Chapter 22

When they reached the bed, he set her down, allowing her to slowly slide down the length of his body, pressing her against his groin as her pussy grazed past his cock, meeting her eyes with a look of devilment that was reflected in hers. As soon as Granger's feet were on the floor, Severus brought his hands up to her tie, unknotting the scarlet and gold stripe that proclaimed her a Gryffindor, and tugging on the end so that it snaked around her shirt collar and dropped into his hand. He tossed it on to a nearby chair, before taking hold of the hem of her school jumper and lifting it neatly over her head in one smooth movement, sending it to join the tie.

Dropping his hands to her waist and beginning to pull her white shirt free from her skirt, he set his eyes upon hers, and voiced his concerns as he began to unbutton the garment from the top down.

"Do you choose me, Hermione?" he asked, in a quiet, steady voice as his fingers moved down her buttons, undoing each one carefully and deliberately.

"I choose you, Severus, because by making a choice, it effectively frees us from the curse."

"You would not have chosen me otherwise," he replied, flatly.

"You would not have chosen me, either," she shot back. "We are student and headmaster, neither of us would have sought any kind of relationship with the other."

She gasped as he reached the last button and slipped his hands inside her open shirt to cup her breasts, covered in a simple white bra with a little lace.

"And yet, here we are," he observed, squeezing gently and beginning to search for her nipples with his thumbs. "These are beautiful. Exquisite."

Granger blushed, and he could see that it spread down her face and neck, to the top of her brassiere where those petite but deliciously full tits were spilling over.

"By having a relationship, of sorts, we confound the curse," she explained. "We spend time together, we work for the Order, we are regularly … intimate. That is effectively a relationship, and it means that the time we spend feeling guilty and awkward about what we are compelled to do simply disappears, for we will satisfy the compulsion purely through our everyday activities."

"And what of after?" he asked, putting his arms around her and trailing his fingers down her smooth back, reaching for the fastening on her uniform skirt, unbuttoning the waistband and pushing the loosened skirt over her hips and allowing it to fall to the floor, leaving her arse bare, since he had already relieved her of her knickers in his office.

"After?"

"After we vanquish the Dark Lord and the curse is destroyed."

He unhooked her bra and slid the thin straps down her arms, following their path with his fingertips before gently removing the cups from the pale globes they concealed. His breath caught a little as he fully exposed her tits, her pert nipples standing proud and just begging for his attention.

"After that, if we manage it, then we are both free to pursue whatever life goals we wish to achieve," she replied, subtly arching her back to present her breasts to him.

Oh, I would fuck you every day for the rest of my life, little succubus, he thought.

Severus reached forwards, taking hold of a pink nipple in each hand with his thumb and forefinger, beginning to roll them smoothly, feeling the nubs harden under his touch. They weren't the only things that were hardening. Already his naked cock was showing signs of interest in another go. Bloody Merlin. The compulsion, or just down to the sheer allure of this young witch's quick mind and luscious body?

"If you are willing," he said, slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on hers as he delicately fondled her nipples, "then that would seem to be a most effective solution."

"I think I told you before, Sir, that this is not a hard task for me. You are very …"

Her voice trailed off and she once again looked embarrassed. Severus sat her on the bed and knelt before her, removing her sensible black school and grey socks, leaving her entirely naked.

"I am very … what, Granger?" he asked, looking up at her from his position on the floor.

She cast her eyes around the room, deliberately not looking at him, as if she was gathering her Gryffindor nerve to say something, and he suddenly had a burning desire to hear it.

"Well, you're, I mean … you are … averyattractivemansir," she spilled out, all at once.

"I beg your pardon?" he asked, getting up from the floor and sitting next to her on the bed, taking hold of both her hands in his, turning her to face him. "Again. Slowly."

Her face was burning, yet he knew he needed to provoke this answer from her. He wanted it. Hermione straightened up, shaking back her hair and lifting her chin, as if ready for battle.

"I said, you are a very attractive man, Sir. The longer we spend together, the more times we are intimate, the more I fancy you. Actually."

She had batted the Quaffle very firmly into his hoop and he needed to be careful not to sit like with his mouth open like a gaping fish. A stunning teenage witch found him attractive? He had honed his sexual skills for when he took witches to bed, no question, but otherwise he had very little to recommend him. He was no fool, he owned a mirror.

"You fancy me," he deadpanned, not sure if it was a statement or question.

"Please don't embarrass me, Sir. I don't expect you to feel the same way, given your skill as a lover, I'm sure you have any number of witches you could call upon, and I'm just an annoying student. I just wanted to tell you, so that you didn't feel guilty, why I'm quite happy with the arrangement."

With one swift, powerful movement, he wrenched Hermione from her position sat on the edge of the bed, and threw her backwards into the centre, landing her head neatly, well, almost neatly, onto the pillows and scrambled atop her like a wizard possessed, laying his slim, pale body the length of hers, trapping her underneath him.

"For an intelligent witch, Granger, that was the most idiotic thing I have ever heard," he growled, pushing up on his elbows so he could see her face. "You must be completely fucking insane if you believe I do not fancy every last inch of you in return."

Severus enjoyed watching her expression change from shock to understanding, and he edged her thighs open wide with his knees, settling himself between her legs and guided his unfathomably erect cock to her entrance, pushing inside her with a hard, wicked thrust that forced her further up the bed and earned him a scream of delight.

"Does this feel like a hardship?" he demanded, wiggling his hips as he remained pushed deep inside her.

He drew out, and thrust back in again, viciously hard, and all the way to the hilt, holding himself there.

"Did that feel like I am in any way unhappy with your proposal?"

"No," she replied.

He drew out and thrust again, wedged deep inside her.

"I didn't quite hear you, Hermione."

"No!" she squealed, "Severus …"

She lifted her hands and placed them on his shoulders, providing resistance for him to push against, one finger stroking the side of his neck and he curled his head towards her touch, for he craved it.

"If I was unclear, Hermione, let me reassure you that you are the most sublimely tempting witch I have had on the end of my cock in many a year. Making love to you any time you desire will be my pleasure, and I thank you for discovering a way to give us the choices we lacked. I commend you."

Still seated inside her, holding himself still, although he was starting to tremble with need, he gave her as much commitment as he had the courage to reveal.

"When all this is over," she whispered, caressing the sides of his neck and his bare, muscled shoulders, "I shall not regret this."

"Then on a temporary basis, let us consider ourselves in a consensual relationship," he confirmed, and watched surprised as her innocent face curved into a rather wicked smile.

"Shall we seal the deal, so to speak?" she teased, clenching her vaginal muscles hard around his cock, forcing a surprised moan of pleasure.

"You are a teasing wench, little girl," he growled, and reared up on his hands, girding his hips into a fast, pistoning movement, thumping himself inside her, wanting nothing more than to ride her hard until he spilled himself yet again inside this witch.

Hermione grabbed hold of his shoulders, his upper arms, his neck – anywhere she could find to place her hands. Her hips were turned upwards, opening herself to his intrusion, meeting his thrusts with loud squeaks of pleasure. She pulled him down to lay flat upon her, reassuring him that he would not crush her, and he slid his forearms beneath her and hooked his hands over her shoulders, creating a firm position to thrust his hips into her frantically, feeling her tits squashed against his bare chest and the friction build up between their bodies.

"Fucking hell, my Hermione," he gasped out, holding her so tightly as his cock thrust repeatedly in and out – harder, faster, deeper. "If you are my lover … then this is my heaven."

Severus could not hold it any longer, feeling his orgasm approach at great speed, and he did not slow his thrusting, making every stroke count as he ensured he fucked her completely, so that she would never again doubt his desire. Hermione threw her head back and arched her back beneath him, letting out a flurry of swears as his devastatingly-fast rhythm triggered her climax, and he felt the pulse and grab of her internal muscles sheathing his invading cock as he spurted his orgasm inside her with jerky movements, wondering if there was any spunk left to empty out after the evening they'd had.

Once he'd come, and was stroking his softening penis slowly and gently inside her, he was hit with a wave of incredible tiredness as the efforts of the evening caught up with him, it was as if he'd taken a vial of Dreamless Sleep potion. He rolled to the side, laying his head on the pillow next to her, and gathered her up in his arms, not bothering to clean up the mess. He was too fucking tired, and Hermione did not protest, so she must be as physically and emotionally shattered as he. There was no talking, no whispered goodnights.

As he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to claim him, his arms full of this naked young witch, her words returned to him.

When all this is over, I shall not regret this, she had said.

If by some miracle they managed to defeat the Dark Lord and lift the curse, there was every chance thathe would regret this for the rest of his life. Regret carving a space for her in his heart, a space only she could fill.

What would he do, once she had gone?

-xxx-

Orla looked at the sleeping wizard with concern. It was now morning and the sun was streaming through the window, into the studio flat. Draco had crashed out as soon as they'd returned from the tattoo parlour, the magic required to Obliviate the man and remove the Imperio draining his final reserves of strength.

He had woken several times during the previous afternoon and evening, and during the night, delirious and in pain, and Orla had given him glasses of water and the rest of the pain potions. They'd now run out, and at about three in the morning she'd been forced to introduce him to the joy of Muggle paracetamol tablets, trying to explain to his pain-addled brain how to take them, and how they worked.

They must have done something, since she'd not heard another peep from him, and had managed to get herself up, showered, dressed, fetch a hot loaf from the bakery next door and eat breakfast, and he hadn't even stirred. She was due in work today, and so picked up a notepad and biro, leaving him a note that she propped up on the bedside cabinet so that he would see it as soon as he awoke.

Good morning Draco!

I've had to go to work, as you know. I'm only in the shop downstairs if you need me, but I'm sure you'll be fine up here. I suggest you just take it easy today, sleep lots, but if you need something to do, watch the television. I've a left a note on top of it with instructions how to turn it on. Follow them, because if you break my telly, I'll kick your arse.

Fresh bread in the kitchen, milk and butter in the fridge – you know what that is now, it's the tall white thing that makes the "fucking annoying buzzing noise twenty-four hours a day".

If you're in pain, you need to take more paracetamol, the box of tablets is right next to this note. You'll see there's a glass of water here too, to swallow the tablets with, they go down a lot easier if you actually drink it, rather than pretend to. I think the less said about that chalky white mess in the early hours when you insisted on chewing them, the better. Take two at a time, and no more frequently than four hours between doses.

Feel free to have a shower, if your arm is not too sore.

I finish at 5.30, and if you feel up to it, we'll go out and get some dinner?

Have a good day, don't wreck the flat.

x Orla x

She quietly pulled the curtains again, across the length of the window, to darken the flat and prolong Draco's sleep, before heading downstairs for her first day back at the pharmacy.

As she walked out of her front door and locked it behind her, Brenda was just opening up the shutters that protected the chemist's windows at night, and they shot up with a loud bang as always. Orla hoped the noise hadn't woken Draco, and then chastised herself for not being able to be away from her new friend Malfoy for two minutes without him crossing her mind again.

Entering the familiar shop calmed her in a way she hadn't felt for weeks. It seemed indescribable that she'd lived through a wizarding battle, suffered under the Death Eaters and managed less than a month back at her magical school before ending up back in the Muggle world with an almighty bump.

Working in a shop was never her ambition, she had done it to keep herself alive during the year that the Mudbloods had been barred from Hogwarts and sought by the Muggle-born Registration Committee, ending in trials and false convictions.

Orla had always wanted to enter the field of Healing. During her career discussions with Professor Sprout during her fifth year, her Head of House had been supportive and encouraging of her choice, laying out the NEWTs she would need to be a Healer, and suggesting possible routes, such as at St Mungo's where she'd find the widest choice of fields in which she could specialise, to village healing, mid-witchery, private healing contracts, or research. It had all sounded wonderfully exciting, but was all now dead in the water, thanks to Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She would never achieve those five NEWTs that she needed, and looked likely to be stuck in the Muggle world forever. Working in a damn shop.

At least she had a chance to help the dispensing pharmacist with the prescriptions that she filled for patients from local doctors' surgeries, and had become quite knowledgeable about different types of drugs and medications, their uses, their contraindications, and their appropriate dosage. It was interesting stuff.

She'd had vague thoughts of nipping back upstairs to the flat during her lunch break to check that Draco hadn't actually died, but Brenda had made it clear she was buying in lunch for the two of them, and wanted to chat. Orla supposed she ought to have expected that, for it was unlikely she could disappear for a month and then waltz straight back into her job with no explanation.

Sitting down for thick chicken-salad sandwiches delivered by the girl from the bakery, with Styrofoam cups of takeaway hot chocolate and a cream slice each, Orla sat with Brenda in the back room, the shop sign turned to closed and the pharmacist having gone elsewhere for her lunch hour.

"So," Brenda said, expectantly, passing Orla a sandwich, "what on earth happened to you? The last I knew was that you needed a few days to sort out some trouble that had to do with your old boarding school, and then you don't return for weeks. Don't get me wrong, I'm not angry, I'm just concerned."

And fucking nosey, Orla thought, uncharitably.

"It wasn't a great time," she began, hoping that a story would somehow fall out of her mouth and convince Brenda to let it lie. "I did go back to my school, there were some problems there with some old friends of mine, but it all got a bit messy, I'm afraid, and I ended up having to stay with a family who live in a remote part of Scotland, not far from my school, but there was no phone, and I wasn't able to leave."

"And why couldn't you leave?"

"I had used all my money," she chanced, desperately.

"Were you held there against your will?" Brenda asked, looking a little excited at the thought of real life drama.

"Not at all," Orla lied. "It's just very remote up there, cut off from everything, I really am so sorry. Thank you for keeping the flat for me, I was so worried when I had no way of contacting you."

Brenda seemed disappointed at the bland tale.

"You had paid the rent until the end of the month, it was yours until then, whatever happened," Brenda assured. "Although I would have been reluctant to re-let it without having heard from you. You have no idea how happy I was to see that you had returned."

Orla felt tremendously guilty that her employer and landlady had been worrying during her absence. It gave her a comfort that at least one person cared for her. She missed her parents so much that it hurt, hating the Death Eater murderers that had slain Gerard and Angela Roach in their own living room, having found the location of the Muggle-born's house in the tiny Irish village where they resided. She was an orphan, but had been forced on the run from her parents' killers so immediately that she had not had time to truly mourn, and reflect on that as an only child, she was now entirely alone in the world.

"Brenda, there is one other thing."

The older woman looked up from her cream slice and gestured for her to continue.

"I bought, erm, a friend home with me. We're living together. Is that allowed?"

"A friend, eh?"

Orla blushed.

"Yes."

"I'm very happy to see that you have a new 'friend', Orla, after your disaster with that little bastard Conor Cready. You always deserved better than him. Your new young man, he treats you well?"

She decided to allow Brenda to think that Draco was her boyfriend. If it meant he could stay in the flat, she'd let him be anything he needed to.

"He does. He's really, really nice."

It was surprising to hear herself say those words about Draco Malfoy, who had been almost universally loathed by those outside Slytherin house for the whole of their time at school.

"Well then. It's your flat, and its meant for two, so I don't see any problem with it. Did you want to put the rental agreement in both your names?"

"No, that's fine. Leave it as is … for now."

"Very sensible, young lady. You have come back with a wiser head on your shoulders, I think?"

"Perhaps."

The rest of the day passed without event, and Orla found herself stupidly excited to get home. To Malfoy? It was a curious thought, but evidently, she had become fonder of him than she'd expected due to their enforced time together, and the fact that they were currently keeping each other alive.

She bounded up the stairs and through the door of the studio to find Draco cross-legged on the bed, the contents of her money tin spread out in front of him, sorted out into piles of coins and notes in ascending value, with her notebook resting on his knee and her biro in his hand.

"What on earth are you doing?"

He looked up, and smiled.

"I'm learning Muggle money. I think I've doing rather well. I'm writing down amounts here, look, and then using the notes and coins to make them up. Practising, so I don't look like a total prick when I have to pay for something."

"I'm impressed."

"Well, I thought I ought to do something constructive once I woke up from what seems like a twenty-four-hour nap."

"You couldn't figure out how to turn the telly on, could you, Draco?"

"No fucking idea," he admitted, and they both laughed, while he scooped all the money back into the tin, clearing a place for her to sit on the bed next to him.

"How are you feeling?"

"Much better. Those strange white pills seemed to work really well for my pain and fever. And, look."

He held out his left forearm, turning the colourful dragon design back and forth for her to admire. It really was a beautiful piece of artwork, even under an Imperius curse. It was also fully healed.

"You used a healing spell to get rid of the dried blood, didn't you?"

"Of course, I did. Why suffer unnecessarily?"

"Smooth."

"Thank you. Now, I believe your note mentioned something about dinner? Because a day on bread and butter, washed down with cups of tea wasn't the most appetising, I tell you."

"Brenda gave me an advance on my wages, and a little extra as a settling-back-in gift. Fancy a Chinese?"

He looked so confused that she burst out laughing.

"Do I fancy Chinese people?"

"Chinese food, idiot. Haven't you ever … no, I suppose you haven't. Put your shoes on, let's go. You are in for a treat, Draco Malfoy, an absolute treat."

Her empty stomach growled in anticipation.

-xxx-

Hermione awoke to see Professor Snape looking at her from the neighbouring pillow, his long black hair spread messily around his face, looking even darker against the white cotton of the pillowcase.

"Good morning," she whispered, turning towards him.

"Is our agreement still in place?" he asked, and his face had a beautiful expression of hope upon it, so much so that her stomach flipped with pure want.

"That is a curious greeting, but yes, of course it is."

A smile spread across his face, turning up the corners of his face, usually so dour and downcast, and his lit his black eyes.

"In that case," he murmured, "I shall greet you in the way I would expect to greet my lover."

He extended an arm towards her, indicating that she should move towards him, which she did at once, and that funny feeling in her gut that reminded her of the compulsion, but wasn't, thrummed again. Snape pulled her against him, they were both naked, and his skin was soft and hot. He kissed her slowly upon her forehead.

"Good morning, Hermione. What a great pleasure to find you here."

It was no effort at all to tilt her face upwards and offer her lips to be kissed, which he did, gladly and thoroughly, his tongue gentle and seeking, stroking one hand through her hair, and the other tracing circles on her lower back. Professor Severus Snape really was as sensual as hell, he knew exactly what to touch and how to touch it so that her every synapse was ignited, every nerve-end standing to attention. No one would ever know to look at him, this dark wizard dressed to repel in his severe, buttoned-up black cloak of armour, with his neutral face shutting out the world, the intense passion he kept concealed inside.

As she began to move in his arms, responding to the touch of his hands and lips, she felt an unpleasant sticky sensation between her thighs, obviously the result of two rounds of sex in quick succession without cleaning up after themselves.

"I need to shower," she told him. "I'd rather not walk back through the corridors, you know, like this, could I possibly use your bathroom before I leave?"

That wicked smirk passed over his face again. She really did like it too much.

Get a grip, Hermione, she berated herself. He's still your professor, and the headmaster, no matter what other games you might be playing.

"If you will consent to me joining you in the shower, I shall arrange for you to Floo directly into your dormitory fireplace. No corridor walking required."

He arched an eyebrow in expectation of her answer. If he wanted to make her believe that she was his lover, for real, he was doing a damn good job of it. She'd expect nothing less from this wizard she knew to be a stickler, a perfectionist, although she gulped at the thought of what they were about to do.

"Don't be nervous, Hermione. We have already been intimate with one another more times than I can count. I know your body and you know mine."

"But, we are not compelled."

He sat up, swung his legs out of the bed, and stood before her, buck-naked, unabashed, allowing her to rove her eyes up and down his body, before holding out a courteous hand to her, as if he were formally asking her to dance.

"No, indeed we are not compelled," he challenged, that damned eyebrow raising once again, goading her to accept.

She took his hand, and allowed him to pull her from the bed and lead her across the stone floor of the chamber and into his sumptuous bathroom. He set the shower to run, and it was a large, open-walled cubicle, set with the same grey stone of the floor and walls. When the steam began to rise, indicating the water was hot enough, he gestured for her to step inside first.

Standing under the warm, heavy spray, allowing it to cascade upon her head, she smoothed the water through her hair, soaking it through so that it pulled the curls out and hung straight down her back. She was facing the back wall of the cubicle, so she could not see him, but he had not yet joined her. Had he changed his mind? Had he been teasing?

A second later, she felt the touch of his hands upon her head, and her hair began to foam as Severus massaged shampoo into her scalp, his long fingers firm but gentle as he washed her hair thoroughly, then moved her back under the direct spray of the water to rinse out all the suds. When the water flowed clear, she waited. Waited to see what he would do next.

What she hadn't expected was for him to begin smearing a thick conditioner that smelt of strawberries through her hair, smoothing the tangles, whispering an incantation that was easing his fingers' path through the knotted nest atop her head.

"Feel," he said, quietly, when he had finished, taking hold of her wrist and guiding it behind her to stroke the conditioner-laden hair, slippery and free of every last tangle.

The water cascaded down in front of them, just brushing her nipples and falling on her feet. She turned around to face him.

"How did you …?"

"How did I what, Miss Granger?"

"The conditioner? How do you even know about that?"

"Give me a little credit, please," he smirked, and leaned closer. "And certainly, don't judge my ability to tame hair by my own greasy head. I take no interest in it."

"Would you like me to wash it for you?"

"Another time, I would most definitely like that. But this morning is about you."

Snape backed her under the water, and she closed her eyes, feeling him join her, pressing his chest against hers, and stroke his hands through her hair as he rinsed the strawberry conditioner from it, and she felt the soft curtain of hair stroke against her back. Hermione placed her hands on his narrow hips, feeling the dips and curves there, trailing her fingers down his hipbones and brushing them against his wet pubic hair, that framed his cock like a nest.

"Cheeky," he admonished, not at all seriously, as he reached behind him for another bottle, this one full of shower gel, and he squirted a large blob into his palm. "Come here, my temporary lover. Allow me to cleanse away the mess that I made."

Holy shit. Hermione was so aroused that she was making even more mess. Thank goodness for the water. Severus divided the gel between both his hands and headed straight for her breasts, putting the cold blobs directly on her nipples and making her gasp. He began to massage the silky soap around her chest, spreading out the lather under her arms, down her arms, and them back up to her breasts again, fondling the slippery globes with what appeared to be great pleasure.

Trailing his hands down her stomach, he pushed them between her legs, cleansing the dried emissions from her inner thighs, then encouraging her to open them wider and admit him as he soaped every part of her, from her pubic mound to the cleft of her arse.

"Hold on," he instructed, and she saw a stone that was curiously shaped to form a kind of hand-hold to grab on to – she could have sworn it hadn't been there a few seconds ago, but could not see his face to see if he might have just transfigured it.

Snape's lubricated fingers slipped into every hole under the pretence of washing her, not that she minded. She felt him burrow under the hood and flick her clit, tickle her urethral opening, sink two and then three fingers inside her vagina and twist them around in a way that had her thrusting her hips forward nastily, pushing for more. He ventured further back, tickling around her rear end as he'd done before, but with all the soap she was so slippery that he was able to push the head of his finger inside, slowly and gently, and she couldn't help but squeal at the sensation as he twisted it a little further in, bringing the other hand back to her clit, which was now aroused and distended, and he twirled it around, slipping the hard clitoris through his fingers again and again.

"Oh, oh, ohh …" she panted, hopping around on his fingers, his smallest finger now pushed fully inside her bottom as he masturbated her from front to back."

"Are you going to come, my little peach?" he teased, in a stooped position, his mouth level with her breasts, and he was suckling the nearest nipple. "I think you are."

He sped up the movements of his fingers, and Hermione had to clutch hard to the shower handle with one hand, and to his shoulder with the other, to stop her legs buckling under her as she reached orgasm, writhing her genitals against his invading fingers. Severus stood upright and supported her, holding them both partly under the cascade of water as she shook, her head against his lean but strong chest.

"You made me all dirty again," she admonished.

"I am most dreadfully sorry," he replied, smirking to show he was not in the least bit contrite. "I shall leave you to complete your shower."

"You don't have to go."

"I do. Because if I do not, I shall want to spend untold amounts of time fucking you against my shower walls, and that is before we even think about the bathtub."

Oh, the bathtub. That enormous tub with the dozen taps that reminded her of a miniature version of the prefects' bathroom. He leaned in close to her ear.

"I said, my love, do not think about the bathtub. That is for another time."

He raised her hand and kissed it, leaving the shower, in a strangely formal gesture considering they were both wet, naked, and he'd just masturbated her to orgasm with his finger up her bum. She took the bottle of shower gel and began to wash away the evidence of his endeavours, pretending that she wasn't watching him towel his body down just a few feet away from her. He was tall, lean, pale and utterly compelling to look at – and that was nothing to do with the curse. Hermione suddenly felt the urge to run her hands up and down his nakedness right where he stood, to commit every curve, scar and imperfection to memory.

As if he'd heard her, he wrapped the towel around his waist and fixed it there, giving her the type of reproachful look that he used to give the students in Potions class if they had just done something expressly against his instruction. She raised her eyebrows in return, as if daring him to admonish her. His mouth twisted with slight amusement, and he left the room, but not before she'd seen the slight tenting of the towel.

-xxx-

Hermione spun through the short Floo connection from Snape's office directly into her dormitory, banging her head on the top of the very small fireplace as she stepped through.

Parvati was still sleeping, that was odd. The breakfast bell would be ringing any moment.

"Parv!" she called, "Parvati! Wake up! You've overslept."

Walking over to her sleeping dorm-mate's bed, she saw the picture of Parvati and Lavender taken at the Yule Ball in fourth year. Both girls had a copy of the photograph, which had them posing in their ballgowns, with 'Pav and Lav' sprinkled across in red glitter. That had been a wonderful night, looking back on it.

Hermione leaned over and shook Parvati's shoulder, she needed to wake her up before Parv received a late mark for breakfast, but the girl's body was unresponsive, her eyes half-open and her lips blue. Half a dozen empty potion bottles lay littered about her bed, including the one clutched in her now lifeless hand.