My Heart Is My Own

It was just before four in the morning when Hermione returned to her own quarters. She lit a few candles in her bedchamber and climbed gratefully into her four-poster, wrapping the covers about herself tightly and adjusting the pillow beneath her. She stared at the shadows thrown by the flickering candlelight and tried to ignore the aching pain in her gut. Her tears had stopped before she had reached her door, and luckily she hadn't encountered anyone wandering the draughty halls. The only person she might have expected to meet at that hour would have been Snape, and she knew exactly where he was.

Her mind was a blur of confused thoughts, but it was the kiss that she couldn't stop thinking about. Her lips still tingled at the memory of his mouth against hers, and she closed her eyes and ran her tongue across them to see if she could still taste him. She had never been kissed like that before in her life, but what surprised her more was the total rightness of it. Surely, she should feel shock and disgust? She hadn't even stopped to ask herself why it had happened, because it seemed so inevitable.

Hermione had never believed in fate. It belonged in a dusty box along with Divination and all of Professor Trelawney's gibberish, as far as she was concerned. She didn't believe in soul mates, either. How stupid to think that there was only one person intended for another? Hermione's own parents, while well matched in many ways, were most definitely not soul mates. In fact, Hermione had often analysed their relationship and thought about the lack of common ground they shared, rather than what held them together. So why she had felt so complete when being kissed by her Potions master was beyond her understanding.

With a sigh, Hermione accepted she wouldn't sleep, so she sat up and reached for the Headmaster's book. It fell open at a page that seemed to be marked, and she took out the sheet of parchment and started to read.

'... arranged marriage. The compatibility process is designed to ensure a suitable match that will have a satisfactory outcome for both parties and result in the required offspring before the female spouse is turned. Should more than one child be desired, this will be taken into account before the binding ceremony and included in the commitment contract. The compatibility questionnaire should allow for this as a pre-cursor to more detailed discussion between the matches...'

Something niggled at Hermione about this passage, but she turned the page, eager to understand more of Snape's culture. Perhaps his personality was also a Strigoi trait?

'Some would say that the tradition of arranged marriage is outdated. However, for those with Strigoi blood, it is a necessity not purely borne out of making a good match, but for the sake of the long-term survival of the line. For Strigoi males, marriage could truly be a matter of life or death...'

Hermione nodded. That was certainly the case for Snape.

'.. therefore, it is imperative that a marriage takes place. The strength of the bond between the male Strigoi and the female match is such that, once mated, it remains for eternity. For a male to bond with an un-matched female without the contract of marriage, and the commitment to bear offspring that goes with this, would surely mean death.'

'Bloody hell,' Hermione muttered. No wonder Snape balked at the idea of surrogacy! It would have been a second death sentence to him. But why hadn't he told her? Hermione closed the book and let her fingers run over the embossed cover. There was so much she didn't understand, so many gaps in her knowledge, and all of her inane babbling about wanting to help Snape seemed like so much childish chatter now. He must think her ridiculously naive.

She reached for the folded parchment and was about to replace it in the book when she noticed that it had writing on it. Curious, she opened it and realised that it was a letter addressed to Dumbledore. He must have used it to mark his place in the book, Hermione mused, and she thought twice about reading what must be private correspondence. She quickly put her worries to one side. Dumbledore was not to know she had read the book, therefore he wouldn't know that she had read the letter, either. Lifting the parchment, she read through it, her eyes narrowing as she digested the contents. Flicking through the relevant chapters in the book, she found no references to The Calling referred to in the letter. She was sure the letter was about Snape, because there were no other Strigoi at the school as far as she knew.

Apparently, Snape had already fixed his attentions to a suitable mate, so why all the drama about finding a wife to bear his child? He rarely went out, which meant it was someone at the school. Thinking it would most likely be one of the other professors. Hermione mentally ran through a list of the current teaching staff and whittled the choices down to Professor Sinistra and Professor Bradley, Muggle Studies teacher and the newest and youngest member of staff. The thought of Professor Snape with either of them seemed odd and made her feel more than uncomfortable for some reason.

Hermione read through the letter once more and frowned suddenly. If Professor Snape was under the influence of The Calling and had already attached himself to a female within the school, why had he kissed her? Or was it she that had kissed him? She closed her eyes and ran through the kiss yet again, feeling a warm glow at the memory of his lips and firm arms encircling her.

A very frightening and shocking thought hit her, and she scrambled from the bed to put quill to paper. If her assumption was right, she needed more information, and she needed it yesterday.

***

Snape was well used to surviving on little or no sleep, which was a good thing given the circumstances. With his eyes open or closed, all he could see was Hermione's face as he moved in to touch her lips with his.

He felt a slight hint of smugness that kissing Hermione Granger had not contravened the guidelines of his wand oath, and the devil in him wondered how far he would have to go with her for it to be considered coercion. The other side of him felt damned to hell for acting on his base instincts, but surely he could be forgiven? The witch was so open, so innocent in her wish to help, expecting no reward save for his continued presence in her life. He had been overwhelmed by her and wished that he could be as selfless.

He showered, ignoring his penis as it bobbed eagerly beneath the spray. Responding to his need for physical release only made him want Hermione more. His hand was not what he needed. Once clean and slightly more alert, he chose freshly laundered clothes and made sure each button was shining and equally aligned with its neighbour. He took extra care with his hair and didn't stop to wonder why he was making so much effort to look his best.

In the lab, he took time to inspect the working area. She had been here alone when he was in the hospital wing, and as he ran his supple fingers over the spotless workbench, he imagined her at work, thin rivulets of sweat on her brow, stray tendrils of hair clinging to her slim, creamy throat.

He paused on hearing her approach and stood up straight as she entered.

'Granger,' he said, aiming for the middle ground between desperate love-hungry Strigoi and intelligent, composed Potions master. He noticed her jump before regaining her composure, schooling her face into that of the student.

'Good morning, Professor Snape.'

Severus watched her as she walked immediately to the cauldron shelf and lifted his smallest silver cauldron, placing it on the workbench in front of her. She was studiously avoiding his gaze, and he thought they were to work in silence, until she spoke.

'May I ask a favour, sir?' She looked up at him with a hint of wariness, and Severus wondered if he should mention their earlier kiss to break the awkwardness. The witch was here, however. Surely that meant she wasn't put off by him?

'You may,' he replied.

'Could I perhaps borrow Dante? I need to send some personal mail, but I would rather keep it private. If I go to the Owlery, Mr. Filch will be watching, and he can be a terrible old gossip.' Her lips quirked into a wry smile, and he chuckled softly. He wondered how many other students had noticed the extra-curricular activities of the caretaker.

'I had thought you a bit afraid of Dante, but you may use him. If he will let you, of course,' he said, raising his eyebrow at her.

Hermione reached her hand into her pocket and withdrew a fat and very dead mouse. 'Crookshanks provided some bribery. He wasn't happy at parting with it, but I assured him it was important.'

'Almost Slytherin of you,' he murmured. He felt his stomach clench at the tinkle of her laughter ringing around the lab and smiled despite himself.

He watched as Hermione opened the door of his chambers and called the bird to her and felt proud of her confidence as she held her arm out for the jackdaw to land on. He was an incredibly large and ugly bird, and not for the first time, Snape felt a kinship to him as Dante allowed the witch to scratch the top of his head. It would seem they were both smitten. She fastened a tightly scrolled parchment to Dante's leg and gave him the mouse, which he took far more carefully than he would have done if Snape had been offering it.

'Traitor,' Snape muttered.

'He's quite sweet really,' she said as he flew off.

'Never judge a book by its cover, Granger,' he said quietly as he started to gather ingredients for his own brewing.

'That's very good advice, sir,' she said amiably, and he could have sworn she was trying to hide a grin as she returned to the workbench.

'I shall require silence while I work, if you think you can manage that,' he muttered, annoyed with himself for letting her ruffle his composure by simply existing.

'I don't think that will be a problem, sir,' she replied, and Severus was sure he caught a lilt of amusement in her voice. He glared at her, and she dropped her sparkling gaze to concentrate on her potion.

***

Hermione felt strangely buoyant as she finished cleaning the lab. She had expected to feel exhausted, but her mind had been active as she brewed, and she hadn't had the time to consider the needs of her body. She realised that she hadn't eaten, and neither had Professor Snape. One benefit of having him kiss her was that she no longer felt intimidated by him. In fact, the impish part of her wanted to engage him in banter, as she would have done with Harry or Ron, and she had to remind herself he was still her teacher first and a man second.

'I think that we should eat, sir,' she said quietly. His potion was bubbling madly and creating a pall of steam that almost obscured her view of him. He looked up at her and nodded.

'Indeed, Granger. Go through and ask the house-elves to send something up. I shall be there momentarily.'

Hermione smiled at him and went through to his living room. She used the Floo and asked the elves to send up what ever Professor Snape particularly liked and was surprised when a small roast beef dinner and a half-portion of sticky toffee pudding appeared on the low coffee table, alongside her own salmon and vegetables and fresh fruit salad. She placed a stasis charm over the food and went to browse the bookshelf while she waited for Snape. She didn't know how long she had been looking at his books, but a cough interrupted her thoughts, and she turned away quickly, shrugging as if she had been well and truly caught out.

'I was just looking,' she said by way of explanation.

'As I knew you would,' he smirked at her.

They both sat at the same time and ate in silence, both of them silently acknowledging that they were hungrier than they had thought. Hermione's eyes flicked up as Snape withdrew a dark vial from his pocket and drank from it quickly before placing it back in his pocket. She shivered involuntarily and wondered just what blood tasted like in such quantities.

'Disgusted, Granger?' he asked her sharply.

'No, sir.' She answered quickly, not wanting to spoil the camaraderie that seemed to have developed between them. 'Just curious. You did say I could ask you some questions, didn't you?'

'If you will allow me to finish my dessert before the inquisition?' He looked at her and his eyes held a mixture of resignation and amusement.

'Of course. As long as there is no limit to the number of questions,' she responded.

They locked eyes, and Hermione smiled at him brilliantly. Snape groaned and nodded, then lifted his spoon and began to eat. Slowly.