A/N: There was apparently some issues with the formatting of this chapter, so I reposted it. Thanks for everyone, who was kind enough to PM or comment! I wouldn't have noticed it before next weekend if you hadn't!
Hermione woke up with a start, receiving a disapproving yowl from Crookshanks, who had graced her with his presence in the bed. Her alarm clock told her she still had half an hour before she needed to get up, but she figured out it would just make things worse. The night had been - well, wild didn't feel like the right work, especially after having her mind blown the night before that, but her dreams had been all over the place. From watching Severus Snape bleed out (as she had thought at the time) on the floor of the Shrieking Shack into what had happened in her bed last night, with Ron and Lavender sloppily snogging in the background.
Snape had not returned to their shared office the afternoon before, and she hated herself for being disappointed because of that. She also hated herself for hating herself because of the blasted man doing what he said he would, but that was sort of besides the point. She should have gone for someone else for her first one night stand, someone she did not know. Someone like Wee Albus, twinkling eyes or not. (She would have to ask Headmistress McGonagall about if there had been a Squib child in the Dumbledore family.)
Last night, she had worked overtime, preparing for the brewing she would do today (or waiting for him in case he had left something in the office), and then gone far enough to take a detour on her way home, to see if he would be in the bar they had ran into each other in. Unsurprisingly enough, he was not, and Wee Albus wasn't there either. Not that she was in the mood to drink, let alone drag another man to her place for the night, even though that might have given her a break from her thoughts, if only for a small time.
"Oh, sod off, Crooks! It's my bed!" she hissed at the ginger feline, who was shooting her a murderous look. Apparently, she was disturbing His Majesty by her very presence. By this rate, she would make a lousy crazy cat lady, as her cat wasn't too fond of her. In order to make that better, she got up, and left the furry beast alone on the bed. Maybe she could become a crazy coffee lady instead.
She decided to take the trip to the Ministry the Muggle way. Apparating and the Floo were nice, something she understood better than some witches and wizards due to her Muggleborn status, but walking and taking the tube gave her a chance to think. She would have to reach some sort of a conclusion about her thoughts on Snape, so his very existence wouldn't bother her quite as much, since she would share her working space with him for the time being. She was supposed to do some experimental brewing today, after all, and she'd rather not be distracted, using ingredients as rare and expensive as she was planning.
What was it that made it so hard to just let it be, just let him be? They had spent a night together, yes, and it had been nice. (Fine, more than nice, but that's besides the point.) She did not harbour any ideas of anything romantic between herself and Snape, did she? (No, ma'am! But she wouldn't object to something carnal between herself and Snape. Wait, where did that come from?) Maybe that was the problem. Despite not having been head over heels in love with Ron, but their relationship wasn't one of physical attraction, either. They had grown in love instead of falling in love, then grown apart. (One could argue they had never really been in love. They had been pushed together by a number of forces, and neither had had the will nor the courage to push the other away.) She was simply not used to this kind of physical attraction, actually lusting after someone, and that was definitely what she was feeling for Snape.
So, Healer Granger, what is the diagnosis? How are we going to treat this condition?
Why was she so attracted to the man? He was by no means handsome, nor her type. (Whatever that might be.) He was intelligent, sure, and that was sexy, yeah, but his intelligence could certainly not make up for his character, let alone all those years he had belittled her, hurt her, ignored her. Therefore, she must have been attracted to some alcohol-induced idea of him, fuelled by the fact that he simply was there, present, and willing. He took the first step of the little tango, and the amount of people it takes to tango is an established fact. (What was that supposed to mean? Would he dance with her if she asked him to?)
If she was not, in fact, attracted to him but merely to the idea of someone wanting her, being there (or simply existing) and possessing a brain intriguing enough, the course of treatment should be clear enough. She would need to find someone else to distract her, to sweep her off her feet. Simply put, she would need to find a man who was not Severus Snape, and get properly laid. Again. Her career might depend on it.
Of course, she wouldn't do that, not really, but she could play with the idea in case she got too distracted by the man that was Severus Snape, she figured out as she entered the room they shared. The man that was Severus Snape she was referring to was currently leaning over his desk, reaching for something. She didn't really care what it was he was reaching for, as long as she could appreciate those finely tailored, wonderfully tight black trousers of his, that showed off his rather nice arse.
Oh, fucking fizzy whisbees! This is not how she was supposed to do it. Nor was she supposed to notice, let alone gaze at (gaze at!) the sight that was Severus Snape wearing a white (white!) linen shirt. Had she ever seen him wear anything but black?
Clearing her throat (and her thoughts with that), she wished him a good morning, in the same chipper tone she had used the previous day. It was her office persona, the chipper Gryffindor Princess, the Brains of the Golden Trio, the Brightest Witch of Her Age, et cetera, et cetera. It was who people expected her to be, and, in a way, who she would have them believe she was. The reality was different, of course. The War had left her scarred, both mentally and physically. She still kept Dreamless Sleep in her bedside table drawers, in case she received another visit from Bellatrix Lestrange in her dreams.. Hell, she still bore the scars she had left on her skin well over a decade ago! It was barely twenty-four hours since the man across the room - who had returned her greeting with a monosyllabic grunt, not even looking at her direction - had kissed his way down the scar on her chest, courtesy of Dolohov. She would have never guessed how soft those thin lips would feel on her skin.
She shook her head softly, forcing her mind out of the gutter it was heading into. She needed to work, to get her mind involved in a brew complicated enough to make her forget about the man across the room.
Chopping, slicing, dicing. Powdering, brewing, stirring, bottling. Clockwise, counter-clockwise, seven, eight, nine times. This is what she loved about potions, the perfect counterpart for her Healer persona, not having to give a single ounce of her energy to another person. The ingredients were just that, nothing more than the ingredients they were, the equipment was the equipment. There was no need to feel, no need to decipher anyone's thoughts, no need to read in between the lines. Things were simple, things were clear, and there was no one else but her in the whole world, silently stirring her cauldron. Dragon scales and juniper seeds, dandelion root and manticore hair. Simple as that.
"Granger."
And there he was. She had deliberately ignored the burn of his onyx eyes - oh yes, she had felt his eyes on her, apparently constantly straying from whatever book it was he was reading. She had not given a single thought to whether or not he was having any of the thoughts she had had going through her head, or if he, too, could see himself throwing her across his desk, and taking her right then and there, so deeply lost in each other that they'd barely have the mind to lock the door.
Wow, and she had been doing such a great job at ignoring him.
"Hmm?"
She would not give him a proper answer, nor would she look him in the eye. He would think she was so immersed in the brewing. She, on the other hand, knew that he could read her treacherous thoughts, Legilimens or not, so clearly they were written on her face.
"It's well past three in the afternoon, and you haven't taken a single break, let alone eaten lunch. As much as I admire your morale, I have no desire whatsoever to expand my expertise towards mediwizardry."
"Huh?"
Great. Eloquent as ever.
"If - or rather, when you pass out, there's no one else around to Rennervate you, and it's been years since I've last cast that spell."
"Oh."
Nice job, Granger! Show him the immense depths of your vocabulary! Luckily, he was not glaring at her, as she expected, but there was a - was that really a grin on his face? Surely, she must have imagined it, as it was already gone. Right?
"Have I rendered you speechless, woman, or is it just the low blood sugar?"
"Excuse me?" Wow, that came out really gracefully. Not like a screech at all. First a monosyllabic cave woman, now a pterodactyl.
He wiped the grin off his face and raised his hands theatrically in surrender, chuckling even as he did so. The dark noise went straight into the pit of her stomach - and beyond, straight to her center. Did he know his voice had that effect on women? She was certain he did. What was that look in his eyes? Did she read too much into the situation or would she dare…?
"Oh, so you have been ogling at me, Master Snape! I thought I felt your eyes on me the whole day."
"Ogling at you? Witch, I've been patiently waiting for you to get up and get some lunch, so I could join you and buy you a drink - no back thoughts, it's just that you are quite endearing when you are tipsy - before I sweep you off your feet with my charms, and snake my way into your bed for the whole weekend."
How was one supposed to answer to that, she wondered, all the while casting a stasis charm on her brew - it could wait for Monday. It would wait for Monday.
Had she not spent most her morning figuring out a way to get past what had happened a couple of nights ago? Had she not reached to conclusion that it was nothing (well, nothing other than her personal weakness, her fear of being forever alone) and that it would be the best to forget all about it, as they would be sharing their working space for the unforeseeable future. There was no way she would be able to concentrate on her work, on the project that meant more than anything she had ever done before, if the man she was sleeping with was only a few yards away, waking all sort of lascivious thoughts in her poor, already overcrowded mind and…
Wait, what, were those her hands, grasping the front of his shirt (which was, indeed, linen, nicely woven fabric at it, too) and pushing him against the wall. His dark chuckle (for he appeared to be amused by her little display of - well, whatever it was, lack of self-control perhaps, but most certainly not strength) was soon silenced by her lips, as she greedily attacked his mouth.
She was attracted to him, drawn to him even, there was no way around it. To Hades with romances and happily ever afters, even Voldemort himself would not be able to keep her from snogging the man in front of her, not because it felt right but simply because it felt good. Had she not spent the majority of her life doing what other people expected of her, the Gryffindor Princess, the Brains of the Golden Trio, the Brightest Witch of Her Age? Yes, that was the role she had been given, and boy, had she done a great job acting it, sometimes almost convincing herself, too!
He was cupping her breast in his hand, making it rather difficult to concentrate on overanalysing the situation. She moaned softly.
What would all those people think if they saw her now? Against the wall in her office - wait, how did that happen? At what point were their positions reversed? Sweet Circe how skilled those fingers were! Where was she? Oh yes, against the wall in her office, the hand of a man - and not just any man, but Severus blipping Snape! - cupping her breast under her brewing robes. Huh? Did she really feel his cool hand on her far from cool breast? Had he just vanished her bra? It would definitely seem so, and she didn't give a rat's arse about what had happened to the piece of clothing. It had been all too sensible, all too conventional, all too Hermione Granger anyways. Besides, those long, lovely fingers of his were working all kinds of ancient magic on her nipple.
They would shun upon her, wouldn't they? If they knew she was not perfect, if they found out she was but a mere mortal herself, they would leave her all alone? She knew she was exaggerating and being quite childish, too, but she couldn't help but feeling that way. The Good Girl Syndrome was not something you'd joke about if you were considered the very manifestation of it. The role had been handed to her on a silver plate, she had accepted it, embraced it, and it had taken years to be able to once again see her true self through it. Granted, her ambition had never been hidden by it. She had done things she was not proud of, things that were ethically questionable in more ways than one, but she had done those things for the common good. Always for the common good, never for the good of herself. She had damn nearly married a man she loved as a brother, just because it was considered the right thing to do. She never considered it the right thing to do, she knew everyone else did, and that was all that mattered. It was all about appearances, being Hermione Granger, the Hermione Granger. The appearance of Wit, the appearance of Good, the appearance of…
"Granger, you're thinking so hard I can hear the little wheels turn in your head," the dark man told her, scowling. She wouldn't describe the scowl as playful, but the fact that she could feel his erection throbbing against her thigh, did take the most nastiness out of it.
"They are no little wheels," she pointed out, rolling her hips against his groin.
He moaned at the contact, apparently distracted for the time being, lifting her up. She wrapped her legs around him, as he started making their way towards his desk. She couldn't help but wonder if he had somehow looked into her mind earlier, when she had imagined him doing just that. There was no way of knowing what was going on in the wizard's head. She couldn't comprehend, why he was attracted to her in the first place. She knew she wasn't ugly, per se, but she wasn't gorgeous either. Then again, gorgeous was not the word one would use to describe him, either. She reached higher and kissed her way down the bridge of his nose, still the most hooked example of its species she had ever encountered, to his lips, still thin and almost constantly sneering. She kissed his sallow face, wherever she could reach.
No, he wasn't gorgeous or handsome, and there were but few positive words you could use to describe his looks. His character was not much better either, although he seemed to have softened after the War had ended, gained slightly more patience - or it might have been just her imagination, having hardened and lost a lot of her benevolent patience during those post-War years herself, struggling with completing her education, struggling with gaining the respect of the Ministry for her work, not just her friendship with one H. J. Potter, struggling with the loveless relationship she was in.
"Is there no way to get that formidable brain of yours to quiet down for a bit, so I could have all of you here on my desk? Not that I have any complaints about your delectable body, but I'm sure we'd both enjoy this more if you were actually present, not lost so deep in your thoughts even the centaurs couldn't find you."
Oh. Right. Well.
"I guess there's only one way to find that out." The elegantly arching eyebrow was sort of sexy, now that she saw it at close range. "You need to make my thoughts go quiet."
"Quiet? Little witch, I am going to make you scream."
She did scream his name when she came. Not his first name, of course, that would have been too much. However, he did call her Hermione, when he offered her the crook of his arm for a side-along Apparition to her apartment.
