinarily, that was all it took for the painful side effects of the spell to vanish. Then it became all about seeking pleasure. Hermione wasn't in pain, exactly. But she wasn't in control of herself either. And it wasn't pleasant.

Her head was a giant maze of chaos and raw nerves as Snape's hips snapped rhythmically against her. Hermione clutched at his chest and shoulders, desperately seeking purchase as she muttered gibberish. She felt overly sensitive and jittery – a junkie coming down from an extended high.

She had a vague impression of him trying to gentle her with words and soothing touches, but she was having none of it.

Giving up, she fell back on his desk, arms extended above her head seductively, like a virgin sacrifice splayed out for some heathen god to ravish.

Then she ruined the virgin idea by screaming, "Harder!" She definitely resembled a sex crazy nymph more right then.

Snape complied immediately, somehow also managing to tug the cups of her bra down to free her breasts as he did. Large hands cupped the mounds, molding them deftly.

"Yes, please," she groaned, arching into the warm pressure. "Oh, Snape, yes!"

Her exclamation had him stilling abruptly and jerking her up to press tightly against his chest as he growled something. The words jumbled before reaching her brain leaving her with some nonsense about a crab.

It hardly mattered though. The new position gave Hermione access to Snape's neck. Her mouth found his throbbing pulse, and she sucked at it eagerly, nipping and licking at the spot in time with its steady ticking.

Snape hissed, muttering expletives and squeezing her tighter, binding her against him in an unyielding hold that pinned her in place. His thickness twitched inside her and she rolled her hips against him, grinding her clit on his pelvis. It wasn't enough. Not like usual. She needed more. Or something different.

"Granger, cease, now," he demanded, the order actually registering. He followed it with a second one, though she largely suspected this one wasn't directed at her. "Crabbe, if you are not out of this room in the next three seconds I will see to it that you are tortured to within an inch of your life."

The words startled a laugh from her, and she snagged the lobe of Snape's ear with her lips in reward for his humor. His answering groan sounded over the slamming of the door, but it was not the strangled cry of pleasure that she was familiar with.

Then a nail scraped roughly over her clit, biting with just a hint of true pain. It was enough to have all of the muscles in her body seizing and relaxing abruptly. Snape pushed deeper into her as her inner walls clamped down on him, and a jet of warmth splashed into her.

The fog of insanity that had blinded her finally lifted as he withdrew, the sudden conclusion allowing her mind to finally wake and behave rationally again.

Then the reality of the last few minutes set in. Horror clutched at her as she watched Snape turn his back on her, burying his face in his hands. Abruptly, his arm swung out and he knocked several books and jars from a shelf onto the floor in a sudden fit of temper. The sound of shattering glass drowned out Hermione's screaming thoughts, but Snape ignored the sickly green puddle oozing out across his floor and staining the pages of one of the books that had fallen in the mess he'd made.

Hermione felt her mouth fall open in shock at the physical display. Snape wasn't usually one to need such an outlet – not when he was so efficient with his words. But as quickly as it happened, he reigned it back in, though his shoulders still rose and fell sharply from his rapid, staccato breathing.

"The potion," she whispered, explaining her actions. He'd tried to shield her exposed chest and sex from Crabbe's view, but the way she'd been all over him… A wanton whore. "Oh, Merlin," she groaned, humiliated.

"Yes," he agreed hoarsely.

"Did you have any idea it would affect me like that?" she asked woodenly, careful not to sound accusing. She'd known the potion was a trial that hadn't yet been tested. He'd not forced her to take it.

"No," he said distractedly. His lack of attention and refusal to look at her ignited her rage. It was a much more comforting emotion right then, and she welcomed it gladly.

"Do you even care how out of control I was? What if we'd been in public?"

The very idea was repulsive to her. Imagine if they'd been in the Great Hall. Worse, she'd not liked any part of this encounter. She was as tense and worked up as she'd ever been before. Her body had been all for it, but her mind hadn't. At least her unsatisfying organsm had triggered the end of the insanity and the potion hadn't lingered beyond that. That was the only positive outcome.

It was funny, in an unamusing way. Part of what she'd liked about being with Snape was that it gave her a mental break. She could get out of her head a bit. He helped her to revel in sensation instead. This time though, there'd been too much need with nothing to balance it. No relief or fulfillment.

And if she had to guess, Snape probably felt the same way. He'd finished in record time, yet tension still radiated from the man. Without the spell on them, he probably wouldn't have at all.

"Granger, do you not understand what this means?" he asked tightly, shoulders rigid with barely leashed control.

"What?" she asked sharply, her irritation showing as pointed and deadly as the needles on a cactus.

"Vincent has slipped Draco's leash," he hissed, spinning towards her, worry etched in every line on his face.

"All right?" she snapped tartly, annoyed by the sudden change in topic, but knew he'd not relinquish the subject until he was ready. Harry was often the same way. She'd have to wait to discuss what just happened.

"Draco may be the more dangerous because of his intelligence, but Vincent is a vicious brute, and only Draco kept him in check all this time," Snape warned, rushing on to explain before she could interrupt with her usual barrage of questions. "He came in here knowing you were with me. He came to see the results of the spell for himself, and worse, he didn't obey or respect my authority. Neither as his professor and Head of House, nor as a superior Death Eater."

"What does that mean?" Hermione asked, internally allowing that he may be right, and this was the more pressing issue at hand.

"I'm not entirely sure, but I don't think it will be good for us," Snape warned. "You must be careful, Granger."

"I will," she said, caught off guard by the acute concern in his demand. But this was the second time a Slytherin had known what she and Snape were in his office doing. They couldn't meet there again, not anymore. "We need to be able to wait and meet in your rooms discreetly. We can't meet during the day anymore," she acknowledged, recalling again that she could always use the Floo to get to him next time. She'd have to learn to make it through the day.

"The potion…" he muttered, trailing off with a disgusted twist to his lips. He didn't need her to say how displeased she was with what had transpired. Just recalling her behavior had mortification heating her cheeks.

Except that wouldn't do. The results had been unintentional, and she needed to keep that knowledge in the forefront of her mind rather than focusing on her personal chagrin. It had been an experiment and the results would help them know what not to try in the future.

"Yes. The potion," she said crisply, trying to remain clinical and mature so that he didn't toss her out believing she was incapable of discussing the matter rationally.

"My last attempt caused dulled reflexes and migraines. I tried adjusting the ratio of –"

"Last attempt?" Hermione interrupted, recalling he'd said something to the same effect after class that morning.

"I took the dose myself. We will expedite the process if we are both participating as test subjects," he reminded her, probably thinking she'd been too addled earlier to process their conversation. Which actually was quite true.

"You never mentioned a word of it to me before today," she remarked blandly, attempting to mask her hurt.

"There is much I don't tell you," he said dismissively, as though she was being absurd by asking that he run every decision he made past her, which wasn't at all what she meant.

"You should have said something about this before deciding to subvert a spell affecting both of us," she insisted.

"Do not tell me you wish to remain subject to the spell's whims and control for the rest of this war," he asked sharply, eyes widening at the prospect.

Would it truly be so bad? She didn't need to ask or think about the answer. For Snape, who possessed so little control yet treasured it greatly, yes, it would. Besides, what if they were in a situation that didn't allow them access to one another?

Honestly, as much as she enjoyed the physical aspect of their relationship – baring this time – she didn't either.

"Of course not," she snapped, dreading the idea of being in the middle of a fight and suddenly having the urge to jump Snape's bones. If she couldn't control herself, she could wind up getting herself killed during the war. "My point is that you didn't discuss it with me," she repeated, needing him to understand why she was angry. "We are in this situation together. I should have been informed. Consulted. Something."

"I highly doubt you would have enough insight into the inner workings of creating a potion to provide anything useful," Snape said condescendingly.

"No. I couldn't possibly be relied upon to have an intelligent thought or idea," she said with exaggerated sarcasm. It was a relief to finally have a legitimate source to channel all of her anger and humiliation. "And Merlin knows I don't know how to read a blasted book!"

"Are you insulted?" he asked, blinking at her in baffled surprise.

"Bloody right I am!"

"Well, Granger, when you have fifteen years of experience in the matter I shall promise to consult your expertise," he challenged rationally. Hermione flinched, cheeks warming at the fair taunt. She was about to concede that he had a point when he continued, "You may be known for your brilliance among your peers, but that is only because the bar is set so low."

Her teeth snapped shut with an audible click. Concede? Never. Not to such a smug bastard. She was too seething mad to ever consider it.

"Well whose fault is that? You're the professor, aren't you? Try doing a better job of it!"

He looked thunderous, but she didn't bother sticking around for him to hurl more insults at.

Three days passed without a single word or apology exchanged before she received a message to come to his rooms after dinner. Hermione was dreading it because for once she was not in the mood and she very much doubted his ability to get her there. She was simply too angry. Prior to this, only Ron and Malfoy had ever managed to rile her up this much.

He wasn't waiting for her when she came in, so she stood uncomfortably by the door, unsure if she should make herself at home the way she'd taken to doing on other occasions.

Then the closet door opened. Curious, Hermione approached it, quickly discovering it was actually a small room containing long lab benches pushed flush against three of the walls, all scattered with potion ingredients, and shelves of additional stored ingredients lining the final wall. Snape was working at the far table, and a large pewter cauldron was simmering on the middle one, the potion within a pale yellow the shade of straw.

"Dice the dandelion roots into half centimeter sections," he said stiffly, pointing at the third table with the tip of his blade.

"You're…" she began, startled that he'd called her here to work on a potion with him and not for any other reason, but at his warning glare, she quickly changed directions and finished, "using a brass knife?"

"It's an alloy. The properties will allow the unicorn hair to bind seamlessly with the honeywater in the base."

"Like in the Invigoration Draught from fifth year?"

"Yes," Snape said, tensing slightly. Carefully, he said, "At no point in this will you refer to me as Professor Snape. Nor will you reference incidents from times when you were my student. If you must ask questions, reference the source book you read the information in."

"All right, Snape," Hermione agreed, understanding how difficult this was for him, but that he was at least trying to respect her request. Probably, this was his way of apologizing as well, though he'd never actually do any such thing.

At least it was concrete progress.

She was essentially acting as his student again, but in an informal setting. So far, he'd managed to avoid acknowledging her in his DADA classroom aside from the two instances where he'd assigned her detention. She'd not raised her hand either so as not to put him in an uncomfortable position.

"Don't press so hard on your blade. It's a slicing motion, as though you were wielding a scalpel," he recommended, demonstrating in the air what he wished her to do.

They worked companionably for close to two hours with Snape issuing instructions or correcting her technique occasionally, but otherwise it was a pleasant silence. He was enjoyable to work with, often predicting her needs and providing a tool before she even needed to look for it.

More significant than that, however, was how much easier Hermione found it to be open to trying new methods when there wasn't a list of instructions in front of her that she was supposed to follow. She also wasn't anticipating or rushing as she normally did when there was the deadline of a school bell looming over her.

"Add ten porcupine quills individually in three second intervals and a single counter-clockwise stir after every two have been added," he said when a timer dinged, signaling the end of the current bout of simmering. The potion had turned a brilliant navy blue, rivaling the night sky just after twilight.

"Whole? Aren't they usually powdered for potions?"

"Yes, when you wish for the effects of the potion to be near instantaneous. Leaving them whole will cause the potion to act as a time release," Snape said, watching her add the quills methodically.

"Like in the Elixir to Induce Euphoria? But I thought we were trying to suppress it," Hermione questioned, trying to understand his intentions behind the potion. He'd yet to explain what he hoped the outcome would be.

"They are not the only ingredient involved, are they?" he asked mildly, raising a single brow inquiringly.

"No," she muttered with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

"Hmph," he huffed, having caught her display. "Which potion that you are familiar with is this most similar to?"

"Initially, I assumed a Calming Draught, but now I'm thinking Draught of Peace because of the addition of quills and moonstone," she answered readily, programmed to answer academic questions completely after so many years of doing so.

"Indeed," he agreed, lips curling up slightly in approval, "with a hint of a Weakness Potion."

"What now?"

"It simmers overnight," he advised. "It will be ready for one of us to try after that."

"Why did the potion you had me try affect me as it did?" she asked, having wondered all evening.

"I attempted to reverse engineer a Lust Potion combined with a Nullifying Charm," he said, face pinching regretfully at how it had turned out. "I believe the Nullifying Charm wore off and the Lust Potion was amplified by the spell on us."

"I'll say," she sighed. "It was not pleasant."

"I didn't intend…," he broke off, asking so quietly that she had to strain to hear the questions, "Are you all right? You are unhurt?"

"It didn't hurt – you didn't hurt me," she promised, emphasizing her words for his sake. "It just wasn't…what I've come to expect sex to be like. I felt like I was starving and never managed to stanch the need before it was over."

"I will be the one to test any potions in the future that contain a lust component," he said decisively. Hermione nodded her agreement, not wishing to repeat the experience. That was one she could easily allow him to bite the bullet and risk.

"You used a charm on a potion rather than the individual?" Hermione asked, suddenly recalling what he'd said and intrigued by the concept.

They used Stasis Charms to suspend the process from one class period to the next occasionally, or they used spells to stir or light fires, but they never combined spells and potions to create the final result.

"I did," he confirmed, accepting the dirty knife from her as they set about cleaning up their respective stations.

"Is that a common practice?"

"Have you heard of anyone else attempting the like? Aside from the Weasley twins," he allowed, smiling slightly at her amazed expression.

She wondered if he was the one to help them with that. Probably not. They likely used all of their free periods to teach themselves. Had anyone taught Snape, or was he like them – teaching himself?

"No, aside from you telling me of them just now, I haven't heard of it," she admitted.

"Then I believe you answered your own question," he said decisively.

"Why don't they? It seems to me that there could be significant benefits in cross-curriculum magic," she suggested, eager for the opportunity to take a new class and learn a new subject.

"Is the curriculum not full enough as is for you, Granger?"

"Well, yes, but –"

"But nothing. The staff have enough pressures on us as it is. Particularly in light of the reluctance of our students to retain what we attempt to teach. Do not go about trying to assign us more. If it is an area you wish to delve deeper into, then I suggest you pursue an independent study next year," he said, switching from complaint to recommendation on the turn of a knut.

"I can do that?"

"If it keeps you occupied and out of trouble, yes," Snape said, a dark bite of humor edging the words.

"Will I even be here next year? I'm Muggle-born, and without Dumbledore…"

"I do not know," Snape said, pausing in the last of his clean up to recognize the coming events looming over them.

"We should discuss how we'll handle the aftermath," she suggested sagely.

"Not yet," he requested, putting the inevitable conversation off for another day as he did with several unpleasant topics.

"All right," she allowed, intending to bring it up again after the Easter Hols if he didn't sooner.

"Come back tomorrow night if you have the time. I thought of another variation we could try while we were working," Snape said as she was leaving.

"What is it?"

"Come back tomorrow and you'll find out," he challenged, a small smile playing about his lips.

Blasted, confounding man! He knew she'd come back with that vague half answer. She'd not rest until she had the answer.

But he was including her. And he'd seemed to not mind her company. At least she'd managed not to irritate him any.

Progress.

They were making progress.