A/N: Thank you for the overwhelming response! I cannot tell you how much that means to me. But I can show you! How about another chapter? But you know the drill – my muse goes where she can gorge herself, meaning I usually keep writing on those stories that get most feedback. Although I plan on finishing them all! So if you want more of this, you know what to do… ;)


Chapter 2

Time was ticking by, and neither of them was able to look away. The tingles under his skin kept burning, singeing as he fought for composure. Her eyes seemed to draw him in and his body screamed for him to pull her back into his arms and continue where they had left off.

He knew he could not give in, though. She was his student, for one, and too beautiful and innocent for a depraved old man, that was for sure. How was he supposed to go on, seeing her in class or at dinner in the Great Hall? He would be unable to stop himself from thinking about that kiss.

That kiss! That marvelous, incredible kiss that had his insides burning and made his chest constrict. A completely novel experience that had been more exhilarating than anything he had ever known. The way she had responded to him; the way she had held him, so caring and so… loving.

Nobody had ever held him like that. He had lived a life devoid of nurturing contact, and as alien as the concept was to him, it was as addictive as the most powerful drug. He ached to be held again, to feel that want. For him.

He closed his eyes, unable to stand looking at her any longer without acting on his impulses. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to pull himself together, preparing himself for what he had to do. He tried to employ Occlumency to suppress his emotions, but the results were lacking. Still, time was running out, so he opened his eyes again and looked at her, standing in front of him, eyes averted.

When his gaze came to rest on her face, his stomach dropped and tingles erupted under his skin again. Damn it.

"Miss Granger," he started, his silky baritone carrying a hoarse quality.

At the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered and she sucked in a sharp breath of air.

"What just happened – it should never have been allowed to happen."

Her eyes closed and her shoulders sagged for a fraction of an inch.

"I can't explain myself, but I do apologize sincerely. I think it is best if I relieve you of this memory."

Her eyes snapped open and her expression changed. Her mortification disappeared and she was staring at him in clear defiance before speaking fiercely. "You are not going to take this away from me."

"Miss Granger."

"No." She gave a curt shake of her head that had her curls bouncing. "I don't know why you chose to indulge me when I was… under influence, but I should have a choice to keep the memory or not. I choose to keep it."

"Miss Granger, we will be working together for several more months. We might be rather ill at ease if we both retain this memory." The idea of the two of them having to see each other every other day, being that close with both of them knowing what had happened – it was unthinkable.

She considered his words before speaking. "I swear to you, and I hope you do know that I would not break such a promise, that I will never tell a living soul about what has happened tonight. I do see your point that it might be… difficult to see each other in class if we're both aware. If you want to consider being obliviated, I can perform it on you if you wish."

Never. The idea that this experience could be taken from him made him nauseous. It was the most incredible tactile and emotional encounter he had ever had. Nothing and no one was going to take that away from him.

"Miss Granger, do you honestly believe that any professor would let themselves be obliviated by a student?!"

Both silent, they stood facing each other, unsure how to proceed. For a minute, he considered obliviating her despite her protests, but somehow his code of honor insisted he could not do that to her.

At last, he spoke. "Fine. Keep the memory." He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I do feel the need to explain myself to you in some way."

Gods, what should he tell her? He hated being that exposed, but if he did not give her an explanation, her mind would conjure up its own, which might be even more… disturbing than the truth.

"I am a very solitary person, Miss Granger, which you have probably very well gathered. I do not want to impart any details of my life, but I can go as far as to say I have never experienced something that could be called a 'loving relationship'."

He hated exposing his past to her, but he needed her to understand.

"The way you touched me," he said, and instantly his mind conjured up the memory of her soft kiss on his lips and his eyebrows drew together in concentration to force it away, "no one has ever touched me like that."

The sentence sat heavy in the silence of the room, but as he did not want to give her the chance to display some form of pity, he quickly continued. "I am only telling you this to explain why I responded so inappropriately to your advances. I was overwhelmed by the physical reaction and my mind went blank. This is not an excuse, just an explanation."

She raised her eyes to his for the first time since he had started speaking. The pity that he had feared to see in the depths of her eyes was curiously absent. For the first time, he could not tell at all what she was feeling or thinking.

She worried her lower lip before speaking. "It seems then there is only one option. We both try to put this behind us and try to proceed as if nothing had happened."

Leave it to Miss Granger to be completely sensible when anyone else would probably run screaming to their head of house.

"Indeed, Miss Granger, it seems like this is the only viable solution," he conceded before turning towards his desk and gathering his papers. "You are dismissed."

He kept his eyes on his desk, shuffling his parchments unnecessarily. He just could not bear to meet her eyes again. He heard the soft sound of her footsteps as she turned and walked towards the door. He listened for the sound of the handle turning, but there were several seconds of silence before finally, the creaking sound carried through the damp air of the dungeons.

"Good night, Professor Snape." The words were spoken softly, but they reached his ears just as well. As the sound of the door closing behind her rang through the silence, he dropped into his chair, raking the fingers of both hands through the inky strands of his hair.

What a mess. Thank God it was Friday and he had the whole weekend to hole himself up in his quarters and forget about the world outside.


Monday morning Severus strode into the Great Hall, his dark gaze sweeping over the room, taking in everything at large. He surreptitiously scanned the Gryffindor table, but Granger's bushy mop of hair was nowhere to be seen. He seated himself, spooning food onto his table automatically although anxiety had his stomach in a knot.

He picked up his fork and knife and set to rearranging his eggs and toast on his plate, now and then sneaking a look at the doors from under the black curtain of his hair. Finally, she appeared. Dark circles rimmed eyes that shone luminous from a pale face. She seemed utterly exhausted and almost ethereal as she made her way to the Gryffindor table. She slid into her seat, absentmindedly loading food on her plate, her eyes focused strictly ahead on the table.

He was aware that his eyes had not left her since she had made an appearance in the room, but thankfully, the long strands of raven hair framing his face kept the other teachers from noticing. He forced himself to look down at his plate. He buttered his toast to keep busy, but could not force himself to eat a single bite.

When he looked up again, he caught her looking at him. His black eyes clashed with hers and neither of them was able to look away. Time seemed to slow down around him as the sounds dimmed, all except for the beating of his heart that was thrumming through his body so fast and energetically that he could feel it pulsing against his skin. He had tried so hard to put everything that had happened behind him, but to no avail as it seemed.

It took an almost physical effort for him to tear his gaze away from her. It was as if every fiber in his being rebelled against that notion, wanting to observe her further, to try to gauge her reactions, to try to read in her eyes how she was coping. But he could not keep staring at her like some lecherous lunatic. Forcing his gaze down onto his plate, he started cutting his toast into precise slices that he knew he would not eat. When he had cut the toast to precision and had balanced the scrambled eggs on top, he allowed himself a last glance.

Her seat was empty. His eyes snapped to the door, but she had already left.


Potions class was misery. The instant that she entered his classroom, his heart picked up its pace, racing off in his chest without any intention to slow down as time progressed. Fortunately, years of working as a spy under extreme duress paid off and he was able to perform as usual.

He instructed the class on the brewing stages of a blood-replenishing potion, demonstrating the correct way of chopping knotgrass. The root of the plant had to be severed from the rest with one precise cut. It contained a strong poison that was released into the leaves if they were fed upon or damaged, so it was imperative to first divest the plant of its rhizome before slicing the leaves into fine slivers. His nimble fingers picked up the silver knife.

His hands, after years of practice, were able to perform their task on their own. It seemed as if he hardly moved, but his hands glided over his table in a rapid dance, the silver knife sliding over his cutting board in a fluid see-saw motion.

As he looked up, his eyes sought out Miss Granger on their own volition. She was transfixed, completely lost as her eyes followed every minute move of his agile fingers. Her amber eyes were glowing as she drew in a deep breath, her lashes fluttering. As he scraped the slivered leaves to the side with a graceful sweep of his blade, she swallowed and bit her lip.

Although he usually demonstrated a process only once to make sure each and every one of the dunderheads was paying utmost attention, he found his left hand sneaking for another knotgrass plant to place it on his board. The whole time, his eyes never left Granger's face, and she in turn regarded his fingers as intently as if she were a cat spying on its prey.

He enjoyed her attention very much. Too much. What was he doing? With an angry flourish, he swiped the remaining slivers of knotgrass off his cutting board before instructing the class in a gravelly voice to get started, immediately.

He folded himself into his chair, staring at the parchments in front of him but he could not focus enough on the words to understand what he was reading. Every cell of his body was aware off Miss Granger and it took an inhumane effort for him not to look at her.

Finally, he gave in.

Her hair was in disarray, wild strands curling into her face as she was intently focused on her potion, checking and rechecking every step in her book before adding a new ingredient or stirring the potion with her rod. As a consequence, she took twice as long to complete her potion, leaving her to be one of the last students to leave her sample on his desk.

He kept his eyes focused on the parchments on his desk as she approached, not daring to look up. Without speaking, she placed the flask on his desk and turned to leave the room.

Long after she was gone, he was still staring at the door.


Two weeks progressed in the same manner and he thought he would go out of his mind. Everything he did, everywhere he was, she was always on his mind. In his dreams, he was haunted by her soft lips and her yielding body, and he had reverted to using a dreamless sleep potion on most nights, which left him quite groggy on the following days.

She had kept her steely resolve, not meeting his eyes anymore and not speaking when she delivered her potion to his desk. The soft clink when she put it down on the wooden surface was the only interaction they had. It was torture, but there was no other way to go.

The second week drew to a close, and he wondered how long he could go on like this. When she was this close to him in class, he did not even dare to breathe in her direction out of fear how his body would react. His need for her attention and her touch did not abate, so he had to withdraw himself from her as far as possible.

This time, she was the last student to finish her potion. As her classmates filed out of the room, she stoppered her flask and packed her bag before picking her way towards his desk. He kept his eyes focused on his desk, trying to keep his mind blank and his heartrate down.

He waited for the soft clink of her bottle, but it did not come. The silence in the room thickened as the seconds ticked by. He finally raised his eyes to see her holding out the flask to him. His right hand moved upwards, unbidden, to take it from her slender fingers. As his fingertips grasped the cold glass surface in a firm hold, she released the bottle and started to slowly draw her hand away.

As her fingers fell away, one of them brushed against the base of one of his fingers that cradled the bottom of the flask. That simple touch shot a jolt of electricity through his body and had fire racing along his limbs. Her soft fingertip lingered before drawing a slow, burning trail along his finger, tracing along his calloused and rough skin.

Shivers raced along his spine and it took all of his efforts not to shiver on the outside from this sensation of sheer bliss. Again, he was mystified by the physical reactions to her touch. Nothing should be allowed to feel this good.

Finally, she had reached the tip. She applied a soft, brief pressure to the sensitive pad of his fingertip, which felt oddly intimate and disconcertingly thrilling. His chest constricted again, leaving him struggling for his next breath.

Her fingers fell away, but she did not step away from his desk. He braced himself and slowly raised his eyes to meet hers. Again, he was overwhelmed by her sight and her closeness. How he wished he could control the responses his body so willingly fired off every time she was near.

As he looked into her eyes, he realized that there was something there, something new – a certain resolve?

"Professor Snape," she said, and he realized just how much he had missed hearing her voice. If someone had told him this a month ago, he would have transferred them straight so St. Mungo's.

"Sir, I have a proposal for you."


A/N: Ooooh, Hermione, what might that be?

Review and find out!