Two

As Hermione went to sleep that night she tried her hardest to clear her mind, but try as she might, one image kept reappearing: black eyes set in a long pale face, thin mouth, tight red lips.

She picked up her pillow and puffed it violently as if it were a punch bag. Flinging herself down again, she squeezed her eyes tight shut in an attempt to eradicate the face of Severus Snape from her thoughts. She could not.

As the slow final hours of one day slipped into the unearthly silence of the next, Hermione finally allowed her mind to ask herself the questions she had been trying to avoid all night. Why had he been staring at her at dinner? Why did she return his gaze? ... Why did she react the way she did in the hallway? She had felt like ... No.

She had clearly been distressed.

He was vile. He was miserable. He was ugly. She told herself these things over and over again until she was sure she believed them.

In any case, things were always magnified at night.

Everything would be alright in the morning.

The next day Hermione awoke early. Ginny came bounding into her room at eight o'clock asking to borrow her notes for a Herbology test. Her friend's exuberant anxiety focused Hermione on matters far from those which had been occupying her thoughts in the night.

Good.

The two went to breakfast together. Hermione did not look once at high-table.

Things felt normal.

She did not have Potions that day. Transfiguration was held outside, working with large rocks and trees, and the cool air further pulled her mind back to where she felt it should be.

She had not thought of him once.

The class returned in a bright mood to the castle; it was the end of the day. Hermione and Ginny strolled along the corridor, chatting animatedly about news of Harry's Auror work.

"And he's only been there a few months ...!" laughed Ginny.

Hermione joined in her laughter, pulling her head up so that her eyes rose to look down the length of the corridor.

At the end of it, talking to Professor Sprout, was Snape.

Immediately, her breath caught in her throat and a deep ache stirred within.

In her school life, how many times had she passed him in the corridor? She could not count them. Before, she would barely have been aware of his presence.

She breathed deeply, putting her reaction down to the contradictions which now faced them both in the aftermath of the war. It meant nothing.

Nothing.

She and Ginny drew closer.

Hermione was aware that she was becoming over-animated in her conversation with her friend, punctuating her discourse with exaggerated gestures – something she abhorred in others.

Snape did not look at her once as she approached.

That was how it had always been.

She should be reassured.

She was nearly level with him now. Just as her conversation had flowed over-freely as she got closer, once she drew very near, she was suddenly consumed by her own silence.

He seemed completely unaware of her presence and continued talking with that familiar and predictable low throb to his colleague.

Fine.

She had almost passed him.

She wouldn't look at him.

She wouldn't.

She did.

Before he moved out of her eye-line, Hermione drew her eyes up furtively.

At the last moment, his head turned slightly and the black of his irises looked into her, quickly, suddenly, but with the same searing intensity she had witnessed the previous day. Her insides twisted so violently she almost staggered.

But her feet carried her forward and she was past him.

As they continued through the castle, it was Ginny alone who kept up the chatter.

Back in her room that evening, Hermione tried to make sense of her sudden confusion.

She could not.

The moment of eye-contact between them in the corridor had once again disturbed her. But beyond that, she knew the reality of her reaction. That lurch inside could not be ascribed entirely to dislike or annoyance.

But equal to hers, she could not deny the shift in his attitude. His cold demeanour seemed to remain, but was now coupled with a definite interest. And that interest appeared to be far from academic.

Why now? The moment between them in the classroom had been the start of it.

It?

What exactly was it? There had been an increased awareness of the other: a recognition perhaps of ... an affinity ... an understanding even?

Her eddying emotions riled and frustrated Hermione. She had resigned herself to the fact that on returning to Hogwarts he was going to make no effort to treat her any differently to before, that he had not appeared to develop as a human being.

But now, through her, there had been a shift: a shift which only tormented and confused her more.

Hermione slept worse than the previous night. It took her an age to pass into an unconscious haze of ignorance.

The next days and nights were a repeat of what had started. At dinner times, try as she might to ignore it, his presence seemed to be magnified, sitting in his usual imperious way above her. She was almost relieved when she would glance up and find him merely staring into his plate of food or conversing with the person next to him.

But increasingly so, that was not the case.

His head would raise itself at times, his eyes moving over the assembled student body. And then they would come to her. And they would stop.

At those times, Hermione knew she did not lower her gaze as she should. At those times, she had no wish to.

And again, it was not with disdainful rebuke that he was looking at her.

The end of meal times would provide an odd mix of relief and tingling disappointment. Returning to the Common Room with her friends was the only way for Hermione to dispel the feeling.

Saturday passed slowly, Sunday even more so.

Despite aching exhaustion, Hermione lay in bed that night wide awake once again. She desperately needed sleep to come to her, but it resolutely refused to oblige.

She had Potions the next day. Every Potions lesson she had had since being at Hogwarts she had anticipated with the same feeling of apprehension.

But now, despite the whirlpool of her mind, she acknowledged one thing: she was not dreading Potions anymore.

The next morning dragged. For a reason Hermione cared not to admit, time was crawling.

She had lunch, turning her back to the staff table, not looking at it once, trying to ignore the now familiar feeling building in her very core.

And then it was time. Her next lesson.

Potions.

Hermione picked up her books, making a conscious effort to examine each one in an attempt to steady herself.

Walking to the dungeons, she found she had to slow her steps occasionally. She looked at the time. She was nearly ten minutes early. At least she was making up for last time. The door was open. The dimly lit room smelt strongly of dangerous spices and intoxicating concoctions. She went in, closing the door behind her.

There was no sign of him anywhere, and she walked confidently to a desk, this time closer to the front. She did not ask herself why.

Putting down her books, Hermione glanced around. Still no sign of anyone. The room was so familiar to her, but she realised with a slight sense of shame that she had never before taken the time to appreciate any details. She looked around now. She could not deny the intriguing and fascinating nature of the place, and scolded herself for not taking more notice before. Thousands of vials, bottles and tubes lined the high shelves. Jars of exotic and unheard of ingredients were placed tightly but neatly on others, and many strange instruments and paraphernalia filled glass cases and cabinets. She inhaled deeply. The smell which she had breathed in so often hit her suddenly as if for the first time. It was rich, stimulating ... sensuous.

At last, she moved to his desk, hesitating momentarily. But her curiosity got the better of her, and she slid her hand over the smooth dark wood, studying the parchments, quills and bottles of unidentifiable liquids which lay neatly on it. What wonders and mysteries had been pondered and deliberated at this desk? The question filled her with a sudden rush of excitement.

She leant down, perusing a particular bottle carefully.

"Miss Granger."

Gasping with sudden shock, Hermione spun around. He was standing a mere foot behind her.

"What on earth do you think you are doing?" Snape's deep voice was more languid than she might have anticipated, seeing as he had just caught her spying at his own desk.

"Sorry ... sir ... I was a bit early ... and I suppose I was bored ... It won't happen again."

She found herself taking a step backwards and came up against the hard wood of his desk. She could not move. His eyes flicked to hers. She could detect little anger in them, just intense curiosity.

There was an odd silence between them which seemed momentarily to stall the passage of time.

Hermione allowed herself to study the features of the man before her as if for the first time: his eyes, his high cheekbones, his skin which she had always thought sallow, now appeared pale but smooth, almost luminous. Even his hair she noted was not greasy, but in fact so silky that it was imparted with a deep sheen which in the dim lights of the dungeon merely seemed oily. No, she allowed her mind to acknowledge, he was not ugly.

They had been standing staring at each other for a while now. Hermione could feel her heart beating furiously in her breast. Surely he could hear it?

Noises sounded outside the door in the corridor.

"You had better go and sit down." His voice was low and silky.

"Yes."

She did not move. Their eyes had not left each other's.

"Did you not hear me, Miss Granger? Go and sit down." He spoke, but his words lacked any insistence.

Again she did not move, could not move. Neither did he make her. The strange feeling in her stomach grew.

There was more noise from outside the door. Her legs moved by themselves, seemingly aware that she must not be seen in this position. She found he was too close for her to get out.

"Excuse me, Professor Snape." The words came instinctively out, but she did not hear herself saying them.

He did not move.

They heard the door handle being turned.

With that he seemed to come to his senses and took a step back from her. She immediately moved out from behind his desk and hurried to the table where she had put her things. The door opened and students flooded in.

Snape stood quite still for a while, staring at his desk. Hermione busied herself with getting her things out. She was grateful for the sudden rush of people and noise. Ginny came and sat next to her. "You're keen aren't you?" she mocked lightly. Hermione did not answer. "What's wrong with him?" Ginny motioned to Snape who was still standing motionless behind his desk. Hermione shrugged with feigned disinterest. "What a weirdo," Ginny muttered with a snigger. A twinge of annoyance pricked Hermione.

At last, Snape moved, swiftly and suddenly, pacing to the back of the classroom and the storeroom, his robes billowing familiarly out around him. Hermione did not look up as he swept past her. He entered the storeroom and shut the door behind him.

The other students waited for him to return. Several minutes passed. There started to develop a murmuring around the room. A few nervous giggles escaped one or two, but nobody presumed to go and knock on the door to see if he was alright. In similar circumstances one or two years ago, Hermione would not have hesitated, but not today.

After at least five minutes, the storeroom door suddenly burst open and he swept out rapidly. "Cauldrons! Stag sinews! Scarab legs! Baobab bark! Now!"

The students were startled into action and dared not argue with his tone of voice. They hurried to gather the ingredients. All except Hermione.

Her mind was still in such a state of disarray, that she could not muster the physical motivation to move. She remained seated, not entirely sure what she was doing.

Snape had his back to her, busying himself at the board. When he had finished writing on it, he turned and froze on noticing her sitting before him, the only student doing so. At first he did nothing. She did not look at him.

"Miss Granger." His voice had regained the cold belittling tone of previously.

She darted her head up, almost surprised to find him there.

"Yes?" she asked, genuinely bemused.

"I have clearly specified the ingredients for today. Kindly mobilise yourself and get them before the animals they come from become extinct." His drawl was as sarcastic and snide as it had always been.

She fixed him with her eyes. His change of mood to the familiarity of his past did not surprise her. Before, only days before in fact, his words would have ignited her fury, but now she merely found the throb in her belly intensifying. Trying to ignore it, she decided to comply with his demand.

She rose and selected her ingredients immediately, returning to her place. She focused as hard as she could on the lesson and the potion she was brewing. But the strange ache inside would not go away. She glanced up at the Potions Master as he moved around the room, dismissively berating students and deriding their efforts. She could do nothing but study him intently. He was suddenly fascinating her.

Hermione's concentration was compromised, and on adding the bark, her potion bubbled excitedly, turned an extraordinary shade of fuchsia and sent a fountain of pink slime three feet into the air.

It was not supposed to.

Snape hurried over.

"Focus, Miss Granger, focus!"

Hermione and Ginny managed to evade the slime as it descended, but it covered their table and the floor around it. Hermione instinctively and swiftly muttered a cleaning spell, and the area was immediately returned to normal. Snape's wrath was peaked.

"Miss Granger." It was a cold hiss. "Do not presume to take the easy way out. Your inattention and lack of forethought resulted in the slop you produced earlier. Such atrocious errors must not be repeated. You will learn your lesson accordingly." He flicked his wand, and the mess she had created earlier instantly reappeared. With another flick of his wand a bucket and sponge appeared on the floor beneath him. He bent down and picked it up, slamming it down in front of her on the slimy table. She flinched a little at the noise but then raised her head and searched out his eyes. This time, he did not return her stare.

"Perhaps I should stay behind after class and clean it up then, Professor?" She surprised herself with her own bravado. She wasn't entirely sure why she had said it, but was desperate to see how he would react.

Snape's eyes darted to hers, widening with anger and something approaching intrigued alarm. His breathing was rapid. "Clean it now!"

She stared back at him, trying to find some answers in his eyes. For now, there were none. The black orbs had returned to their usual impenetrability. She felt a twist of disappointment and lowered her gaze.

It took Hermione the rest of the lesson to clean up the mess. Snape remained at the back of the class, out of her line of sight.

When she had at last nearly finished she was exhausted. Her clothes were dirty and her hair dishevelled. The other students were dismissed and Hermione lagged behind at the desk as she completed her punishment. She tried to raise anger within her. It would have been so easy before. But none was forthcoming. She cleaned up the mess assiduously, using the task to try to steady her mind.

At last she had finished and stood, dropping the sponge into the bucket. Footsteps sounded behind her. She turned to face him, breathing heavily, her hair curling into her face.

He stood, his head lowered slightly, but his eyes upturned. She saw them flick up her body to her face. Despite the humiliation he had made her endure, she raised herself up tall, her determination to understand these eddying emotions stronger than ever. Had he made her do anything similar in the past, the resentment within would have consumed her. Not this time. Now, she was acutely aware that the curious sensation deep inside her had returned.

Was it anger? No. Passion, intrigue ... but not anger.

"I hope that is satisfactory ... sir." She emphasised her words with the sort of force normally employed by him.

He lowered his gaze. She thought she could almost detect shame in his posture. "Yes. Good," he mumbled tersely.

She did not move. The peculiar clenching of her belly grew stronger.

"Do you wish me to go now?"

Again his eyes darted to her. Her choice of words was deliberate. She held his gaze.

With no warning, he suddenly stepped into her and stood a mere foot away. She gasped in surprise but maintained her stare.

"And why ..." his voice snaked icily into her, "... would I wish you to stay ... Miss Granger?"

"I don't know, Professor. I thought perhaps you could tell me that."

She saw his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed hard. The knot in her belly twisted violently. She looked back to his eyes. They were the definition of infinity.

"You must go now." He spoke with a desperate urgency, stressing the last word.

Hermione hesitated.

"Get out." It was low, almost a plea. Still she did not move. She could feel him breathing rapidly before her. His body suddenly tensed and this time he shouted at the top of his voice, "Get out!"

Hermione turned and ran, his words a release from herself. She ran through the corridors, up staircases, she knew not where. Her fellow students turned to her in confusion as she hurtled past them. When she had at last reached a deserted corridor, far from anyone else, she slowed and stopped, leaning against the cold stone and closing her eyes, her head falling back.

She could deny it no longer.

She wanted Severus Snape.

And what is more, she was quite certain he wanted her too.

----------------------------------------------------

Well, now that she's admitted it ... will things get any easier? Hmm ... this is Severus Snape we're talking about.

Any comments gratefully received, as ever. LL x