Hidden Fire

Disclaimer: JKR owns it all. I'm just here to besmirch it.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Early Thursday morning...

The fact that he'd got almost none the night before meant Severus was longing for sleep by the time he finished his rounds at midnight.

In his own bed at last, he spread his naked limbs out like a starfish. His bed was supremely, almost indulgently comfortable, with expensive sheets worn to a downy softness by years of washing.

Sleep came quickly, but tonight there was no folderol about silver does and forest clearings. Tonight's dream was linear and very explicit.

He was seated at his desk, working, when Hermione knocked at the door. Enter, he called.

Mine now. Eyes locked on hers, he lifted her slowly off his cock then drove in again, fast and deep. And again. She moaned his name, and he thought he would explode then and there. He wanted her on his desk, and she was on his desk, spread and panting. His hands on her hip and thigh, steadying her against his thrusts, his thumb on her clit, his cock buried in her again and again. Tight, wet, mine, so sweet, gods, oh, oh, oh, OH FUCK!

He shouted himself awake as he began to come, white fire ricocheting around his skull, his lightening-struck bones melting into one another.

It was a long minute or two before his rational brain roared into action.

Right.

Once might be anomalous. Twice could plausibly be a coincidence. Three times, and you're establishing a pattern.

This was twice...his second sexual dream in twenty-four hours featuring Hermione Granger. And, really, coincidence wasn't in it. He'd made a choice, jumping into the dream as though it were cool, clean water on a stifling day.

Instead, it was a pool of quicksand. A monumental lapse in judgement; a dangerous delusion; a truly fucking bad idea.

Was he really going to become one of those weak-minded fools who pant after their students? The thought was intolerable.

But part of him...the purring part that was feeling very fine indeed...bloody well wanted to establish a pattern, meeting her in his dreams a third and a fourth and a ninety-eighth time.

Who can it hurt? this part coaxed. You? If you give no outward sign, if you never act on it, what's the harm in it?

Besides... in days, or weeks at the most, you won't see her again in friendship until everything's ended well and your role is known. Which means, realistically speaking, never.

The bitterness of this last reflection decided him. No, he wouldn't act on his urges, nor would he pretend he ever could or would act on them.

But if he were about to lose her smiles in reality, he'd keep them in his dreams. He'd fucking bask in them. And she'd love him in a way she never would in real life...this girl who'd overwhelmed his defences without even trying to.

* * *

Later Thursday morning...

Severus steadied himself mentally before entering the Great Hall. Breakfast would be the first time he'd see Hermione since he'd become conscious of how much he desired her.

But she wasn't there. The test would have to wait until this morning's Defence Against the Dark Arts class.

At ten-thirty, he looked up from his desk as the sixth-years entered the classroom.

She came in on a tide of Gryffindor boys...Weasley and Potter, as usual, but also Thomas, Finnegan, and Longbottom. Finnegan had just said something that made her laugh, and Severus caught his breath.

She was lovely when she laughed. Finnegan seemed to think so too. He had that look on his face: the transparent dazzlement Severus had seen...and sneered at...a hundred times.

How many callow idiots were after her? Whose attentions did she favour? He had no idea, and it was none of his concern so he bloody well didn't care.

Okay. Merlin. He did care, and this brought with it an unforeseen humiliation: he was reduced to regarding his male students...infantine oafs, every one...as potential rivals.

He rose from his chair and scowled at the assembled students. 'Silence. Your assigned reading has taken you through page 567 of Facing the Faceless. Now turn to page 568 and read through to 572. We'll begin the discussion in ten minutes.'

He began to pace up and down the aisles...a very effective method both for keeping order in the classroom and for calming unruly emotions.

As he walked up the aisle where she sat, he saw that she was wearing hair sticks and that the skin at her nape was bare.

What if he were to stop beside her chair and reach out to remove the sticks? What if she turned towards the aisle in surprise, her hair cascading down, heavy and warm? What if he then knelt beside her and buried one hand in that hair, cradling the back of her head in his palm, and kissed her smiling mouth?

He breathed in as he passed her, closing his eyes as he did so.

Enough. All hell is going to break loose if you can't control yourself around her. So do it.

'Mr Finnegan,' he growled. 'Your feet do not belong on that chair. Try to sit like a human being.'

Nothing like a little casual spite to ground one. He smirked.

When ten minutes had elapsed, Severus rounded on the class, his most minatory glare on his face.

'Now. Who can name and describe the three chief varieties of Numbing Hexes and the appropriate counter-spells for each? Mr Nott.'

Self-control was Severus's speciality. He shoved his turbulent feelings into their compartment and proceeded to teach his class without giving another thought to touching Hermione Granger.

* * *

Thursday afternoon...

Ten minutes after the last lesson of the day had ended, Severus looked up from his desk. The last of the second years had left the room, and in the doorway stood his TA, smiling at him.

His demeanour stayed totally calm even as his heart did a somersault. What a rich pleasure it was to be smiled at by Hermione Granger.

You've been besotted with her for months, haven't you? an internal voice sneered. Taken you long enough to see it, you dim-witted old pervert.

But he didn't feel old, and he didn't feel dim, and he didn't feel like a pervert. He felt... happy. And strong. Not with his usual wary, tensile strength, but with an upwelling of life and hope.

Maybe one day... probably not, but maybe... That thought couldn't go any farther, but he let it stand. Maybe one day.

Meanwhile, he was perfectly capable of fooling the entire world into believing his feelings for Hermione were barely half a degree warmer than total indifference. Even if he could no longer fool himself.

'Good afternoon, Miss Granger.' He pointed to the box on the corner of his desk. 'Have at it.'

'Thank you, sir,' she said, and unrolled one of the parchments. '"Practices for Controlling Cornish and Welsh Pixies,"' she read aloud. 'Oh, what delights lie in store for me. And for you, a great pile of scribbling on the topic of "The Hadean Oracle: Friend or Foe?" The fourth-year consensus lies with "foe," in case you were wondering.'

'Mmmm, clever little creatures. Though I suppose they had a fifty per cent chance of choosing the right answer,' he mused, smiling his nearly undetectable smile.

'It was not the wickedest topic you've ever devised,' she allowed as she exchanged the marked for the unmarked papers in her bag.

Then she paused for several moments, clearly undecided about something.

'Are you,' she ventured, 'are you going downstairs? Sir? If you are, I'll walk you as far as the entrance hall. I wanted to talk to you a bit more about vampire rights...we had to stop too soon last week.'

He regarded her silently. Couldn't speak quite yet.

'Or another time,' she said hurriedly. 'I just...I wondered if you'd read Farthingale, and what you thought of the part where he postulates...'

'As it happens, I am going downstairs and would be happy to continue that particular conversation,' he broke in. 'I'll be with you in... just a moment.'

He moved to a tall bookshelf in the corner and took down several volumes, all the while breathing deep and calming breaths. His skin was prickling, every hair standing up as if in sympathy with... Fuck. What am I, sixteen? Just before he turned back to his waiting TA, he cast a concealing glamour over the front of his trousers.

He handed one of the books to Hermione. 'Read this. She quite effectively exposes the flaw in Farthingale's main thesis, and everything falls apart from there. Farthingale is voguish, and he's a nimble writer, but there's really nothing there in the end.'

So on the first day of his new awareness Severus managed to keep his bargain with himself. He walked (rather carefully) downstairs with Hermione and talked (with all due reserve) about an intellectual topic and generally gave no outward sign that he was on his way to his rooms to refresh himself with a nice, private, earth-shattering wank.

* * *

Phantom Hermione returned to his rooms the next night and the next, taking him in his bed, in his bath, on the sofa in the sitting room, on top of his desk, under his desk, on his potions workbenches, up against the thick-paned underwater window, and in the cramped, odorous darkness of his supply cupboard. She knelt before him on the carpet in front of the fire, and he returned the favour. She could do astonishing things with her tongue and lips, and the way she cried out his name when she came drove him over the edge.

He didn't always wake between dreams. When he did, he cleaned himself quickly and sought sleep again, not allowing his consciousness to solidify enough to judge what he was doing.

He only wanted to get back to Phantom Hermione and whisper her name into her ear like the sweetest endearment, and hear her whisper his to him. Then to feel her slide her hand inside his trousers while she murmured something altogether more bracing into the skin of his neck.

Such as, 'Strip and find a place to kneel.' Or, 'It's time to make me scream.'

* * *

Saturday...

Quidditch wasn't really Hermione's cup of tea. She wondered sometimes whether she would even go to the games if her best friends weren't such fanatics...and now both on the team.

She had actually skipped the occasional game when Gryffindor wasn't playing...always arousing the incredulity of Harry and Ron, who would miss a game only if they were in hospital.

Or in detention, like Harry was today, of all days.

His face as he'd left the breakfast table in the Great Hall had been utterly woebegone, but Hermione could muster almost no sympathy for him. He had let down his team, his House, and himself when he recklessly used that horrible spell.

She could not understand how anyone could use a spell whose origins and effects were a mystery.

She took her place in the stands with Neville and Seamus and looked around the pitch.

It was the loveliest of days. Early May in Scotland could be ravishing, and this afternoon was mild and fragrant. Hermione remembered a similar day last year, when she had discovered she was developing a bit of a crush on her professor...

Seamus, beside her, broke in on her thoughts. 'Chocolate Frog, Mione?' He grinned goofily. 'D'ye think we can win it without Harry? Bad day for him to be in detention. Snape's a right bastard.'

Hermione took the Frog but frowned. 'Seamus, Harry almost committed murder. He was lucky Professor Snape came along when he did, or he wouldn't be in detention, he'd be sitting in front of the Wizengamot.'

Seamus shrugged, his smile fading. 'Yeah, I s'pose. Though I'd think he'd get a medal for wiping out Malfoy. Would do the whole world a favour, that would.'

Hermione glanced over at the Slytherin stands, where Draco Malfoy sat with his friends, fully healed. He looked thin and drawn, but, she realised, no worse than he had before Harry'd sliced him up.

Harry's got to be right. Something is amiss with Malfoy, she thought. But what?

She swept her gaze around the stands at her fellow students and experienced a feeling of unreality. How many secrets are we all keeping? she wondered. What will become of us? Surely it won't be long now before we are at war, and maybe Harry really will have to kill Draco.

Each day of relative peace was a gift. Best to enjoy it all while I can.

A moment later Madam Hooch released the Quaffle and the crowd roared. Soon even Hermione was wrapped up in the drama of the game.

Gryffindor and Ravenclaw were both playing brilliantly. All three Gryffindor Chasers worked seamlessly together whenever they had the Quaffle. But Ravenclaw's Gemma Stubbs, Fabienne Brandt, and Julian Deeble were even better, seeming to read one another's minds as they wove around the pitch.

Ravenclaw had adopted a particularly brutal offensive strategy, and Ron often had to choose between fending off a well-coordinated double Bludger attack or getting badly pummelled whilst he tried to stop the Quaffle. As soon as his teammates realised what was going on, Gryffindor's Beaters both began covering Ron very closely whenever Ravenclaw had the Quaffle.

'They're like dancers,' Hermione breathed, then flinched as both Ravenclaw Beaters smacked the Bludgers towards Ron again. 'Really violent, homicidal dancers,' she muttered.

She looked around for the Seekers. Ginny was nearby, Cho halfway down the pitch. Both were hovering like great hummingbirds as they relentlessly scanned the air for the Snitch.

The sun shone on Ginny's bright hair where it fanned out over her shoulders and...suddenly...its rays flashed on something else just twenty feet below her. The Snitch...Hermione could see it! Ginny saw it, too, and dived straight at it. It was all over in an instant...Cho, too far away, never had a chance.

The stands erupted in cheers and howls, and the whole team converged, screaming, on Ginny. Hermione threw her arms around Neville and Seamus and the three of them began to shout 'Weasley is our Queen' over and over until the chant was taken up by everyone in Gryffindor House.

The crowd of students who'd waited for the team to emerge from the changing rooms started the chant again as they walked in riotous triumph back to the castle, arm in arm with their champions.

Hermione didn't think she'd ever felt such pure joy in the wake of a Quidditch match...she was so proud of Ginny, so happy for her.

And when Harry came through the portrait hole door and Ginny ran into his arms and claimed him at last... words couldn't describe how fine that was. The looks on their faces as they pulled apart took Hermione's breath away...Ginny jubilant, Harry awed.

She watched Harry and Ginny go out together through the portrait hole, holding hands as if life depended on it. Just like that, they were the couple they were meant to be.

But it wasn't 'just like that.' Ginny had been in love with Harry for years. She'd been patient and tenacious...even though she'd also chosen to date other boys and explore her options, Hermione knew he had never stopped being Ginny's lodestar.

Hermione retreated into a corner of the common room and sat unseeing as she worked out a thought that had just occurred to her.

Surely she could take a page from Ginny's book and find a way to hold onto hope without counting on anything. Would it be so terrible if she stopped thinking of her feelings for Severus as a silly crush she'd inevitably outgrow and started thinking of them as a part of her life that might never go away? And that could fortify her in the dark days ahead? And that might actually bear fruit one day in the unimaginable future?

She had never let herself think for more than a moonstruck minute that there was a real future for her and Severus. All the impediments she'd catalogued last year were still in place (except for the part where they didn't like one another...that seemed to have been sorted quite beautifully). More importantly, though, war felt daily more imminent. The whole teacher-student thing aside, both of them would be right in the thick of a fight they might not win.

But here were Harry and Ginny, choosing love and one another even though they might not survive into their twenties.

Maybe one day, she thought. I won't count on it but... maybe. And meanwhile, I'll treat myself to as much of him as I can manage.

'Butterbeer, Mione?' Seamus was smiling toothily at her, his gold- and red-painted face a streaky mess.

She rose quickly and said, 'Oh no, Seamus, not before dinner...I know it's weak stuff, but without food it always goes straight to my head. Should be a good party tonight though, and I plan to be here for it. Shall we have a drink together then?'

'It's a date,' said Seamus happily.

'Ta,' she murmured, smiling distractedly, and headed for the stairs.

There was something in her room she needed to look at before dinner.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

A/N: Er... so Severus was getting a little impatient with this whole 'slow build' thing, and required some smut from his POV before he would participate in this chapter. In fact, he's interrogating my whole plan for this story, and really getting kind of stroppy. Apparently he's had enough of both angst and quasi-monastic living for several (long, wizarding) lifetimes and would really prefer to get to the good stuff and stay there...as if he hasn't already starred in more PWP than Jenna Jameson and been married off more times than a Ken doll. (Which is all good and right, of course.)

'Strip and find a place to kneel' is a lyric from 'Birth-Day,' a song on the Suzanne Vega album Nine Objects of Desire. Apologies to SV...the line was just too good not to use! This album is of course where the song 'Caramel' may be found. (See A/N to chapter 4 for lyrics and link.)

Thanks to greenstuff, hechicera, and lifeasanamazon...three very busy women who still find the time to help me out...for their suggestions, corrections, and unflagging support. Group hug!! And thanks to all of you who are sticking with the story. I love hearing from you.