Snape returned to his quarters to put his mind towards the only thing he had ever been good at, his potions. He closed the heavy wooden doors behind him and busied himself with cauldron and flame. He knew that he would remain uninterrupted, alone with his thoughts. The portraits had long ago left their frames, much like the other residents of Hogwarts they didn't linger with the man in the dungeon.
Yet, no matter how much his hands worked, not matter how quickly he chopped and stirred, he couldn't keep his thoughts from stirring as well. He saw himself as a boy looking on at an imposed image of Lily holding Potter's hand in the infirmary, as if someone had placed a transparency over the evening's recent events. He shook his mind and pushed himself harder, attempting a concoction that had long escaped successful completion at his hands. As he flipped through his quill written notes, two girls' voices echoed and mingled in his mind. He had heard Lily's laughter, something in the pit of his stomach desired to hear what Hermione's sounded like. When was it that he acquired a talent for eliciting tears? He pulled himself back from the solution, heading towards the collection of books on mahogany shelf on the stone wall. He saw Hermione in uniform, reaching for a book in the library. Though he'd hate to admit it, he had stared far too long hoping that she would reach just far enough for her skirt to hike a little further up her thigh. He hit the table with open palms. "Enough!" He shook with frustration. "Enough." He repeated to himself more quietly, exasperated.
Before returning to the task at hand, he grasped a vile of liquid that often relaxed his nerves on long evenings such as this. He took a substantial swig and begun the crush beans with the side of his knife. Then, there was a knock on the door. "Professor?"
His hand slipped. The draft hindered coagulation, allowing crimson to flow freely and seep into the woodwork of the table. Snape cursed under his breath. What was she doing here at this time of night? He struggled to remember the healing spell. "Professor, I thought I heard something, are you alright?" The voice piqued behind the door. His heart was climbing up his throat. Perhaps if he remained silent, she would just go away.
"Professor Snape?" The silence was lasting as the blood began to leak from the cracks in his grip. "I'm coming in."
The look of horror on her face felt like a reward blossoming in his chest.
"You're bleeding!" She gasped. Her uniformed body came swiftly towards him.
He allowed her to touch his rough hands ever so briefly before pulling them out of reach.
She looked at him in confusion.
The draught was taking effect. His body felt heavy, his tongue and his mind were numbing. He felt the corner of his mouth upturn.
"Something's not right." She whispered as she caught his eyes.
"How astute of you, Granger." He spoke casually, his concerns with the mortal world slipping away with each pump of his slowing heart.
The girl grasped his bleeding hand, applying pressure and prompting him to sit in a thrown-like green velvet chair. It amused him to see her hand bathed in his crimson. "I'm a good color on you." He noted, locking eyes.
She blushed as she concentrated on the wound murmuring words of healing. "The clotting is taking too long. What happened? Was it Volde- was it Him again?" She looked worried.
"It soon will be, for me." His head lulled to look at the candle light. "But, I doubt it concerns you."
Her eyebrows furrowed. "Professor, I don't understand what you mean. Is he calling? How could you say that?"
She inched his sleeve further up his arm to his elbow. The mark wasn't revealing itself. And despite the blood flow, the man didn't seem to be in any pain. "If it concerns you, it concerns me." With her hand entwined with his injured hand and the other resting on his elbow, she noticed how close she was to his face. Unlike his usual self, her Professor's eyes were examining the girl before him like a vision. Suddenly, he brought his face towards hers gently. Their lips barely brushed each other at first. Then his hands were pulling at her desperately, urging her onto his lap, searching her hair and grasping her thighs. His tongue sought hers and she could taste the mugwort on his hot breath.
She immediately knew this was wrong. He was in the wrong state of mind. "Professor!" She called as his lips were trailing her throat to her clavicle. "This isn't like you!"
He stopped and glanced up at her. "This is what teenagers want, isn't it?"
Anger flared in her, but she wouldn't let her pride get the best of her. Not after her selfish showdown with Lavender earlier. The man was ill, she urged herself to remain calm. She kept her mouth shut as she tried to remove herself from the warmth of his lap.
He held her fast. "Then, what if this is what I want?"
All other sensations within her stopped at this comment. Her mind struggled to restart calculating. Even if his eyes were sincere, this man had been drugged.
She coughed as she got up to distract him. "What exactly were you working on over here?"
He remained seated, observing the work table. "A potion that has never been made. Will never be made." He sounded bored.
She observed the pages of notes, some sun bleached and several years old, others had been written minutes ago. This was some long term project Snape had invested in. She noted the ingredients and layout of the table. There were no books to research from, was he constructing from scratch?
"What exactly, is this?" Her inquisitiveness was building.
Before she knew it, his dark figure was towering behind her. He brought his face close to her ear and murmured the words that brought her back to first year and darkened her soul, "Something that could even put a stopper in death."