Author's Note

I finally have a beta to catch my spelling and/or grammar errors. Thank you, hpfanfictionreader! You're wonderful :)

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 14: Temptation

Hermione didn't wait around to discover the cause of Snape's abrupt departure. Without him in the office, the room lost its appeal. Besides, the longer she was gone, the greater the risk that the boys would start questioning her absences – particularly when she kept returning with nothing new to show for her time. She just hoped none of her friends had managed to land themselves in worse trouble by getting caught returning to their dorms after curfew. None of them had a reason to be on the sixth floor, so it was unlikely.

She'd only gone one corridor before she noticed the older man ambling idly along the bottom of a painting depicting a battle on a field of rolling grass in France. She only noticed because he kept ducking the flaming arrows being volleyed his way. It was one of the loudest paintings in the castle, with shouts and clanking armour often echoing from the inhabitants as they struggled in an endless feud. Most of the other portraits avoided the eternal conflict, but perhaps the old man had been bored enough to seek out an adrenaline rush.

It was still on her mind when she turned the next corner and recognized Professor Dippet squeezing past a rather rotund image of a renaissance man with a massive neck ruff. Hermione paused, watching him continue down the hall moving from frame to frame, then back again. Unusual, yes, but then this was Hogwarts.

Except….

Rushing forward, Hermione raced up the final staircase on the way to the Room of Requirement, taking the steps three at a time and huffing heavily, all while ignoring the stabbing stitch in her side as she scanned the portraits in the hall. She had to check. It was just too much of a coincidence otherwise.

Yes, there! A stately woman with perfectly coiffed hair and a rather pinched expression. Another former Head of Hogwarts. The name eluded her, but she could easily envision the woman's frame two up and one over from Snape's shoulder when he was seated at his desk.

So that's where they'd been lately. They were patrolling the castle, acting as Snape's eyes and ears while the Slytherins were running amuck. There were certainly enough to station one in every hall. Clever really. Hardly anyone paid any attention to what was on the walls with so many other distractions readily apparent.

The demonstration of Snape's determination to do right for Hogwarts, in light of the odds stacked immeasurably against him, did something to Hermione. She couldn't quite describe the sensation, but she was very aware of how much she admired the man.

The boys were still caught up in the excitement of the first D.A. meeting, chatting happily away when Hermione entered, mind still rolling over her latest revelation about Snape. They hardly even acknowledged her flimsy excuse about being dead on her feet, so she could slip into bed and drift off without having to force conversation. There was so much on her mind that she worried they'd see right through her if she dared try.

For the next week, Hermione waited to hear Ginny complain about her upcoming detention, but she said nothing. Snape didn't bring it up either, hardly acknowledged Hermione at all, despite what had become daily visits on her part. The only conversation that passed between them was an update on how the students seeking sanctuary in the Room of Requirement were faring, and additional names of those he believed should be included among their number as the students grew bolder and earned increasing punishments. Or when she'd ask after a relic she found mention of. But every time he verified that it had been destroyed through the years.

She had the feeling she was merely retracing the steps Dumbledore had already taken, but if she was, he didn't stop her from wasting her time or prolonging the process. No. The wizard remained stubbornly silent as he watched her from his place on the wall the rare times he was in the room with her and Snape.

At least in the relative silence of the Head office, she actually could get work done. The Room of Requirement was becoming increasingly louder throughout the day as their numbers doubled – probably in response to Ginny's advertisement – and people started ducking in whenever they wished to avoid retribution from the Carrows or upper year Slytherins. The camaraderie between the Houses was a welcome sight, though she still worried what the future consequences of excluding the Slytherins would be.

Even so, it wasn't until Friday night that Ginny's predicament was mentioned. Luna had come by early to help set up for the lesson, rearranging furniture and tossing out huge pillows to cushion falls, and was chatting with Ron when she casually informed them that Ginny wouldn't be joining because of her detention.

"No," Ron said flatly, hands balling into fists at his sides.

"What do you mean, 'No?'" Hermione asked, dreading his response.

"She's not doing one of the detentions here – not after what we've heard about them," Ron insisted, heading for the door, overprotective brother mode turned all the way up.

"Ron! You can't," Hermione gasped, stomping her foot. When he didn't immediately stop, she yelled, "Be reasonable!"

"She knew this would happen. She got caught on purpose," Luna announced, derailing Ron with her calm revelation. The girl was like the eye of a hurricane, nothing ruffled or moved her.

On purpose… Wait, Ginny had deliberately gotten caught? No wonder she had not brought it up. She'd known the others would protest bringing trouble down on herself. They'd be getting enough as it was without asking for more this year. What had she been thinking?

"Why would she do that?" Harry asked stiffly, voicing all of their thoughts. Hermione had been so caught up in Ron's reaction that she'd missed Harry's. A mistake. Tension had the pulse in his neck beating fast enough to rival a hummingbird's wings.

"To show the younger students she couldn't be intimidated, of course." Luna's melodic voice delivered the news as though the answer should have been fairly obvious. Her early arrival suddenly made sense. She'd come to break the news privately, so Harry had a chance to control his reaction before the others arrived. Harry's opinion would have a big impact. "It will give them hope, Harry."

Getting over the stunning revelation, Hermione verified, "For the graffiti? I saw it by the library." Surely Ginny hadn't committed any other transgressions in the last few days to earn a detention, right?

"What did it say? Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Harry demanded, glaring at Hermione. She pursed her lips in response, disliking his tone, even if she understood he was simply worried about Ginny.

"D.A., Still Recruiting. Obviously I didn't know who'd written it, or that Ginny had detention for it," Hermione huffed, crossing her arms and returning Harry's glare haughtily. Her gamble paid off. He took her false resentment as defensiveness, rather than the lie it was. He relented, silently demanding more information from Luna.

Luna smiled dreamily, ignoring the tension as she shared the plan. "Ginny and I talked about it, but we decided it would mean more for her to be a symbol than me, since everyone already thinks I'm a bit loony." They all winced at that, and Hermione felt ashamed for every unkind thought she'd ever had about Luna. It wasn't as though Hermione herself was perfect. She could probably try to be a bit more accepting, especially when she routinely campaigned for others to be.

Harry looked ready to defend Luna, but concern for Ginny outweighed the comment, and he instead asked, "Is she with Snape? What will he do to her?"

"Professor Carrow, the Dark Arts teacher, actually. It won't be pleasant," Luna said frankly, demonstrating her usual knack for bluntly stating uncomfortable truths for the second time in as many minutes.

"She'll show everyone the D.A. won't back down or be bullied," Hermione surmised, nodding. It was a bold move. "It'll set the tone for the resistance within Hogwarts moving forward."

Ron looked reluctantly proud, partly because he was close enough to step in if necessary, but he was probably also taking credit for her audacity in doing this, believing she was following his lead in defiance. Privately, Hermione thought it had the twins' stamp all over it, but if it helped Ron calm down a bit, she'd let him think differently.

"I can't believe Snape. Wait, of course I can. This is just like him, getting off on hurting my friends," Harry railed, rational thought fleeing as he latched onto a legitimate excuse to blame Snape. He'd been searching for one since the day they arrived. Something like this was bound to happen eventually. "He needs to pay."

"Harry," Hermione said sharply, infusing her voice with steel, "she's a student. Carrow – not Snape, by the way – won't do anything worse to Ginny than they've been doing to everyone else, or what we've been through before on a number of occasions. She'll recover."

"You need to show your support for this, Harry," Luna added sternly, tilting her head. It gave her the appearance of a bird in a tree watching a dog run around just below her perch.

He barely seemed to hear either of them.

"Mate, Hermione's right…we have to. I'm sure she'll be by later and we can check on her, but you can't confront Snape. Besides, the others will be here any minute," Ron added reluctantly, after Luna pointedly nudged him.

"It's no different from what Umbridge was doing to you. Intervening would undermine the message she's sending to the others," Hermione added, though she regretted the words at once when Harry's jaw clenched. He'd not wanted to be a poster boy then, especially not if it meant something happening to Ginny now.

"I hate this," he complained.

"You think I don't hate it just as much? She's my baby sister. None of us are particularly keen on the idea, but we've got to make the most of it. Let's just run the lesson like normal," Ron suggested, frowning at Hermione as he too noticed Harry's reaction.

It took the three of them a few more minutes to convince Harry that Ginny would be fine, but the significance and necessity of Ginny's actions didn't sink in until students started arriving for the meeting. They were all excitedly talking about it, particularly how Ginny had just mouthed off at dinner in the Great Hall when reminded about the start time. She was a legend now, equal to Harry in their eyes.

When the group disbanded later that night, Ron and Luna were debating other meaningful acts the students could do. Hermione winced when she heard Ron bluntly say they'd stop seeing Luna as loony if she tried a few of them. All tact, that one. Not that Luna seemed to notice. Nor did it seem to register that Ron kept staring at her flowing pale hair, the shade rivalling delicate moonbeams.

Harry was antsy. He kept pacing in front of the door, ignoring the others.

Knowing he was seconds from leaving the room, Hermione coaxed, "She'll be here soon. Just give her a chance. Luna's keeping Ron busy, and I'll go to the library, so you'll have a bit of privacy with her. Just wait here, all right?" The idea was about equal parts using his cloak so he couldn't, and checking in with Snape herself.

"Hmph."

"Promise me, Harry," Hermione begged, grasping his hand tightly. Harry looked wrecked, but nodded anyway.

Hermione had barely entered Snape's office when he assuaged her fears, "She'll be fine, just needs a good sleep."

It had been one thing to promise Harry, another thing entirely to convince herself.

"Did you have the portraits monitoring it?" Hermione inquired, having not brought the subject up all week after puzzling it out.

"Indeed," he drawled, raising a single brow at her.

The confirmation made her preen internally. She was right. He was having them keep a lookout and inform him if a situation was severe enough to warrant intervening.

"What gave you the idea?" she asked, curiosity stirred. Snape was an enigma, one she'd dearly love to unravel.

"At first? I didn't trust you to keep Potter tucked securely out of sight," he admitted frankly, one side of his lips quirking up.

The statement should have made her temper rise, or at least ruffled her composure, but honestly, he had a point. As tonight had clearly demonstrated. Harry led with emotion and couldn't always be reasoned with. Sirius would probably still be alive now if he could.

"And later?"

"I realised they could be my eyes both in and out of the castle," he answered vaguely.

"Out of the castle?" Hermione repeated, willing him to explain.

"A number of the Heads have portraits in key locations around Britain. Those that do, I have stationed there to collect information. How did you think Kingsley was warned to flee after breaking the taboo?"

"You warned him," she stated needlessly. A series of facts ran through her mind, and Hermione found herself eagerly speaking before her brain and mouth synced up, "That's right! Headmistress Eupraxia Mole married a Shacklebolt. Has he taken over leading the Order? Is she informing you about their movements?"

"He does not know that I was the source of the warning, but yes…to all of your questions and observations. I must know if I'm to avoid unintentionally spoiling their plans or harming someone," he said simply, his brow a dark, slanted slash across his forehead as he smirked at her.

Snape – secret guardian. The wizarding world would never think to suspect. If they did wonder at the warnings, questioning why a former Head of Hogwarts was getting involved, they'd probably believe the orders were coming from Dumbledore's portrait, and he was undermining his murderer. Again, Snape was putting his cunning and cleverness to good use.

Hermione wasn't sure what to say. Then Snape cleared his throat and gestured at the table she'd claimed as her own, a clear prompt that she should settle in and let him get back to work.

Another week passed in much the same way. The trio searched three more places outside of the castle without luck, and Hermione returned only to escape the ruckus in the Room of Requirement for the awkward greetings and stilted quiet of the Head office while she and Snape each worked independently.

At least until the evening that all changed.

The door crashed into the wall with a terrifying bang as Snape stalked into the room. He didn't slow until he reached his desk, where he kicked his chair hard enough to send it toppling over, the wood of one arm splintering like a lightning struck branch.

"Snape!" she cried, startled by his actions.

His face was mottled red and she knew at once he was livid. With her call, he rounded on her. She should have been terrified by his lack of composure. So rarely did he ever allow his infamous temper to slip the leash he strangled it with.

But she wasn't.

Harry often did the same when things got to be too much for him to keep it all bottled up any longer. Sometimes a person simply needed a physical outlet.

Snape was breathing hard, his chest rising and falling rapidly, but he didn't speak. Instead, he watched her.

A ripple wavered over him, the careful mask he put on for others flickering in and out. Jerkily, he tucked his long hair behind his ears, likely just to exert a measure of control over something he actually could affect.

Then he was pacing. Short, brisk steps that carried him from one corner of the room to the other and back again. It wasn't until the second pass that Hermione realised he was speaking as he did. Clipped words that she could only barely make out as he ranted, unleashing all of his frustration over the Carrows' latest actions.

"Chains. They used chains. On a third year. For talking back. Of course Filch was all too happy to supply the chains. Mutiny. Supposed to be working for me. Against school policy, but does that matter? Never would have dared when Albus was here," he muttered, not bothering to use full sentences.

Chains. Just the word reminded her about what the Ministry was doing to Muggleborns. As if she could forget. The memory was never far from her thoughts. Would that be her fate one day? Was she destined for Azkaban?

There was nothing she could do about it regardless, but she could try to help Snape. It was the least she could do after all the times he'd been there for her.

Hermione could tell he didn't actually want a response or proposed solution. He just needed to get it off his chest to someone who would listen. So she did. Because he had no one else in the world in a position to lend a sympathetic ear.

"And what can I do? I should be supporting such practices. It's expected. Speaking out would have me out of here within the day, then who would be there to point out when the student's face is turning blue because the collar around his neck is too tight?

"And yesterday a fourth year was backhanded in the hall. Minerva was all too happy to criticise me for not preventing that one. The fact that I was dealing with the group of Gryffindors protesting attending Alecto's lesson at the time meant nothing. I'm supposed to be everywhere. All the time. Keeping both sides happy. An impossible task. Yes?"

Hermione blinked, realising he actually wanted acknowledgement to the last. Clearing her throat, she softly replied, "It is."

"I am not confident I can prevent something irrevocable from happening to one of the students at Hogwarts," Snape confessed, bracing both hands on his desk and leaning heavily on them, his head falling forward and hair swinging like curtains caught in a breeze. He looked…defeated.

Damn Dumbledore for putting him in this position. It was too much for one person. She had to do something to help Snape. She owed him – a dozen times over, or more.

"No more than any of us are able to for those outside of the castle. Just keep trying to protect who you can. You're not in this alone," Hermione tried, hoping he would believe that he was making a difference, even if he couldn't see it himself.

"Don't try to placate me. I know my sins and where I stand," he bit out, shoulders tensing.

Hermione thought quickly. There had to be something he could do that would protect the students without bringing him under suspicion.

"Make a decree that chains are only to be used by year five and above. They can take it, and it will look as though you are supporting the harsher forms of discipline necessary to bring those most strongly opposed to You-Know-Who to heel," Hermione said quietly, chest constricting as the words formed and fought to escape the prickly briars lining her throat. By the time the idea left her, it was a bloody, savaged mess, nearly unrecognisable.

"I do not think I can make such a determination…to sentence any child to that brutality – even if it means remaining to protect the others," Snape confessed, shaking his head against her gruesome suggestion.

"You're not. I am," Hermione said plainly, lifting her chin defiantly.

Guilt was a noose of barbed wire strangling her. Hermione was accepting accountability for putting this on her friends, but she, like them, was determined to shield and protect the younger students. That was the goal. The one Neville had started after Ginny's infamous detention had inspired students to become more outspoken. When a first year had called one of the Carrow's a dim-witted donkey's butt, Neville had volunteered to serve the student's detention. Other older students were now doing the same.

Which brought them to this point. They were united in their mission to get the younger students through this war with the fewest nightmares possible. To help preserve what was left of their innocence and childhood.

And why shouldn't they? It was already too late for the rest of them.

This, at least, was a burden she could share with Snape. The responsibility could fall on both of them. A small compensation for his continual dedication and sacrifices over the years.

"I will provide you with some potions that should help with the bruising for those in need," he said by way of acceptance.

Things were different after that. He stopped holding back all of his frustrations. Some days, he'd barely make it through the door before beginning to recount every challenge he'd faced in the twenty or so hours since he'd seen her last. And Hermione was more open about her anger over the current circumstances and her concerns that they'd never locate the remaining Horcruxes.

Having someone to confide in actually helped a little with the nightmares and her worries. She admitted more to Snape that week than she had to Harry in months. It was strange. She should have felt more comfortable discussing her issues with Harry, considering they were working together on the same challenge, but given everything he was already facing, she felt like voicing any of her thoughts would only make things worse for Harry. With Snape, it felt different. She could confess her doubts sans fear of guilt.

It was almost cathartic.

At least until the day she woke from a renewed nightmare that was more memory than dream. She'd relived the moment of the woman being taken away in chains at the Ministry, only to jerk awake to find the whimpering and crying was happening not two metres away from her. The sounds originated from a second year who'd arrived at breakfast to find her older sister in chains in the Great Hall.

Her reality had become a waking nightmare at that moment. She couldn't focus on any of her research. Dark thoughts festered all day, morphing into taloned bogeymen stalking her from the shadows.

If only there was a way to make it stop. But there was no surcease in sight.

"It's Halloween," Harry said wearily, plopping down beside her on one of the overstuffed, multicoloured sofas the Room had taken to supplying when more students began congregating for longer periods of time throughout the day.

Hermione went to close her book, sensing he wished to talk, then realised she'd not even been holding one. She'd been too lost in the chaotic maze of her bleak thoughts, too mesmerised by the flickering flames of the fire in the grate to do anything else but stare at the hypnotic dancing and imagine them being turned on the ones doling out pain and agony.

"I'm not particularly in the mood to celebrate," she admitted, hoping he wasn't going to propose they plan something for after the feast the rest of the students were currently attending. He didn't appear particularly jolly, but Harry could be contrary at times.

Ron was in the loo, had been for a while now for whatever reason, which was probably why Harry was sharing this with her right now.

"None of us are," he grunted, letting his head fall back. He spoke again, apparently finding it easier if he was addressing the ceiling. "When I first got to Hogwarts, this became one of my two favourite holidays. I hadn't really known… It never really struck me before, but he was thinking about it, and now I can't shake it."

"What are you talking about, Harry?" She was not in the right frame of mind to deal with his riddles.

"The day he killed them. Today is the anniversary of their deaths – my parents. He killed them on Halloween," Harry said gravely. Hermione inhaled sharply, the air lodging in her chest, constricting her heart. "The girl this morning, Demelza's younger sister, said Alecto mentioned their murder at breakfast. Crowed about their defeat rather than my survival. She told me earlier."

"Harry…." Hermione shook her head, unable to produce any words that might alleviate his suffering. As she watched him, a single glistening tear made the lonely trek down his cheek.

The sight of it ripped a chasm in her chest, shredding her heart and spilling blood until it filled her torso and she was drowning in the metallic abyss.

Three times. That was it. Only three times had she ever known Harry to cry, not that she'd witnessed any of the times herself. Once after each of Cedric, Sirius, and Dumbledore's deaths. Only those three times. And only Ginny had witnessed the last and most recent, but Hermione had never seen him surrender to the aching grief.

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, laying it lightly on his shoulder. Even a year ago, she'd have thrown her arms about him in a fierce hug, but a small voice urged restraint. He was barely holding it together, and clearly didn't wish to break down right now. Yet even her timid touch was enough to shatter his self-control.

She heard the ragged gasp an instant before Harry was off the couch and disappearing into the loo.

This should have been a festive day, especially for witches and wizards, but Voldemort and his followers were apparently intent on ruining it.

Fury had her up and barrelling towards the Head office. This couldn't keep happening. The Muggleborns. The students. The deaths. None of it.

Quickly, Hermione scanned the shelves of books, locating Snape's personal collection dedicated to the Dark Arts – the only personal belongings he'd moved into the office. She had no intention of killing Alecto, the one who favoured chains and mocking the Potters' sacrifice, but she did intend to give her back a bit of the torment she unleashed on others. Fair was fair, after all.

The leather on the book she grabbed felt wrong, similar to the cover of the tome on Horcruxes she'd nicked from Dumbledore previously, but she forced herself not to contemplate the source too closely. Each page she turned revealed a spell more gruesome and disturbing than the one before. She was so engrossed that she didn't even notice when Snape returned from the Halloween feast.

A hand gently closed the book, easily taking it from her startled grasp.

"The Dark Arts aren't for you, Granger," Snape intoned quietly.

"Why not? I think I've proven I'm capable," she snapped, indignant at being questioned. She wasn't incompetent. She wasn't a fool. She wasn't a Muggle. And her hands certainly weren't pristine and pure. Not anymore.

A wild energy thrummed in her veins. It filled her with a need to act. A need to do something. Anything.

She was tired of sitting idly by. Tired of cautioning restraint and patience and logic and reason. It was time to give in.

It wasn't the first time she'd felt so overwhelmed over the years. A few instances came readily to mind. And honestly, she didn't regret the outcome when she'd given in before – not when it usually meant changing her circumstances. Honestly, she was probably a bit overdue for a change anyway.

Snape watched her silently. A flutter, soft as a butterfly's wing brushed the edges of her thoughts, and she let him in, exposing every dark desire she'd fantasied about that day. It was all there for him to riffle through, but he withdrew almost at once.

His rough features twisted, and she had the impression he was fighting his own internal battle. The demons he faced clamouring to be heard as well. What a pair they made.

"This isn't the way," he insisted, raising the book meaningfully, the deep baritone of his voice attempting to settle some of her restless emotions. "They take a toll you aren't truly prepared to pay. That is why I performed the spells last summer – not you."

Hermione sagged in her seat, the fight draining from her as swiftly as it had taken root. Helplessly, she sighed, gritting her teeth and squeezing the arms of her chair as she spoke, forcing the jagged words past the broken glass lining her throat and swallowing the thick, metallic ooze left behind. "I'm angry. I'm just so angry…all the time. I can't shut it off. It's eating me alive."

"Is this about this morning?" Of course he'd witnessed the scene. What a way to mark a holiday, binding the Gryffindor Chaser in chains and bragging about killing a baby's parents.

"Among other things. She needs to pay. Someone has to stop her." The reminder filled her with a renewed surge of longing…not for justice, but revenge. An eye for an eye. She didn't care that the desire went against everything she believed in. Everything within her was too much. She had to channel it all somewhere. Anywhere.

"What do you think will happen? You'd storm into the Great Hall, curse a highly favoured Death Eater, then walk away unscathed?" Snape demanded harshly, making it clear how much he scorned her current behaviour.

When he phrased the situation in such a way, summing up her actions, she felt shame bubbling up from deep in her gut. She wouldn't blame him if he belittled her further right then. She deserved it.

"I don't know," she admitted quietly, swallowing thickly as she met his assessing glare. It softened perceptively, shocking her.

Honestly, she didn't know up from down right then. Wasn't even sure the last time she could distinguish the two. The whole world had been inverted, and she was missing the cipher necessary to make sense of any of it.

And now she was caught up in the way he was staring at her. She'd not really noticed before, but he was truly striking. Or maybe she'd noticed, but it was hitting her all over again. No one would ever accuse him of being beautiful, his features so far from classically handsome as to not be in the same realm, but there was something deeply masculine and commanding about his appearance. And right now, she was in his thrall.

"You are not the only one deeply affected by the spectacle this morning. Believe me." Of course. She already knew he had an issue with seeing students in chains. "But you must know this is not the answer."

"I don't know what to do. I can't sort out my head," she confessed quietly.

"Best you figure it out, and quickly…before you do something irreparable. You aren't in a position where you can afford to make mistakes. Do you know what would happen if you failed or were caught? Imagine, Potter's best mate, and the witch sharing my bed," he said crisply, scolding her in a way that nearly screamed he was seconds from physically shaking sense into her.

Wait.

Sharing? Present tense?

He'd said 'sharing my bed.'

Hermione glanced at the hard set of his mouth and immediately felt her pulse accelerate. There was a sense of standing on a precipice. Had she been looking for a place to channel the maelstrom tearing her up inside? Well here it was. One small step, just one, would potentially set her on an entirely foreign, and possibly highly rewarding path.

They'd already had sex once. And it had been incredible. The rush, the release…feeling that again…she was tempted. So tempted.

All of the turbulent emotions festering within her pushed at once. Shoved her, more like. She stepped.

"Was that an invitation to sleep with you again?" Had that been her voice? She'd never heard herself sound so wanton.

Hermione licked her lips in preparation, noticing how Snape's inky eyes followed the movement closely.

From his expression, she knew it hadn't been, he'd not even registered the slip in his speech in the heat of the moment, but given her reaction to the suggestion, he was now weighing the possibility with grave sincerity.

Seconds ticked by, creeping slowly into minutes. She waited, letting this be his decision, knowing this time it needed to be, especially when nothing else in his life was and the first time hadn't been.

Snape leaned closer, then stopped. He was as conflicted as she was, but the temptation was there for him as well. Especially after the events of that morning.

It took him ages to reply, but when he finally did, it was decisive, resolute, as his role as a spy often forced him to be. It had been years since anything Snape did was hesitant or uncertain.

"We could both do with a distraction…and as you said last time, you're no longer a student here," he said huskily, the rich sound making her core clench in anticipation.

Distraction. He was right. That day together had completely taken her mind off of her parents and the war. They'd only been together to acquire a potion ingredient to stop Voldemort, and he'd still taken her mind off the war. It had cleared her head of all the fear and stress and chaos. For all of a day, yes, but it had been a much welcome break – however short-lived.

And now she had the opportunity to experience that same clarity and take a brief time out from reality.

There was only one possible choice.

"Now?" she requested, not wishing to lose her nerve or give him a chance to change his mind. There was a very strong possibility that this was only happening because recent events had driven them each a little out of their minds. Temporary insanity was the only plausible explanation. But she'd take it.

Snape lent down, placing his hands on armrests of her chair, effectively caging her in. He leaned towards her until he was close enough for her to catch his scent, exotic and spicy and all male.

"Have you any idea what you're doing?" he prodded.

Probably no more than he did.

"Honestly, no, but I know I need something," she answered truthfully, reaching up to wrap her arms behind his neck and card her fingers through the silky strands of his dark, dark hair.

What had he said before? That she thought too much… Perhaps it was time she let her mind take a break, and she only knew one way for that to happen.

Scooting forward, Hermione tugged on his head. He let her, following her urgings until his face was close enough for her to cover his mouth with her own.

At once Snape groaned, pressing harder against her, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened to him. His hands grabbed her thighs, hoisting her to him as he stood. A startled gasp escaped her, but it was lost in his kiss, his mouth claiming and devouring her own, stealing her breath.

Automatically, her legs wrapped around his hips, ankles locking together behind his back. The position brought her core in direct contact with his stiff cock, and she ground her pelvis against the ridge. Sparks sizzled in her blood, electrifying her and making her blood sing. It was exquisite.

As intoxicating sensations, the best she'd experienced in months, swamped her, she knew. He was right. This was exactly what she needed to get her mind off everything else. And only Snape's need for the same was a rival.

His mouth was wet and hot and sinful. He tasted of forbidden delights and promised glimpses of secret knowledge. Her head spun from oxygen deprivation, and it was only through sheer force of will that she tore her lips free, heaving in great lungfuls of air. Snape traced his tongue along the shell of her ear, his own laboured breathing fanning the flames in her belly.

"This can't be a good idea," he muttered against the skin below her ear, not slowing or faltering as he carried her through the adjoining apartment abutting the office. Hermione noticed not a thing about her surroundings. Every molecule of her being was centred on Snape as she pressed her hips against him harder, thrilling her when she heard his tortured groan.

"I don't care," she declared, repeating the phrase he often used with her. The only difference was that when she said the words, she meant them.