Disclaimer: This world belongs to J.K. Rowling, I simply like to put my spin on the story. To all my fellow SS/HG fans and anyone who's just having a look, please feel free to leave as many reviews as you like, I absolutely love getting feedback on my work.

Author's Note/Response to Reviews: Firstly, thank you for your encouragement. It is greatly appreciated. Secondly, pstibbons' review recently brought my attention to my failure to describe Ron and Hermione's relationship, and the way in which he died. I am not a great Ron fan to be quite honest. I never thought that the temperaments of the two characters would work beyond dating, and as such left him absent from the story. Sorry if this created any friction, but I will rectify this situation ASAP. Thank you again for your encouragement.

Warning: There is a more sexual content in this next chapter, nothing graphic, but definitely alluded to. Hopefully this does not hinder anyone's enjoyment of the story. I write what I would enjoy reading, so I can only hope that others enjoy it too.

Chapter 3 – Wishful Thinking

Waking from a pleasant and slightly frustrating dream, Hermione swore she could almost feel Snape's cold lips on her forehead. The one thing that puzzled her about the beginning of the dream was his actions. Never before had he left her with nothing more than a platonic gesture. She felt oddly dissatisfied.

Lying on her back, Hermione had never really had any sexual fantasies. Even when with Ron, their intimacy had been quite innocent, Hermione wishing to wait till marriage to begin their sexual relationship. The feelings she was experiencing now were strange, but pleasant. More times than not, she would awake with a strange tingling between her legs, and now she thought she understood what Lavender had been talking about for all those years.

Infused with this sense of satisfaction, was deep imbedded guilt. How could she be thinking of another man in this way, when she hadn't even allowed herself to be this free with Ron, her Ronald? She had loved him, so deeply, but more and more, as she felt the signs of lust and wanting building up inside her, she wondered whether it would truly have worked. Could a relationship without passion, without burning need, truly survive marriage? If there was no fire at the beginning of a relationship, could there really be any in the middle, and what about the end?

Hermione's mother had always infused her with a sense of virtue. She had always been open-minded, always able to talk about everything. A bit too much for Hermione's liking. She had said that many a young man would tempt her, and that if she felt her heart being pulled along with the fire, then she should follow it, but that nothing compared to the utter happiness and fulfilment that came from being loved by one man. Of course her mother had not meant what Hermione took her to mean, but all the same, her values had been shaped, and only now did she feel the beginning of her resolve starting to crumble. This scared and saddened her. Why had these feelings been absent when she was with Ron?

The feelings Hermione had felt for Ron had developed in third year, and had continued to grow, until finally, at the beginning of their search for the Horcruxes, he had taken her into his arms, and professed his love for her. If she was honest with herself, she had supposed love would have felt somewhat different to the slight fluttering sensation she had felt in her chest, but she had thought it was merely the relief that it was finally happening, that had made her so unremarkably complacent. If she could feel this way about a man she hardly liked, perhaps her relationship with her best friend, and companion, was just that – friendship.

Banishing the sick feeling that accompanied these depressing revelations, Hermione jumped out of bed and started busying herself with the little homework she had not yet completed, until a loud clearing of a throat caught her attention.

"I wondered if I could have a word, Miss Granger. If you are not otherwise engaged," Snape said. How did everything he uttered turn to honey in her ears? So smooth, so silky, so seductive.

Noticing his awaiting stare she replied, "Of course, Professor. Would you prefer me to come through, or would you like to simply converse through the Floo?"

Snape studied her expression. She seemed to have no recognition of last night's events, or her face would have contorted into revulsion at the very sight of him. Excellent, he reassured himself, trying to eliminate the sinking feeling that seemed to form in the pit of his stomach.

"If you would be so kind as to come through, this is of a practical nature."

"Certainly, Professor, if you could just give me a minute to dress appropriately, I will be right through."

Rushing around to find some clean clothes, Hermione stopped. She had the strangest feeling that what she thought was simply a dream, was devastatingly a reality. The way he surveyed her expressions carefully, and schooled his own into an unreadable mask, seemed to confirm it. Oh my, oh my, oh my, oh my. What am I to do? I almost kissed him. I almost kissed, Snape! Hermione thought, horrified.

Stepping through the Floo, Snape was nowhere to be found. Calling out, there was no response. Seeing the door to his chambers slightly ajar, Hermione opened it further, peeking inside. The solid form of Snape's topless body assaulted her, and she had to grasp the door frame firmly to stop from fainting. He was, beautiful, handsome, attractive. While one would assume that his body would be all lank and no muscles, appearances could be deceiving. Instead of thin arms and bones protruding from transparent skin, his arms were wiry, his rib cage full, and his shoulders well formed and strong. The urge to caress his pearly white skin, angelic and inviting, rather than ghostly, was almost unbearable. As he began to unbutton his trousers, Hermione ripped her eyes away, choosing to sit at the desk and await his return, with her hands balled into fists in her lap.

Peering through the crack of the open door, Snape could see her anxious, stiff form. Perhaps he had been wrong, she did remember, and was feigning ignorance for his benefit. What had possessed him to do something so stupid? She was surely battling with the urge to flee, or belt him over the head – the two urges he himself was suppressing.

Realising that now was a good a time as any, Snape strode through the door, trying not to aggravate her further. She seemed to relax at his presence, which confused him exceedingly. Hermione had always let her emotions play all over her face. Could she have changed so much to become such a good actress?

He was surprised that the Weasley boy had taken so long to realise she was in love with him, but could they have ever been truly happy? Could Hermione have ever been content with the brainless, bulging hero of the Golden Trio? He thought not, but then what did he know? He had only loved once, and the woman in question had loathed him. Suppressing the images threatening to spill over into his mind, he cleared his throat and began to relate his findings to Hermione. If they combined the potion she had discovered the previous night, with several charms, they should be able to reinstate her parents' memories.

Hermione listened as he explained his theory eloquently, his silky drawl washing over her like a Calming Draught. She barely noticed when the discussion subsided, Snape fixing her with a confused and slightly listless expression. The Christmas holidays were drawing ever closer and she needed to ask Snape yet another favour.

"Professor, I know you will probably say that my request is inappropriate and out of the question," she rambled.

"One would wonder why you would bother to ask it then, Miss Granger," Snape drawled.

Finding a new wave of confidence, Hermione started again, "Severus, I, well, I, I can't administer the potion or the charms by myself. I was wondering, hoping, no, desperately wanting you to agree to accompany me to my parent's home."

"That is absolutely out of the question! It is highly improper, and besides, your parents are in Australia," Snape snapped, resolutely.

"No, they are not. They have moved to England, they have, they have bought the house I grew up in," Hermione whispered, fighting back tears.

Placing one unsure hand on Hermione's shoulder, Severus spoke quietly, "Hermione, you do understand that this may not work. That, that your parents may be lost to you forever. Perhaps you should ask your friends for their support. They are more qualified I am sure, than a grumpy, greasy bat of the dungeons," Snape said, infusing his words with both comfort and sadness.

Looking up to his face, Hermione was taken aback by the look of genuine concern for her welfare, and felt the undeniable urge to kiss him. Instead, she said steadily, "Professor, Severus, I, I trust you more than I have, well, more than I have trusted anyone in, well, in a long time. I, I want you to be there to help me. I feel like you, like you understand loss. Yes I know Harry does as well, but, well, I haven't shared my research with anyone but you, and I, well, it's private. I hope you will consider accompanying me. I will try to desist from asking inane questions, and, well, try to limit myself to at least one hundred words in the space of a minute." She smiled weakly.

Taking her hand in his own, he said sorrowfully, "I pity the person who relies on me for emotional support." Lifting her chin to look him in the eyes, he continued, "If you insist that you wish me to accompany you, I will not refuse you in your time of need. Have you thought of a way that will enable you to administer the potion?"

"No, I rather hoped you could help on that account. Being a world famous spy and all," Hermione said, with a slightly laugh in her voice.

Smiling genuinely at the girl in front of him, he had an almost uncontrollable urge to kiss her, but instead he did something perhaps just as dangerous. He enveloped her in his cloak, in a warm embrace. Instead of stiffening, to Severus' increasing surprise, Hermione melted to him, her hands balling in the fabric of his cloak. Moving his fingers softly along her back, he heard the slightest catch in her breathing, as he realised his hand had ventured to the small of her back. Her innocent eyes looked up into his, and he noticed how they flicked between their current position and his mouth, hers parted and slightly moist. Immediately releasing her, he bid her go back to her rooms, and stood shell-shocked.

What am I doing? He chastised himself. She is a student, she is just a child. Well, not a child, of legal age. He remembered her birthday celebrations vividly, too vividly. This was becoming increasingly dangerous. He had to stop this, but how? Without breaking both their already fragile hearts, there was no way to separate himself from her.

Images of her moist lips haunted him all day, as he attempted to perfect the incantations for their research. Oh how this task was going to become increasingly more difficult when they had to spend more time in each other's presence.

Hermione tried to focus on her essay for Charms, and also tried to focus as she battled Harry in DADA, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not stop the image of Snape's topless form from entering her mind. He was exquisite. Even the scars on his back, the slight imperfections caused by years of battle, were mouth-watering. No, Hermione wasn't immature enough to think this was love, oh no, it was lust, pure and glorious lust, and she was ashamedly loving every minute of it.

Their nightly sessions became more and more tense, her sexual frustration reaching new heights of exasperation. She wanted to touch him, to feel him touch her. This was not right and definitely not healthy. How could she be doing this to herself? It was evident that he could never reciprocate, never want her like she desperately wanted him.

The weeks went by, and Severus made certain that he didn't so much as brush Hermione's arm, but his dreams, well they weren't his own. Every night he would wake with a discontented feeling, violently refusing to relieve himself while thinking of his student. This continued until his inaction forced his body to take its own pleasure, and now he'd awake with a sticky mess between his legs, even more dissatisfied than previously. Although he did not wish to tempt fate, he still took pains to make himself presentable, washing his hair and applying the anti-grease serum without fail, everyday. He amused himself by eavesdropping on student conversations, when he would sometimes hear his name mentioned not out of hatred, but out of... admiration, hunger. He was, attractive to the opposite sex.

As the Christmas holidays were a mere week away, Severus decided to take matters into his own hands. Before travelling with Miss Granger, yes it was sensible to even think of her as that now, he would go to Hogsmeade, find a woman, and break his trend of celibacy.

Apparating to an inconspicuous bar, he surveyed the women in the room. As he expected, there were a few sitting by themselves, their pathetic minds thinking one thing – find me a man. That would do nicely. Picking the one furthest away from the other occupants, Severus walked confidently towards her and took the empty seat.

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked, in his most seductive voice, noting with satisfaction, that she became slightly dazed at the resonant sound his low voice produced.

"Sure, if you tell me your name," the lady said, flashing a dazzling smile his way. Her hair was curly, light brown, but not frizzy. She was petite, with slightly tanned skin. "In fact, I don't much like exercising while intoxicated. How about we just get a room and go for it?" She was far more forward than he'd imagined.

"How can you be sure that that was my intention?" he whispered into her ear, twirling a lock of her hair around his finger.

She didn't utter a word, but moved noiselessly to stand by the bar, speaking in hushed whispers to the bartender, grasping the key he offered with a wink. Following her up the staircase, he closed the door behind him, taking in her form. To his surprise, he realised how similar in physical appearance she was to his forbidden love.

Looking over at the sleeping form of the nameless beauty lying next to him, Severus contemplated what he'd just done. One night stands were nothing adventurous, nothing remarkably inventive, but the last thing that went through his mind during their coupling, was nothing else but the image of Hermione's plump, moist, parted lips and pleading eyes.

Hermione had the strangest feeling that something was wrong. She hadn't been able to get in contact with Severus about their trip. She was stressing. What had happened to him and what was she going to do? How was she going to get into their house, let alone be able to put something in their tea? If her parents were the same as they'd been in her time, they would no more let her through the front door than adopt a stray cat.

Snape quietly retrieved his clothes, and dressed himself, not bothering to survey his appearance in the dingy mirror of the hotel room. Casting one last glance over his shoulder at the sleeping woman, he left the room, and the bar, heading to his quarters to drown his sorrows in some Firewhisky. After five, overly full glasses, he sat in front of the fire, contemplating his feelings. Severus was not foolish enough to think this was love, oh no, it was lust, forbidden, tempting lust, and although he knew he shouldn't, he was loving it. He felt alive, and that frightened and energised him.

Deciding to eliminate the worrisome thoughts her over-active imagination were concocting, Hermione went to Snape's lab, and began recalculating their final research, checking, yet again for any errors. Of course there would be none, but none the less, she was determined to preoccupy herself.

Severus stumbling out of his armchair, and began to unbutton his shirt, discarding it as he walked towards his room. Hearing rustling coming from his lab, he decided that giving one of the elves a verbal beating would cheer him up nicely. Opening the door roughly he was taken aback by the haggard form of Hermione.

"What in Merlin's name are you doing here, Miss Granger," he uttered, after several minutes of standing, and gawking at her frightened form.

"I was, well, I was nervous and I thought I'd do some last minute recalculating,' she replied, her eyes raking down his shapely chest.

Walking towards her, Severus stumbled, Hermione rushing to steady him. Looking into each other's eyes, Severus leaned down, and kissed her lips, already parted in silent invitation. Feeling his passion, Hermione threw her arms around his neck, burrowing her fingers in his silky hair, mashing her lips against his, with unrelenting passion. Her tongue darted out to taste his lips that she had dreamed about for so long, but instead of the sweet, spicy aroma that she had imagined, she was assaulted by a strong, almost unpleasant taste of Firewhisky.

He was drunk. He was drunk, and that was the only reason he wanted her. The only reason he was kissing her right now, and when he woke up and realised what he'd done, he'd be disgusted, he wouldn't be able to look at her again.

Pushing back suddenly, Hermione stared into Snape's unfocused eyes, and ran for the door, ignoring the Floo connection in her haste, leaving him to stand there, mortified with himself, misinterpreting her actions severely, to the detriment of them both.

Snapping himself out of his horridly rigid daze, Snape ran for his room. Slamming the door, he rummaged around his closet to find his suitcase. Throwing all the clean clothes he could find into the small bag, he rushed out the door, scrawling a quick note to Minerva, detailing his plans for a much needed vacation that had been pushed forward by the inept management of the cottage he had booked, and that if she needed to get in contact with him, she couldn't.

Snape left the confines of his quarters, and stormed across the grounds, Apparating as soon as he was able. Thinking of nowhere he would not be traced, other than Spinner's End, the one place no one would ever think of, the one place he had not ventured into since the end of the war, Snape blasted open the door, and stumbled into the dingy hallway, passing out, unconscious onto the dusty, grimy floor.

Hermione was frantic. She had just kissed her teacher! Well, in all fairness he had kissed her, but he'd been drunk, she'd been in his quarters well past curfew, and it was a miracle she hadn't been discovered by Filch. All the horrible consequences of her unguarded moment started tumbling around in her head, each one fighting for dominance. Collapsing onto her bed, Hermione fell into a frightful fit of exhausted, disturbed nightmares.

Waking in a pool of sweat, the image of Snape's face, distorted into a hateful scowl, his words cutting her heart anew, replayed through her mind. I cannot bear to look at you. How could you imagine I would react to kissing a filthy, ugly, untalented, sappy follower of He-who-will-never-fucking-die? You disgust me. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!!!

Jumping out of her bed, Hermione thrashed the suitcase, neatly laid out at the bottom of her bed, towards the door. Ripping a piece of parchment out of her draw, she scrawled a quick note to Harry.

Harry,

I'm so sorry that I didn't get to say goodbye. Tell Ginny I'll miss her. Don't come looking for me. I will come back, I just need some time to think. I'm not going to do anything stupid. I love you, you're my best friend. Have fun. Happy Christmas.

Hermione

Stumbling out of her quarters, and rushing across the grounds, she barely registered where she was going, until she found herself facing the once happy home of her youth. Skilfully jumping the fence, Hermione quickly located the shrubbery that had once housed her during her endless games of hide and seek with her mother, so overgrown, that her larger form and the suitcase she hadn't bothered to shrink, were covered easily by the homely, somewhat comforting bush.

The beams of the sun shined harshly down through the gap of the leaves, disturbing Hermione's fitful nightmare, making her aware of the comforting hand resting on her shoulder. Opening her eyes, the image of her mother's face startled her, the lines of concern shocking Hermione out of her daze.

"Dear, are you alright? You look deathly pale," the all too familiar voice of her mother projected.

Too stunned to respond, she was vaguely aware of the strong arms of her father carrying her into the house, placing her onto the couch.

Hours later, Hermione awoke to find that she had not been dreaming. The sun was just poking through the fog outside the window, and she vaguely remembered her parents ushering her inside, realising the beam of light would have been a torch rather than the sun.

"Sweetheart, she's awake," her mother called.

Clearing her eyes, Hermione drank in the image of her mother's form, trying to eliminate the distressed feelings the lines of concern produced. But before she could properly take in her mother's physical form, her father burst in, a matching look of worry gracing his face. He looked older, more distinguished, with a slight tinge of grey highlighting his hair.

"Do you know where you are?" he asked, causing Hermione to almost burst with unvoiced sadness, and longing.

"I'm not quite sure," she lied. "I walked for so long, I, I think I got lost, or fell, or, I don't really remember." At least the last part was true, she had no idea how she'd made her way home, no, to her parents' house.

Hermione made to sit up, but the steady hands of her mother pushed her gently back down.

"No, darling, stay where you are, you need to rest. I'm sorry we don't have anywhere more comfortable for you to sleep, we've only recently moved in you see," said her mother. "Did you know the old occupants of this house?" After getting no response, she continued. "I only ask because I thought that perhaps that was why you had chosen our backyard to take refuge, but never mind. You'll be on your feet in no time."

A stray tear escaped, running down her cheek, and Hermione rushed to wipe it away, but not before her mother had seen the display.

"I don't wish to sound as if I am prying, but if you would like to talk about whatever it is that is troubling you, I would be most happy to listen," she said, with a comforting smile. "I'm a councillor you see, so I am used to listening." She was taken aback by the look of utter shock painted on Hermione's face. "Why, dear, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

Composing herself, Hermione spoke steadily, "No, sorry, you just caught me off guard. It's just, well, you don't look like a councillor, you look more like a, well, a dentist really."

The bell like quality of her mother's laugh almost broke Hermione's heart. She was battling with the urge to force her mother to see who she was, and the joy that her parents were happy.

"You're not the first to have said that, actually. Some of our neighbours say we resemble a family who used to live here, but we have no living relatives."

Hermione looked around the house she longed to call home, everything was the same, yet different. The biggest shock of all was the change in her parents. They had welcomed her into their home. They seemed happy, happier than they had in her time. This was a dangerous path to travel down, leading to only one conclusion, the common denominator of the situation – Hermione.

Sitting up, Hermione realised that she had been presented with the easiest solution to her problems. She would repay their kindness by making a dinner, conveniently putting the potion, shrunk to the size of a pin, hanging around the chain Ron had given her, into the food, or the wine she served them. It was all too easy, but she didn't care. Finally something was going right. With her parents back, why would she need the approval of a sour Potions Master? No, she wouldn't think about him, she would not even think his name. That was one bridge that she felt sure she had burnt, and trying to mend it now would only cause her more pain. No, he had helped her all he could. It was better this way. Normal. Yes, everything was regaining a sense of slightly empty normality.

Severus woke in a puddle of his own sick, and rolled over onto his back, assaulted by a blast of freezing air, gushing through the broken door. Flicking his wand, the door mended itself, and in the same breath the stain of his shame disappeared. Staring at the wooden clock on the mantelpiece, it was three am, time to get rid of the stench of his father.

Cleaning the house with his bare hands, and slight aid from his wand, Severus made it shine. It wasn't a bad looking house once it was cleaned, but it needed a lot of work. The outside was disgusting, the garden overgrown, and the paintwork almost nonexistent. This he rectified immediately, flicking his wand and changing the exterior of the house to include long, white wooden vertical panels, the garden adorned with rare herbs used for brewing, some trees, and a patch of faded red roses, the same colour as the God awful t-shirt that had set this whole chain of events in motion on the first night of her detentions.

He had to get her out of his head! It should be simple! He'd destroyed Voldemort, been manipulated by two equally cruel masters, getting a chit of a girl out of his head should be a walk in the park. That was just the problem though. Severus did not walk in parks, any park, ever.

Harry strode through the common room, kissing Ginny on the cheek as he went to wake Hermione. She'd been sleeping later and later, he wondered whether she was depressed, and just trying to hide it. Knocking, there was no answer. Wow, she's out like a light, never thought I'd see the day he thought.

Instead of a disgruntled looking Hermione lying in her bed, he found it dishevelled, her clothes streaked across the floor, and an upturned bottle of red ink, slowly dripping and staining the crimson carpet. There, smudged with what looked like tear streaks, lay a letter. He read it slowly and carefully, hesitating as he looked around the room, looked for any clue to where she might be. Would she have gone to Australia? How could she abandon him like this? No, no this wasn't about him. For once it was not about Harry Potter. This was about Hermione, and if she needed space, then he trusted her enough to give it to her.

A week had passed, and Hermione had been cleaning, and making meals for the Grangers. More and more she was realising that they were quite different from the parents she remembered. Perhaps, well, perhaps they could become friends.

Snape had completely transformed Spinner's End. It was, presentable, even beautiful, in a rustic, antique fashion. He had rummaged through every muggle antique shop in rural England, used foolish wand waving, and he had almost eliminated the gnawing pain in his heart.

After the pain of making the biggest mistake of his life had dissipated, he had realised that he had left her when she needed him, well, someone, the most. He would not go to her. She had made it perfectly clear that she wanted nothing to do with him. No, he would sit in his lab, and miss her, mourn her absence, wonder how she was, where she was, what she was doing, but he would never hurt her again.

The Granger house was beautiful. Hermione had helped her mother search for a Christmas tree, make puddings, write cards, and now all they needed was to hang the decorations onto the tree.

"Be a dear and get me the box of decorations out of the attic, Hermione," said her mother. "My back has been awfully sore."

"Sure. But you should really go see a doctor. You've been vomiting at all hours of the morning, and you look flushed. And if you ask me to make you a peanut butter and lettuce sandwich again, I think I'm going to be sick myself," Hermione giggled, unaware of the soft, and secretive gazes her parents were exchanging.

Hermione rummaged through the boxes in the attic, and noticed an extremely dusty box tucked away in the corner. She moved it into the centre of the room. Peering inside, she caught sight of a pair of booties. Hermione loved baby clothes, and she continued to delve through the box, until she came across a pink jump suit, embroidered with the name Hermione. She stifled a gasp, and quickly sorted through the rest of the box. Coming to the bottom, there, in the corner of the box, laid a photo frame. It was ornate, and the glass was cracked, and there through the dusty glass, was a picture of her parents holding a baby girl, and a smaller picture of her first day at Hogwarts. She remembered that day well, but what were they doing here, they were supposed to be gone. But then something clicked that pushed all other thoughts out of Hermione's mind. She's pregnant, she's, she's having a baby. She, I, I can't do this to her now, it's too dangerous. I, it, oh no.

Running down the stairs, Hermione flung open the front door, shouting something about being unable to find the decorations, and going into town to buy some. She ran as fast as her feet would carry her, through the night, through her tears, not stopping to eat or sleep, until she collapsed outside a homely looking house, in the street Harry's parents had once lived.

Unbeknownst to her conscious brain, her feet had carried her to the one place she knew she could find shelter, and the one place Harry would never find her. But these plans were lost as she fell unconscious onto the pavement, soft snow starting to fall on her exhausted, crumpled form. She was vaguely aware of a firm, and strangely familiar grip, someone gathering her up into an exceedingly familiar body, the scent of the person's clothes, the last thing she remembered before her senses went comfortingly blank.