Fourteen For a Question

Chapter 17: Fourteen for a Question

As spring approached, the amount of research conducted inside Hogwarts' new laboratory suffered a marked decline. Hermione had offered to help several of her older students prepare for their O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. exams, sacrificing her lab time in the process. Commandeering an empty classroom in the dungeons, she met a dedicated group of students after dinner each Tuesday.

Her inability to resist a seventh-year Hufflepuff who begged for help with a Charms problem led to further commitments. Students began seeking her advice in all manner of topics...Charms, Transfiguration, Arithmancy. She resisted initially, sending them to consult with their respective instructors. But the tenacity of youth, combined with a fair amount of cunning, proved impossible to thwart. Preying on her contempt for inefficiency, they made an impressive argument for having multiple topics addressed in one study group. She relented, but only after insisting approval be obtained from all professors. To her surprise, this agreement proved quite easy to achieve. Apparently, none of the other teachers were nearly as keen on increasing their workload.

Being a relative newcomer to the teaching profession, she was privately pleased by the students' respect. Additional nights had to be added when word spread and the study group gained popularity. The atmosphere was reminiscent of days spent practicing magic alongside members of Dumbledore's Army in the Room of Requirement. Occasionally, she'd indulge her nostalgia, picturing long-forgotten faces as she watched over the casting of spells and the brewing of potions.

Other than diminished laboratory time, the only drawback to her new endeavour was fewer free evenings. A night to herself was rare. An evening with Snape was even scarcer. Tension from upcoming exams seemed to make the students do incredibly stupid things, and he often presided over detentions late into the night. He continued to disappear for his 'previous engagements' as well, although he remained taciturn on his whereabouts. No matter his location, he invariably came to bed after Hermione.

Some nights, she would awaken just long enough to notice him sliding into bed beside her. Through a dreamy fog, she'd feel his strong arms circling her waist, or the weight of his head on her pillow before she'd drift back to sleep. At other times, the warmth of his body would infuse her dreams, slowly coaxing her from the depths of slumber. She'd reach for him with heavy limbs, her eyes half-closed. His hands on her body quickly banished any traces of somnolence. Soft caresses turned passionate, demanding, until simple need took over. With every facet of mind and body awakened, she'd cling to him in final release, calling his name into the darkness.

Having enjoyed her share of serious relationships, she thought she had a fairly good idea of what sex was all about. She was wrong. The intensity of her reactions to Snape's touch was unlike anything she'd experienced before, as was the level of desire he could arouse. Her responses pleased her body but troubled her mind. As a scientist, she knew the flames that burned brightest and hottest always extinguished themselves first. She wondered if their passion was like that...if it would consume them completely until they simply burned out, empty and spent. If the sparks they created were any indication, they were heading towards a definite supernova.

A smile graced her features as she thought of their mutual fireworks. It disappeared when she remembered Snape had distributed detentions again tonight and would likely be gone for hours. Her untouched dinner received a petty shove across the kitchen table as her sigh stirred the air. Too many nights had passed with nothing more than sleeping together in the same bed. Frustration warred with longing. Contemplating his proximity did not improve her disposition. A wall of grey stone was all that separated them...no doubt he was in the Potions classroom right now, making his students squirm.

"Lucky students," she muttered. Then a mischievous little thought danced into her mind, and she hurried to her bedroom.

Within minutes, she had located a box of school things her mother had sent when she'd returned to Hogwarts. At the time, she'd chuckled over the inclusion of her old school uniforms. But she wasn't laughing as she shimmied naked into the familiar pleated skirt. By the time she pulled the starched, white shirt onto her arms, her body ached and her pulse was racing. She draped the tie beneath her collar, leaving it to dangle across her chest, unfastened. Most of the shirt buttons were ignored, revealing the tops of her breasts and a fair amount of cleavage. She slid bare feet into tall leather boots and surveyed her reflection.

She'd never appreciated how short the skirt was until now. Dark tights had always been worn beneath, so the sight of her legs exposed to mid-thigh above her boots was something new. Turning to the side, she decided the womanly curves she'd lacked at nineteen might also be responsible for the skirt's higher hemline. The mirror reflected her dismissive shrug. She was surprised the outfit still fit after so many years, relieved to find it snug in all the right places. After donning prim robes, she tousled her hair and left the living quarters.

Once inside the Potions office, she peered around the door, careful to conceal her presence. Detention had started over an hour ago, and three students huddled around a table at the far side of the classroom. They appeared to be filling hundreds of small jars with beetle eyes from a large, burlap sack.

"Perfect," she whispered.

Gathering her robes, she breezed through the classroom, barely glancing at the occupants. Snape's gaze landed on her briefly, but his attention was soon diverted by a question from one of the students. Making her way through the maze of tables, she entered the private storeroom and closed the door behind her. A wave of her wand filled the room with soft light. She waited in silence for a few moments, then cracked open the door.

Pointing her wand through the narrow slit, she whispered, "Diffindo." The burlap bag split apart, sending thousands of tiny eyes cascading over the table and onto the floor like a soundless, black waterfall.

An angry-looking Snape approached the scene, ordering the students to repair the bag and retrieve the wayward ingredients. If she hadn't suffered far worse fates in detention herself, she might have felt more remorse for her actions. But recovering beetle eyes was hardly a difficult task. It would keep the students busy for some time, an added bonus.

Opening the door, she interrupted Snape's lecture on carelessness. "Professor Snape, could you help me with something, please?" Her loud voice carried across the room.

His head snapped around, eyes narrowing at the sound of her voice. They'd clashed over students before; no doubt he anticipated another fight. After a moment's consideration, he threatened the students with future detentions and stalked towards her.

Racing across the room, she flung her robes to the floor, surprised to find her hands shaking. She turned her back to the door and attempted a seductive pose against the shelves. One arm stretched high above her head as she pretended to reach for a bottle.

"Yes, what is it you..." His speech halted the moment he entered the room.

She forced a note of innocence into her voice. "I can't seem to reach this bottle, Professor Snape. Will you help me?"

Turning her head, she watched him over her shoulder. His lips were frozen into a circle, forming the shape of his last word.

She twisted to face him, slowly dragging her arm down her chest. The combination of movements proved the perfect catalyst for her shirt to gape open, drawing the full attention of his gaze. He seemed keenly interested in the way her hand lingered on her breast. After several moments, his gaze traversed the rest of her costume.

With apparent calm, he crossed his arms and entered the room, leaving the door open behind him. He walked around her from one side to the other, investigating her body from every angle.

Unable to take his silence any longer, she cleared her throat. "So ... Can you help me out here?"

"There are children outside." His voice was soft, holding the slightest trace of reproof.

She pointed her wand at the door. It closed with a satisfying thud. "Colloportus," she said, locking it.

"They have excellent hearing," he chastised.

"Muffliato," she said, pointing her wand again.

He watched her in silence for several long moments, arms still folded over his chest.

"What are you doing in here alone?" he asked. He sounded angry.

"I just..."

He cut off her protest. "Students are never allowed in my private storeroom, Miss Granger!"

Her mouth snapped shut. She watched his brows raise, his challenge clear.

He wants to play, she thought as her pulse pounded in her throat. Excellent.

"I was only going to borrow the supplies, sir."

"Turn around," he ordered.

She faced the shelf.

"Which supplies?"

She pointed to a random bottle on the top shelf. His approach was almost silent; she heard nothing but a faint rustle as he stood behind her. The coarse fabric of his robes grazed the backs of her thighs. He reached for the bottle she'd indicated, turning the label.

His lips brushed along her ear, his breath warm on the sensitive skin. "That happens to be Lobelia Cardinalis," he said quietly.

She closed her eyes, letting his voice wash over her.

"It's very rare," he whispered. The tip of his tongue traced the outer curve of her ear. "Very delicate."

She knew all this, of course...she had harvested the beautiful red flowers herself. But she doubted the aquatic plant held any relevance to their conversation.

"Why would you require this ingredient?" he asked.

She tried to form a coherent answer, but found concentration difficult when his fingertips skimmed along her thighs. "I...I can't say, sir."

His voice changed, becoming dangerously low. If she hadn't known they were pretending, his threat would have chilled her. Instead, molten desire speared her.

"It's time you learnt the consequences of stealing from my storeroom." His hands seized her hips, jerking her back against him. Her gasp echoed through the small room.

She felt him harden as he gripped her tight, grinding himself against her. With a slow, tortuous rhythm, he stroked her body with his own, rubbing up and down, over and over. The repeated motion lifted her skirt, scraping his robes along her bare backside.

Then he stopped all movement, and she groaned in protest.

"This isn't the first time you've defied the mandates of this school, is it, Miss Granger?"

She smiled, noting the distinct husky quality edging his voice. Turning her head, she answered, "You can't prove that, Professor."

With deft speed, his hands left her hips. He grasped the lapels of her shirt, wrenching it open in one move, her buttons ricocheting off the bottles with several soft pings. The stiff fabric was pulled from her shoulders but wrapped around her wrists, securing her arms behind her. Cold air rushed across her breasts and hardened her nipples. His fingertips traced taunting circles around the points.

"Your cheek and impudence will not be tolerated here, Miss Granger."

He cupped her breasts, teasing the delicate skin.

"How shall we punish such impertinence?" he asked.

She trembled beneath his hands, whimpering when he tormented her nipples with a series of gentle strokes and light pinches. "Oh, I'm sure we can find a suitable method," she said, moving her trapped hands lower until her fingers stroked his erection.

"Wicked girl," he murmured against her ear. Wrapping his arms around her, he spun them both to face the center of the room. Everywhere he touched felt unnaturally heated, as if his hands were made of fire. When his fingers slid beneath her skirt and ventured higher, her body became an inferno. In one swift motion, he slid his boot between her ankles, sweeping her foot aside to spread her legs. Flames raced across her newly exposed skin as he alternated rough explorations with tender caresses, making every touch a surprise.

"On your knees, witch," he growled into her hair, nudging her legs. She sank to the ground a second before him, surprised when a soft pillow appeared beneath her. His hands continued their exploration, fingers teasing her thighs, dancing ever so softly over her most sensitive flesh. With each pass, he came infuriatingly close to touching her in the way she needed. But torture seemed to be the order of the evening.

"Severus," she pleaded.

"That's 'Professor' to you," he chided.

He peeled her shirt away, finally freeing her arms. She began her own exploration and thought this was the best idea she'd had in a very long time.

Her palms met cold stone as he urged her forward. The short skirt was hardly restrictive, yet he yanked it up over her back. She inhaled sharply at the feel of chilled air striking her bare skin. He paused to release his trousers, prolonging her anticipation. She thought she might explode from waiting, but then he pressed against her, skin on skin at last.

Powerful hands returned to her hips. He entered just the tip of his erection into her, holding her prisoner when she tried to push back against him. She trembled with expectation and still he held her there, waiting.

"Would you like to learn what happens to rule-breakers?" His tone was teasing, but his voice was raw.

"Yes," she moaned.

"Yes ... what?"

She couldn't think, couldn't concentrate on what he'd asked. "Yes ... please?"

His deep chuckle resonated, flowing from his body into hers. "You're the one who started this game ... Now play along." He shifted, pushing inside her just slightly before withdrawing.

Comprehension dawned at last. "Oh! Yes, sir," she amended, rewarded by another shift, another withdrawal. Unable to bear the slow torment any longer, she shoved back against him once more, desperate for deeper penetration.

He'd obviously anticipated her. His fingers tightened on her hips, holding her in place, immobile. Her frustration was as blatant as her arousal. He seemed to take delight from both, chuckling as her curse split the air. "Such insolent behaviour, Miss Granger ... and yet another violation. Are you completely incapable of obeying the rules?"

"Obedience was never my strong suit, Professor. I suppose you'll have to work ... harder ... to teach me." She thought her words might snap his control, but still he teased her.

"Are you certain that's what you want?"

Her breath expelled in an angry rush. "Yes!" she nearly shouted. "Damn it, Severus, if you don't fuck me right now, I swear I'll..."

Whatever threat she'd intended was lost when he thrust hard, filling her entirely, their cries of pleasure and triumph mingling. When the initial shock had faded, he pulled back and repeated the move, only this time, he entered her so slowly she felt every inch of him. He continued his slow assault, gradually increasing speed when she moaned his name. Soon he was driving into her with a pounding rhythm of hard, fast thrusts. It was too much...the frantic pace, the feel of his rough robes slapping her bare ass, his fingers digging into her hips, jerking her back against him each time he lunged forward. Her screams echoed through the small room as her muscles contracted around him.

She lowered her head and waited for her body to stop shuddering. Her loose hair swept along the floor beneath her in perfect time to his continued thrusting.

Somehow, he increased the tempo. His visceral growl sent tremors along her back. Leaning forward, he reached a hand around her hip, his deft fingers stroking her into fevered arousal once more. She threw her head back, revelling in sensation but thinking it impossible to climax again so soon. She was proved wrong when her body shook with the force of her release. Seconds later, his hands moved to her waist. He rocked forward, spilling himself inside her with one final shudder.

Panting, gasping, they collapsed onto the ground, grateful for the stone's ability to cool overheated flesh. She spent several minutes lying beneath him, dazed and numb. Thinking of what they'd just done, she tried to suppress an irreverent giggle. She failed.

"You find this amusing?" he asked, his mouth against her ear.

"A bit," she admitted. "I've never behaved like such a teenager before. Even when I was a teenager!"

"Mmm ... You seem to be having quite an impact on my better judgment as well." He attempted to extricate himself from their tangled limbs, his movements stiff as he rose to his feet.

Casting her gaze to the floor, she frowned at the lone pillow. "Why didn't you Conjure yourself something to kneel on?" she asked as she cast about for her discarded shirt.

"I ... I was distracted."

She turned in surprise, her shirt forgotten. It was rare to hear any admission of weakness from him.

"But you ensured I had a pillow?" she asked, tilting her head to consider him. "That's very sweet."

His derisive snort proclaimed his disagreement. "That's right: you've found me out. Only a true gentleman would be considerate enough to provide a pillow before taking you on the floor."

She shrugged off his attempt at deflection. "I still think it was sweet."

He shook his head and turned away. "Of all people, you should know better."

Frowning again, she continued to search for her shirt. Either he was truly annoyed with her for imagining him capable of kindness, or he didn't trust her enough to believe her comments genuine. Neither option held any appeal.

She found her shirt flung across a jar of toad tongues and tugged it on. Few buttons remained, so she tied the ends together and searched for her robes. Snape located the garment first and draped it around her shoulders with elaborate care, his brows furrowed. She suspected something more than the simple fastening was responsible for his look of intense concentration.

Drawing her into his arms, he inhaled deeply and whispered against her ear. "You realise, of course, we'll never again be able to look at our private storeroom the same way."

She chuckled and nuzzled into his chest. "I suppose not."

"I doubt I'll be able to enter the room without becoming aroused."

"Lucky for you, there's a willing witch nearby to help."

"Yes," he agreed. "Very lucky."

She smiled against his chest. Stepping back, she winked at him and said, "Good night, then."

He cupped her face in his hands and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "Good night, my foolish girl."

Unsealing the door, she plucked a random bottle from the shelf and left the room. Her smile remained hidden as she hurried to the living quarters, ignoring the faces of the students in detention. Once inside, it spread across her face, remaining in place when she stepped into the shower. Remembering his parting words, she shook her head and laughed out loud. His voice had been tender, even if the sentiment...foolish girl...had been ridiculous. But only Snape could turn what had once been an insult into a term of endearment.

The following morning was Friday, the one day Hermione's schedule allowed her to sleep late. Unfortunately, Fate had a sense of humour and woke her promptly at six. She fought back, trying to reclaim the precious commodity, but her efforts proved futile. By half-past, she gave up and padded to the kitchen for tea.

Snape was already showered and dressed. There were times she wondered if he ever slept. He sat at the breakfast table reading the newspaper, looking scholarly and sexy in a very I-just-did-nasty-things-in-the-storeroom kind of way. Her smile spread as she spied the thin reading glasses perched on his nose. She loved him in glasses. Stopping by his side, she placed a sleepy kiss on his damp hair, trailing her hand along his back and arm as she continued on her quest for caffeine.

Just for fun, she closed her eyes and concentrated on the spot beneath the kettle. She imagined holding her wand, envisioned herself casting the spell to start a fire. A little whooshing sound heralded her success. Opening her eyes, she grinned at the flame beneath the kettle. She had used silent, wand-less magic for basic spells in the past, but never for fire. Of course, small fires had always been her specialty.

"Why do you insist on wearing those preposterous Muggle clothes?" asked Snape, intruding upon her self-congratulatory musings.

She regarded the black camisole and loose trousers...her standard pyjamas...with a curious frown. The outfit had never drawn his censure before. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed him staring at her rear with blatant admiration, despite his catty question.

Strolling back to the table, hands on her hips, she replied, "Well, I used to wear them because they were comfortable." She paused to lean across the table, placing her palms upon his newspaper and moving her face closer, until the tip of her pert nose bumped into the end of his long, hooked one. "But from now on, I believe I'll wear them just to irritate you."

He raised one eyebrow, a reluctant smile tugging at his mouth. "You are hopeless," he informed her as she turned to fetch the boiling water. "I was in a perfectly foul mood until you came along and ruined it."

"The day is young, my surly friend." She brewed two cups, feeling rather chipper despite the early hour. "I daresay you'll find something or someone to ruin it again."

"No doubt," he agreed, tucking his glasses into his robe. He folded the newspaper and slung it atop a pile of books and homework assignments.

"Why the foul spirits?" she asked, bringing the cups to the table.

He thanked her and swept his hand towards the newspaper. "The Ministry and their complete and utter lack of competence," he spat.

She glanced at the paper but couldn't discern which story had drawn his ire. The mention of the Ministry drew her thoughts to Mikolaj Brukowski, as did most things these days. With effort, she refrained from asking about the investigation into Brukowski's death, knowing Snape would have shared any information he'd been given.

"Wankers!" she cried out, slapping the table with enough vehemence to earn his smile.

He surveyed her over his cup and remarked, "You're in rare form this morning."

She beamed at him. "I made fire without my wand!"

"Yes, I saw that."

She'd been expecting praise. When he remained silent, she offered an exaggerated pout. "It's the first time I've tried that spell wand-less."

"That's very impressive," he told her dutifully.

"You don't sound impressed."

"You don't need me to confirm what a powerful witch you are. Surely fire is nothing compared to defeating the Dark Lord?"

She blinked. "But I didn't defeat anyone; that was Harry ..."

He cut her off, sounding churlish. "Spare me the Harry Potter Fan Club propaganda. 'The Boy Who Lived' would have been 'The Boy Who Lived to Eleven' without your help."

"I think you're giving me too much credit," she argued.

"Nonsense." He dismissed her protests with a wave of his hand. "Potter's simply taken too much credit. As a first-year, would he have progressed to the Mirror of Erised if you hadn't told him which potion to drink?"

She remembered how stymied Harry had been by the logic puzzle guarding the Philosopher's Stone. "That was a brilliant riddle," she said. "Even if it didn't stop Voldemort."

"It was never intended to," he said with a shrug.

"Oh." She sipped her tea and considered.

"It should have stopped Potter, though ... would have, had he been relying on his own insignificant brainpower."

"Oops."

"Yes," he agreed, shaking his head at her. Then he stared across the kitchen. "But at least I tried. Despite Albus's penchant for playing with the boy's life, I preferred to employ certain safeguards."

Bitterness lent a cold edge to his tone. She'd always assumed his work for Voldemort had been dreadful, but now she wondered if Dumbledore had been any better. What atrocities had he been asked to commit in the line of duty? Years had passed, but in many ways, he remained buried beneath a mountain of secrets and lies. Leading a double life with two such manipulative masters had to have been a horrid existence. It was little wonder he had seemed so resentful.

"I'm sorry we always gave you such a hard time," she said, setting her cup aside.

His lips pursed as if he didn't quite trust the sentiment. Then he sighed and said, "If I recall, it was not entirely one-sided."

She smiled, touched by the admission and the obvious discomfort it had caused. Abandoning her chair for his lap, she straddled him, watching surprise colour his face. In perfect mimicry of his actions the previous evening, she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him tenderly.

A tiny voice floated along the far reaches of her soul. It danced in the back of her mind like a familiar piece of music, simple and comforting. Then it whispered one word against her consciousness:

Love.

Her heart thudded against her chest, and she forgot to breathe. The logical part of her mind dismissed the word instantly. It was impossible! She'd taken such careful steps to guard against this. It was absurd! He'd shown her a unique ability to inflict emotional pain. It was ridiculous! Ludicrous! Insane! What kind of a fool would fall in love with such a man?

Foolish girl.

Drawing back, she stared into ebony eyes and felt goose-bumps prickle her arms. A thousand warning bells sounded an alarm in her head, a deafening siren alerting her to the danger of such folly.

"What's wrong?" he asked, frowning.

She couldn't tell him. Of course she couldn't...there was nothing to tell, after all. Whatever crazy notion had put the thought into her head was mistaken, the product of too little sleep or too much stress.

She searched her mind for something...anything...to tell him.

"As long as we're making confessions ..."

"Yes?"

"I should probably admit to setting your robes on fire in my first year."

He stammered, "You ... you what?"

"I set fire to your robes. At Harry's first Quidditch match. I thought you were cursing his broom." She offered an apologetic smile, his flummoxed expression worth the revelation.

"That was Quirrel!" he exclaimed, his voice rising. "I was performing the counter-curse!"

"Mmm." She nodded her agreement and kissed him again. "Harry explained as much, later."

His eyes widened. "Do you realise what would have happened if you'd been caught setting fire to a teacher's robes?"

"Expulsion, I'd imagine," she answered matter-of-factly.

He shook his head, looking suitably horrified. "I've misjudged you...I had thought you the responsible one of your little trio."

"I was!"

He snorted his disbelief. "Arson in your first-year? Followed by theft from my private storeroom the next?"

"Oh, dear, there does seem to be a bit of a pattern. I suppose I've always had it in for you." She smiled and slipped her fingers behind the waistband of his trousers.

He was not so easily distracted. "We haven't even touched upon your teenage years. I dread to discover what crimes you committed for an encore."

"Sadly, that discussion will have to wait. You're late for class, Professor."

He glanced at the clock and cursed. Collecting the stack of books and papers, he kissed her and stood, dumping her rather unceremoniously upon the table.

She waved her farewell, watching his robes billow as he fled the room. The Daily Prophet lay discarded on the table, and she pulled it closer, her mind on her tea. The movement revealed a small book that had been obscured by the newspaper, and she recognised the title at once. Knowing Snape would require the book for his first class, she left the kitchen, hoping to catch him in the office.

Her thumb fanned the pages as she walked through the living room. Complex charts for harvesting potion ingredients zipped by at great speed, creating a kaleidoscope of rows and columns. A distinct pause occurred halfway through, and her attention was drawn to a scrap of paper tucked between two pages. She gave it the barest of glances, but one word jumped out, causing her step to falter: Arglist.

Stopping in the middle of the room, she removed the tiny placeholder and scanned its contents. It appeared to be an article from an obscure trade magazine. She searched for a date but found nothing. No more than a small blurb, the cutting announced a team of promising young magical scientists who had joined Arglist Industries in the wake of Mikolaj Brukowski's tragic death. Her stomach twisted into a knot. It had been weeks since Lucius had attempted to threaten her...now she understood the cause of her reprieve.

She returned the paper to the book. Disjointed thoughts tumbled through her mind as she tried to make sense of this latest development. Lucius could have only one purpose in hiring the team of wizard-scientists. She bit her lip, calculating the odds of her research and experiments being duplicated. How long before they were able to reproduce her results? It was impossible to predict...there were too many unknown variables. And she could hardly concentrate when her brain kept circling back to one thing: Snape.

How long had he known about the new team at Arglist? Why hadn't he told her? As if summoned by mere thought, the door to the living quarters Vanished. He hurried into the room, stopping short when he saw her.

Without thinking, she pasted a smile on her face and ordered her feet forward.

"You forgot one," she said, thrusting the book into his hands.

He stared into her eyes, frowning as the seconds ticked by in silence.

Her smile did not falter. Knowing the best defence was a strong offence, she frowned back at him and asked, "Is anything wrong? Did you forget something else?"

Shaking his head, he peered at the book. "Just this." He kissed her cheek and left.

Her shoulders relaxed, and she wondered what instinct had prevented her asking about the article. Was it wise to be so cautious, or was she a fool for not trusting him?

Foolish girl.

She recalled her earlier thoughts, unsurprised when her stomach performed a perfect somersault. Again, she attempted to dismiss the stubborn word from her mind. She was not in love with Snape. Didn't her response to discovering the article prove as much? If she loved him, she would have trusted him.

Her argument rang false. She did trust him ... in certain areas. Sex games in the private storeroom required a significant amount of trust. She shuffled to the shower, trying to pinpoint the reason for her hesitation. Not trusting him with her heart was one thing...her prudence there was likely a sound choice. But her research at Arglist was another matter, one in which he'd never given her cause for doubt. Other than Kingsley, he was the only person she'd confided the truth to. She struggled to understand why she had feigned ignorance about the article. It all came back to one question.

Why had he hidden it from her?

She frowned and returned to chewing on her lip. Remembering how upset she'd been by the invitation to dine at Malfoy Manor, she knew she'd found her answer. The realisation Snape didn't fully trust her stung a bit...even if it was mutual. But she couldn't blame him for wanting to avoid a repeat of their recent argument. She could almost hear him telling her to calm down, to school her reactions to Lucius and his plotting.

Deciding to spend her free morning soaking in a tub of bubbles, she adjusted numerous taps until the scent of almonds and orange blossoms filled the room. She could ask Snape about the article tonight, confront him head-on for hiding it. Sighing, she snapped off the taps and abandoned that plan. An indignant confrontation would hardly prove her ability to control her responses. Especially when his likely defence...his unwillingness to see her upset...would only weaken her case. Perhaps the wisest course of action was to refrain from acting at all.

Submerging herself in liquid luxury, she closed her eyes and let the scalding water ease the tension from her limbs. Hours passed, but she remained in place, willing her mind to relinquish her fears and doubts.

Thanks so much to Karelia and little_beloved for beta work, and to lettybird for Brit-picking.