Hermione stirred the bubbling mixture in the cauldron feverishly, barely able to make out the shapes inside through the dense haze of steam suffusing the classroom. A neat row of similarly boiling brews lined the long work table she was stationed at, and each was throwing clouds of fragrant moisture into the still air around her. She absently tossed back a frizzy lock of hair from her forehead, attempting to more clearly see what she was doing, and nearly overturned the entire set up when a sinister baritone rumbled through her eardrum.
"Oh, Ms. Granger… do tell me you can do better than that?"
The breath from that directive ghosted across her perspiration-laden neck, leaving violent goose bumps in its wake. Professor Snape had crept up behind her in his customary silent fashion but Hermione was certain his face held a maniacal grin outside her field of vision. She took a long inhale to steady her nerves and hands.
"Cooking, by nature, Ms. Granger," he began, the lecture in his tone evident, "is more art than methodology. Technical merit will only take you so far." He paused, and she could see in her periphery his lips thinning in distaste. "If you can't muster up some passion for the creativity involved, you are wasting your own time as well as mine."
"I am passionate, Professor!" Hermione snapped, snatching up a small tinderbox from the pile of supplies at the head of the work table and struggling to revive her dying fire to no avail. She threw the box across the room in frustration when she'd used up all the matches. If this stops boiling, it'll congeal and be ruined, she thought in dismay. Then what will Professor Snape think?
More important than his opinion of her, however, was how on earth she was going to be able to perform any of the cooking functions without the aid of magic, or at the very least modern cooking implements. She heard his derisive snort and bristled. Hermione lost patience and spun on her heel to face the potions master, small fists balled up at her sides.
"If you could just help me master the basic techniques, sir, I'm certain that I could devote more of my time and passion to creative application," she implored. From the corner of her eye, she watched the fire under her cauldron sputter and die. She closed her eyes with a pained sigh, fighting the impulse the drop her head into her hands.
"Looks like you've lost a cauldron, Ms. Granger. How many failures is that, now?" Hermione could practically hear the insincerity dripping onto the floor.
When she opened her mouth to respond, she found her vocal cords frozen by one long, cool finger running across her damp cheek and capturing a limp piece of hair. Hermione didn't dare exhale as her potions master purposefully tucked the wayward strand behind her ear, and then firmly trailed his finger down to her chin to pivot her head towards him.
"Well, well… it appears that vaunted Gryffindor courage falls short in the kitchen, Granger." Hermione's eyes shot open, and her lungs failed to inflate as she stood nose to hook-nose with her teacher-cum-tutor. "I could also extrapolate," Snape continued on, voice dropping impossibly down another octave, "that you lack an innate sense of passion at all. Explosions of fear most certainly do not count."
Hermione forgot how to be indignant, as her brain was beginning to short-circuit in the close proximity of the overbearing instructor. She finally remembered how to breathe and was additionally shocked by the inexplicably manly scent exuding from the man in front of her. Her insides tightened up without her permission, and she was appalled at the mere idea of considering her Potions teacher in any other capacity.
It took a moment for her to realize her bottom lip was trembling, but before she could act, Hermione's lip was captured between sharp teeth in a searing, wet mouth. A hard gasp was all the opening required for a slick, agile tongue to invade, and begin to conquer her own. She could hardly stifle her involuntary moan as she was forcibly pulled flush with Snape's body. She shivered as his large, dexterous hands demanded free reign of her body, and her eyes rolled in unabashed anticipation at the sound of ripping fabric. Hermione went airborne for a moment as her professor hoisted her high enough to wrap her legs around his slim waist, and their lips did not separate once in his crusade towards a hard surface. She felt the hard wood of the work table hit the backs of her legs, and her hand shot out to steady herself on the edge. In the frantic movement, her elbow caught the lip of the cauldron with enough pressure to send it teetering off its perch and down to the dungeon floor.
Thud!
Hermione jumped up from her chair in alarm and looked around wildly, confused. Her foot caught the edge of the book she had been taking notes from, crumpled on the floor where it must have slipped from the desk she was working at. A few more heartbeats passed before she realized she'd fallen asleep in the library. Oh, Merlin! she thought in a panic. What time is it? Did I miss my appointment with Professor Snape? Professor… Snape….
Hermione stopped dead in her tracks; she had been dreaming about her professor! Dreaming…. in a most un-academic manner.
"What the hell?" she whispered aloud, struggling not to panic.
Madam Pince appeared from behind a bookcase wearing her customary disapproving glare. Hermione flushed, and bent down to retrieve the fallen hardback.
"Sorry about that, madam. Can you tell me what time it is?" Hermione quickly stuffed parchment and quills into her sack, closing books rapidly but carefully under the librarian's judging gaze.
"Half past nine, dear," Madam Pince responded once satisfied that no further harm would come to her precious tombs. She calmly returned to her cataloguing, and Hermione slung her bulging sack across her shoulder in preparation to leave.
It was just a dream, Hermione. It must have been something you ate, nothing to throw you off your game. She continued her silent pep talk through the library doors and down the corridor to the dungeon staircases. It's not as though he can read your mind, for heaven's sake. Hermione froze in mid-step. She was on her way to a private session with the castle's most skilled Legilimens. Never mind that he shouldn't have a reason to delve into her head; she simply wouldn't put it past him. She hesitated to take the steps that would lead her to the potions classroom. All I have to do is to not think about it, right? She bit her lip, which triggered the memory of Severus Snape roughly claiming it as his own, and her body flushed hotly from neck to toes.
Oh, shit.