PROLOGUE: PART II

Disclaimer: All the characters that you recognize belong to J. K. Rowling. All other characters are mine. This story is purely for fun, and I don't make any money off it. Unfortunately, the story isn't mine ether: this is in response to Wormey's 'Heir Challenge'. Go to her page if you want to read the requirements! Thank you for reading! Constructive criticism is welcome, as always.

Triss33, MysticPammy, and OtakUnite: I thank you for the comments! This one's for you guys.


Hermione picked moodily at her food as excited Gryffindor students chatted merrily with each other, more or less ignoring her. They had learned to disregard her when she was in a bad mood, which she seemed to be more and more frequently these days.

"Did you hear what Malfoy and Zabini did in the Slytherin common room last night?" gushed an excited female voice. "I heard there was a party and some Firewhiskey, and ..."

Hermione sighed miserably, risking a glance up to the head table where Professor Snape was sitting. He looked rather preoccupied with his lunch, ravishing his chicken sandwich like a fine woman. Hermione's breathing quickened. He seemed rather uncomfortable sitting between Professor McGonagall and Hagrid, who waved at her when he saw her looking. She waved back tentatively and averted her gaze back to her lunch. After a few moments, her eyes deftly slid back to gaze at the Potions master.

She wanted to memorize his face. She wanted to remember everything about him, because she would probably never see him again.

"Hey, Hermione," said Harry suddenly. She shook her head and blinked a few times, clearing the cobwebs from her head. She turned to Harry and mustered a weak smile. "Yes?"

"A bunch of us are going to head over to Hogsmeade this afternoon. Want to come?" he offered, taking a hefty bite of his sandwich.

Hermione's eyes flicked over to the Potions master quickly before she shook her head and began to pick at her food again absently. "I can't, Harry. Sorry."

Harry stopped eating and looked at her seriously. Hermione had been really down lately and he hadn't said anything, believing that time could fix whatever she was going through. But now … it was time for him to intervene.

"Hermione, what's wrong with you? You've been really moody lately," he said softly, squeezing her hand gently. "You can tell me anything, 'Mione, you know that."

Hermione pursed her lips, eyes shining with unshed tears. She was so tempted to tell him. Harry would understand; he always had. She swiped the tears away and shook her head, turning back towards her uneaten meal. "I can't, Harry … I just can't." She cast him an apologetic sideways glance. "I'm sorry. I just can't."

Harry watched her for a moment, his jaw working thoughtfully. Then he nodded and squeezed her hand supportively. "Alright. I won't press it. You can come to me when you're ready," he said, rising from his seat. "I'll always be there for you if you need me."

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered softly. She watched her friend leave, followed by a small group of others who were probably getting ready to go to Hogsmeade. As soon as they rounded the corner and disappeared from sight, Hermione's honey-colored eyes darted back to the head table.

Professor Snape was gone.

But Hermione knew where to find him.

.x.

Everywhere outside of Hogwarts' dungeons, it was nearly warm enough to melt a dragon. Most of the Slytherins and a few hopeful students from rivaling houses had taken refuge in the most dank and gloomy parts of the archaic castle, trying to escape from the heat wave that had taken hold of the rest of the school. All but one of the dungeon-goers reveled in the cool, almost cold, temperature, and this man sat in front of his fireplace sipping a Firewhiskey, deep in thought. His feet were propped up on the edge of the hearth and he stared into the flames absently, obsidian black eyes clouded with some all-consuming thought or memory. He jumped and immediately began to scowl when an anxious knock on his chamber door shook him back to reality. He took his time getting up and making his way to the door.

"Professor Snape," whispered Hermione meekly as he opened the door and gazed down at her neutrally. She gulped nervously and returned his stare with a great deal of inner strength. His eyes were blank; his face, expressionless. She wished she knew what he was thinking. Then he sighed and growled audibly, annoyance etched in his face. Hermione looked away.

"What is it, Miss Granger?" he asked, his voice strained with irritation. "What could be so terribly important that you had to come and bother me in my private chambers on your last day of school?"

"Sir…" Hermione's voice faltered and she looked down at the cold stone floor. Her heart was pounding and she felt sick to her stomach. I have to do it, she thought to herself. I may not get another chance.

"Well?" he barked impatiently.

"Professor Snape, I think I'm in love with you," she gushed quickly.

Hermione winced, waiting for him to yell at her, tell her she was a fool, or maybe even hex her. But he didn't. In fact, he didn't say anything at all. She stood there, silent and unmoving, for a few moments before risking a tentative glance up at him. He was looking at her blankly. Had he even heard her?

"Professor?" she said quietly. "Professor, I said—"

"I heard what you said."

"…Oh." A faint pink hue began to creep up Hermione's neck and spread onto her face as she waited for his reply. She hadn't expected this. She had spent hours planning what to do and say if she was rejected, and dreamed of what she'd do if he accepted her. But now … she had no idea what he was thinking.

Panic began to flare in her heart. What if he didn't accept her? Hermione drew in a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm herself down. As an excellent student (who'd graduated first of her year), she had never had to deal with any sort of major failure before. Her "try-hard-and-succeed" work ethic had never been faulty. As the silence of his indecisiveness rang in her ears, realization dawned on her like a thousand morning suns: not everything she learned could be applied to real life.

Severus gazed down at the girl in front of him in shock. If it wasn't for his current situation, he might have found her obvious discomfort amusing. His shoulders slumped and he sighed inwardly. She really had grown quite a lot since she had come to the school as a bushy-haired, buck-toothed eleven-year-old several years before. She was the age of consent, too … but she was also his former student. Severus Snape, a Slytherin through and through, did almost nothing that did not result in some personal reward. It seemed that whatever humanity he had left wouldn't allow him to deflower this blossoming dahlia.

But she's willing.

He eyed her thoughtfully in consideration as the notion slithered deviously into his mind. Yes … she was willing. Ready and willing, he mused as Hermione shifted uncomfortably. He could smell the sweet, musky ambrosia of her arousal as it saturated the air. He could taste it on his lips. And if he willed it, he could have her now.

Hermione lowered her head until her chin nearly touched her chest. She couldn't bear to look at him. Something in his eyes flickered when he looked at her, considering her offer. Whatever it was, it had caused a reaction in her. A very strong reaction.

"Miss Granger ..." he began with a sigh.

"Professor," she said softly, her eyes pleading. "Please. I … you don't have to … we don't have to be together. I don't need a relationship," she continued, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "You don't have to take me as a consort, or even as a lover. Just take me once … just one time."

Severus growled softly. In his heart, he felt something like pity, maybe even compassion for the girl. It was so hard to resist her when she plead to him so sweetly, so purely. Especially with a body like hers. But it wasn't right, and he knew it.

"I am not a man of passion," he began. "Years of service to the Dark Lord has made me cold and distant. It is not in me to love, or even grant affection. I need to realize this. I am a selfish man, Miss Granger," he stated simply. He didn't want to spare her the truth. "Everything I do is a means to my own end. Everything."

"I don't care!" she cried. Tears of anguish streamed down her face. "I don't need a connection. I just want you!"

In one swift motion, Severus took her shoulders into his strong, nimble hands, slamming her against the dungeon wall roughly. She gasped when he pressed up against her, feeling a hearty ache in her belly even as his eyes flashed dangerously.

"You have graduated today," he growled lowly, "but I am and always will be your elder, and as such you will treat me with respect." The dark wizard began to back away from her, his muscles tense. Truthfully, he had not been angry with her. He had been shocked and surprised that she was willing to lose her virginity to a man who admittedly held no emotion towards her.

"I do not need a consort, Miss Granger," he continued. "I do not have room in my life or in my heart for a permanent lover. When I need relief, I can just as easily pay for it, without the hassle of emotional attachment. I can never be what you want me to be."

A prolonged silence ensued as they stood there, face-to-face, adversaries with an extensive understanding of the other. Severus' face was grave and emotionless, almost as if he had just finished giving a lecture rather than breaking his young student's heart. Hermione's mouth quivered in agony as it hung open, motionless, speechless, tears streaking a path down her face.

Someone's loud, booming voice echoed through the stone corridors. Severus' eyes softened for a moment, his eyes flickering over her body before turning away, refusing to look at her. He wouldn't. He couldn't. He wasn't sure he could reject her again if she spoke. He couldn't tell if he'd bought his own argument.

He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"The trains are boarding," he said quietly, his gaze focused on some insignificant detail on the floor. "You had best go to your friends. Good luck, Miss Granger," he added coolly before striding back into his room and slamming his door shut with a resounding bang.

Hermione stifled out a sharp cry before she turned and ran up the dungeon corridor, promising herself that she would never look back.

But as she reached the end of the tunnel, she couldn't help taking one last glance at the door of the only man she would ever love.

Bah. I feel really bad for Hermione. Everyone knows how terrible it feels to be rejected. Stupid Severus. lol. Hope you caught the foreshadowing there in the last few sentences. Please review! As always, flames are welcomed and encouraged. …But only if you have a valid complaint, of course.