A Slippery Situation

A Slippery Situation

Once Madam Pomfrey had gone, Professor Snape ushered Hermione and "Sal" into his office, carefully locking and warding the door to the laboratory behind him. Hermione approved: it would be madness indeed to allow Slytherin...if that's really who he is...access to some of the materials Snape kept in his stores. Concerned about her manuscript, she made her way carefully to Snape's desk and guided the parchment gently to the flat surface. Then she cast a handful of protective spells over it and turned her attention to the two men.

Slytherin...supposedly...was wandering around with room, inspecting Snape's shelves with what appeared to be great interest. He paused to run his fingers lightly along the spines of a few of the books and peered curiously into one or two of the jars at eye-level. Snape, wearing an expression of bemusement, stood in the centre of the room and kept his steely black eyes trained on the man now nosing around the filing cabinets in the corner.

Hermione had seen the portraits of Slytherin, of course, and she could discern that this man resembled him greatly, but there were a number of differences. For one thing, this Slytherin was much younger: his hair was black, not grey, and his face was scored by fewer lines and ridges. No long, wicked-looking beard hung down his chest; his cheeks and chin were clean-shaven like Snape's. If anyone had asked, Hermione would have said that his sharp features only added to his air of cunning and deviousness...but to herself, she admitted that Slytherin, if he truly was Slytherin, was not unattractive. His grey eyes sparkled with something akin to mischief, and his body filled out his old-fashioned robes nicely.

"You intimated that you could prove your identity," Professor Snape said suddenly, breaking into Hermione's thoughts. "I'd be quite grateful," he went on with a hint of sarcasm, "if you got on with it. Otherwise, I shall have to inform the Headmaster of the presence of an intruder in the school."

Slytherin's eyebrows shot up his forehead at this demand; highly affronted, he snapped, "I never intimated any such thing, despite your impolite interrogation. If my ability to speak Parseltongue does not satisfy you, you're at perfect liberty to think whatever you will. Your threats do not concern me in the slightest." He slid his wand from the sleeve of his robes and pointed it calmly at Snape.

Hermione's eyes widened. Slytherin, in his haste to confront Snape, seemed to have forgotten about her, so she angled her own wand surreptitiously and hoped she wouldn't have to use it.

"Put your wand away," Snape said lazily, not even bothering to defend himself from what appeared to be an impending attack. "It makes no difference to me who you are, so if you say you are Salazar Slytherin, I believe you. However," he added, eyes narrowing dangerously, "I do expect an explanation for your presence in my laboratory."

Slytherin considered this thoughtfully for a moment; then, with an absent flick of his wand that disarmed Hermione silently and neatly, he grinned. "Very well. Is there somewhere we could go to speak more comfortably?"

Busy fetching her wand from underneath the desk, Hermione missed Snape's grimace of indecision. "My quarters," she heard him say stiffly. Fuming at having been disarmed so easily, she followed the two men out of the office and along the damp dungeon corridor.

Hermione had never had the privilege of being invited into Snape's quarters, so the look of his sitting room came as something of a shock to her. Unconsciously expecting décor like that in his office...stark, dark, and intimidating...she was astonished to see instead a warm and cosy room furnished with leather armchairs, mahogany tables, and a beautiful thick woven carpet. She didn't know what to make of it, except to wonder if perhaps Snape were not as stern and ascetic as she had always assumed.

A swish of Snape's wand started a fire roaring in the grate. Nodding appreciatively, Slytherin tucked up his robes and took a seat in the armchair nearest the flickering flames, stretching his feet out to warm them. Hermione joined Snape by the cabinet on the other side of the room where he had conjured three goblets and was filling them with elven wine.

"Are you certain this is wise?" she hissed at him under her breath. "He could be anybody. We shouldn't just let him..."

"Miss Granger," Snape interrupted her irritably, "do you doubt my ability to handle this situation?"

"Well, yes," she answered honestly. "Especially if he is Slytherin. Don't you think it's strange that the appearance of someone claiming to be Slytherin should happen to coincide with my discovery of his manuscript?"

Snape's lip curled disdainfully. "Not at all," he responded smoothly. "What, exactly, do you think the word coincidence means?" Swishing his wand, he levitated the wine goblets and turned his back on her to cross the room and join Slytherin near the fire.

Furious at his dismissal, Hermione stalked to the nearest armchair and took her seat, glaring coldly at the two men. One of the goblets floated toward her.

"Now," said Snape, businesslike, "I believe you were going to tell us how you happened to be in my locked and warded Potions laboratory."

Slytherin settled himself more comfortably in his chair and answered, "Such a foolish accident, really. I was tinkering with a device for long-distance travel and, most unfortunately, inhaled a bit of the mineral mixture I was using. Imagine my surprise to find myself in an alternate reality!" He gave a light-hearted laugh. "I never assumed the device would carry me over as long a distance as all that!"

Hermione snorted into her wine. He's lying...he must be! She glanced at Snape, only to discover to her dismay that he was sipping his wine thoughtfully, as though he believed every word of the preposterous story. Oh, Merlin, I hope he's not really falling for this!

"An alternate reality," Snape mused. He shook his head. "I'm afraid you have made a mistake, Salazar...if I may call you that."

Slytherin inclined his head graciously. "What mistake is this?" he enquired politely.

"You have not, in fact, been transported to an alternate reality," said Snape in a tone that sounded suspiciously apologetic to Hermione. "Rather, you have travelled into the future."

"Into the future, you say?" repeated Slytherin. He twirled his empty goblet in his long-fingered hands. "How far into the future?"

Snape paused for a long moment before answering. Finally, he said, "It's difficult to be precise about these things, of course."

"Of course," Slytherin agreed. "But what is your estimate?"

"I would say," Snape said slowly, "that you have travelled approximately one thousand years."

The twirling goblet crashed onto the hearth. Hermione jumped, startled by the sound, and looked sharply at Slytherin. His face had lost all colour; for all his prevarication, it was clear he had not expected this answer. He blinked a few times, then gave a slight shake of his head and began to breathe naturally again.

"I see," he said, his voice tight but calm. "This is... unfortunate."

"Naturally." Snape nodded. "You will, of course, wish for a bit of time and privacy to consider these things. Allow me to offer you the use of my study."

Slytherin nodded slowly. "I am very grateful. Thank you." He stood and smoothed down his robes. "If you permit, I will retire there now. I find myself... weary."

Hermione remained in her chair as Snape led Slytherin through a concealed doorway. He was gone for several minutes, during which time Hermione sipped distractedly at her wine and played their conversation back in her head. She had not noticed at the time, but the attitude of both men reminded her of diplomats she had seen in films. Neither man had openly doubted the other, but equally, neither man had been entirely truthful or sincere. This, she supposed, was what formal courtesy comprised: reading the truth beneath the polite, carefully constructed lies.

Slytherin's story was obviously a lie...or, at the very least, a misrepresentation, designed to fish for information without revealing too much about his own activities. His assumption that he had arrived in an alternate reality was obviously nonsense; Hermione doubted he had truly believed such a thing. On the other hand, she reflected, Snape's admission had certainly surprised Slytherin. And Snape had been so courteous and apologetic! He had been dissembling, she was sure, but the existence of a Snape, however false, who was not an ill-tempered bastard was just as surprising to Hermione as his comfortable sitting room had been. Privately, she allowed that her estimation of him had been somewhat incorrect in some respects. She also wondered if the men's conversation was an example of how Slytherins interacted normally. If so, she pitied them...how exhausting such constant pretence must be!

Hearing footsteps, she twisted in her chair and saw that Snape had re-entered the room. He returned to his place beside the fire and levitated Slytherin's goblet onto the mantelpiece.

"Is he all settled?" Hermione asked.

"As settled as he's going to be," Snape answered darkly. "I've told him that, until we can figure out how to return him to his own time, he'll need to pass himself off as my cousin. Thank Merlin it's the summer holidays."

"Do you think he'll be able to do that?"

Snape raised his black eyes to her and regarded her strangely. "He looked positively delighted."

Hermione shivered. The prospect of a Slytherin...the Slytherin...pleased by the idea of playing pretend didn't bode well.

Noting her reaction, Snape commented bleakly, "My thoughts exactly."

That evening, in her own quarters, Hermione ran a bath and sank gratefully into the hot water. She felt a bit guilty at leaving Snape alone with Slytherin...what if he got wand-happy again? What if he tried Legilimency on Snape to find out what was going on? Or...she shivered...what if Snape tried Legilimency on him? The very idea was ghastly; Hermione resolved to keep her mind blocked in their presence at all times. She knew, however, that her mild guilt was misplaced; Snape would not want her in his rooms any more than necessary. And for that, she realised suddenly, she was grateful, because she did not want the responsibility of dealing with "Sal".

Rarely were her days as fraught with dramatic events as today! She thought she had left adventure behind when she had taken the position of librarian, but it appeared that she was wrong. Evidently, she had not lost much of her reckless Gryffindor courage, either...in retrospect, she was amazed that she had had the nerve, not only to point her wand at Salazar Slytherin, but to snatch his from him with her bare hands!

Thinking of it, she quailed a little...then grew still, her hands paused in her soapy hair. Slytherin had called her a Muggle thief, but Snape had contradicted him. What was it that he had said?

Oh! she recalled suddenly. He called me a clever witch! A strange, warm, tingly feeling suffused her face and chest. Resolutely, she set her hands to work scrubbing again. Well, she thought, half amused, half confused, I guess there's a first time for everything.

Snape slept poorly that night and woke the next morning with a tension headache that resonated all the way down his spine. This is perfect, he thought sourly, his thin features twisting with displeasure. He retrieved a vial of painkiller from his bedside table and downed it in a single gulp. After the defeat of the Dark Lord, he had hoped for a quiet life, brewing his potions, writing a few articles, perhaps even a book, one of these days. It seemed he was not to be allowed any peace after all. Salazar Slytherin, he mused. How I would have loved this, if it had happened twenty years ago! Now, the thought of managing this farce daunted him. Voldemort had been bad enough...what would Slytherin be like? It would be so easy, he thought, to turn this over to the Headmaster and wash his hands of the whole affair. For some reason, however, he didn't want to do that: Snape was secretive by nature and, Slytherin to the core, hoped that he could somehow turn the situation to his benefit.

Of course, the involvement of Hermione Granger would make that more difficult...bossy, interfering little baggage!...but he considered himself more than equal to the challenge of manipulating her. It was his ability to manipulate Slytherin that worried him. He hoped that Hermione would make that task easier. She did have a way of doing and saying the most unexpected things...perhaps her talent for distraction would work to his advantage. That manuscript of hers, for one thing: she would undoubtedly pester Slytherin about it once she realised she now had the perfect opportunity to verify her suppositions.

Then Snape bolted perfectly upright in bed, jarring his head and wincing with the pain. That bloody manuscript! What if his interpretation of it had been correct? Hermione had to be the only virgin witch on the staff, unless Minerva had led a more sedate youth than he thought. He envisioned Slytherin taking great interest in the state of the girl's hymen and felt a little ill. There was something a bit pervy about the idea of Slytherin nosing into her sexual history; shaking himself, Snape crawled out of bed and padded into his washroom. Surely not, he thought firmly. I must be wrong. Slytherin wouldn't be interested in that. Turning his mind carefully away from his own interest in the matter, he stripped off his nightclothes and turned on the tap. Perhaps a little foray into Miss Granger's mind at breakfast would not go amiss...just to make sure, he told himself. If she's not a virgin, she'll have nothing to worry about.

Severus looks quite ill at ease, observed "Sal" contentedly as the thin, dark man introduced him as a Snape cousin to the other staff members at the high table. I make him uncomfortable. Good. He smiled graciously and shook hands with the other professors, responding carefully to their courtesies through a translation spell, assessing them in his mind one by one. Minerva McGonagall...sour-faced, cold, but clever-looking. She peered at him distrustfully through her spectacles; evidently, his host was not known for being a family man. He would have to watch her. Filius Flitwick...clever again, and good-natured. Slytherin expected no trouble from the short Charms professor. There was the grey-haired Healer from last night, too...what was her name? Poppy? She seemed pleasant enough. This cataloguing of people continued in his mind as he took his seat next to Severus and tucked into the sumptuous breakfast on the table. It was a far cry from the weak ale, barley bread, and bland porridge to which he was accustomed. The sausages, in particular, were delicious.

"What do you do... Sal?" McGonagall asked politely from further down the table. "Does an interest in Potions run in the family?"

Slytherin considered the question for a moment, wondering what he could answer that would discomfit Severus most. "Oh, yes," he replied, smiling. "I'm surprised Severus hasn't mentioned my business...I'm sure it would be very popular here at Hogwarts where there are so many teenaged girls. I manufacture beauty products, you see."

To his left, Severus choked on his pumpkin juice and favoured him with a most delightful glare.

"Is that so?" McGonagall commented. "I'm sure it would be very popular, indeed." She regarded Severus curiously, much to Slytherin's secret pleasure.

"I would be happy to offer you a consultation, if you like," Slytherin went on, thoroughly enjoying the furious chill radiating from the man beside him. "I'm sure Severus would not mind if we took over his office for an hour or so...would you, cousin?" he asked, turning in his chair.

"Not at all," Severus answered through gritted teeth. He stabbed a piece of bacon on his plate with particular viciousness. "Filius," he said suddenly, "what about this staff meeting, then?"

Slytherin returned his attention to his plate, satisfied that he had thoroughly annoyed his officious host. A muffled cough from further along the table reached his ears; under the pretence of refilling his mug of juice, he glanced over to see the girl from last night...reintroduced to him as Hermione Granger...covering up what had obviously been a snort of laughter. Casually, Slytherin sent a few mental feelers her way, wondering absently what he might find in her unguarded thoughts.

To his surprise, her found her mind competently blocked. Hmm, he thought consideringly. What is she hiding? Making a note to investigate further later, he concentrated on manipulating the utensils in his hands...he was perfectly comfortable with the knife, but the "fork" was giving him some slight trouble, and he realised he would need more practice in order to wield it as gracefully as everyone else. In the meantime, he tried not to draw attention to his clumsiness and listened to the unfortunately rather dull conversations of his neighbours.

When breakfast came to an end some little while later, Severus turned to Slytherin and said pleasantly, "Well, Sal, I daresay you'd like a tour of the school. Have you quite finished eating?"

Instantly suspicious, Slytherin replied, "An excellent idea, thank you."

Severus stood and motioned for him to do the same. As Slytherin was pushing in his chair, the younger man leaned down to McGonagall and said in a carrying whisper, "He fancies himself a beautician, but he makes his money from a potion for piles. I would be careful what I let him put on my face, if I were you." Then he straightened and smirked at Slytherin. "Shall we be off?"

Lip curling, Slytherin followed him from the Great Hall, ignoring the stifled giggles of the bushy-haired Granger. Touché, Slytherin thought to himself with satisfaction.

Instead of taking him round the school, Severus led him directly back to the study in the dungeons. Slytherin had moved all the furniture against the wall the night before and conjured for himself a large featherbed. Severus's look of displeasure at the sight pleased him greatly.

"Now," said Severus, "there are some things we must discuss. Do sit down," he sneered, gesturing at the ornate bed.

"Of course," said Slytherin, reclining luxuriously against the bolsters as Severus pulled up a chair. "What is on your mind?"

"Firstly," said Severus coldly, "I will be looking into the matter of returning you to your own time. I expect your complete helpfulness with this task. You will provide for me exact details of what you were doing when you were transported here, as they may help me to determine an appropriate course of action."

"Happily," Slytherin acquiesced, having no intention of doing anything of the kind. He reached behind him to fluff his pillows into a more comfortable shape.

"Secondly," Severus continued, "there is the matter of your sequestration."

"My...my what?" Slytherin exclaimed, caught off guard.

The other man's lips twisted into a smirk. "Your sequestration. Surely you didn't think I would allow you the run of the castle, to do as you please?"

Keeping his own face carefully neutral, Slytherin said calmly, "I'm afraid I don't understand. Do you intend to keep me locked up until you find a way to return me home?" He laughed lightly in disbelief.

"I assure you, that is exactly what I intend to do." Severus's smirk blossomed into an extraordinarily unpleasant grin at Slytherin's splutter of outrage. "I shall provide you with books from your own time, of course, and all the quills and parchment you desire. I shall even permit you to enjoy the company of myself or Miss Granger, if you wish, and you will naturally take your meals with me in the Great Hall," he said silkily. "But you will have no access whatsoever to any information or similar materials. I cannot have you carrying knowledge from the future back into the past...you could do irreparable damage to the course of history."

This echo of Godric Gryffindor's contemptible concerns drove Slytherin into a perfect fury. Snatching his wand from his sleeve, he hissed, "You bastard! Who do you think you are?"

Severus was on his feet in an instant, grin disappearing, and trained his wand on Slytherin as quickly as a striking snake. "Do not even think about it," he hissed back. "I know spells you could only dream of. I would not wish to use them on you." The look of grim anticipation on his face suggested that this last statement, at least, was a complete lie. Slowly, Slytherin lowered his wand.

"You will allow me to have congress with other members of the staff?" he repeated cautiously.

Severus blinked, but he swiftly covered the concern Slytherin had glimpsed in his eyes and corrected sternly, "Not other members of the staff, except at mealtimes. Only myself or Miss Granger."

Sensing a weakness, Slytherin enquired slyly, "She is your lover, then?"

"That," Severus snapped, "is none of your business."

Shrugging unconcernedly, Slytherin leaned back again on the bed and said resignedly, "Very well. As long as you provide me with sufficient... entertainment, I will accept your strictures. For now," he added darkly.

"See that you do." Severus sheathed his wand and glanced once again at the opulent bed, his lip turned up in disdain. "If you will excuse me now, I shall fetch you some reading material. Do not try to leave this room." This final threat hanging in the air, he whirled round in a billow of black robes and departed, slamming the study door behind him.

Slytherin did not rise from the bed immediately; instead, he listened carefully until he could no longer hear the younger man's footsteps. Then he stood up, looked around him, and walked over to the bookcase that stood against the far wall of the room. He had not seen Severus ward the books there, but all the same, Slytherin approached carefully. Extending his arm, he touched his wand tentatively to the spine of a large, leather-bound tome. The instant the wood came into contact with the book, a spark of energy erupted into the air and was sucked summarily into the wand. Had he touched the book with his bare hand, Slytherin would have been blown off his feet. Nodding grimly to himself, he returned to the bed and sat on the edge, gazing pensively into space. This, he thought, is going to require some consideration. He smiled. There was little he liked better than a good challenge, and Severus appeared to be a worthy one, indeed. Slytherin's uneasiness at being thrust so far into the future was wearing off rapidly; he was nothing if not adaptable. His experiment had not turned out so badly, after all. There's a great deal of potential for me to make trouble here, he realised gleefully. I'm going to enjoy this.

Hermione was less than pleased when Professor Snape erupted into her library in a swirl of robes and ill temper. The sound of the doors crashing open echoed in the slight headache that had developed behind her eyes during breakfast; guarding her mind so strenuously for the duration of the meal had been no small feat. Passing by her desk without so much as a glance, Snape strode into the stacks and disappeared for some time, though Hermione could hear the careless rustling of pages from his direction and the occasional irritated slam of a book onto a table. Wondering what bee had gotten into his bonnet, she busied herself with cataloguing manuscripts and tried to ignore the racket coming from within the stacks. Hermione had always been good at tuning out distractions while she was working; when she was in an industrious state of mind, the level of her concentration was strong enough to blot out even the most obnoxious surroundings.

Thus intent on her work, she failed to notice when Snape finished gathering the books he wanted and brought them to the desk. The impatient snap of his fingers under her nose made her jump. Tearing her eyes from the parchment in front of her, she raised her head and said stupidly, "What?"

Looking as though his own eyes wanted to roll out right out of their sockets, Snape shoved his pile of books at her sharply and snapped, "I wish to take these out."

With a wave of Hermione's wand, the titles of the books appeared in her ledger under Professor Snape's name. "Due back in a week," she said mildly, turning back to her work.

"I hope not to need them that long," Snape muttered. Clearing his throat, he said in a slightly more conciliatory tone, "You should know, Miss Granger, that I've sequestered our guest in my quarters. He is not to be allowed any information about what has happened in the past millennium."

Hermione nodded; this seemed a wise plan.

"However," Snape continued, shifting on his feet in what looked to Hermione surprisingly like nervousness, "I have assured him we will attend to his diversion. Thus," he said, gesturing, "the books."

She took a closer glance at the titles and nodded again. "I see these are all quite old."

"In addition," Snape said, ignoring her comment, "I have promised that we will keep him company. May I count on your attendance this afternoon?"

It dawned on Hermione then that she had left her newly discovered manuscript in Snape's office. There couldn't be any harm, she decided, in showing it to Slytherin...if he really was Slytherin...and asking for his assessment. As long as she didn't tell him how the material had been interpreted these thousand years, discussing the manuscript with him wouldn't count as giving him contraband information. So she smiled generously at Snape and answered, "Certainly. I shall come down directly after lunch."

He narrowed his eyes as though unconvinced by her casual reply, but his suspicion withered in the face of her innocent smile. "Very well," he said shortly. "I shall see you at lunch." Levitating the books in front of him, Snape left the library.

Hermione found her research into the Pince Collection...as she had begun to refer to the pile of manuscripts the former librarian had stuffed into the dank hidden chamber...very satisfying that morning and felt she had worked up quite an appetite by the time she descended the wide staircase to the Great Hall for lunch. Snape and Slytherin were already seated at the table when she entered, laughing at a joke Professor Flitwick was telling. All three men looked slightly guilty as she took her seat and put a sandwich onto her plate, and she assumed that the joke the tiny professor had learned in the Three Broomsticks the night before was not considered fit for a lady's ears. Hermione laughed a little to herself, thinking of some jokes she had heard from Minerva McGonagall that had turned the air blue, but she said nothing and began to eat.

Slytherin, she noticed, was much less exuberant than he had been at breakfast. Captivity, it seemed, did not agree with him. If this man was truly Salazar Slytherin, she thought, she and Snape would do well to be prepared for attempts at escape or manipulation. Knowing how unhappily she herself would have regarded being locked up by strangers and denied a plentiful supply of books, she felt some sympathy with the expression of dejection on Slytherin's face.

It did not escape her that Snape was looking none too joyful, either. He had undoubtedly passed a trying morning, if Slytherin's mischievous statements at the breakfast table were anything to go by. In fact, she decided as she watched him out of the corner of her eye, Snape's appearance was quite haggard; his eye sockets were wreathed in shadow and his face was even paler than usual. He kept rubbing his temples in between desultory bites of food, and Hermione wondered if he was suffering from a headache. She felt rather bad for him all of a sudden; she was glad she had agreed to baby-sit Slytherin this afternoon and resolved to urge Snape to have a brief, restorative kip while she did so.

The two men, neither of whom seemed particularly interested in food, left the table before Hermione had finished eating, so at the end of her meal, she made her way alone into the dungeons. After a quick detour to Snape's office to retrieve the manuscript, she presented herself at the door to his quarters and knocked firmly.

Almost immediately, the door wrenched open, and a long, black arm snaked out to pull her unceremoniously inside. "Finally!" Snape breathed. "He's in the study. Forgive me if I take my leave."

"Of course," Hermione agreed graciously. "You look as though you could use a little sleep."

Snape paused in his rush for what she assumed was the bedroom door and seemed about to berate her for her consideration; she was therefore quite surprised when he said, "Yes, I believe you're right." Then he flicked his wand, wrenched open the door, and disappeared into the room beyond.

Well! she thought. If this is the effect Slytherin has on Snape, I hope he keeps it up! It was nice not to be insulted, for once, for being kind.

She unwarded the door to the study carefully, alert for any attempt by Slytherin to make a break for it, but nobody rushed at her when she entered the room, and she saw immediately why that was. Salazar Slytherin, in his shirtsleeves and trousers, was lying on an enormous four-poster featherbed, propped up by a veritable heap of down pillows, a piece of parchment in one hand, and a quill, the end of which he tapped against the corner of his lips pensively, in his other hand. He looked for all the world like a rakish and slightly aged Romantic poet.

He raised his head when she entered and gave a small smile, his eyes travelling along her body quickly before meeting her own. "Miss Granger," he said happily, "do come in. What a refreshing change you are," he added dryly, plumping up some pillows for her.

"Thank you," Hermione answered. Ignoring the preparations he was making for her to join him on the bed, she sat down in Snape's wooden chair instead. "How are you this afternoon?"

"Magnificently bored," he stated immediately. Pointing at the manuscript floating next to her, he remarked unashamedly, "I hope you've brought that for me."

"As a matter of fact, I have," she said, smiling at him. "Although I don't think you'll find the material comes as any surprise to you." She waited while he Summoned the parchment to him and scanned through it rapidly. At first he seemed quite pleased to find that it was his own work he was reading; after a moment, however, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head as if in some confusion. "Something the matter?" Hermione observed nonchalantly.

"No," he responded slowly, "nothing the matter." Then he looked up, puzzled. "But there's a mistake here...as I'm certain you've already guessed." He regarded her appraisingly.

Suddenly, Hermione realised she had been stupid to bring him the manuscript without thinking things through properly...she should have known he would grasp the implications of the change in the text at once! He knew, of course, what the document had said originally; he could see in the manuscript what word had been altered; he could figure out easily how that alteration changed the meaning. Obviously. And now he was waiting for her to give something away. She felt like an idiot.

But as they say, she thought to herself, as good be hanged for a sheep as a lamb. "You know," she commented aloud, "I'm a Muggle-born."

Slytherin's expression didn't change. "And?"

He was playing games with her. So be it. "Fine," she snapped at him. "Then you won't mind telling me what this document said originally."

This statement seemed to amuse him, but he shook his head at her in mock sorrow. "I'm afraid I will mind very much indeed... unless there's something in it for me." He raised an eyebrow calculatingly.

"There doesn't have to be anything in it for you," Hermione said indignantly. "I could just take my manuscript and go," she pointed out.

"You wouldn't do that, I think," Slytherin countered, lying back indolently against the pillows. "That would make me very unhappy. I would have to ensure that Severus felt my unhappiness quite keenly...' He trailed off, watching her expectantly.

Stunned by this thinly veiled threat to make Snape miserable, Hermione retorted haughtily, "Don't overestimate the importance of your information." Her fingers itched to snatch the manuscript from his grasp, but she knew that would damage the parchment, so she contented herself with an imperious glare.

Slytherin was unimpressed. "You, my dear, are a poor liar." His lips turned up in a smirk. "Your very body language betrays you...you lean forward like a hound straining for the hunt. You can have what you want quite easily, you know. I'm not asking for much."

"What is it you want?" she demanded instantly.

Instead of answering, he patted the feather mattress next to him. Reluctantly, Hermione got to her feet and went over to sit primly on the edge of the bed. "Well?" she prompted. "What are you asking for?"

Slytherin dropped his head back against the pillows and gazed up at her face, searching her eyes intently. She stared back at him defiantly, confident that her Occlumency skills were adequate to fend off this obvious attempt to worm out her thoughts. At last, Slytherin blinked and grinned at her. Still holding her gaze, though not as intently, he said casually, "I want you to kiss me."

Hermione leapt from the bed to her feet. "Absolutely not!" she cried, horrified. She had not been quick enough in looking away, she knew: that first second of shock had allowed him to penetrate her thoughts, although she wasn't quite sure what he had been looking for or expecting to find. "You can't be serious!"

"Very well," Slytherin said resignedly. He floated the parchment back toward her and put his hands behind his head. "What shall we do now?"

Thrown off by his lack of concern, Hermione busied herself in securing the manuscript in a safe position. She had expected him to cajole her or taunt her; she certainly did not want to kiss him, but she was not prepared for the fact that he didn't really seem to want it either. When she turned to face him, he was holding his quill once again, having enchanted his own piece of parchment to dangle above his face as he lay on his back.

Determined not to say anything, Hermione picked up one of the books Snape had taken out of the library that morning and began to read, but her thoughts kept returning to Slytherin's unexpected behaviour like a tongue to a sore tooth. Finally, after several minutes of silence, she blurted, "Why do you want me to kiss you?"

Keeping his eyes on his own work, Slytherin shrugged. "I thought it might be a nice diversion."

Repressing the urge to snort in disbelief, Hermione asked, "That's it? It's not because you knew it was something I wouldn't do?"

His head turned to face her. "I didn't know it was something you wouldn't do."

The tone of disappointed judgment in his voice was unmistakable. Hermione immediately felt like a laced-up prude...it would only be a kiss, she told herself. It wasn't as though he had asked for her virtue. People kissed each other all the time in return for affection, she reasoned; it would hardly be prostitution to kiss him in return for a little information. On the other hand, if she were Slytherin, she would have asked for a fair trade, an exchange of data. Information was, after all, the very thing he was being denied. So why was he asking for a kiss?

Squaring her shoulders, Hermione got up from her chair and returned to her perch on the edge of the enormous bed. "You'll tell me what the manuscript said originally if I kiss you?" she asked to confirm their bargain.

Slytherin blinked and shoved the parchment and quill aside. "Exactly," he affirmed.

"All right," Hermione said bravely. She closed her eyes and puckered her lips slightly. When a few seconds had passed with no reaction from Slytherin, she opened her eyes to find him watching her in amusement. "What?" she asked, slightly offended.

"I believe our agreement was that you would kiss me,' he said, the corners of his mouth twitching. Mimicking her, he lowered his eyelids and raised his lips slightly in her direction.

Hermione looked down at him, noting his long body stretched out on the down duvet, his relaxed position on his back with his dark-haired head supported on the palms of his hands, and wondered what the hell she thought she was doing. All for a good cause, she reminded herself firmly. One day, other Muggle-borns will be thanking me. Screwing up her courage, she leaned over him, bracing herself with her arms, careful not to touch him anywhere, closed her eyes, and brushed her lips briefly against his. She could tell from the feel of his lips that he was grinning...no doubt he expected her to pull away immediately, considering the bargain fulfilled. Well, she was not going to be played by this most archetypal of all Slytherins! Defying his expectations, she kept her lips firmly where they were, moving them gently and deliberately across his mouth until she felt him stop smiling and begin to kiss her in return.

To her surprise, Slytherin's mouth was very warm and firm...not at all the cold, snakelike sensation she had anticipated. She found herself enjoying the kiss a little bit, thinking it quite pleasant, and admitted him willingly when he opened his mouth and traced his tongue across the seam of her lips. She slid her tongue along his tentatively, growing slightly breathless, and gave a little gasp when he began to explore the inside of her mouth. This was not at all the kind of kiss she had imagined sharing with Salazar Slytherin! This was delightful; she wished that he would move his hands from behind his head and hold her a little closer.

Almost as if he had read her mind, he shifted a little and ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, which he grasped to pull her down into the bed with him. He turned onto his side to face her, and then his fingers were in her hair, massaging her scalp, tilting her head into a position in which he could caress her mouth more thoroughly. She returned the favour, anchoring her hands in his thick, dark hair, her thumbs grazing his firm jaw, and kissed him back with equal enthusiasm. The hot, tingly feeling from last night's bath returned to her face; she felt flushed and anxious and wriggled a bit to try to relieve the tension. Her movement brought her into closer contact with Slytherin's chest, and a spark of electricity seemed to zip through her frame.

When she gasped again, Slytherin pulled gently away from her lips and grinned at her smugly. "I think you've done more than your part," he said quietly.

"Oh!" Sitting up hastily, Hermione blushed and fidgeted, smoothing down her hair nervously and straightening her robes where they had rumpled. "Yes. Quite." She cleared her throat and said, "Excellent. Now fulfil your half. What did you write in that manuscript originally?"

"As you no doubt assumed," he answered, "partway down the right-hand column, the word genius has been changed to genus."

"Ah." Hermione nodded, pleased. "Yes, that's what we thought. Go on."

He cocked one eyebrow at her. "What do you mean, go on? That's it. That's what I wrote originally."

"Well, yes," Hermione said, slightly frustrated, "but what did you mean?"

"Ah," Slytherin repeated, mocking her. "That was not part of our bargain, Miss Granger. You asked what the parchment said, not what it meant. If you want to know that," he continued, obviously taking pleasure in her flush of anger, "it'll cost you more than a kiss."

"You...you," Hermione stuttered, incensed. "You knew what I meant when I made that bargain!"

"Did I?" Slytherin asked. "I'm not a mind reader."

Jumping to her feet, Hermione flicked her wand angrily at the manuscript and sent it flying into the air. She kept her furious gaze on Slytherin until she had the door to the study unwarded and opened, then directed the manuscript out the door, feeling a momentary pang at the treatment the piece of parchment was receiving. She swept out behind it, her robes billowing in a passable imitation of her former Potions professor, conscious of the sound of laughter that followed her until she had slammed the door and warded it with the nastiest spells she could think of. Trembling with humiliated anger, Hermione flung herself into one of the leather armchairs by the fire and ground her teeth together in self-disgust. For the first time in her life, she had been bested by a Slytherin. Forcing herself to relax her jaw before she ruined her molars, she glanced back toward the door of the study and imagined she could hear Slytherin laughing mockingly still. Everyone's always said not to make deals with Slytherins, she recalled ruefully. Well, at least I got burned by the original! The thought was small consolation.