A second update to apologise for my tardiness.
He has successfully evaded her advances thus far.
It's taken every ounce of his self-control not to follow her desperate pleas as she hammers his door. She tries less often now, but in the first week or two her fist pounded against his door each evening during his designated 'office hours'.
"Professor?"
"Sir?"
"Please sir? Let me in."
Severus can't allow a 'teenage crush' to tackle him head-first into the depths of lusty obsession. He doesn't have the time or energy to expend on her. Albus asks too much of him as it is. Of course, late at night, or first thing when he awakes— and she fills his thoughts— he ponders on the idea of keeping her around as stress relief and nothing more.
Can one come to such an agreement with a young woman as tenacious and insatiable as Miss Granger? More importantly, can Severus keep himself from falling further into her clutches. If a time were to come, when he might be forced to choose between his duty to Albus and The Order or her, could he do it? The Headmaster dangles his allegiance to Lily like a carrot before him, but what man will choose a carrot over a warm meal with a side of amber whisky.
Granger has crept in and taken over the parts of his brain that once seemed to long for Lily. It might be considered healthier to pine over a woman still breathing— if she wasn't his student and seventeen.
A soft knock permeates his office and Severus freezes.
"Sir?" she calls out. "It's Hermione Granger, I need to speak with you."
He scoffs at her announcement, like he might not know it's her. Very few students seek his advice, not even Slytherins— far too secretive. His mind draws up images of Draco skulking around hallways avoiding him. There is no time for Granger and her crush, he will simply reinvent their encounter for the Dark Lord, he can't take the risk of plunging back into her intoxicating abyss. Not when it has taken weeks to drag himself from the reverie he's been lost in.
Her continued knocks go ignored until finally they fade as she slinks away.
Severus stands, tucking his marking away for another time. There are potions which need brewing, a task which should fall to the current Potions Master.
"Ah Severus, my favourite little potions prodigy," Slughorn boomed. "Now, I've already discussed with Albus, although I will be teaching this year, I won't have time for any extra-curricular brewing. My social calendar simply won't allow it."
"Fucking prick," Severus mutters to himself as he descends the stairs to his private lab.
How much responsibility can one man be saddled with before he collapses under the weight, he wonders? Albus had not informed him of this arrangement, hadn't even mentioned it in passing. There have been days this past term when Severus has functioned without sleep in order to please the pressing weight of his masters. Surviving on potions and strong coffee.
What's worse is that he enjoys brewing, he always has. It's never been a burden to him and he feels resentful at Albus and Slughorn for taking that joy away. The Dark Lord expects brews, darker and more complex than those of Hogwarts of course, but even that has been a source of light and comfort if he simply detaches himself from their intended purpose. The potions are harmless, it's the hands that hold the power that cause the damage, or so he tells himself in order to keep going.
The draw of a bubbling cauldron is addictive for him, there is a familiar comfort in the iridescent sheen, the delicate simmer leading to a steady bubbling that pops rhythmically. His cauldron asks nothing more of him than he is willing to give— like her.
Wolfsbane calls his attention tonight. Remus might no longer be on staff, but Severus is still his one means of access to the brew that keeps him under control of Albus and The Order. He often wonders if the wolf would rather run wild? Does he want this folly semblance of control? Or is Albus whispering what is right in his ear too? Perhaps Lupin is also aware of his place in the spiderweb that the Headmaster has spun and simply accepts it— that he supposes is a kindness. Granger certainly has no clue of the role she plays, seemingly, nor does Potter.
Her voice echoes through his subconscious, guiding him in his movements over the cauldron.
"Severus!"
He's not sure that his name has ever sounded sensual before, he certainly can't recall such an occasion. His mind can't seem to let her go, there are some concerns that smother him at night, curious over her mental state after what he did to her. Surely if she was too badly affected by it, she would not continue to seek him out now.
Severus shakes the thoughts away.
Regardless of whether she continues to pester him or not, what he did is inexcusable and unforgivable. The onus does not fall at her feet, she is nothing more than a teenage girl with an obsession that he used for his own sick games.
It's not lost on him that the thoughts he presented to Voldemort a few short weeks ago is what triggered this chain of events. He tells himself it was simply a method of distraction from an overworked spy, dragging his master's attention away from anything incriminating that might slip through his shields.
That is the case, isn't it?
He couldn't have predicted this mess, it was intended as frivolous gossip that might entertain a madman who grows more unstable with each passing day. The task with which he has burdened Draco—and by proxy Severus— is ever-present. Not a meeting passes without the Dark Lord pressing hard on Draco to succeed. It shows on the young man's face, his handsome features fading far too quickly. His plan to serve up Miss Granger's seemingly harmless affections might have protected the boy temporarily, but at what cost?
During all this duress, Potter—the boy wonder—has little to concern himself with but fucking Quidditch trials.
Severus's ire was further tested when Slughorn had the audacity to try and weasel Potter out of detention that very evening.
"Just a little spot of dinner with some of our brightest minds, Severus, I'm sure you can understand?"
The golden-boy is due to arrive in half an hour and Severus now regrets his decision to ignore Granger's pleas at his door. Facing an evening of glares from Potter would be much less of a burden knowing he had spread her across his desk only moments before. He can imagine that she is heavy-footed on her way to Slughorn's office.
He snarls his distaste at this idea and the subsequent images of her sitting-pretty amongst the hand-picked dunderheads. Brushing ankles under the table with Hogwarts best and brightest. Burly and handsome Quidditch stars who might sweep her off her feet.
His mind draws up images of fumbling hands creeping up her blouse. Heavy breathing in hidden alcoves, Hermione's legs wrapped around some towering boy's hips as she throws her head back in pleasure.
The crystal stirring rod in his hand fractures.
"Fuck!" he bellows, dropping the shards and holding his now bleeding palm to his chest.
He peers at the potion which is thankfully unharmed from his distraction. A month's worth of Wolfsbane is not something he can afford to lose. With his injured hand clutched tightly against him as he shuffles to the nearby sink. Severus watches as blood drips and blooms against the ceramic surface. The damage to his hand is minimal— unfortunately — and he patches it up quickly, washing away the evidence.
A 'Tempus Charm' informs him of Potter's impending arrival for his punishment. He would be foolish to think that this day couldn't possibly get any worse, but his ever-present burden that marks his left forearm is not to be tested. Without a meeting to attend in the past few weeks since his conquest of Miss Granger, Severus knows it is only a matter of time.
This quiet period is certain to crumble around him as easily as the rod that lays shattered amongst his blood in the sink.