Author's Note

Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!

I'm not J.K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.

Ch 10: What If…

February was approaching twilight before Hermione received a letter from the headmaster arranging a meeting. The chilly month had flown by, consisting of little more than studying and juggling her new reality. It actually turned out to be rather useful that she and Ron went speaking, because she could take advantage of the times Harry spent with him to slip away and visit Snape's office.

Recalling the supple leather couch that she'd very recently spent some time reclining on had her glancing about, taking in more of the headmaster's office to note the differences in the two offices as she waited for him to finish the missive he was writing when she arrived early for their meeting.

It was the second time she'd been there, but the last time she'd been too preoccupied to notice the stuffed bookshelves and intriguing objects littering the spindly wooden tables scattered about the room. Hermione had never seen the like depicted in any of the books she'd read. Had he invented the various objects? There were reports that he'd invented several magic detectors and other useful items in addition to his work on Alchemy and dragon's blood.

So many innovations. So many different areas of interest. Did he find all magic as fascinating as she did? What she wouldn't give for a few hours to pick his brain! Maybe he'd have an easier time of offering her career advice than her own head of –

"Madam Snape, how can I help you?" he asked mildly, redirecting her attention to the man himself.

The relatively new, and still altogether foreign, form of address gave her a start, but then she had to swallow as she finally took in his altered appearance. He was…diminished. There was no other way to describe the changes that had come over the man before her. Dumbledore was sunken, weary…fragile.

Gone was the larger than life, unstoppable wizard that had defeated Grindelwald, and to that day remained the only one Voldemort had ever feared. Instead, Hermione saw a grandfatherly old man near to expiring on the spot. Her feet itched to run over and help him when he moved to stand, but she feared a single touch was all it would take for him to crumble away to so much dust.

The only thing familiar about him was the knowing twinkle in his bright blue eyes, shining brightly at her from behind his half moon spectacles. A tired half smile stretched his lips as he allowed her to continue assessing his person at her leisure rather than rushing her to get to the point of her visit.

Guilt assailed her for allowing him to see her distress at the state of him. He had enough to worry over without a student's opinion making him self-conscious.

Hastily, she commented, "I'm not sure I'll ever get used to being called that."

"Things are…well, you and Professor Snape are…getting along?" Professor Dumbledore asked delicately, dancing around the issue instead of straightforwardly asking if Snape was being his typical snarky, bad-tempered self with her.

"As well as can be expected," she said uncomfortably. Loyalty would have prevented her from speaking ill of him even if there was something to report. But never would she have predicted discussing her love life with the headmaster. How in the world Harry found it so easy to converse casually with the man, she'd never understand.

"No issues then?" he prodded, raising a brow and tipping his chin down a notch to pin her with a look that urged her to confess more of her secrets.

"It's an adjustment on both of our parts, but neither of us were expecting a love match," she ventured. A love match. No, it certainly wasn't that.

Several of the former headmasters and headmistresses began tittering at that, leaning across their frames to whisper in the neighbor's ear. A dim hum filled the room from their antics. Warmth infused her cheeks, correctly guessing that they were discussing her sex life. It was unsettling, to say the least. She could only imagine the fierce glare Snape would have leveled them with if he'd been there to witness it. He'd have hated being the subject of their gossip. The thought eased her a bit, forcing her to bite back a smile at the thought.

"Good. Good," Professor Dumbledore said, averting his eyes. A hint of pink slashed high across his cheekbone, not quite entirely masked by his full, white beard. He was likely as uncomfortable discussing the matter as she, yet it didn't stop him from adding, "He'll need you."

"Need me?" she repeated dumbly, brow furrowing as she considered the peculiar idea.

Snape needed no one. Not really. He'd spent years making sure of it.

He projected such an air of aloofness and isolation. A shadow in an empty room, unnoticed and perpetually undisturbed. He was impenetrable. Private. Closed-off, and content to remain so. Except… There were moments when…

"You could be good for him – if he lets you," Professor Dumbledore suggested, studying her closely.

"And how likely is that to happen?" she asked, unsuccessfully smothering a snort.

Silently, she wondered if he would be good for her? He'd awoken desires within her that she'd not anticipated, but appreciated nonetheless. He was helping her learn more about herself, and she felt more confident in her interactions with people as a result, but that alone didn't necessarily make him good for her.

Besides, they'd not had a real conversation in weeks. Not since they'd discussed what could potentially happen if Voldemort learned about the spell on them. He'd made it abundantly clear after that night that he did not wish to converse with her more than necessary.

Hermione wasn't sure what had triggered the return of his previous distance with her, but she'd not pushed him on it either. They spent such little time together as it was, that it didn't really impact her aside from being rather intriguing. And she hated not understanding a mystery.

"That remains to be seen. Severus is a very private person, and he has been left alone, allowed to distance himself from everyone for far too long."

That sounded extremely accurate from what she'd been able to determine thus far.

"You didn't try to help him?"

"You think he'd let me?" Professor Dumbledore asked quickly, surprise making his eyes open wide as a cartoon character's.

"He respects you. You alone seem to know his secrets. And…forgive me for saying, but you don't seem to mind inserting yourself into Harry's life, and directing his choices and actions. I don't see why it would be different for Snape," Hermione stated boldly, sharing her frank assessment. Perhaps conversing with the headmaster wasn't as intimidating as she'd first thought.

"Have I not done the same for Severus?" Professor Dumbledore asked, peering at her intently over the gold rim of his glasses.

What was he suggesting? He obviously intended for her to catch some hidden meaning, but she didn't understand, which was unusual enough as it was.

"Not as far as I can see," she admitted.

"Then what do you suggest your binding was?" he replied softly.

Hermione blinked, her lips parting to form a round O. Comprehension of the ramifications of the spell, and how Professor Dumbledore had jumped at using it as an excuse to bind them hit her all at once with the force of a sledgehammer.

Part of her wanted to rail at him for using her in his manipulations, but she couldn't. Not after years of talking Harry down when he got upset over being used as a pawn in a larger game. She was always the first to point out that there was more at stake than one person's feelings. Though it did leave her feeling a tad more sympathetic to Harry's plight.

"From what I gather, you are already learning to manage him quite well," he added, smiling slightly, though it was a touch brittle and covered with a dash of melancholy.

"I'm not so sure about that. No one manages Snape," Hermione denied, holding up her hands as though to stall further belief that she held such power.

"Hmm," he hummed noncommittally. "Keep trying with him. Your tenacity makes you uniquely qualified to break through his barriers."

Hermione seriously doubted that, but she refrained from arguing further with the headmaster. The fact that Snape had been especially terse with her the last few weeks spoke for itself. He didn't want her to try, and she needed to respect that. Except…

"Sir?" Hermione prodded, wondering if he'd elaborate on what he wished her to do or try with Snape.

"But you did not come here to discuss the details of your relationship, I am sure. How may I assist you?"

Oh. Well, perhaps the topic was best left alone.

"Actually, that was part of why I wished to see you. Snape mentioned that I'm to help him keep informed about Harry next year," she said cautiously, shoving aside her disappointment at abandoning the previous topic so abruptly.

"Yes. He will be able to help Harry finish what we have begun. I assumed you'd be with him. Circumstances, in this case, have worked in our favor," he announced, sighing long and low. It was a sound of genuine relief. As though he was finally able to check something off his bucket list before…the end.

"Then you do want me to pass information about Harry to him," Hermione asked, needing the confirmation. If Harry ever found out… Well, she could well imagine how that particular conversation would go. And the epic fight that would result.

"Yes," he stated firmly.

"How will I know what I should or shouldn't tell him?"

Hermione worried her lip, dozens of possibilities and pitfalls playing out in her mind. What if…

How to finish that sentence? There was Harry to consider. The Order too. And Snape.

Too many variables. Too many possible outcomes.

What if…

What if…

"Use your best judgment. I trust Severus, as should you," he recommended.

"Will it be safe for him? What if…"

"He is an accomplished Occlumens. He won't let the wrong information fall into Voldemort's hands," he said kindly, correctly interpreting her largest concern. She couldn't imagine being responsible for putting Snape at even more risk than he already was.

Occlumens. She'd forgotten about his talent in that area. Had he ever ventured unbidden into her mind? Somehow she knew he had. Stealthily slipping in and out without her ever knowing. What did he think of what he'd learned from her thoughts? Did his periodic distancing go hand-in-hand with that, or was it something else?

"Yes, all right then," she agreed nervously, noting Dumbledore was still waiting for a response from her.

Her judgment. She'd been trying to get Harry to trust it for years without much success. Now she had to convince Snape to trust it? That outcome wasn't very bright.

"Was there anything else you wished to speak about?" he asked, tilting his head slightly in invitation for her to share what else was on her mind.

"Well…yes. I…uh… You see…," she began awkwardly, fumbling over the words because she'd never been in such an uncomfortable situation before. Suddenly, she had a whole new appreciation for how Ron must feel at times when the subject of money – or the lack thereof – was bandied about casually. "I'm not sure what to do about paying for Apparation lessons – they're due when I take the test in April, you know – and anything else I might need before graduation. I was wondering if there are funds available through the school for students such as myself," she finished quickly, blurting it all out in a single go.

"There are, but I believe Severus would be offended if you accepted them. It would be a matter of pride for him," Professor Dumbledore said gently.

"Oh," she breathed, furrowing her brow as she considered his words. That thought hadn't even occurred to her. She'd been worried about not making him feel obligated, not about his honor.

"Ask him, my dear. He won't refuse you, and money is one of the only concerns he doesn't have," he added, stepping around the desk to pat her shoulder lightly with his good hand. "Hogwarts pays its staff well, and for over a decade he has primarily lived and eaten here, so he has plenty to spare for you."

"If you're certain," she said carefully, nodding when he smiled at her indulgently. "Goodnight, sir. I…"

"You'll look after both of them when I'm gone, won't you?"

Harry and Snape. Two such different, yet similar wizards, and each that had become like family to the headmaster. Somehow, to her as well.

"Yes," she vowed, knowing she'd do whatever it took.

The coin warmed in her pocket, and Hermione excused herself from helping Harry with his Herbology homework to go to the loo to read the message.

'I will be back shortly. Please meet in my rooms.'

Shortly? How long was that? If she took off now and was gone for too long, Harry would be more likely to look for her and find her using his map.

What she needed was –

"Ginny!" Hermione called, flagging the younger witch down as she headed back to her seat.

The youngest Weasley had just gathered her stuff up from where she and Dean had taken up residence in the corner of the common room. If the dull pink tracing the curve of her ears and clashing enormously with her ginger hair was anything to go by, Hermione would guess that she was irritated. A not altogether unusual state for her to be in when Dean was involved these days.

Harry perked up immediately when Ginny moved closer, his eyes following her like some sort of mirage in the desert. So long as Ginny was around, he'd be sufficiently distracted from searching the Marauder's Map for either her or Malfoy.

"What's up?" Ginny asked, sitting gracefully beside Harry.

Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione caught Harry trying to appear disinterested. He'd returned to marking his paper, but he'd misspelled shrivelfig and put that it was to be squeezed when it was actually peeled.

"Chess?" Hermione suggested, snagging the board that another student had left on the end table. "Harry, you can play the winner once you finish your paper."

Harry shot Hermione a grateful look for the opportunity she was giving him, while Ginny seemed to know what she was about, judging by the secret smile and way she rolled her honey eyes.

Hermione was only two moves in when Ron and Lavender returned, both looked flushed and mused. They must have started celebrating his birthday early – the shortest month of the year had passed in a blur and March would arrive the next morning. And apparently they planned to continue welcoming in Ron's coming of age a little early, because Ron told a third year to scram, and he took the newly acquired chair, with Lavender perching on his lap. The pair immediately began whispering and giggling as they cuddled near the fire.

Part of her expected the sight to hurt as it had before, and it certainly did, but nowhere near as badly. She and Ron weren't right for each other, and that truth was getting easier to accept everyday.

"Hermione? Do you want us to go play somewhere else?" Harry offered, worry pinching his brow as he watched her watching Ron.

"That isn't necessary. Won-Won can do whatever he likes. It doesn't bother me in the least," she insisted.

"If you say so," Ginny muttered skeptically.

All the same, Hermione took advantage of her friends' worry to play even more poorly than usual, assuming a distracted air that allowed her to lose sooner.

"Done yet?" Ginny asked Harry, glancing at the array of ink blots where his quill had lingered too long as he watched them play.

"It's Friday night. I can finish it Sunday," he said, lighting up like so many glowing Christmas bulbs when Ginny grinned at him.

"Think I'm going to finish up my Arithmancy in the library," Hermione announced, waving Harry off when he stood to follow, glancing uncertainly between the waiting Ginny and departing Hermione. She glanced pointedly at Ginny, who'd ducked her head to hide the hopeful expression she wore. "Stay. Have fun. I'm just going to get my paper finished, and having you there would be a distraction. I've had enough of those for one evening."

"Yeah, all right," Harry said hesitantly. "See you in the morning?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed, leaving the two already setting up a new game and glancing shyly at one another.

Snape had still not returned when she arrived at his rooms. She took the opportunity to explore his vast array of books while she waited. Their last few encounters had taken place in his office, and consisted of little more than nearly fully clothed, frantic couplings.

Not that she minded. The stress release that accompanied them was turning out to be an enormous benefit in terms of her schooling. Never before had she found it so easy to stop agonizing over exams over a week away or assignment deadlines looming over her.

Being with Snape was a reality check. One that put her life into perspective. Every time she saw him she was reminded of the war they were fighting. Knowing there were larger concerns than the marks she earned helped her worry less about proving herself to others, and more about ensuring she learned content that could potentially aid her later.

A pit in her stomach made itself known shortly after she arrived. It grew steadily with each chapter she read, alerting her to the fact that Snape needed her. Where was he? It was well past curfew, and he'd still not returned. Judging from the steady tugging just behind her navel, he had probably already waited as long as possible before notifying her. And now it was even worse because several additional hours had passed.

Her eyelids drooped, heavy with the sands of sleep. Morpheus could not be put off indefinitely, and ultimately won out in the end, causing Hermione to sink into the land of dreams.

A sensation of floating came over her. Gentler than flying, yet the world fell away all the same. Heavy problems left behind as she became light as a feather, floating on a gentle breeze.

The air cooled further, causing a chill to run through her as she sank back down, traveling through a cloud to find herself cocooned in something soft and silky.

Just as suddenly as the cold came, it was replaced with scalding heat between her legs. The contrast was jarring enough to stir her from slumber.

"Mmh," she moaned, a yearning calling to her from her needy, empty core.

Her inner muscles clenched around nothing, and she dragged her weighted eyelids up to see what was happening to her.

Snape was kneeling between her naked thighs, face buried in her quim, feasting on it. The flat of his tongue swiped up and down her slit before circling and plunging into her opening. His hooked nose bumped her clit, making her thighs clench around his head at the jolt it caused.

Hands ghosted up her thighs, prying them apart to give him better access. He licked her more insistently, quicker flicks with a tongue that was as dexterous in this as it was in shaping insults.

A lock of his silky hair fell across her thigh, and Hermione was fascinated by the contrast of the ebony strands on her ivory skin. The tips tickled her sensitive skin when he shifted, making her gasp and arch as much as his confining grip would allow.

"Snape!" she cried, feeling her eyes roll up when his teeth gently scraped at the tender juncture between her thigh and core.

Her voice was a signal, and had him withdrawing from her center.

"But –" she whimpered, having felt how close she was to releasing the build up he'd wrought in her.

Immediately, he began languidly crawling up her body, smirking at her as he took his time. He even paused to suckle at her exposed breasts, tugging first one peak then the other with his teeth.

Hermione writhed beneath him, reaching and groping for his shoulders and neck, the only part of him that she could reach, trying to hurry him along and yank him to her. She needed him to fill the emptiness between her legs. She craved the friction and continuation of what she'd been so close to experiencing before he'd abruptly stopped.

Absently, she noted he'd taken the time to undress them both fully before he'd begun pleasuring her. They'd not been fully naked together since the day they'd showered together almost two months earlier, despite having sex once or twice a week throughout the time since. She'd forgotten how appealing his body was. The lean, toned muscles rippled as he moved over her, caging her beneath him. His body begged to be kissed and licked. He was so ruggedly, undeniably male. Even his scent filling her head screamed man.

Hooking a leg around his hips, Hermione dug the heel of her foot into his bum, demanding he move closer. "Snape, fuck me," she begged.

"Now?" he growled, teeth clenched as he fought to remain in control.

"Yes, damn you," she cried, scoring her nails down his back, seeking purchase to line up their bodies while he resisted her efforts easily. He was so much stronger than she'd have ever guessed if she'd never had seen him.

"Such language. Who'd have guessed you have such a filthy mouth, Granger," he huffed, tendons straining to burst out of his arms from how rigidly he held himself above her.

"Please," she begged, whimpering slightly. "I'll use that mouth on you next time if you just hurry up already," she promised, anticipating doing just that.

Snape released a sound at that, part chuckle, part hiss. The tip of his cock brushed her entrance, sliding easily through her slick wetness. She was beyond ready for him. His mouth had left her a quivering, barely lucid mess.

The coarse hair on his legs scraped against her calves as he rocked forward, his length moving steadily into her until he was seated fully. The way her muscles stretched to accommodate him was familiar by now, and she welcomed the fullness.

The black pools of his eyes were little more than molten lava as he took her in. Snape gazed down at her, appreciating the wanton, wild desperation he saw beneath him. There was pride too. Because he had made her want him – quite apart from the urgings of the spell. And they both knew it.

Snape rocked his hips, setting a brutal, punishing pace that had her moaning and spouting gibberish. The rapid staccato of his thrusts sent her reeling. Starbursts erupted behind her closed eyelids, and she went soaring. Ecstasy coursed through her veins, sharp and shivering as an unexpected ice cube down the back of her shirt.

"Hmm," she gasped, unprepared for the experience to be over when she was still brushing the cobwebs of lingering sleep from her mind.

Suddenly, Snape slowed, gentling and shallowing his thrusts. Then he moved away, leveraging himself off her until he was standing at the edge of the bed, having dragged her back as well to maintain the connection between their joined bodies.

Snape eased his hands under her legs, hooking them over his arms and using them for leverage as he snapped his hips forward, pistoning forward more forcefully, yet calculatingly. She'd have gone slipping across the silk sheets from the force of his thrusts if he'd not had such a firm hold on her, fingers clenching and digging into her creamy thighs.

"Granger," he groaned, her name a guttural cry that had his head tipping back as he moaned towards the ceiling.

Her. It was her that he was relishing, and he knew it. Even if he was being driven by the spell. It was still her that he called out for.

The knowledge was heady as she rolled her hips up to meet his. A dance as ancient as humanity, as life, itself.

Then his gaze fixed again on her breasts, and he watched them jiggle with a voracity that made her forget everything in the world except him. Her hands crept up to play with her nipples, rolling the pebbled buds enticingly between her fingers in a way she knew would send Snape over the edge.

He hammered into her in response, riding her harder than he ever had before. Sweat broke out on each of their bodies, leaving them slick and allowing them to slide together easier.

Pressure built, and she bit her lip, swallowing her cries, lest she beg for more. Hermione wasn't even sure her body could handle more, yet she wanted it all the same. Then the slender finger of one hand inched down her thigh, reaching the junction and the little bundle of nerves that eagerly awaited his manipulations.

Barely a flick and a pinch later, and she was seeing stars, quivering and trembling into a million tiny pieces before him. Her undoing was so intense, she entirely missed when he erupted within her, only catching a brief glimpse of the tendons in his neck straining before he collapsed beside her in the bed, rolling to his back and throwing an arm over his face.

Hermione turned her head to watch the rapid rise and fall of his flushed, damp chest, finding it difficult to catch her own breath in the aftermath.

"Thank you for being here when I returned. The cramping began several hours ago," he finally said, breathless but sincere.

Her eyes flicked to the pile of clothes nearby on the floor. Discarded Death Eater robes with the hideous mask just beside them glaring ominously up at her. That was why he'd been delayed returning. Yet he'd taken the time to undress her and carry her to his bed instead of falling upon her on the couch. And he'd taken extra time to rouse her desire before seeing to his own relief.

"How are you so much better at hiding the effects of the spell?" she asked curiously. She'd barely been able to walk upright after a few hours, let alone pretend like she was completely fine once the muscle pain had begun.

"My entire life involves concealing my true thoughts and actions," Snape said simply.

While her emotions were typically out in full view of the world. How much did he hide from her?

"That must be incredibly…," Hermione trailed off. She wanted to say lonely, but instead, finished, "Difficult."

"Extremely," he agreed, allowing her to catch a glimpse of the man behind the spy, if only briefly.

Hermione stretched, feeling a slight tenderness and dull throb between her legs where he'd taken her more forcefully than usual, and rolled to face him.

"What time is it?" she asked curiously.

"Probably shortly before breakfast is set to begin. It was getting there when I returned," he said wearily.

"I should probably wait then, in case any Slytherins are in the hall," she suggested tentatively.

The sixth years had Apparation lessons later that morning, but she didn't really want to risk running into a Slytherin as she left their Head of House's rooms first thing in the morning. Particularly not if her hair was as wild and tangled as she feared it was.

"Yes. I did not mean to drag it out," he offered by way of apology for delaying her departure because the sex they'd had had been more vigorous and involved than usual.

"I wasn't complaining," Hermione replied without thinking, then felt herself blushing. They'd been caught up in the moment. Not that there was anything wrong with that. Technically, they were bound. However, it was ordinarily a race to be done. This had been more…deliberately intimate.

Tension radiated off him as he looked her over leisurely, eyes lingering on the valley between her legs, then coasting up to fix on her breasts, still heaving slightly. There was such blatant appreciation in his gaze that Hermione felt herself flushing a deeper scarlet beneath his scrutiny. If she hadn't already been sweating, a glistening sheen would have broken out across her body from the intense heat in his look.

Never had she felt sexy or capable of enticing men. Then she'd experienced the bald honesty in Snape's reaction to the sight of her. There was no mistaking it. No rationalizing it. He quite plainly enjoyed what she had to offer him.

It was strange. The last few times they'd been together in his office, he'd seemed almost angry with her afterwards. Yet just now he seemed open and…vulnerable.

What was the difference?

Her gaze flicked back to his Death Eater apparel.

Oh.

Was it really as simple as that?

Every time he'd welcomed, or at least tolerated her presence, had been directly after Death Eater activities. Their first night together and the following morning. In the shower when he'd pleasured her without having to. The night they'd conversed without the spell requiring them to be intimate.

Did he need some sort of validation that he wasn't evil? Was that what she did for him? Was Dumbledore right that Snape needed her? Did she provide proof that his actions were necessary…then show that his touch wasn't shunned, regardless of his actions as a Death eater.

It was an intriguing theory.

Particularly when compared with the haste he executed when they were together in his office. Then it was all about business, and no more than two or three words were ever exchanged. He'd rush her in and out, doing the bare minimum necessary to satisfy the spell on both their parts.

"Why are you usually so angry after we're together?" she asked, wondering if he'd be honest with her about it, or confirm her theory.

He was silent for so long that she thought he wasn't going to answer her. It was just as well. The last thing she needed was –

"For more than half of my life I've been little more than a puppet with two masters pulling my strings. I've had to surrender nearly every ounce of control over my actions as a result. Now there is a spell dictating one of the few areas that I have managed to retain control of.

"I cannot abide the idea of forcing myself on a woman, and every time that we are together, I feel like I have lost another piece of my shredded, tarnished honor. And already there's only so much remaining to my name."

Hermione was stunned by the confession. It was raw. Honest. A truth she had not considered for him.

But not the truth from her perspective.

"You have never forced me. You have been nothing but respectful. Lucius Malfoy put us in this position. He forced each of us," she insisted, abstaining him from any lingering guilt he felt over their couplings.

Hermione reached over to lay a hand on his flat stomach. Snape glanced at it, but didn't shift away.

"He took my ability to choose," he stated quietly, no infliction in his voice at all.

Instantly, Hermione removed her hand. Despite noting that he was still semi hard, and knowing that it would probably take very little coaxing to bring him to full life. She wanted that. To see what it would be like, just once, without the spell forcing them to be together.

But that wasn't something he wanted. So she would respect that. No matter how difficult it was to do.

"And you never would have willingly slept with me," she said instead, verbalizing the silent conclusion of his statement.

"To put it bluntly, Granger, no," he confirmed.

Probably because she was his student still, and he was an honorable man. Or because she was Harry's best mate. And a Gryffindor. Or because someone had already broken his heart. Or, more likely, for all of those reasons and more that she hadn't even thought of yet.

She wasn't sure what else to say to that. It was the truth, after all.

"Do you have any advice for me regarding my Apparation lesson today? My attempts have been…unsuccessful," she said instead, changing the subject for his benefit.

"Relax," he said crisply. The concise reply no help at all.

"How am I supposed to relax when I'm trying to squeeze my body into nothing? There is nothing logical about Apparating."

"Stand up and close your eyes," he ordered sharply. When she hesitated, unsure about following his instructions while naked in bed when she had no idea where he was going with his command, he asked, "Do you want my help or not?"

Uncertainly, Hermione did as she was told. With her eyes closed, she couldn't see Snape, but she felt when he stood and pressed his front to her back. Aligning himself against her, his head dipping down until their cheeks brushed. Then his arms came around her, catching hold of her arms.

"Imagine each molecule in your body. They are all vibrating. Humming. Buzzing like little bees," he intoned softly, voice as sultry and decadent as a brush of fur or exquisite dark chocolate assaulting her senses.

His hands slide over her arms, bringing her skin to life and leaving a trail of fluttering wings in his wake, just like little bees as he'd described.

"When you are ready, pivot on your toes and picture all of those bees flying inward, towards the place you want to go," he recommended, breath fanning seductively over the shell of her ear and making her shiver.

Hermione turned, knowing she couldn't actually Apparate inside his rooms, but wanting to face him. It was almost like it actually worked, because she was where she wanted to be just then. The place she most longed to go was into his embrace.

His arms remained around her waist, coasting down to settle low on her hips.

While his mouth had traversed nearly every inch of her skin, he'd never kissed her directly. That, somehow given all they shared, seemed too great an intimacy. But at that moment she longed to taste his lips.

Given his rather frank admission to never having wanted to sleep with her, she was rather shocked when he didn't immediately retreat.

What would he do if she initiated a kiss? Could she handle the rejection and inevitable rebukes if she did attempt such a liberty with him? She knew, in this at least, he would stop her if he did not wish to participate in an unnecessary act when he was in full possession of all of his faculties.

Curiosity spurred her forward. She went up on her toes, leaning farther forward, ghosting her hands along his defined chest, pausing on the light dusting of hair over his heart. Her eyes flicked down to his thin lips, finding them parted slightly. The fingers at her waist flinched, and she hesitated, giving him the opportunity to push her away or release a scathing retort.

He did neither.

What if…

"Severus? Are you still abed? I could do with your help," an anxious voice called from the front room.

Snape jerked back, coming to life in a flash. Hastily, he grabbed his pants, tugging them on as he calmly called, "Yes, Poppy. What is it?"

He quickly donned a shirt and scooped up his discarded robes as she explained, "A student was poisoned this morning. It happened in Slughorn's rooms. I haven't got the full story – he's a bumbling mess over it – so I could do with some assistance brewing a few potions for the boy."

"Who was hurt?" he demanded brusquely, all business as their almost moment was quickly shattered, the pieces blasted apart to ensure there was no recovery or reassembling of them at present. He glanced pointedly at her clothes, a clear directive to begin dressing herself.

"Ronald Weasley."