Chapter 17: Confession

Chapter 17: Confession

The day after Viktor Krum had departed Hogwarts, whilst the castle still rang with the victorious joy of the Slytherin Quidditch team, Hermione screwed up her courage and requested an after-dinner appointment to speak with Professor Snape. She felt there were matters they needed to discuss, whether he liked it, or not.

Now, returned from a dinner she had been too nervous to eat, she faced him from across his sitting room. Seated in his favourite wingchair, he surveyed her with slightly narrowed eyes.

'What sort of "talk"?' he demanded, infusing the last word with undisguised scorn.

Hermione nudged a pouf across the floor with her foot and sat down on it, virtually at his knee. Dealing with him was akin to approaching a tiger; it was necessary to constantly circle with him to remain out of the range of heavily-clawed paws. But she was ready; she had rehearsed this before the mirror, and she was prepared to hold her ground.

'Well,' she said ingenuously, 'now that I belong to you ...' she darted a glance at his face from beneath her lashes and saw his lips tighten, but he did not move to speak, so she continued. 'Now that I belong to you, I think we need ground rules.'

His nostrils flared, but still, he did not speak. Instead, he quirked an inquisitive eyebrow. Hermione took a deep breath – this was going better than she had hoped it might. 'What are your thoughts?' she asked, keeping in mind the pointers she had gleaned from careful reading of Teen Witch Weekly.

Moving with the speed of a striking serpent, he clasped her about the wrist and jerked her across his legs with one fluid movement. Hermione struggled to right herself and settled for sitting awkwardly on his right thigh, her feet dangling off the edge of the wingchair, alongside his knees.

'Would those be the, "Don't leave your fluffy pink socks on my sitting room floor" kinds of ground rules?' he asked sardonically.

He studied her for several breathless moments before putting an arm about her shoulders and encouraging her to settle against his torso, his right arm slipping down about her waist hold her to him. She relaxed into his embrace, helpless to resist what he asked of her. The curse was quiescent in her blood, yet pulse points in her body throbbed in time with her heart beat, simply from the nearness of him. Expectant, she let her head loll on his shoulder and looked up into his face.

He bent his head to hers, then, burying his nose in the hair beside her ear, and said, 'Or, would those be the "Look one more time at another man and I will commit bloody murder" sorts of ground rules?'

Hermione rubbed her cheek along his slightly stubbly five o'clock shadow, bringing her lips close to his ear. 'I have no interest in looking at another man,' she said softly.

His head reared back from her, his lips suddenly taut with displeasure. 'Then why did I find your hair slide in Krum's bedroom?' he demanded, glaring into her eyes.

Hermione held his gaze steadily. In spite of his prickliness, she felt on sure ground, now. 'I would never have run from you to Viktor if you hadn't been persistently unkind,' she said. Taking a deep breath, she added, 'I would prefer to be with you than with anyone.'

'Let's stick to the "ground rules," shall we?' he snapped, clearly disconcerted by her last statement.

'All right,' she said. 'In answer to your question, I suppose these are more in the realm of the second sorts of ground rules that you mentioned...although I will try to keep my socks off your parlour floor,' she added conscientiously. After a lifetime of hearing women both in and out of the wizarding world complain about the untidiness of men, it was curious to her that Professor Snape was more fastidious than she about his surroundings and his belongings.

He appeared slightly mollified. 'You may continue,' he said.

She picked up one of his hands, experimentally running her fingertips over his long fingers. 'You know I'm not a possession, don't you?' she asked.

She felt, rather than saw, the hooding of his eyes as he slanted a glance at her.

'I know nothing of the sort,' he replied shortly.

Hermione struggled to sit up, but he kept her where she was by the simple expedient of clamping his arm around her more tightly. Giving up the effort for the moment, she said, 'This is very nearly the twenty-first century, Professor...men no longer hold women as possessions...not even in the wizarding world!'

He loosened his hold upon her then, and she shifted herself so that she could look into his face, which was very nearly expressionless.

'We are not talking about the wizarding world, Miss Granger,' he said coolly. 'We are not talking about social norms in the late twentieth century.' He took her chin in his left hand and held her head immobile, his black eyes boring implacably into her own. 'You are not my wife, my girlfriend,' he sneered, 'or my...' his lip curled disdainfully, 'significant other.'

Hermione's face flooded with colour, and embarrassment nipped at her confidence. He could make the normal course of relationships between men and women sound like foolish trivialities. Undoubtedly, he wanted to silence her...to have everything his own way, no matter what...but she would not be spoken of as chattel!

'I may be of no consequence to you,' she said, jerking her face away from his hand, pride straightening her spine, 'but I am a person of value, and I will not have you treat me as otherwise, just because I am dependent upon you.'

A wry expression touched his eyes, but his face remained unfathomable. 'Foolish girl, I never said you were of no consequence,' he replied, his voice rough but his touch gentle as he pulled her stiff form against him again. 'The situation thrust upon us by the Eternus Perturbatio Curse puts our association completely beyond society's rules...you cannot expect us to conform to some idealised version of a proper relationship when neither of us chose the other.'

Hermione's lips were pressed into a firm line; she was clasped inexorably to his side, but she was not convinced. She could not deny that there was some force to his arguments, but every instinct rebelled against his calm announcement of his possession of her.

'People don't belong to other people,' she said stubbornly.

His left hand cupped her jaw and turned her face to him, gently but insistently. 'A woman in a monogamous relationship with me does indeed belong to me, Miss Granger, or she chooses not to be with me.'

Hermione frowned, refusing to meet his eyes, and he continued his long history of playing unfairly by stroking her cheek with his fingers, sending a shiver down her spine.

'Come...this is not such an alien concept, surely?' His voice became warmer, melting her stubborn resistance as the chill leeched away, replaced by the liquid velvet of his most seductive tones. 'Do not your parents belong to one another? Did they not promise to keep themselves solely to one another, as long as they both shall live?'

Hermione's eyes darted to his, then, and the tiniest quirk at the corner of his mouth hinted at a smile.

'You see,' he said, his hand now spanning her throat, his thumb moving in slow circles upon her jaw, 'this curse puts us in such an impossible situation; we must deal with it as best we can. I cannot have you constantly in my bed...and in every other nook and cranny of the castle, for that matter...and not be absolutely assured of your agreement to fidelity. It is too much to ask...I cannot function, otherwise, worrying that you will be tempted by the likes of that Quidditch-playing Bulgarian gorilla. Surely you see the wisdom of this agreement?'

Hermione looked into the depths of his midnight eyes, feeling desire stirring in her, and desperately tried to maintain her train of thought. She had begun this conversation with a reasonable request in view...not to be thought of as property...and it seemed to her that he had explained himself adequately in that regard. But if he was getting what he wanted, ought not she to bargain for what she wanted, as well?

'If I am going to agree to belong to you, sir, then you must do something for me,' she said, struggling mightily to stay on task.

'Something like this?' he purred, capturing her lips in a kiss. His tongue stroked confidently into her mouth, sure of its way, sure of its welcome, and he mimicked the action of his body within hers with his assured invasion of her mouth, thrusting, retreating, thrusting, retreating...finally capturing the tip of her tongue in his mouth, teasing it as he would her clitoris. The feeling followed the thought, and she was suddenly wet with need, wanting his mouth on her quim.

But a thread of sanity remained, and a voice in her mind demanded, Hold to your purpose, thicko! Tell him!

Hermione turned her face from him, breaking the kiss. 'No, not like that,' she gasped.

The professor watched her with half-lidded eyes, his erection perfectly evident beneath her bum, a smirk on his face.

Hermione moved quickly, shoving off against his chest as if he were a piece of furniture, and gaining her feet, she attempted to put some distance between them...only to fall arse over teakettle onto the sitting room rug.

'Bloody pouf!' she exclaimed, kicking her erstwhile stumbling block.

Professor Snape stretched his legs out and crossed his booted ankles, settling his hands behind his head, unashamed of the bulge in his trousers. 'This is all quite entertaining, of course,' he said, 'but was it really what you wished to accomplish when you called this meeting?'

Hermione rubbed her sore hip and glared at him from the floor. 'No,' she said crossly. 'If you want me to belong to you, then you can't push me away.'

He raised both eyebrows. 'I assure you, Miss Granger, I am entirely blameless. If I'd had my way, you would be here...' he indicated his tented lap, 'but as it is, I will undoubtedly have bruises from the violence of your retreat.'

Hermione pushed herself to a standing position. 'That's not what I meant, and you know it!' she fumed.

He stood, suddenly towering over her. Hermione thought to step back, but his eyes were mesmerising; she could not move away from him.

'I do know it,' he admitted. 'And I shall endeavour to keep my end of the bargain.' He extended his hand. 'Do we have a deal?'

The sight of Hermione's smile seemed to be a welcome one as she shook his hand.

'Yes, thank you, sir,' she said.

Maintaining his grip on her hand, he lifted it to his lips, taking her index finger into his mouth and nipping at her fingertip, never looking away from her face. Hermione felt the teeth as if upon her flesh, and every nerve in her body thrummed with sudden, overwhelming desire.

'Men are remarkably single-minded creatures,' she said, swaying toward him.

'Indeed,' he replied, heading for his bedroom and tugging her along behind him.

She lay beneath him, both of them slick with sweat. The fingers of her hands were entwined with his as their arms rested above her head, and he slowly, maddeningly fucked her. As the impetus of her fourth orgasm built within her, Hermione admitted deep within herself that she did belong to him. She had done, even before he claimed her. Had she not been bewitched by his unremitting honour, enraptured by his unrelenting protection, and enslaved by his unwavering attention to her pleasure? Was she not beguiled by his sarcastic humour? Was she not charmed by his scintillating intelligence and enthralled by his conversation? Was she not captivated by the lean grace of his body, the glittering of his black eyes...had she not grown to love the angular planes of his dear face?

Wait ... Love?

She was looking up into that face as he watched every change in expression on her face; he seemed to glory in his ability to reduce her to this mass of seething, reacting humanity. When the dreaded L-word crossed her mind, she gasped with the perfection of it...good God, if all the things she felt were not love, what was?

Professor Snape, equating her gasp with the nearness of her climax, purred his encouragement. 'That's right, petal...come for me. Don't be shy...let me hear you....'

And he abandoned their slow dance for a faster, driving pace, finally allowing himself to follow his own inclination and to seek his own pleasure. Full of new knowledge, his endearment...'petal'...ringing in her ears, Hermione tumbled headlong into rapture, her hands tightening on his as she arched her back and cried, 'Love! Love! LOVE!'

His own rush of gratification was upon him then, and he threw his head back, arching his neck as his smooth movements deteriorated to uncontrolled jerking spasms of his hips between her thighs. Her legs tightened over his lower back, holding him within her, and he looked blearily down into her face with a crooked smile.

'You'll have to hold me excused,' he said with mock solemnity, rolling away and collapsing on his pillow. 'I'm afraid I'm quite shattered.'

Hermione took a deep breath of her own...he obviously had not heard her! Thank Nimüe, Circe, and all the Graces. Rising up on one elbow, she smiled softly down into his face.

'I think we've both earned a nap,' she said, extinguishing the candles and curling up beside him.

Time enough in the days to come to sort out what all that meant.

A new peace reigned between them in the following days. For the first time since Hermione had been cursed by Voldemort, Professor Snape began to grant her the benefit of the doubt. If he was unsure of an action or a comment on her part, rather than reacting defensively, he asked her what she meant. Hermione was so flabbergasted by this underhanded tactic that she retaliated in kind.

The result was unprecedented peace in the dungeon quarters of Professor Severus Snape. If one were not advised otherwise, a stranger to the situation might be under the impression that a couple of rare compatibility shared those cramped rooms.

With her recent awareness, Hermione found the world to be a new place. She felt as if she were looking at her professor with new eyes, and in so doing, she was seeing things about him she had never appreciated properly. Even more than before, his mere entrance into a room set her pulse to racing; the unexpected sound of his voice across the Great Hall or around a corner of a castle corridor could make her breath catch in her throat. She longed to be near him, now, irrespective of the demands of the compulsion. She spent more time than before in his rooms, seeking his presence and proximity, and he made no objection to her preference for his company.

Many were the evenings and endless weekend afternoons they spent before the sitting room fire, but now the wingchairs were unoccupied; Hermione and her professor sat together on the couch, touching, if only their shoulders, side-by-side. More often, she curled into him as they read, and he permitted it, his arm around her, absent-mindedly stroking her hair. Sometimes they put down the books and talked to one another of things they had read, often lapsing into silence, content to wrap themselves in the blanket of the others' presence and simply be.

Other times, he would tangle his hands in her crazy hair and press his lips to hers, utterly ensnaring her senses with honeyed, mutually narcotising kisses. His lips and tongue became her entire universe as he feasted upon her mouth, prolonging the agony of arousing her until she felt that she existed in a timeless dimension. When, at last, he would join his body with hers, the infinite variety of ways they could incite one another to the edge of frenzy made the completion of each act a transcendence of its own, never to be revisited but to be set aside and treasured until the next time and the translation to a new plane.

Hermione realised that their love-making, as such it had become, was heavily infused with desperation. She knew some fragment of her own part in their interactions was driven by the compulsion, but she was not blind to the fact that, for the first time in her eighteen years of life, she was hopelessly in love, and she was acting out every trite stereotype of a woman thus afflicted. Her friends, her responsibilities, her classes, her homework...all were mere backdrop and soundtrack to the ongoing drama of her first love.

And she didn't bloody well care...providing Professor Snape never suspected.

The first thaw came, and the promise of spring infected the student body with a world-class case of cabin fever. The teachers, as a body, praised Merlin that the Easter break was not long distant.

On one sunny, if crisp morning, Hermione was daydreaming over her porridge when the post owls flooded the Great Hall with their fluttering and swooping. Nudged into a semblance of alertness by Ginny Weasley, Hermione took receipt of her Daily Prophet and let her eyes wander, as they did one thousand times per mealtime, it seemed, to the head table. She frowned to see an eagle owl drop an envelope at Professor Snape's place before wheeling in the air and flying again from the cavernous room.

Had the envelope been sea-green?

It was lunch before she could ask.

She entered his rooms and went directly to the bedroom; she had neatly disrobed and slid between the sheets before he came into the room, fully clothed.

'You received mail,' she said, watching as he shucked out of his robes and coat.

'Did I?' he responded neutrally, bending to pull off his boots. His hair swung forward to cover his face, and Hermione frowned.

'You know you did,' she said. 'What was it?'

'Nothing of consequence,' he answered, stepping out of his trousers and pants and pausing to peel off his socks. He straightened and began to unbutton his shirt, his eyes averted.

'Was it from Morgen?' she persisted, hearing the faint strident tone in her voice, but unable to let it go.

He shrugged out of the shirt and stood before her, completely nude and magnificently erect. Now he looked at her, his eyes half-hooded, and deliberately smoothed one hand down his impressive length, eliciting a gasp from her.

Hermione unconsciously licked her lips.

His lips twisted in a sneer as his hand continued down, cupping and lifting his heavy sac, bringing his other hand into play, the palm passing over the tip of his cock before stroking himself.

Hermione whimpered and rose to her knees, suddenly impassioned beyond bearing. Her palms covered her breasts, gently squeezing before flattening upon her ribcage and sliding down her youthfully flat tummy toward the tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs.

His teeth were now bared in an appreciative grimace as he lightly stroked himself, watching her hands upon her flesh. 'Do you want to talk or fuck?' he asked. 'Because if you'd rather talk, I can take care of this by myself.' As if to prove his point, he tightened his grip and gave a twist of his wrist as his fist passed over the head of his cock.

'I need to fuck,' she said, her tone pleading as her fingers dipped into the wetness. 'Please fuck me.'

He walked to the side of the bed, his eyes glittering, his hand still on his erection. 'On your hands and knees,' he said.

Hermione complied, trembling with anticipation. This was a lovely position for her, extending the time before her climax, making it all the more intense when she came. She felt him as he positioned himself behind her, nudging her legs further apart...then he pressed his hand between her shoulder blades.

'Face in the pillow,' he growled, teasing at her entrance with the bulbous head of his cock. 'No talking, if you want me to fuck you.'

In no state to argue, Hermione buried her face in her pillow and was rewarded with his smooth, sure thrust into her heat. He set a fierce pace, the short time of the lunch period not providing for languorous love-making. She fell into his rhythm, pushing back to meet him, moaning her appreciation into her pillow each time his bollocks impacted her vulva, indirectly stimulating her clitoris. The scream, which escaped her when her orgasm went on and on, doubling in intensity until she was shuddering, went into the dense goose feather-stuffing of her pillow, as well. Two more pistol-like lunges of his hips delivered his ejaculation, followed by his groan as he lowered himself to the pillow by her face.

Hermione moved instantly into his arms, and he willingly received her, returning her open-mouthed kiss languidly. When her cheek rested on his pectoral muscle, he tilted her chin and gazed into her eyes for a long time. At last, he pulled her closer and murmured, 'No more pillows...I want to hear you when I make you scream.'

She was surprised, when working out a set of Arithmancy equations that afternoon, to have him come into his rooms from his last class of the day and deliberately seduce her back into bed. The curse was quiet, and it was uncommon for them to have sex during the schoolday when she was not in need. When she was spent, he held her close and stroked his fingers lazily up and down her spine until she slept.

When she woke, she was in the bed alone, and the growling of her stomach informed her she had missed dinner. She sat up, a bit disoriented, and saw her professor pulling on his robes.

'Where are you going?' she asked groggily. 'And why did you let me sleep so late?'

'Call Winky to bring food,' he advised, removing his cloak from the cupboard.

Hermione was instantly alert. 'Did he call you?' she asked anxiously.

He scowled at her. 'No. Attend to your own business, Miss Granger.'

'What aren't you telling me?' she demanded.

He turned and strode from the room.

'Professor!' Hermione cried, outraged, but he crossed the sitting room and walked out of his quarters without a backward glance.

Hermione dressed with concerted speed, her brain whirling. If he wasn't going to a meeting with You-Know-Who, then why was he being secretive about it? She had his patrolling schedule by heart, and staff meetings never took place in the evenings. Besides, he wouldn't put on his cloak unless he was going outside the castle.

Why would he leave the castle at seven o'clock on a Wednesday night?

She didn't know, but she'd damn well find out.

Harry looked up, surprised, when Hermione erupted into his dormitory.

'Is everything all right?' he asked, scrambling off his bed and abandoning the Quidditch magazine he had been reading.

Ron glanced over to her, not bothering to sit up from his sprawled position on his bed. 'You missed dinner,' he said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. 'Well spotted, Ronald,' she snapped, walking past him to Harry. She darted a glance around the room to make sure the three of them were alone. 'Harry ... may I please borrow your Invisibility Cloak?'

His green eyes lit with animation. 'What's up?' he asked excitedly.

'Professor Snape left the castle tonight,' she said, looking down at her clasped hands.

'Summoned?' Harry asked. 'You can't follow him, Hermione...that's just insane.'

She shook her head. 'No, he didn't take his mask.'

Ron rolled over on his side. 'The git probably just went down the village for a pint,' he said. 'The teachers do that sometimes at night, you know.'

Hermione ignored Ron and addressed Harry again. 'Please don't ask me a lot of questions,' she implored. 'Just let me borrow the Cloak. I promise to return it in good order.'

Without another word, Harry turned from her and rummaged in his trunk until he pulled the silvery material from it. He held it out to her, a worried look on his face. 'Let me come with you, Hermione,' he urged. 'I worry about you following him...he could be meeting with Death Eaters.'

'I won't let them see me, Harry...I promise. I just ... have to see.'

Harry finally nodded. 'Stay on your guard...and don't forget to let me know you got back safely.'

Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek and hurried to the door. 'I will...I promise.'

Hermione stowed the Invisibility Cloak in her pocket as she raced through the castled corridors, down the staircases, and into the entrance hall. No one was about as she slipped out the immense front doors and all but ran toward the winged-boar-topped gates.

Beyond the Hogwarts grounds, she pulled on Harry's cloak and Disapparated to the alley behind the Three Broomsticks. She crept into the side street and moved stealthily around the building to the front, waiting beside the door with her heart pounding in her throat for a customer to come or go, so she could enter the pub without notice.

A few minutes later, she got her wish as a chatting couple exited, giving her the opportunity to slip into the welcome warmth. A quick survey of the room revealed her quarry; Professor Snape sat at a table in a murky corner, across from ...

Morgen Singer.

Hermione felt the fury rise up in her until she thought it would burst from her chest. Her hands shook with the excess of adrenaline flooding her body, preparing her to fight or flee...but she could do neither. She could not openly challenge the other witch in this public place, nor could she leave the red-haired menace alone with her wizard...the duplicitous bastard! Well, she had Harry's Cloak, at least; she could eavesdrop with ease.

Keeping the fabric wrapped closely around her, she navigated cautiously through the taproom to the table in the furthest corner. Thankful for Professor Snape's choice of seat, if not his taste for company, she slipped behind his chair and insinuated herself into the corner of the room, no more than two feet away from their table, with a clear view of each of their profiles. She stopped breathing when the professor turned his head and stared directly at the spot where she hid, his nostrils flared wide, but his attention was soon recalled by Morgen, and Hermione relaxed again.

'... and George is doing very well in all his classes,' Morgen said, taking a dainty sip from what appeared to be a glass of mead.

Professor Snape kept his unsmiling regard trained on Morgen for several moments of silence. Morgen showed no sign of discomfort at this lack of congeniality; she drank her mead and smiled at her companion with perfect serenity. Hermione noted that Morgen Singer had chosen to arrive at this rendezvous in shimmering grey robes, open over a forest green dress which clung to every curve. Hermione stared at the plunging neckline of the other woman's dress and hated her with every fibre of her being. Why did Morgen Singer have to be so beautiful, so elegant, so adult? What was it the professor's cousin, John, had told her about his Aunt Morgen? That she had loved Severus Snape since she was a teenager? And Madam Prince, the professor's grandmother, had told Hermione that Professor Snape wasn't interested in marrying Morgen...so why was he here? For sex? But he had promised not to touch another woman ....

'If I were the least bit interested in the well-being of my cousins, I have no doubt that my mother or grandmother would be delighted to regale me with tales of their exploits...however, I do not have the least interest, as you well know.'

Morgen's silvery laugh floated across the table, setting Hermione's teeth on edge. Even the woman's laugh was seductive. Why was life so unfair?

'Sev, you're so droll,' Morgen said, reaching a perfectly manicured hand across the table in clear invitation.

The professor responded by crossing his arms and glaring at her. 'Don't call me that,' he bit out.

Morgen's patience seemed to slip. 'Why do you have to be so difficult?' she demanded with a touch of petulance. 'I have said a thousand times how sorry I am...what a huge mistake I made...why can you not forgive me?'

Professor Snape sneered and spoke in tones from which Hermione cringed. 'I do not forgive betrayal, Morgen. I, too, have said this a thousand times. So, for the last time, why have you called me out tonight?'

Changing tack, Morgen leant towards Professor Snape, allowing him a clear view down the front of her dress to her bra-less breasts. For a panicked moment, Hermione wondered if the professor had brought a potency potion with him, for surely he was too tired to tango after their afternoon encounter.

'I have a room upstairs, darling,' Morgen said, her sultry air giving Hermione the urge to douse her with a large pitcher of cold water. 'You've found pleasure enough in my bed, haven't you? Come with me now...I promise you won't regret it.' The tip of her pink tongue darted out and passed over a lower lip already glistening with especially charmed lipstick.

The professor reached out and took Morgen's wrist in his hand, and the voice in which he spoke to her was dripping with malevolence.

'I will tell you one last time, Morgen. I have no interest in you...not as a wife and not as a lover. We have other associations...our family is one, our Lord is another. We will always be connected in those ways. Accept that and leave me in peace.'

He stood, as did Morgen, who drew herself to her full height, her haughty demeanour as much a part of her as her cold beauty.

'I hope you won't regret this little talk, Severus,' she said. 'I am not without resources, you know, and I do not despair of getting what I want...so, let us part as friends.' She stepped up to him and placed a kiss upon his cheek, her lipstick leaving a clear red imprint upon his skin. Then she turned from him, picked up her handbag, and walked out of the pub, her head held high.

Hermione exhaled slowly, torn between relief that Professor Snape had turned down a tumble with his former lover and anger that he had come out to meet another woman after lecturing her so sternly about avoiding association with other men.

Her relief was quite short-lived, for when the pub door closed behind Morgen Singer, he whirled and ripped the Invisibility Cloak from her.

'Why is it, Miss Granger, that you cannot do what I ask of you?' he hissed.

'Oh, I don't know, Professor,' she hissed back. 'Why is that you can't tell me the truth about your extracurricular activities?'

Suddenly mindful of their surroundings, Professor Snape took her elbow and steered her to the bar, where he paid Madam Rosmerta for Morgen's mead.

'More troubles, Professor Snape?' the proprietor said, sending an amused look in Hermione's direction.

'Sufficient unto the day, eh, Rosmerta?' he replied as he pocketed his change. He then said to Hermione, 'Come,' before walking out of the Three Broomsticks into the chill March night.

Hermione scrambled to keep up with his long-legged gait. 'What did she mean? Madam Rosmerta, I mean.'

He glanced down at her face, amused. 'So that's your first question?' he said.

'What did she mean?' Hermione asked again.

He smirked at her, slightly moderating his pace to accommodate her shorter legs. 'She thinks you have a crush on me...and you would not be the first student Rosmerta has seen who behaved in that way.'

'You've had students fall in love with you?' Hermione said, amazed.

His amusement turned to a scowl. 'You needn't sound so surprised,' he snapped. 'It is a common problem for schoolteachers in secondary education...and I am the youngest teacher on staff.'

Hermione tried to wrap her mind around the notion of students developing romantic feelings for the great git of the dungeons. Then she remembered what she really wanted to say to him, and she stopped dead in the middle of the pathway, illuminated only by the half moon shining amongst the stars.

Professor Snape continued along for several yards before he realised she was no longer at his side, and he turned to glare at her. 'Come along,' he snapped. 'It's getting late.'

Hermione crossed her arms belligerently over her chest. 'No,' she said.

The professor crossed his arms as well, and they faced one another in a classic stand-off.

'How did you make me forget about the letter Morgen sent to you?' she demanded.

'What are you on about?' he said in tone of long-suffering.

Hermione advanced on him angrily. 'Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about. You got a letter from her this morning...I asked you about it, and somehow you made me forget about it...I wouldn't have done, otherwise!'

She stopped right in front of him, her hands now fisted by her sides. His scowl deepened.

'A very mild and carefully directed version of Obliviation,' he admitted grudgingly.

'How dare you!' she raged at him, pulling her wand in a blind moment of anger.

He caught her wand-arm wrist in his hand and removed her wand. 'Calm down,' he snarled. 'I didn't want you to be upset.'

'You thought I would be less upset if you skulked out to meet your girlfriend behind my back?' she screeched, wrenching her arm out of his grasp. Shorn of her weapon, she punched him in the bicep.

'Hermione,' he growled, wrapping her up and holding her immobile against him. 'Don't make me put a body bind on you!'

'I trusted you!' she cried, struggling against him. 'I trusted you, and you tampered with my memory and went off to meet with another woman! I hate you!'

'You stood there, smelling of my semen, and listened to me talk to her,' he thundered. 'You know very well that I was absolutely faithful to you. I will not deviate from our agreement...and you know it.' He gave her a little shake. 'Admit it!'

Hermione closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him, and her anger began to dissipate. 'I believe that you won't cheat with another woman,' she admitted, 'but you can't lie to me, even if you think it's for my own good. Let me decide what is best for me!'

He lowered his face and nuzzled her hair. 'Will you stop being angry if I agree?' he asked gruffly.

Hermione melted into his embrace. 'Yes...and you have to promise never to tamper with my memory again.'

'Very well,' he rumbled. Then, he stunned her by kissing her in the middle of the road between Hogwarts and Hogsmeade.

Arriving back in her room, Hermione called Winky and gave her Harry's Cloak. 'Let him know I'll tell him about it later, please,' she said.

'Yes, Miss,' Winky said, disappearing with a pop.

Hermione Flooed to the professor's rooms; she preferred the privacy of his bathroom. When she had bathed and come out of the professor's bathroom, wrapped in the garish green satin dressing gown, he was sitting on the sofa, staring into the fire. She sat down beside him and watched the play of the firelight across his hawkish face.

'Sir,' she said, and he turned to look at her. 'Please tell me about Morgen. Your cousin told me she had loved you for years, and your grandmother told me your family wanted you to marry her...but you said to her that she had betrayed you.' Hermione reached out to him and caressed his face. 'You've seen into my mind...you know everything about my past...but I know almost nothing about you. I have the right to know about Morgen Singer.'

He watched her with glittering eyes. 'The right?' he repeated. 'You believe being imprinted on me by a compulsion curse gives you the right to know intimate details of my past?'

Hermione flushed and dropped her hand from his cheek. No, of course she didn't think the curse gave her the right. Her love for him, however, was an entirely different matter. She felt she would combust in frustration if she couldn't understand his complex relationship with the beautiful green-eyed Morgen.

A flash of inspiration came to her, then, and she scooted closer, then straddled him. 'No...I have the right because you belong to me,' she said, framing his face with her hands. 'If I belong to you, then you belong to me, as well...and that gives me the right to know about you and Morgen, or I can't be at peace in my mind. It's too much to ask of me.'

His smile transformed his face, alleviating the harsh lines and brightening his eyes. 'Very clever,' he murmured to her, sounding proud of her reasoning. 'Of course, you understand that I will then have the right to demand your condition as quid pro quo,' he added.

'Of course,' Hermione agreed too quickly, delighted to have carried her point. 'Now...tell me about Morgen.'

He turned his face into the palm of her hand, pressing his lips there, before taking both her hands in his and saying, 'If you won't find it objectionable, I shall ask to borrow the headmaster's Pensieve for you to view my history with Morgen.' He shrugged. 'Verbal self-revelation is not one of my strong points.'

Hermione nodded. 'That will be acceptable,' she said. 'When will you ask the headmaster?'

'I shall ask to borrow it on Saturday...we'll have more time and energy for it, then.'

Hermione smiled at him, her heart lightened by his cooperative spirit. 'That'll be brilliant,' she agreed, happy now.

'Excellent,' he purred, releasing her hands and taking her face between his palms. 'And now that I belong to you,' he added with a wicked gleam, 'you can't push me away.'

She tilted her head to one side, trapping his hand between her face and her shoulder, rubbing her cheek against his palm. 'I don't push you away,' she said softly.

He gently righted her head again and tightened his grip on her. 'Perfect,' he breathed, and with no warning and no spoken incantation, he slipped into her mind.

Helpless against his invasion, Hermione realised how she had been tricked...he was inside her mind by her invitation, and she had no way to guard her new feelings from him. Still, she scrambled to do so, erecting barriers, hiding, desperately looking for a way to shield her heart from his scorn and disdain. Distantly she heard his deep chuckle as he effortlessly took down her walls, perusing her memories at his leisure. With a whimper of mortification, she felt the last defence crumble, and he held in his figurative hand her deepest secret. The speed with which he jerked away from it...from her...was impressive.

Both of them were panting as he disengaged from her mind, and they stared into each other's faces, he, as if he had never seen her before, and she, as if he had never been more beautiful to her.

'I love you,' she said helplessly.

A/N: Beta reading was done by DeeMichelle and Brit-picking by MagicAlly...hugs and kisses for them both! As always, Sshg316 was my alpha reader and cheerleader.

George is the youngest of the Prince boys, Severus' cousins; they were introduced in Chapter 10. Severus is the nephew of Tiberius Prince, the boys' father, and Morgen is the sister of Ava Prince, the boys' mother, so she is their aunt.

'Sufficient unto the day' is a Biblical allusion from the Sermon on the Mount: 'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof.'