Two: From The Waiting To Hear

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading Harry Potter bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

It's a long, long way from the waiting to hear.

"Miss Granger, a word, please?"

Hermione stole a quick glance at Harry and Ron, as the rest of the Potions class slunk out of the dungeon classroom. Even the Slytherins looked as if their scales had been singed. There was none of the casual chatter that followed the chiming bell to end class for the weekend; everyone was too shell shocked into sullen silence.

Professor Snape had been particularly vitriolic today, his patience short, his temper shorter. Poor Neville had been ostracized for the afternoon, after a spectacularly unsuccessful attempt at a simple Pimple Reducing Potion. Professor Snape had been so angry; Hermione thought he would burst a blood vessel.

Sending the boy out of the room, he'd then blamed Hermione for not paying attention to Neville's rapidly deteriorating potion until it was too late, and hideous, vile yellow sludge was climbing out of the cauldron and dripping onto the worktable. Hermione's notes, along with her peace of mind, had completely disintegrated, and knowing Professor Snape, were quite ruined for the day.

As Harry and Ron filed out of class with the others, Hermione received sympathetic looks from her two friends, who made a point to glower at their Potions professor. Their resentful stares might have been invisible for all the acknowledgement they received, but it made Hermione feel a little better nonetheless. After all, Professor Snape had been so flipping nasty to her!

"Yes, sir?" she began, remembering to keep her eyes slightly downcast. It was ostensibly to show respect, but after Harry's disastrous attempt at Occlumency, Hermione was taking no chances by risking a glance into those dark, flashing eyes.

For a moment, the professor studied her carefully, then, with a deft wave of his hand, Summoned a chair. His voice was diffident, almost casual. "Please sit down, Miss Granger." Hermione sat carefully, feeling even more trepidation. First he bit her head off, now he was almost...courteous?

It had been a week since classes had resumed after winter holidays, and Hermione had not seen her professor since that horrible night she'd found him befouled and broken in the Grimmauld Place library. She was even more dismayed, after eavesdropping on a conversation between Professor McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey, to discover that Professor Snape had spent the first two weeks of the Christmas holidays in the infirmary under Madam Pomfrey's care. Hermione's ministrations, it seemed, had only been adequate to get him mobile enough to make it back to Hogwarts.

The events of that night had lingered in her memory since, even manifesting itself in her nighttime dreaming. At first, they were common-or-garden nightmares, in which Professor Snape was lying there bleeding, while Hermione was frozen to the spot and too afraid to move, or help. Inadequacy dreams, pure and simple.

In the last few days, since she'd returned to Hogwarts, the dreams had taken on a different... complexion. She would be massaging his temples and he would suddenly grasp her hand and hold it to his cheek. She would bend down to take the teacup from his hand, only to find him grasping her face and pulling her toward him.

The latest dream was the most unsettling. Two nights ago, it had started like the others, with her finding Professor Snape on the floor. Then the dream changed. Instead of finding him huddled in pain and degradation, he'd suddenly reached for her and pulled her down, pinning her underneath him, looking around quickly, as if to make sure they were alone.

His body was warm and the weight of him on her abdomen gave her a feeling that she could only describe as... pleasant pressure. He was hard and unyielding, and her limited experience with the opposite sex told her that what she felt pressing against her pubic bone was his erection. She looked into his eyes and they were large and dark, liquid and hypnotic. Framed by long, black lashes and lids that slowly closed and opened, they filled her vision to nothing more than their dark, beckoning gaze. She lost all will to move, content to lie beneath his comforting, crushing weight, lost in his eyes forever.

He'd caressed her cheek with the back of his hand, and in a voice woven of silk and velvet, he purred, Lie down with me, Hermione. Here, no one can see us... no one can find us... no one can hurt us... His hair hung down like a curtain that encompassed them both, and she could feel his breath, warm and sweet, against her face.

His voice was soft and tender, and the smile on his face was so unlike his usual scowl, that, when he leaned down, and hesitated, she rose from the floor and pressed her lips to his, as if to seal his words with a kiss. It wasn't like kissing Ron, or even Viktor... The professor's lips moved over hers so softly, and he smelled of patchouli and freshly mown grass...

She'd awoken with a start, gasping, sweaty, and definitely stirred, her heart pounding. It was bizarre in the extreme. She was almost unable to look up at the Head Table during breakfast that morning. She could barely make it through her Potions lesson that afternoon. As the evening wore on, she felt increasingly foolish about her reaction. She was a young woman, after all, with desires and biological needs. She told herself it was just a manifestation of the need to protect, and to be protected. Sealing with a kiss, for Merlin's sake! It was, after all, only just a dream.

Professor Snape, for the most part, had treated her no differently than he had before that night at Grimmauld Place. If anything, he was a little more impatient with her, and Hermione supposed she understood it. She, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor swot and Harry Potter's best mate, had seen him at his most vulnerable and helpless. It had to cut deeply for a private wizard like Professor Snape to be seen any other way than in complete, iron-clad control.

As she sat in front of him, Hermione thought of all of this, and wondered if he was about to make her take some sort of wand oath not to reveal what happened that night. As she considered even suggesting it herself, he stood quietly and began to pace. "Miss Granger, I am a private man-"

"I know sir, and I meant every word I said! I won't tell a soul! In fact, I'll even take a wand -"

"I'm also a very impatient man who doesn't like being interrupted!" He had whirled to face her, his movements sharp as lightning, and he winced to see her visibly shrink from him. He sighed, and suddenly scrubbed his face with his hands. It was a very un-Snape-like thing to do, Hermione thought. It made him more human. It was oddly appealing. It also made her think of him pulling her down on the floor with him in her dream. She shifted in her seat a little, and blushed, to his confusion.

"Miss Granger, if we could manage to sit still and listen for more than five seconds without waving our hands in the air or interrupting, it would be most appreciated."

"Sorry, sir." She slumped tiredly. She was never going to understand or please this man. She certainly was never going to end up lying on the floor with him. She blushed again, causing her professor even more confusion.

With a slight huff, he straightened again. "As I was saying, I'm a very private man, and I wanted to – to thank you for – assisting me. I was at a distinct disadvantage, and quite... vulnerable at the time." He looked over her shoulder, unwilling to meet her eyes. "I appreciate your efforts to help me maintain a modicum of dignity."

Hermione watched him carefully, and her heart told her to hear the apology, the humiliation. Gods, what this man must go through, she thought, and her soft, tender heart went out to him.

When he hesitated, she ventured, almost timidly, "And, are you well now, sir? No lasting injuries?"

His voice was surprisingly mild. "I am quite well, Miss Granger, thanks, in great part, to your quick thinking and assistance. I am not a man who seeks out help unless absolutely necessary, but I am... grateful that you were available. I am also aware of your discretion."

He sat down in his chair and glanced at her troubled face. Again, his eyes slid away from hers, unwilling to meet her gaze. "I am not used to being ... treated with sincere compassion, Miss Granger. I found it... most comforting."

Hermione felt tears prick her eyes, and looked away. The more she tried to stem the rising tears, the more they pooled in her eyes until one single tear spilled down her cheek, and she dashed it away, embarrassed. Her lips trembled, and she felt foolish, childish. Taking a deep breath, her voice shook. "You – you shouldn't have to – to endure that, Professor."

She sniffed as another tear fell and rolled her eyes, waiting for the derisive comment. When none came, she said, "I can hardly stand the thought that you have to face that monster and – and allow – allow him – " She openly wiped the tears from her eyes and brushed the back of her hand against her running nose.

A hand cupped the back of her head, almost gently, and when she opened her eyes, he was standing beside her, holding a white handkerchief to her face. She looked up uncertainly, and he placed the handkerchief over her nose.

With an unreadable expression, he softly commanded, "Blow."

Obediently, she complied, and for some reason, it made her laugh in spite of her embarrassment, to be sitting here, having Professor Snape, of all people, blowing her nose like a first year. Apparently, it was the reaction he wanted, for he released both her head and the handkerchief at once, and resumed his seat.

Hermione blew her nose again and wiped her eyes, feeling absurdly better. There had been something singularly reassuring about the feel of his hand on the back of her head, and it made her realize that he was, after all, a man. Before everything, before professor, before wizard even, he was just a man. A man who was willing to sacrifice too much of himself.

She felt a little calmer. "I'll clean this and return it to you, sir," she said, indicating the snowy white fabric. He made a careless gesture, waving his long, elegant fingers dismissively.

"No matter. Now, Miss Granger, there is another reason I wished to speak to you." This time, his eyes did not break from hers, and she felt caught in his gaze. His eyes were large and dark. Where no one can find us... She glanced away, feeling both invaded and somehow guilty. For a terrible moment she was afraid he had Legilimised into her mind and seen her dream of him. She gulped.

"Yes, sir?"

Again, he hesitated, and frowned. She could see his Adam's apple move as he swallowed. She could see the faint line of the beginnings of a five o'clock shadow, a smudge of ink on the tip of a long, tapered finger. It was if she were absorbing every speck of minutiae in him, and it made him uneasy.

Finally, he took a deep breath. "I wish to ask you about your relationship with Sirius Black."

Hermione swallowed, and felt her nervousness increase two-fold. "S-Sirius?" She dropped her eyes. "I – I don't know- I didn't-"

"Miss Granger, please don't misunderstand me," Professor Snape intoned, his voice soft but intense. "From the first time I saw him... interacting with you at Grimmauld Place last summer, to the night when you and I... I was under the impression that his... advances were, shall we say, less than welcome. If I am mistaken, I would like to be enlightened."

Hermione looked up, puzzled. "Begging your pardon, sir, but why?"

His scowl deepened. "I will caution you again not to misunderstand me, Miss Granger. I merely point out that I saw-"

"No, sir. Forgive me for interrupting," she added, quickly, flushing. "I meant-" She hesitated, her posture crumpling with embarrassment.

"Well? Merlin's sake, girl, spit it out!"

His impatient tone stiffened her spine, as he knew it would, and she was able to draw herself up slightly. "I only meant that, well sir, you made it quite clear that night you don't have a very high opinion of my character, and I wondered why someone like yourself would even care about the real truth of the matter." She slumped again, the effort of speaking her mind almost too much to bear. "No one else does," she muttered, almost to herself.

The professor was silent for a few moments. He was beginning to look uncomfortable. Perhaps he was now wishing he'd not brought up the subject. Hermione was forced to agree. He pressed his lips together as if pained to continue. "To be perfectly honest, Miss Granger, as you no doubt know by now from Mr. Potter's hopeless attempt at Occlumency, the history between myself and Sirius Black is rather strained."

Hermione's bewilderment ramped up another notch. She shook her head slowly. "Umm, I'm not sure I understand, sir. Harry never discussed your lessons. He only said they weren't working and that you'd ended them."

It was almost worth this entire, awkward conversation to witness the bafflement on Professor Snape's face. He was utterly nonplussed at her comment, although he quickly hid it behind his usual look of disdain, and she could tell by the slight frown between his eyes that he wasn't sure he completely believed her. Uncertain how to proceed, Hermione sat still, the only outward sign of her insecurity was the twisting handkerchief between her busy fingers.

In the silence Hermione became sure the professor was going to challenge her, but something made him change his mind. "Well, that puts a different spin on things, then," he said, softly, almost silkily. "Miss Granger, are Sirius Black's advances welcome?" Each word was spoken carefully, pushed at her like smoke rings; each word carefully placed like chess pieces on a board. "I would appreciate total honesty. I am aware this may be difficult, but I assure you my motives are honourable."

It was her turn to look surprised. With pure, unadulterated, Gryffindor integrity shining from every pore, Hermione replied, "I can think of no reason they would be anything less than honourable, sir. However you feel about me personally, you've never behaved... inappropriately toward me or any student - in that way." She gave him a look full of trusting, blind conviction. "It simply isn't in you, is it?"

Oh, gods, that hurt. Hurt right down to his magical core. It hurt worse than any Crucio he'd ever received, more than any insult, any rape, any curse. It hurt as much as Lily, as much as... Severus found himself hoping he'd be summoned tonight, to be punished. He deserved it, after what the girl had just said. After what he'd done.

Rather sourly, he shook his head. "No, Miss Granger. That is not something I would ever entertain. I'm not known for my kindness, but I should hope I'm not seen as that type of predator." He managed a half-hearted smirk. "I am glad you understand this, at least."

"Yes, sir." Hermione dropped her eyes, and after a heartbeat, she glanced up, and saw his bland expression, patiently waiting for the answer to his question. She closed her eyes, feeling the flush of shame rise from her neck to her face. "At first, I was flattered."

She gave him a sad little smile. "I'm not blind about my looks, Professor. I know what people say." She stole a quick glance at him. "You've said it yourself. Bushy-haired, know-it-all, pushy, bossy, buck-toothed, skinny, insufferable-" She cut herself off as Snape's hand, which had been propped under his chin, hit the table with a thump. She could see the disapproval in his eyes. Professor Snape hated her tendency to over detail things.

"Sorry. It's just that, he and Remus were so nice, at first." She favoured him with that little apologetic smile again. "Sirius told me I was growing into a lovely young witch. Who doesn't want to be told they're attractive, especially bushy-haired swots like me?" she ventured, and when he did not reply, she gave a little shrug. "I thought he was being kind."

Hermione's expression darkened. "Then he started - " she swallowed, "touching me. When I passed him in the hall, or sitting beside me at the table."

She cringed, as she looked up and saw her professor listening and watching intently. "I thought at first it was accidental. Then he started," she looked away, mortified that she was confessing these things to Professor Snape, of all people. "He started.. he touched me...

"I can't tell Harry. He loves Sirius so much, and I don't really know how he would react. I don't want to be the cause of a disagreement or bad feelings between them, or worse, I don't want Harry thinking I'm somehow leading Sirius on." She made an impatient gesture. "I can't tell Ron, because he'd tell Harry, and, well, we're right back to square one. Sirius is Harry's only family now, besides the Dursleys and they hardly count."

Severus made an unconscious gesture of agreement. Petunia, gods. That sour-faced, dried up crone, old at the age of ten, with her superior airs and graces, treating him like the Spinner's End trash he was...

"So you see, nobody wants to hurt Harry, especially me. I can't not go to Grimmauld with everyone. I've tried that and it got so awkward I just gave up and took my chances. Until that night when you saw..."

She looked at him, her uncertainty and childishness gone. With a surprisingly strong voice, she said, "I'm not a prude, Professor, and I'm not ignorant about what goes where between a witch and a wizard. I may not have much experience, but I do know when someone is trying to seduce me. If I had wanted Sirius Black, we wouldn't be having this conversation." Her eyes met his. They were a woman's eyes. "And if I had welcomed his advances, I would have had ample opportunity to act on it, and neither you nor anyone else certainly would have heard about it from me."

Professor Snape was silent for several more heartbeats. Hermione could not be sure, but for a moment she thought she saw a satisfaction, a triumph, in his dark eyes. He took a deep breath, let it go, and pursed his lips.

Finally he rose from his chair. "Miss Granger, I think you and I better go to the Headmaster."

-o0o-

Hermione looked from Professor Snape to the Headmaster, then back to Professor Snape. For a moment, she wasn't sure if she should laugh or hex her Potions professor. Both options were sounding very good right now. Both men stood still, waiting for her to respond; the Headmaster with a serene, almost amused expression, Professor Snape with barely concealed impatience and resentment.

Finally, the silence stretched, until Hermione felt it would snap if she remained quiet. "Let me make sure I understand this clearly," she said, slowly, taking a few deep breaths. "You told Vol-

Professor Snape hissed, and Hermione recoiled. "-The Dark Lord, that I was in love with you. That I was, what word did you use? Infatuated with you." She stole a look to her Potions professor, but he stared stonily at the ground. "I'm sorry, sir, but I don't really understand. Why would you do that?"

Hermione was reeling from the confession Professor Snape had just made. Apparently, the Headmaster already knew about it. Hermione had never been so flummoxed in her short life. Professor Snape had told Voldemort that he could use her obsession with him to corrupt her and use her against Harry.

"I guess I do understand the ruse, of making him believe that isolating Harry would weaken him," she said, slowly. She looked at her professor with doubt-filled eyes. "What I don't understand is why you told him I was in love with you?" She looked from one man to the other. "I'm not usually thick about things, but this is really beyond me, sir. Why on earth would you want me, of all people, to be in love with you? Pretend to be, I mean."

"Try to look at it this way, Miss Granger," Professor Dumbledore interjected, and Hermione saw Professor Snape's eyes flicker toward the older man. There was resentment clearly in her professor's eyes, and something less definable. It was not, she was certain, aimed at her. It was that indefinable depth in Severus Snape's eyes that would come back and haunt Hermione two years later.

"Professor Snape is very concerned with things that are happening since Tom Riddle has returned. He's also expressed your reluctance to speak with anyone about the perceived treatment you received from Sirius."

Hermione's head rose slowly and she looked at the Headmaster. She then looked at Professor Snape. The word 'perceive' suddenly enraged her. Her eyes narrowed. "Now, look, Headmaster! I don't see where -"

"Ahem." The trio turned to see Dolores Umbridge mincing in the door. "Headmaster, am I early for our meeting?" She looked at her wrist watch. It meowed. "Four o'clock, wasn't it?"

Both Hermione and Severus glowered at the little pink toad, while the Headmaster, ever the gentleman, stepped forward. "Not at all, Dolores! You're perfectly on time, as always. Professor Snape and Miss Granger were just leaving." He looked at the two of them patiently. "We can continue our chat at a later time, I think, Professor Snape. Good day, Miss Granger."

Professor Snape made a small formal bow and ushered Hermione from the Headmaster's office. By the time they reached the hall outside the stone steps, Hermione was seething.

"Perceive? Perceive? He's acting like we're making it up! He's talking like I'm trying to-"

Professor Snape was striding down the hall as Hermione walked with him, struggling to keep up. He too, was furious. "Acting as if this was all a joke?" he growled to himself, and Hermione looked up at him in alarm. "What does he think I'm doing out there? I'm not doing this because I want to-"

" - Letting that pink nightmare run the school with her stupid bloody decrees! She's hurting people and he does nothing!" Hermione kept up with Professor Snape's long strides, almost running beside him.

" – It's not like I like being his sodding sacrificial lamb... Greater good, fucking Potter..."

"Wait!" Hermione grabbed Snape's arm with such force it spun him around. He looked down where her hand gripped his arm, then at her, hostility radiating from him.

"Unhand me, Miss Granger! I'm not to be pawed at!"

Hermione huffed in disbelief. "What is the matter with you? Are you insane?"

Shock stilled his tongue for a moment, then he shook her hand from his arm and continued striding down the hall. Hermione had no choice but to follow him. "Oh, no, you don't. You have to talk to me about this."

"I am under no obligation to do anything according to your whims, Miss Granger, and I will remind you that you are in danger of losing a rather large amount of house points. Not to mention garnering a month of detentions." He kept his eyes ahead as he raced down the stairs towards the dungeons, knowing full well she was right behind and would not be deterred.

Hermione was livid. "Don't be childish! Be that as it may, Professor, you obligated yourself to me the moment you told Voldemort-"

"Do NOT say his name!" he hissed, turning around and grasping her arms painfully. "Childish? Really? I know very well what I've done."

Hermione implored, "Then explain it to me! Please, Professor! Explain what you've done." Her voice softened, "Explain it so I can help you. So I can help prevent another night like the one in Grimmauld."

The punishing grip on her arms loosened, and he looked into her large amber eyes. She was as open and soft as a newborn, full of concern and confusion. He had caused all this. He closed his eyes in defeat.

He sighed, and Hermione suddenly wished she was anywhere but here in this place with this wizard. "Very well. Come with me, Miss Granger. I fear our conversation will not be suitable for this open a forum."

-o0o-

By the time they reached Severus' study, he had calmed down somewhat and was able to think a little more clearly. Blast Dumbledore! He felt like hexing the old fool.

Severus never should have gone to him and confessed what had happened that night. He thought the man would help him find a way out of the hole he'd dug for himself. Instead, Dumbledore had been angry, and his insinuations and suggestions made Severus realise that Dumbledore misinterpreted his motivation the same way Black had done – Albus believed Severus secretly wanted her for himself as a spoil of war, and would play both ends to get her.

"Don't be ridiculous, Albus! Why in Merlin's name would I want that child-"

"She is not a child, Severus. She is going to be eighteen in a matter of months, as you well know. And your reasons can be easily explained, as one who knows your history."

"She's a student, and as far as I'm concerned, that makes her a child!" he spat, furious that Dumbledore would intimate that Severus' motives had been anything other than self-preservation. "I was being tortured, Albus! I had just come from Grimmauld Place, where I was witness to that mangy cur molesting the girl in the library!" His tone had changed, without his realizing it. "She was vulnerable and scared and I pictured her in my mind. The Dark Lord saw her, and I had to think of something. Forgive me for being human!" He despised himself for the lie, but it was a small lie to cover a bigger one.

"I know, I know, dear boy," Albus soothed, and placed a fatherly hand on Severus' shoulder. "I cannot imagine what you were going though. It is regrettable, but I know you did what you thought was the best thing-"

"It was the only thing, Albus!"

Dumbledore sighed. He walked over to the window and looked out onto the Quidditch pitch, where the Hufflepuff team was going through their paces. "Your first and only allegiance is to Lily's son, Severus. You know that. I want... assurances that your motives are, shall we say, pure of heart? That Miss Granger knows this is only a ruse." Albus turned and gave his Potions master a hard stare. "I want to be sure that you know it is only a ruse."

He turned back to the window. "Have a word with her, Severus. Find out if she would be willing to go along with the deception. Anything that will divert Tom's attention from Harry can only be to our advantage while he grows and achieves the level of skill needed to accomplish his destiny."

Severus leapt to his feet. "And her destiny, Albus? Or mine? You don't actually expect me to go through this farce, do you? The girl is repulsed by me!"

Albus turned to his Potions professor. "Then, dear boy, you must find hidden depths with which to change that, won't you? Allow her to get to know you. She may surprise you. She has hidden depths of her own. Even a wizard as shallow as Sirius has known that for quite some time now." He turned his back to the room and gazed out the window, a sure sign of dismissal.

As Severus reached the door, Dumbledore called after him. "I will think on it, Severus. In the meantime, perhaps you should ascertain whether or not Sirius' actions are as unwelcome as you believe. And," he added, "that your actions are motivated by nothing more than the need to protect a student."

-o0o-

Severus now sat, facing this student, who looked at him with an agonizing mix of bewilderment, trust and anger. He met her glare and held it until she dropped her gaze.

That's right, Severus. Be offended. Let your self-righteous indignation cover up the real truth, because your guilt and your self-loathing will mangle and chop up your blackened, dark heart if you don't. You've seen the girl. Albus was right. You've admired the fire and the spirit and the intellect you see behind those cat's eyes. She's wasted with Potter and Weasley. You've dreamt of her. You want to protect her, hide her away. You want her for your own. And you know she'll never come to you willingly. You dirty, sick, twisted pervert, he thought, his self-loathing rising like bile, leaving a horrible taste of guilt in his mouth. It isn't in you, is it, Professor? Isn't it, little one?

She chanced another look at him, and licked her dry lips. "Dumbledore...doesn't believe me, does he?"

"No." He said it without inflection or emotion, as if it was of no import. "He didn't believe me, either."

"About why you told Vol-The Dark Lord I was in love with you." Her voice was almost as bland as his. He looked at her carefully.

He was a spy. He was a petty, bitter, lonely spy who had nothing to live for except to see that Potter fulfilled a bloody prophesy issued before the boy was even born. His only love had turned on him and died because of his foolish decisions. His one true friend had died a horrific death because he had persuaded him down the wrong path. Severus realised he himself was facing a very short, very bitter path ahead, alone. It was the loneliness that would kill him in the end. It would make him reckless, and eventually he would seek out death to crush the loneliness.

Why not seduce this innocent, trusting young woman? Why not enslave her with the prison of his own design, weaving such a spell of dark seduction and promise that she would never wish to leave, as long as his silken lash caressed and pleasured her? Why not corrupt her, mold her into what he needed? He had done it before to terrifying success. He had made mistakes that time. He had learned from them and would not make them again.

And in the meantime, she would grow of age, to warm his bed and stimulate his mind, and whether or not Potter or the Dark Lord won would be no matter. He could shut away the guilt and the remorse and the betrayal of everything and everyone, even her, and they could go. He could just disappear, steal her away, where no one could find them...

"How old are you, Miss Granger?"

Hermione looked puzzled, and answered warily, "Seventeen, sir."

Seventeen. He had taken his Dark Mark around that age. He thought of the power he'd craved, the revenge he'd sought, the woman he cherished. All would be his under the command of the Dark Lord. Hadn't Lord Voldemort promised him these things? Hadn't the words been spoken from his own lips? Ashes. All that was left of his burning, covetous ambition was ashes. Ashes were the dreams of Severus Snape, and every day he relived them, only to see them burn into nothing.

The dark seduction was indeed pleasurable, but voracious. It could never be satisfied, for it could never be allowed to grow in the light. He had tried to feed it in his early days as a Death Eater, after Lily abandoned him to the darkness. It had exhausted him, jaded him to the point of seriously considering celibacy. He had driven his desires like a wild horse, but in the end, it was not pleasure he had ever really craved, ever really, truly wanted. That had died on the day he hissed a foul name into the air, destroying a friendship that had meant more than physical pleasure...

Hermione. Oh, he could seduce her, even keep her. But would she ever truly be happy? And why, gods damn it, did he care for the happiness of a seventeen-year-old girl – and why did it seem so integral to his own?

Severus sat, regarding her so intently he could feel her growing discomfort. He hadn't been so different, really, at that age. If he were honest with himself, they were very much alike, painful thought it was to admit. Thin, awkward, ostracized, proud and arrogant in their knowledge, eager to show off their skills. Self-conscious, hypersensitive to criticism, but cunning and resourceful when necessary.

He continued to contemplate her, his admiration reluctantly rising another notch. Clever little witch. Age had given her the poise she so sorely lacked as a youngster, showing off her knowledge, always having to be the first, the best, the correct answer. Oh yes, Miss Granger. I've not forgotten the stolen Boomslang Skin, the enchanted galleons used to gather your little vigilante playgroup. Those boys couldn't find their bollocks with both hands. You've been the instigator all along, haven't you, little one? Potter doesn't have the brains. And without you, he doesn't really have a chance.

He sneered at himself. And where has your superior intellect and cunning landed you, Severus? It had turned him into a bitter, lonely hermit, and he'd had encouragement from his professors, if not from peers.

Well, he had been admired once. The loss of that friendship hurt almost as much as losing Lily, and was twice as hard to reminisce over. He pushed the thought away, knowing that, if he contemplated it for long, it would come back and torment him until he could never make it go away. It raised the darkness in him, and for a moment, he allowed it to touch him, to slide over his soul like a wanton caress.

What, then, would Hermione be in ten years' time, bowed under by his overbearing hostility? Severus Snape knew all too well his shortcomings. He also knew how to use his assets to great advantage. He could corrupt her. He was sure of it. She was untouched, he knew it. She could fall so easily for the right combination of innocence and knowledge. Knowledge was her lust. Praise was her aphrodisiac. She was as ripe as Eve had been in the garden, and like Eve, she would fall to his silken, Slytherin tongue.

A soft, sensual word of praise, spoken in a tone of voice pitched with intimacy and experience. An intense heat found in the eyes that could hint of both threat and promise. A practiced, knowing touch at a vulnerable moment of his choosing, and his making.

He looked into her eyes, as clear and clean of reproach as a unicorn's. They were starting to show tension under the weight of his contemplation. Pinned by those liquid, dark eyes, Hermione jumped slightly, as if prodded by an unseen hand. Severus realised he'd been staring so long, she thought he was using Legilimency.

Severus mentally crossed his fingers and decided to do the only thing he hadn't tried – he would tell her the truth.

"You ask me why I want to know, Miss Granger. I'll tell you. No Slytherin tricks, no guile. The honest truth.

"I hate the way he looks at you. I hate the way he gropes you. I hate the way he throws his conquest in my face!" Now the emotion was there, crackling around the edges of his formidable self-control, and it filled Hermione with consternation. She watched him carefully, a little warily.

"There has been no conquest."

"There will be."

She huffed. "I think I have a little say in it, Professor. I am not attracted to Sirius Black, nor do I have any plans in future to be."

Severus was shaking his head, and a grim, almost cruel smile slashed across his face. He rose from his chair in his alarmingly sudden way. He walked toward her, bearing down, seduction by intimidation.

"It doesn't matter what you want, little girl. Sirius Black is Harry Potter's godfather." Each word was spoken with tongue-tipped contempt. "And we all know that Mr. Potter's happiness and welfare are the most important considerations to the hopes of winning this war. Harry Potter's godfather has him wrapped around his undersized little tool, Miss Granger. What Harry Potter's godfather wants, he gets, because giving his godfather what he wants makes Harry Potter happy!"

"Harry's not like that!"

"The hell he isn't! Nothing's too good for Sirius Black!" he spat, giving full vent to his resentment. "Ever since I've known him he's been the same. He can't stand the thought of another wizard having something or someone first! How many times did he seduce a girl just because he could, just because another man wanted her?

"He's always been able to get his way! Look what he's done to every young witch to cross his path! Right now, today, all he'd have to do is to tell James he wanted you and you'd be on his doorstep in stockings and suspenders with a big bow tied around your arse before you could say Nimue's Bristols!" Severus wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, removing the flecks of foam. He was panting as if he'd been running. The darkness was riding him, the pale rider on the pale horse, galloping through his mind unchecked, unheeded.

"Harry."

"What?" Severus turned to the young woman, his anger rushing hot and uncontrolled through him. For a moment, Severus thought she had called him Harry. She was shaking her head, and there was a fearful look in her eyes.

"'All he'd have to do is to tell Harry he wanted me'. You just called Harry, 'James', Professor."

Severus stared at the young woman, stunned at what he'd said. And just as it possessed him, the darkness left him, cracked, blasted apart and opened by the little ray of light sitting across from him. Rage and humiliation drained from him, leaving him shaking and almost in tears. For a moment, he was a skinny seventeen-year old-again, telling Lily Evans those same words, trying to convince her that James' and Sirius' motives were far from honourable.

Here he was, twenty years later, trying to convince Hermione of the same thing about Sirius and Remus. It was as if history was doomed to repeat itself over and over in his mind. Oh gods. He ran a shaking hand through his hair, and his breath came in great sobbing gulps, although his eyes were dry and burning.

Hermione stood slowly and walked toward Severus. She approached him very carefully, as if afraid of incurring bodily harm. She put a gentle hand on his shoulder, as if to calm him. "I think you'd better sit down. Please."

Obediently, Professor Snape sat down in his chair. He no longer looked angry or confused, just exhausted. "Miss Granger," he began, then sighed. It was a pitiful sound of a defeated man, a man who knows the war is lost but must keep fighting anyway. "Once again, I am forced to rely upon your discretion." He looked down at his desk, and sighed again. "I-I'm not behaving in a manner that befits either your teacher or a gentlemen."

"I'm not offended, truly. Please don't distress yourself further, sir." Hermione looked up at her professor, and decided to push. "This is some – some vendetta between you and Sirius, isn't it? This isn't really about me, is it?"

"It is for him. He's decided you're- you're - "

His hesitation and uncertainty emboldened her. "You promised me the truth. No Slytherin tricks. No guile. All of this wasn't just to save yourself. You could have done that any number of ways." She threw caution to the winds. "Why did you tell the Dark Lord I'm in love with you? So you can get revenge on Sirius Black for something that happened when you were my age?"

"No!" He shook his head, furious, confused. He looked at her, still gazing at him with no hint of recrimination in her eyes. "Yes. It is partially. I will admit that. Can't you understand? Sirius will seduce a witch just because another wizard is in the picture."

"And you think that's what he's doing with me?" Hermione shook her head. "Are you the – what did you call it? The wizard in the picture?"

Severus looked at her, his black eyes growing dark. She could not break his gaze. He stilled to the point where she could no longer hear even his breathing. He raised his chin, and his lips relaxed and parted slightly. His expression changed into one that Hermione could only think of as 'hungry'.

What do you think, girl? I want you for myself. Sirius may be an imbecile, but he's smart enough to know why I desire you, he thought, just as agonizing pain seared up his forearm. His Dark Mark roared and pulsed as if it had a life of its own. Severus gasped and hissed, his arm convulsing with the pain, his fingers curling and bending unnaturally as the muscles spasmed and contracted beneath the seething, writhing flesh.

"Not now," he all but moaned to himself, and pressed his arm to his side until the painful summoning subsided. He swore under his breath, then rose and found himself face to face with Hermione. In the few seconds the Mark had drilled its pain into his nerve endings, he'd quite forgotten she was there.

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The words are from my songwriter friend, Christopher Branch. This is another example of how inspiration can come in many forms.