Chapter 4

Severus continued to stalk down the corridor, away from her, away from temptation. He had heard her, of course. Granger had seen the black fire return to his eyes and he had no doubt she was telling the truth, for he could feel it himself, that energy running through the red blood in his veins, infusing it with anticipation, with power, with desire.

Truth was, he'd had no such intentions when he had answered the tripped security charm on Flitwick's classroom, moving stealthily from his patrol of the third floor and using secret passages to head off the intruder.

It had been Miss Granger, her hair wild and meandering along the corridor wearing a diaphanous white dressing robe, festooned with purple flowers. How the fuck could he remember that?

He'd scared the living daylights out of her, bringing himself into view with no warning, and had rather enjoyed seeing her disquiet, which, after the initial shock, had turned a little confrontational and self-righteous. Granger clearly felt no remorse for her actions, which was understandable, he supposed, given her age and status. It seemed ludicrous that a girl who was nearly two years passed majority should be forbidden from something so mundane as collecting a book during the night.

Severus reached his chambers and barrelled through the door, which opened at the touch of his wand, and slammed it behind him, hearing the fizz of the security ward which set itself each time he entered or left the room. Snatching up his packet of cigarettes from the bookshelf, he flicked one out of the box and lit it with a snap of his fingers, before throwing himself into his favourite leather armchair, loosening his restrictive collar and cravat, and taking a deep drag of the addictive smoke.

Then the game of cat and mouse had begun. She had challenged him, dared him to justify his own words and actions. Her fire and spirit had ignited his own, and with no good sense he had taken hold of her and thrown her against the wall, just getting his hands behind her in time so as not to injure her.

As he'd held her there, feeling the rapid breaths heaving in her chest, a surge of adrenaline that he'd not felt for a fucking long time had coursed through his body, and as she'd continued to goad him, he had shoved his thigh between her legs, the burn from her hot little cunt searing through his trousers.

When had he last felt a sweet heat like that anywhere near his vile body? He could not drag his leg from her, rubbing her covered pussy with his thigh, trying to arouse her, although not entirely sure what he was doing. He'd whispered words of seduction into her hair and had been utterly shocked when she had a released a pleasured moan that had provoked the erection he was still sporting now.

He'd nipped her bloody ear, for fuck's sake. What the hell was he thinking?

The truth was, he hadn't been thinking.

He'd just been breathing, feeling, and living in that exact moment.

Granger had been entirely correct when she'd made her accusation. They were like two ghosts, who, for a short time, had tasted living again.

Taking another lungful of smoke, he dropped his hand to his crotch and rearranged his erection, which was still straining at the fastenings of his trousers. He gave it a rub with the heel of his hand, closing his eyes at the sensation, before sliding down to heft his balls, giving them a gentle squeeze.

Oh, to hell with it. He knew what he wanted to do. Who would ever know?

Stubbing his cigarette out in the ashtray on his side table, he removed his trousers with a Divesto, bringing the material on the thigh, where he had rubbed against Miss Granger, to his nose. The scent was slight, but it was definitely there. A delicate, feminine musk that caused his erection to pulse and his hand to return to attend to it.

Dipping into the front of his black undershorts, Severus took himself in hand. This at least, he could do.

-xxx-

Hermione gave Neville's hand a squeeze as they exited the lift on the fourth floor of St Mungo's, heading towards the Janus Thickey ward, which was a special, magically-locked ward for those patients suffering from severe spell damage. He returned it, looking down at her with a grateful smile.

"Thanks for this."

"I told you, I'm happy to do this for you. Tell me anything you need, okay?" she replied.

Neville had knocked on the door of her room that morning, she'd been dressed in jeans and a striped, long-sleeved top, and was just pulling on her trainers, having enjoyed her first breakfast ordered through the Floo, which she'd eaten at her desk, since the tiny rooms had no official dining area.

He'd looked nervous, but also happy and excited as he'd asked if she was ready to go. It must be such a mixture of feelings for her friend to visit his parents, knowing they didn't recognise him, nor were they even aware of his presence. As a child, he'd been taken on regular visits there by his fearsome grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, who'd raised him after the attack upon his parents that had left them in a semi-catatonic state.

Hermione was well versed in modern wizarding history, particularly that pertaining to the dual reigns of Lord Voldemort. The attack on Frank and Alice Longbottom was widely considered to be the most horrendous crime committed in the modern wizarding world by most witches and witches; an attack that had condemned the two highly-skilled Aurors to a fate worse than death.

The Longbottoms had been very popular, both at work and amongst their friends. They had both been staunch members of the Order of the Phoenix, good friends of people she held dear. The attacks on them had come after Voldemort's first fall from power, just when everyone thought the world was safe.

Frank Longbottom had been the first to be captured out of the couple, whilst out searching for Death Eaters to round up, on the instruction of the Chief Auror. Frank was subjugated and imprisoned at an undisclosed location, before being heavily tortured by the Lestranges, and Barty Crouch, Junior, who were attempting to gain information on where Voldemort was being held, believing that he had been captured by the Ministry.

The continued, severe use of the Cruciatus Curse on Frank Longbottom had left him physically and mentally depleted, rendering him irrevocably insane.

When the Death Eaters failed to gain information from him, driving him insane before they could gather any knowledge, they targeted his wife, Alice, who had also been an Auror. She, too, was kidnapped, and tortured in the same manner.

Like her husband, she had no knowledge of Voldemort's whereabouts, and so was forced to endure the curse until her mind snapped and she also was driven insane.

That had been nearly twenty years ago. The infant Neville had been little over eighteen months old when he'd effectively become an orphan, just as surely as Harry had. Hermione felt that in some ways, the continued existence of his parents belied the great suffering that Neville must keep in his heart, being unable to truly grieve.

They approached the ward, and Neville touched his wand to the door, which brought Healer Strout hurrying along the central aisle to unlock it for him. Hermione had been here once before, the Christmas that Mr Weasley had been attacked, and she, Harry and Ron had somehow been coerced into visiting Gilderoy Lockhart, who had wiped his own memory with a backfiring Obliviation charm.

Taking a quick look around the ward, Hermione was relieved to see no sign of her former professor, and presumed Lockhart must have been released into a magical care in the community programme, or something similar. She certainly wasn't about to ask after him, in case Miriam Strout advised he was still in the hospital, and sent her across to assist him in signing more photographs.

In fact, as they walked down the ward, there was only one other resident currently in bed, an unfortunate looking wizard who was laying sideways on his bed, looking miserable, with an impressive bushy tail poking out of the covers. Oops. Hopefully that would eventually be reversible.

They reached the end of the ward, to see Frank and Alice Longbottom side-by-side in separate hospital beds, although Frank was sitting up, making a model of some sorts, out of what appeared to be a pile of matchsticks. Alice was asleep, her hair grey and her skin pale.

"Hi Mum, Hi Dad!" Neville called, cheerfully, and Hermione's heart broke for her friend, as she imagined him doing just that as a small boy, never receiving a response, no recognition from his parents that he was their son.

Frank looked up and smiled, but did not say anything, just returned to his building. Neville sat gently on the side of the bed.

"What's that you're building, Dad? It looks great. Can you show me?"

His father did not acknowledge that his son had spoken, simply continued to build, before knocking down the matchsticks, and beginning again. It was awful to witness, truly awful.

"I'll just go and see Mum," Neville said, in the same upbeat voice, moving around to his mother's bed, leaning forwards and kissing her cheek, then her forehead, smoothing her hair back from her face.

"Hi Mum. You don't look too well, today. I'll let you sleep, I won't disturb you. I just wanted to see you, tell you that I love you, all the normal stuff, I suppose."

Hermione clenched her jaw to stop the tears of hurt falling. Crying would be entirely selfish and do Neville no good whatsoever, not when he was displaying the absolute epitome of courage and selflessness. How had he survived, all these years? All this time, with two living ghosts for parents?

Living ghosts.

Her own words hit her with such raw emotional power that a small squeak fell from her lips, which she quickly bit back, lest Neville hear.

What had Professor Snape said to her, just the night before?

"The girl who walks around this castle like a ghost?"

She had then levelled the same accusation at him, before their exchange had become more … heated.

How dare she? How dare he? How dare either of them mope around the castle with the gift of life, health and mind, as if they were only half-alive? What an absolute insult to these two brave Aurors laying here, and to their even braver son.

Neville walked over to her, taking her hand and leading her over to his mother's bedside.

"I've brought a friend with me, Mum. This is Hermione, and before you ask, no, she's not my girlfriend, but she is a very, very good friend. I care about her a lot, and she cares about me, that's why I wanted to bring her here."

Instinctively, Hermione reached out and took hold of Alice Longbottom's hand, giving it a squeeze rather than a shake.

"It's a great pleasure to meet you, Mrs Longbottom," she told the sleeping woman, as it were completely normal and natural to do so. "Neville has told me so much about you. You must … must be so very proud of him."

"If she was awake, if she was really here, she'd be telling you to call her Alice, not Mrs Longbottom. I think she'd have said that Mrs Longbottom was her mother-in-law's name, not hers."

"I think you're probably right, Neville. So, Alice, thank you for allowing me to call you that. You're right, it's much less formal."

She sat down on the bed, continuing to hold the woman's hand, and watched Neville's shoulders relax, as if he'd been unsure how the unreal world he'd created for a mother who wasn't truly present, would be received. He had no need to worry, she understood immediately what he was doing, and why.

He returned to his father, as if satisfied that he could leave his mother in Hermione's capable hands. They talked to one another, trying to include the mute Frank and Alice in their conversation. It was strange, but also comforting. The patients both seemed quite relaxed and Frank even smiled a few times, not at any meaningful juncture, but smiled nonetheless.

Lunch was served, and Healer Strout brought plates for Hermione and Neville also, so that they could eat together. Alice had to be helped to sit and eat by auxiliary healers, but Frank took the cutlery and ate himself, although his eyes were unfocused on the meal, and he looked around the walls of the hospital as if he'd never seen them before. It was the saddest family luncheon she had ever attended.

After lunch, Neville sat back in the hospital armchair and put his feet up on his father's bed, crossing his long legs and declaring he was going to take a nap. Curiously, Frank did the same, settling down in his bed, and Neville brought the covers over him with a wave of his wand. Alice had already lain back on her propped pillows after lunch, and looked to be sleeping again.

Once both Frank and Alice were snoring, Healer Strout came over to them.

"Are you ready, Neville?"

"I suppose so. Can Hermione come too?"

"Of course she can."

Miriam Strout ushered them into her small office at the side of the ward, which reminded Hermione of Madam Pomfrey's glass-walled office in the Hogwarts infirmary. They sat in high-backed wooden chairs, and looked at the elderly Healer.

"It's not good news, Neville, as I'm sure you know."

Hermione saw him set his mouth in a thin line, and a muscle ticked in his jaw.

"Your mother is fading. She has been in this state for so many years now, and we believe her body is simply … giving up. She is rarely awake, although she eats well enough. But her mind, Neville. Her mind was so damaged, and wherever she is, we believe she has given up trying to escape."

"Wherever she is?" Hermione repeated. "Is it thought that the Longbottoms may be imprisoned in their own minds?"

"We simply cannot say. The mind is a mystery to us all. We can only care for their bodies, whilst they remain alive. I just wanted to tell you, Neville. I just wanted you … to be aware."

"Thank you, Miriam."

"You're welcome, son."

-xxx-

They walked up the long, winding path from the school gates and the Apparition point, towards the castle. The sun was just beginning its descent behind the tallest treetops of the Forbidden Forest, for it had been a warm September day, and they were both looking forward to a good meal in the Great Hall that night, since the St Mungo's food had not been the most appetising of fare.

"Thank you for taking me to meet your parents, today, Neville."

"I should be thanking you, Hermione. And you didn't really meet them, more just … saw them."

"No, I met them. And they were quite charming."

"You don't have to try and make me feel better. I know its mad, to talk to them when they don't even acknowledge me, but I have to. Otherwise, they might as well be dead, you know? I have to make the best of the parents I have, because in whatever form, they are still here with me."

Hermione gulped, thinking of her own parents. Her situation was the opposite of Neville's, in that her parents were fully-functional, but lost to her.

They reached the door of the Great Hall, and the tables were already half-full, the dinner bell must have sounded already. Before they entered, Neville turned to her, taking hold of her hand, making her look at him.

"You're going to wake up now, aren't you Hermione?"

She couldn't speak. In the midst of his turmoil, he had noticed that she was merely going through the motions of life, and had demonstrated, without saying a single word, why she needed to change that. Hermione was choked at his kindness, and generosity of spirit.

"I will, Neville. I promise."

"Great," he replied, grinning. "Let's go and eat."

-xxx-

Severus had two cauldrons simmering, and was stirring another with a glass rod in his left hand, whilst simultaneously jotting down notes in his brewing records with his right.

It had a been a productive Saturday in the privacy of his private laboratory, away from feeble-minded adolescents and the grotty messes they routinely made in the Potions classroom. In contrast, the private laboratory, always the preserve of the current Potions Master, or Mistress, was scrupulously clean, the equipment was of superior quality, and it had its own storeroom, which was by far the biggest draw.

Attempting to extract the required number of salamander tongues from a large jar that had been raped by a class of thirty first-years was a task he never wished to repeat again. Here in the private lab, all the stores were pristinely ordered, and it was here that he would brew the required remedies and potions for the school infirmary.

He always enjoyed working in here, for it was relaxed and he could not be disturbed. Well, technically he could be interrupted, as the door led off the second-floor corridor, but it would take a stupid or suicidal student who knocked unbidden at his private potions store.

Harry Potter had once been apprehended here, and Severus had accused him of stealing potion ingredients, and then of lying. As it had turned out, rather embarrassingly, Potter had been guilty of neither, but that was history now, as so many things were.

Severus was casually dressed in only his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and cravat removed, and untucked at the bottom, his sleeves rolled up to prevent splashes from the rather volatile brew he was testing. His dragon-hide boots were a must, as were his plain black trousers. His teaching robes and frock coat were hanging by the door, ready to armour himself with before returning to his own chambers. It was only in the privacy of his own rooms, and in here, that he would allow himself to disrobe.

The house-elves had delivered both his lunch and dinner here, and the arrival of tea and biscuits suggested that it was now evening. He still had a few hours more work to do, and so poured himself a cup.

There was a knock at the door.

It was most likely one of the staff, seeking him out. They could fuck off.

The knock sounded again, more insistently.

Rolling his eyes in annoyance and hoping that there hadn't been some appalling accident that required extra supplies of burn paste, Severus left the laboratory and walked through the store room, yanking open the door that led to the corridor.

Granger.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Yes?" he asked. "It is customary, when visiting the rooms of another, that you state your business for being there?"

She took a deep breath, as if summoning her reserves of courage. This was not unusual. He'd elicited this response from many a student, over the years.

"I need to live," she answered, simply.

"How very … interesting," he sneered, in reply. "And why is it essential that you tell me this?"

"Because … because, you need to live too. Sir."

He narrowed his eyes at her. What the fuck was the girl saying? What was she asking for?

He lifted his hand and gestured her into the storeroom, indicating that she should walk through into the laboratory beyond. This action, he suspected, would be his first mistake.

-xxx-

Hermione blinked as she walked through the storeroom, observing ingredients stored in jars, bottles and boxes, that were stacked from floor to ceiling, seeming to be meticulously labelled in Snape's distinctive handwriting. He'd pointed her towards the door at the back, so she kept walking, hearing the door to the corridor shut behind him.

She entered what must be his private laboratory, which looked and smelled incredible. It was all she could do not to start touching things, poking her nose in the cauldrons and reading his notes, which seemed to be everywhere.

"Why are you really here, Miss Granger?"

The deep voice behind her coincided with the door to the storeroom closing, leaving them secreted in the laboratory. She turned around to face him, for this conversation had been going through her head since dinner, when she'd returned to the privacy of her room, laying on the bed and staring up at the canopy above, trying to pretend that Hogwarts' most fearsome professor hadn't lit a fire in her that she was struggling to contain.

"Because, Sir, I don't care anymore."

He raised an imperious eyebrow, and pushed both his hands into his pockets.

"Explain."

"I don't care for rules, I don't care for restrictions. Yes, I want to pass my NEWTs, that is a personal challenge for me, but I don't wish to put my life on hold to do so."

His facial expression did not change, and clearly, he was not about to take up the refrain, so she blundered on, for better or worse, not really sure how much sense she was making.

"Today, I met two truly living ghosts."

"I am aware of where you went today, as you know."

"I have no right to waste a second more of the life and health, both physical and mental, that I have been granted."

Snape opened his mouth to answer her, but at that moment, one of the cauldrons began to bubble dangerously, letting out startling hisses of wet steam.

"Excuse me. I must attend to this."

Hermione nodded, and watched him work, in uncharacteristic silence. He waved his hands over the volatile potion, which calmed the hissing somewhat, but then he plucked his wand from his back pocket, casting a wandless spell that seemed to make the concoction thicker, stirring it with his other hand.

It was quite fascinating to watch a master at work. Uninvited, she hopped up on the work bench to better observe, sitting happily as his skilful fingers tended to the errant brew. An incantation was now drifting softly from his lips, as if he were singing a kind of lullaby. A lock of black hair fell into his face and over one eye, but he did not lose focus from his task.

He had a covering of dark hair on his pale forearms, and Hermione realised she'd never seen any of his flesh bared, before. The hair was sparse, straight, and for some reason, she wanted to touch it. The sinews of his forearms rippled in flexion as he went about his task, his hands utterly capable, and proficient in their craft.

At length, the brew calmed, and she heard him place it under a standard stasis charm that they used in their classes. He wiped his hands on a cloth, pushed his hair back from his face, and walked across the room, keeping his eyes trained upon her, as if she represented a threat. He stood before her.

"By all means, Granger, make yourself comfortable on my workbench."

"Thank you, Sir. I have," she replied, cheekily.

"You were watching me," he accused. "Just then."

"I was."

"Why?"

"I wanted to."

"Why?"

"All these questions, Sir."

"It makes a change from your infernal and persistent questioning in my classroom, Miss Granger."

She smiled, and to her surprise, the corner of his mouth turned up, just a little, just enough to perhaps constitute a smile in return. Hermione took a deep breath.

"I do need to live dangerously, Professor. You were right. Perhaps, after seven years of imminent danger being my everyday life, it's just too difficult for me to be … normal. Perhaps I don't want to be normal."

"You crave excitement," he stated, bluntly.

"I do."

"You think I can provide this."

It was a statement, not a question.

"I know you can."

"It would be a most unlikely … partnership," he admitted, taking a step closer to her, his waist almost touching her knees as she perched on the high workbench.

"I don't care."

"Do you not have a current paramour? I am sure Ronald Weasley would be most distressed to know what you were asking, and of whom you were asking it."

"We have made one another no promises," she dismissed, and he gave a short, unpleasant laugh. "I mean it. And what about you? Do you have a witch that you call your own?"

Snape put his hands on her jeans-covered knees at that question, pushing them apart and moving himself to stand in between them, so that she was effectively holding his hips and waist between her thighs. He had crossed the line. He slid one arm slowly around her back, placing his palm on her spine, his wide handspan spread across her back. The other hand went behind her head, as it had done last night in the corridor, insinuating his fingers into her thick curls, roughly taking hold of the back of her head.

"I have never … had a witch to call my own, Granger."

What? He'd never had a girlfriend, or partner? Did that mean he was a virgin, like her? Or just, he didn't do relationships, preferring short dalliances? Was he gay, preferring wizards? She opened her mouth to ask.

"Do not ask questions."

Hermione had never wanted anyone to kiss her as badly as she wanted this dark professor to kiss her, right now, and yet she had no real idea why, or what the attraction was. He was old, bad-tempered, rude, had highly-questionable ethics and could never be considered a handsome man.

"If you don't want me, Sir, then don't kiss me."

She heard him draw a deep intake of breath, and let it out slowly through his nose, his large nostrils flaring with the effort of simply breathing so heavily.

"Oh, I want you, Granger," he replied, his voice heady and dangerously low. "Make no mistake about that. As I said last night, it would be so easy for me. So easy for me to flout the teachers' code, to take you as a lover, to take my pleasure from you, and you would keep your silence, I know you would, for you would receive the same pleasure in return."

He seemed to be talking to himself, his mind perhaps attempting to justify what his body wanted, for his strong hands were still holding her head and back incredibly firmly. His fingers were not relaxed, they were taught with tension. Hermione lifted her hand, and placed a single finger on his lips, tracing across the lower one.

"I find, much like you," he muttered, her finger moving with the motion of his lips as he spoke, "that I care very little for rules, any more."

Without any further warning or deliberation, he closed the distance between them, dropping his head and angling hers towards him, touching his mouth to her lips. Hermione could feel a tremble as he started to move upon her, his lips were shaking, though his hands held her firm.

Holy shit, Professor Snape was kissing her.