Three: Christmastide 2005

Anti-Litigation Charm: Nothing you recognize belongs to me. All characters are property of JK Rowling. If they did belong to me, Severus Snape would be alive and well and sipping cocoa in his nightshirt right now, reading his favourite book and enjoying the Christmas holidays.

Christmastide 2005

During her first year at Hogwarts, Hermione felt under more pressure than she'd been since the war. She honestly saw why Professor Snape had been so impatient and frustrated with every student. She was amazed how thick they were.

How smug she'd been, standing and waving to the student body as Headmaster Snape presented her as Hogwarts' latest teaching addition. How naive she'd been that she would be able to mold and inspire these fresh young minds. Now she was just grateful at the end of the day when her first years didn't accidentally turn each other into wooden spoons.

Their apathy, their lack of any attention span longer than two minutes, their insolence, all appalled her. She was afraid to admit her shortcomings to the other professors, afraid they would laugh at her. Perversely, the only one she did admit her shortcomings to was her employer, because she knew that, out of all of them, he wouldn't pet on her. She had her suspicions that he'd felt the exact same way as a young teacher.

"I think you can see why I was rather...pithy in my teaching methods," he commiserated dryly, one afternoon over tea. Hermione had just given a week's worth of detentions to three second-year Gryffindors who had Transfigured a young Slytherin into an actual snake, only to find themselves unable to turn him back. She had been so angry she couldn't reverse the spell either. Purple with embarrassment, Hermione fetched Professor McGonagall to class to Transfigure poor Mr. Gorvin Potts from a slow worm back to a Slytherin.

"To be honest, Headmaster, I don't know how you showed the restraint you did," Hermione huffed. She sat back with a sigh. "I was so sure I'd be a good teacher, and now I'm not sure I'm cut out for this at all!"

"I really don't think you've given yourself enough time to discover what type of teacher you are, Professor Granger," replied the Headmaster, fighting back a laugh. It was almost like looking in a mirror at this point. Hadn't he stormed into Dumbledore's office during his first teaching year, declaring the same thing?

"I realize that, sir," she said, quietly. "But you and Professor McGonagall have placed so much faith in me and my abilities. I'd hate for you to feel that faith was misplaced."

Severus almost felt sorry for the girl, but he of all people knew that mollycoddling at this point would do more harm than good. "Give it a year, Professor Granger. The first few months of teaching are the hardest, believe me. It still astounds me that, for a man who hated teaching so much, I am now Headmaster of this school. Things...come with time. I have some experience in this. You know, I was the youngest teacher in Hogwarts history," he finished, and Hermione heard something so quietly hidden in those words, she suspected them hidden from the Headmaster himself. It was pride.

Hermione shook her head in amazement. "I know – twenty-one years old! I don't know how you did it."

Severus smirked, and took a sip of tea. "Sometimes I don't know myself. You have to remember, I was still a student when many of my older students were first years at Hogwarts. It was very difficult to maintain discipline. Especially," he swallowed, and for a moment he almost said 'from the Gryffindors', but then decided to tell the truth. "From my own house. Familiarity breeds contempt."

Hermione gave him a sideways glance, and he was shocked to see the admiration and sympathy in her eyes. "You didn't get too many good breaks, did you?" she said, rather sadly. "I think you were very brave, especially when you were so afraid."

"What makes you think I was afraid, Professor?" he challenged, and for the first time in their conversations, Hermione thought she might have made a misstep. She decided to play the only fair hand.

"Because I've always been afraid, Headmaster. Afraid of not being good enough. I was Muggle-born, and so many students around me were treating me as inferior. I had to show how smart I was, I had to know all the answers, I had to impress my professors. And eventually, I did. All, that is, except you." She gave him a little shrug, to let him know she didn't hold any grudges.

The Headmaster looked genuinely surprised. "I'm afraid you were one of the many victims of Tom Riddle's war and the part I had to play, Professor Granger. In spite of my actions, I was impressed. Surely you of all people know I couldn't be seen to acknowledge it at the time."

Hermione's reaction was so shocking Severus had to cough in his hand. Hermione jumped upright on her chair, her eyes huge and shining. "You were? Really? I impressed you? Oh, wow! Thank you, sir! I really needed to hear that!"

She bestowed upon him the most radiant smile ever leveled at his person. "Oh, that does make me feel ever so much better about myself!" She stood, amber eyes dancing, and for a moment Severus thought she was going to high-five herself. "Thank you for the chat, Headmaster!" She flashed him a grin that was positively delicious. "I think I've got my second wind now!"

With that, she practically bounced down the stone steps. Severus watched her go, his eyes wide and bemused. "Glad to be of service, Professor Granger," he said aloud, softly, and permitted himself a chuckle.

A moment later, Minerva came up the steps, a look of profound amusement on her face. "Well, Headmaster, that was one for the record books."

"I'm not sure I know what you mean, Professor," Severus replied, smirking at his Deputy.

Minerva laughed. "Hermione Granger just floated down the hall, muttering, 'He was impressed...he was impressed...the girl was grinning like a looney." She fixed him with a pointed look. "What was so impressive, pray tell?"

Severus gave his Deputy Headmistress his most innocent look.

The Headmaster had been right, and gradually the lessons began to permeate the skulls of her charges. Hermione fell into a routine of sorts. She taught her lessons, and had dinner in the Great Hall with the other Professors. She was well liked, and her former professors soon accepted her as one of their own. Eventually, she learned to join in their conversations without feeling like an interloper. She chaperoned Hogsmeade weekends, served on special events committees, and spent her spare time in her office grading parchments and overseeing detentions.

Harry and Ron wrote her sporadically, but mostly it was all about what they were doing, who they were doing and why they were doing it. Her activities seemed to hold little interest for them. She supposed she understood this, and she knew they meant well, but it was a bitter blow to read about their activities and know that they really could care less what was happening with her at Hogwarts.

Her most enjoyable times were with the Professors in general, and the Headmaster in particular. As one of several first year teachers, Hermione was expected to meet with him periodically, to assess her progress and that of her students, to nip problems in the bud, and to generally make sure she was not warping any young minds on the way. What would begin as a 'how do you feel classes are progressing, Professor Granger' conversation would often lead to animated and engrossing discussions on common interests, like Potions and Arithmancy.

On nights when she was on patrol duty, she often made her way to the West Wing Tower at the end of her rounds. She would stand and gaze out over the beautiful, stark landscape surrounding Hogwarts. It was on those calm, dark nights she would feel peace stealing over her heart. It was during those quiet, introspective moments that she would feel that sense of belonging, of being on the inside. She was no longer the little Muggle-born girl desperate to prove her worth and her intellect. She was Hermione Granger, War Hero, brightest witch of her age, Transfiguration Mistress at Hogwarts.

In her more honest moments, she allowed herself to think more and more about the Headmaster. For so long, she pushed thoughts of him out of her mind. What had begun as a schoolgirl crush in her fourth year, had blossomed into a full-on infatuation during her sixth year, when he taught DADA class.

She had been devastated at the end of that awful year, and the events that had taken place turned her against him like a spurned lover. She had been so sure of his loyalty to Dumbledore, and when his supposed betrayal had been exposed, she questioned it to the point of obsession. If I have been so wrong about this, she thought, what else have I misunderstood?

During her long nights after patrol duty, shivering up in the West Wing Tower, she was able to work all these things out in her mind. Once the truth had come to light, it was all much easier to understand, and she wasn't an eighteen-year-old anymore, trying to get over a schoolgirl fascination. She knew more about Dumbledore now, and liked him less. She knew more about Severus Snape now, and liked him even more. Crikey, she knew herself more, and wanted more...something.

She wasn't in love with him, that was certain. Oh, she'd grown terribly fond of him, absolutely. And the dreams she had, the ones that woke her up panting and yearning in the night, were just that: dreams. And it was true the thought of him made her smile, but she was not in love with him. And even if she was, she couldn't, wouldn't act upon it. The Headmaster would be mortified.

After an hour or so of quiet contemplation, she would wrap her cloak around her, descend the steps, and make her way back to her chambers.

Almost inevitably on those nights the Headmaster would cross her path on his own rounds. He would query her about her day, make a note to read a recommended article she'd seen in the latest Potions Monthly Journal, or make a suggestion for a reference book from the Library. Once he'd satisfied himself that she was done and headed for bed, he would bid her goodnight, and they would part. It never occurred to her to wonder why a Headmaster still made rounds, and only on her duty nights.

Her first year anniversary as a Hogwarts Professor coincided with the Yule Ball, and, having nothing better to do, she had volunteered for chaperone duty, of course. Walking into the Great Hall, she gasped at Professor Flitwick's decorations. He had transformed the entire hall into an ice cave, all white iridescence and frost. It was beautiful, even more so than the Yule Ball she had attended her fourth year with Viktor Krum.

Ah, Viktor. Hermione permitted herself a private smile. He'd been a great kisser and hung like a horse and she'd very nearly lost her virginity to him, but circumstances and too many trips to the spiked punchbowl had laid waste to that plan. She still thought of him fondly, every time she saw a Quidditch advertisement. She may not have technically lost her virginity, but she'd mastered a handy bit of broom handle polishing technique that year.

"Sickle for your thoughts." In the din of the music and excited voices, the Headmaster's head was closer to her ear than she realized and when Hermione turned to face him they almost bumped noses.

"Oh! Sorry, sir!" she gulped, a blush warming her face. "I'm afraid they're not worth that much. Two or three knut's worth, at that."

Headmaster Snape looked down his long nose at her. "Oh, I don't know. That was a very interesting progression of expressions crossing your face, Professor Granger. I find myself...intrigued as to the memories behind them."

She smiled. "Oh, I was thinking of the last Yule Ball here - during the Triwizard Tournament."

"Ah, yes, you were escorted by Mr. Krum. I remember that very well."

Surprised, Hermione blurted, "You remember I came with Viktor? That's amazing," she said, almost to herself. "I didn't think you noticed that sort of thing."

He tilted his head. "Of course I remember." His eyes locked with hers. "You were the belle of the ball, as they say." Her skeptical expression belied her pleasure that he had noticed her that night so long ago. "May I be permitted to say, that you look just as lovely tonight as you did then."

She smiled at his flowery speech, obviously not taken in by his flattery. He admitted to himself that, while he may have laid it on a bit thick, it was no exaggeration that Hermione was still a lovely young woman. Her deep burgundy dress robe hugged her lovely figure, and he permitted himself the pleasure of admiring this lovely witch with her scrumptious curves. Her breasts looked invitingly round and soft, and even hidden in her robes her heart-shaped bottom looked as if each pert little globe would fit sweetly cupped into his hands...

He shook himself out of his lecherous reverie when the energetic music ended and the familiar strains of a ballad filled the air. Looking down at her, Severus said, "Would you honour me with a dance, Professor?"

Wordlessly, Hermione took the offered hand and allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor. They moved together easily, and Hermione felt alarm bells ringing. He is just begging a duty dance. This doesn't mean he wants you to-

A sure, strong arm slid around her waist, and pulled her closer to him, and in spite of her resolve, Hermione melted against him. It was hard to stand this close to him, and not want to run her hands over him.

His formal dress robes were trimmed in velvet and midnight black fur. They looked so tactile...Hermione inhaled his scent and it was like Amortensia...

This was no boy to flirt and tease with. This was a man, a wizard, a powerful wizard, a powerfully attractive wizard, and she knew she'd only been fooling herself to think she could turn off her feelings for him.

He was so regal, so intensely male that she felt desire blazing up her spine, and a thought zoomed across her subconscious: I want you. She'd felt desire before, but never like this, knee-weakening, bone jarring, knicker-wetting lust she felt for Severus Snape.

For several moments they gazed in each other's eyes in wordless, unsmiling bliss. Hermione shivered under his fiercely intense gaze, and her body responded to him. Suddenly, she realized he was using Legilimency on her. She dropped her eyes, humiliated.

For several moments, Hermione warred with herself as to how to respond. "I wish...I wish you'd asked first," she finally managed, but could not bring herself to move away from him. He, pulled her closer to him, so that they were pressed together from breast to knee.

"I apologise, Professor," he murmured into her hair. His voice was sweetly seductive. "Your thoughts are so open I don't really need to use Legilimency." He pulled briefly away from her and gave her a soft, somewhat uncertain smile. "But I'm a coward, you see." His eyes were intense. "This isn't some game, is it...Hermione?"

Hearing him say her name in such an intimate, sensual way was almost more than she could bear. She blinked slowly, and looked back into his eyes.

"You know it isn't."

They were aware the music had ended, and a more upbeat song replaced the slow ballad. Reluctantly, they pulled apart, and Hermione felt stunned, unsure of exactly what had happened. She looked up into his face, her expression bewildered.

"Sir? What-?"

"Perhaps this is a conversation for another time, Professor?" He looked down at her, a faint line between his brows. "Perhaps later this evening, once the children are abed?"

She stared at him, trying to take in his words, his intentions. "Yes. Yes, of course. Where-?"

"Where you always spend your hours in contemplation, Professor Granger. The West Wing Tower. Shall we say, two o'clock?"

Before she could answer him, he was moving away from her, begging another duty dance with Minerva. She did not see the satisfied smirk on his face as she turned away. She also did not see his surreptitious glance at the hall clock. Two o'clock was four hours away. It would prove to be the longest four hours of her life.