The cold dawn light filtered lazily in through the window by Hermione's bed as she awoke, trying to grasp onto the odd remnants of a dream. It seemed less dreamlike and more real, yet more elusive, than anything she had ever experienced during her private, dark hours of repose. Yet she could barely even remember having to creep up to her room from Snape's dungeons last night. Only images and scraps of endless conversation flitted before her, remnants of her dream - yet she could only sense the emotion when hearing the voices, the words floating just beyond her reach.

Hermione was left with only an overwhelming feeling of desperation and trepidation, as if someone was drowning unawares and she was the one spectator who could come to the rescue of the hapless soul. There was a bitter taste in Hermione's mouth as she contemplated the feeling, forcing herself to rise and dress. In the bathroom, she scrubbed her tongue while she brushed her teeth, in an effort to rid herself of the horrid sensation.

Breakfast was another trial of getting to the Gryffindor table before the inevitable blush crept too high up the neckline of Hermione's robes, her intuition aware that she held more than one person's gaze.

Potions next. And I get to see Severus.

She smiled inwardly. Her detentions had established a strange relationship, or, more accurately, non-relationship between her and her Potions Master. But whatever had happened the other night – she really didn't want to confront him about, well, whatever she'd done, whatever had happened to her.

She slipped into her seat in the dungeons after passing an almost wordless meal with Harry and Ron, who had filled the silence by commenting absentmindedly on trifling issues. Like the colour of the marmalade.

Hermione laughed to herself as she brought Ron's expression to the surface of her mind. He had just observed that the spread 'wasn't half as orange as usual,' and was in an effort to discern if the other pots of marmalade around the Gryffindor table were a similarly less vibrant shade.

She pulled herself out of the memory as Blaise sat down beside her, sending a devilish look her way.

"Hermione," he stated in acknowledgement.
"Blaise."

They resumed their work sans a reminder from Professor Snape, who was at his desk grading papers.

Hermione dared a fleeting glance at him as he was stooped over some second year's messy essay. His head hung down across his face, he was absorbed in his work.

There is something so similar isn't there...something between us... we both... yearn for knowledge so. A sip from the well is not enough. Odin sacrificed his eye for wisdom... would I do the same? Would Severus?

---

Leaving Potions, Blaise heard the deliberate padding of very careful footsteps. They followed him up the stairs from the dungeons, past the Great Hall, and stayed behind him as he climbed the winding staircase to the expansive library. He didn't bother turning around. He knew who it was.

"What do you want?" he sighed, turning to face his shadower.

"I could ask you the same thing."

"What are your plans for Hermione?"

"I'm not sure that's any of your business," drawled the boy facing him.

Blaise gave him a dirty look with his cold eyes. "I don't believe you'd stoop that low. Making her a scapegoat, yes, I can see that – but you wouldn't put her in mortal danger." Blaise's eye twitched unconvincingly.

"Look," Draco said more seriously, "I won't get her hurt, but you know you can't prevent me from at least putting her to my – ah – advantage."

"I will hold you to that."

"You know I respect you," Draco said, lowering his voice.

"And I understand... why you'll do what you'll do. But I still can't help thinking that maybe you're wrong. That this will be more dangerous than you think – and for such a stupid fucking reason! C'mon Draco, you don't -"

But he was cut off by a solid punch on the jaw that caused him to see stars as he reeled backwards.

"You know my reasons," hissed Draco, breathing heavily. "Don't' you dare question them again."

---

The water ran hot over his shoulders, almost burning. He could see the droplets splash off his chest onto the grey stone of the shower, the steam rising off the floor and the walls, clouding the bathroom in a sensual white mist which caressed his body as if with invisible fingers as he stepped out of the shower.

She'll be here soon. And again I'm asking myself why I'm doing this. But at the same time, does that really matter anymore?

I need her.

He grabbed his towel off the hook, drying his hair. The movements of the towel flicked the steam into wisps of white swirling about him - the hot vapor, the cold air. He wrapped the towel around his waist and stepped into his room to dress.

I need to look good for her.

Fuck, he thought, when was the last time I said that about a girl?

He laughed at himself. It had been too long.

All the same... why not?

He selected some deep red casual robes that were in a deliciously soft fabric. He knew they looked good on him. But he didn't quite realize how much they brought out the fire banking deep in his eyes.

He had just finished dressing when he heard a confident rap on the door, and she walked in.

"Hi," she said, smiling. "About last night, I'm – I mean, I don't know -," she faltered.

Snape looked slightly concerned, and opened his mouth to say something but then closed it quickly. A shadow passed over his face, but so fleetingly that it was barely noticeable.

"It was dark, I think you slipped and fell," he said soothingly.

Hermione's eyebrows creased together. For the first time since they'd started these trysts, she felt as if she didn't trust him.

Can someone steal your memories? She wondered impulsively, but shook the idea out of her head. That was impossible.

Snape had already crossed the room and poured her a drink. Without referencing the incident again, they began their evening.

---

Who knows why people are coupled the way they are - strangely un-pairable characters thrown together tumultuously, two people enraptured, horribly misfit. And then one wonders why those who are not meant for each other stay together, bearing their sorrows like a badge of courage, lack of love their solace. It is a strange world.

Hermione was feeling philosophical after three fingers of firewhisky.