Chapter 15

Love and hugs for my betas, Keladry Lupin and LariLee, and for my Brit-picker, MagicAlly, because they tell me my work is not crap. Y'all spoil me.

Sincere thanks to all of you who made those little extra efforts and gave me an exceptionally happy birthday: hunnybunch, Keladry Lupin, LariLee, FJDS, and Miss. Hugs and kisses all around!

These characters and this entire Potterverse are the property of the incomparable JKR.

Thou are not lovelier than lilacs, -- no,

Nor honeysuckle; thou are not more fair

Than small white single poppies, -- I can bear

Thy beauty; though I bend before thee, though

From left to right, not knowing where to go,

I turn my troubled eyes, nor here nor there

Find any refuge from thee, yet I swear

So has it been with mist, -- with moonlight so.

Like him who day by day unto his draught

Of delicate poison adds him one drop more

'Til he may drink unharmed the death of ten

Even so, inured to beauty, who have quaffed

Each hour more deeply than the hour before,

I drink – and live – what has destroyed some men.

Edna St. Vincent Millay

Snape wearily closed the door of his allotted bedroom at Malfoy Manor and looked longingly at his rumpled sheets. How his body longed for sleep; how his mind longed for respite from the turmoil of his thoughts. Watching Granger's flight from the kitchen had been very nearly as educational as the expression on Fleur's face as she watched Granger go. Snape ran a tight ship when it came to his life. Acceptable thoughts were arranged in proper categories, unacceptable thoughts were forced into an internal oubliette and forgotten, and emotions were strictly controlled and absolutely regulated. Days such as the one just past, with all its attendant drama, tended to disrupt self-discipline.

Admitting to himself that sleep was unlikely to come to him before the encroaching dawn of the new day, he seated himself at the small table before the unshuttered window and poured a goblet of Lucius' good brandy. Gazing out into the black night, alone with his thoughts, he allowed himself to remember another late night conversation with Hermione Granger...

---

October, 1997

Hermione sat on the wooden floor of the old building and shivered. She was soaked to the skin after her flight through the woods in the torrential rainfall with Professor Snape. Though it was not yet winter, the rain and wind served to make it quite cold in the unheated room. She stole a longing look at the empty stone fireplace, imagining it illuminated by a roaring fire. She knew it was not to be; Professor Snape had made it quite clear to her that they were not to use any magic, for fear of detection. The disturbance at the safe house supervised by Mulciber would be detected by the Dark Lord, and his minions would be scouring the countryside for signs of their prisoner and her rescuers.

Professor Snape had entered the safe house after Hermione had fled, and he had modified the memories of the three Death Eaters. They would have no recollection of Snape's presence in the house that day, but they would have a firmly held belief that Hermione had been freed by members of the Order of the Phoenix – specifically, Harry and Ron.

"But what about the spells we cast while we were in the safe house?" she had asked him.

Snape had produced the spare wand he had passed her in the interrogation room. "This is what the Magical Law Enforcement and the Auror Offices refer to as a 'throw down' wand. It is unregistered and untraceable."

Hermione goggled at him. "But that's illegal! I can't believe you would do something illegal, even if you are a spy!"

Snape stowed the wand again in his cloak. She did not seem to be capable of preventing herself from blurting out whatever crossed her mind; he knew it was the effect of the Sleeve Potion she had ingested, but it was going to be a chore to put up with her for the rest of the night. Why had he not thought to bring a phial of Dreamless Sleep? It would have spared him the necessity of dealing with her in this state.

After a moment, he said shortly, "Be thankful, girl." Then he had gone to prowl around the building.

Hermione shifted her position on the uneven wooden flooring and tried to ignore the growling of her stomach. It had to be well past her usual dinner time; she had not eaten since breakfast that morning in the Great Hall.

Containing a sigh, she leant back against the wooden wall behind her and closed her eyes.

---

Snape made a circuit around the hovel he had chosen for his hidey-hole. Years of espionage experience had taught him to have alternative plans for every contingency imaginable. He had scouted out hiding places in the vicinity of each of the Dark Lord's instalments. This shelter was one of the most squalid places he had chosen. Admittedly, he had never meant to bring a second person to this location, but he felt he had been rather short-sighted and meant to mend the matter as soon as possible. When dealing with Potter and Company, last-minute rescues could easily become the order of the day, rather than the exception.

It appeared that the derelict old building had once been a hunting box for some person who enjoyed coming into the country for shooting. The lean-to shed contained the detritus of a seldom-used holiday retreat; he was relieved to find two colourful plastic buckets of the type used by Muggle children stored there. The rain could be caught in the buckets and used for drinking. There was a bathroom in the old shack, filled with rusted pipes and stained porcelain. Amazingly, the cistern still held water, though no water came through the taps. The toilet, then, was operational, and could be flushed with water from one of the buckets. Merlin knew that females could never hold their water for very long; a working toilet would be a major problem solved.

Snape paused for a moment beneath the overhang of the eave of the porch. He knew that the next twelve hours would be dangerous, for more than one reason. Not only did he have to keep Granger safe from the Death Eaters who would be searching for her, he had to find a way to keep her safe from herself. The potion which she had ingested early that morning would be functional until the next day at this time. She was under the influence of a mixture of ingredients that caused her to voice her thoughts without censure. It was his goal to get through the night by whatever means necessary, without having an hysterical teenage girl on his hands. Resolve made, he took a deep breath and entered the cabin.

---

Hermione opened her eyes when she heard him come in. She made a movement as if to rise, but he forestalled her with a gesture.

"Are you cold?"

She nodded. "Freezing."

Snape removed his heavy cloak, his robes, and then began unbuttoning his coat. Hermione watched him, mesmerized. She had never before seen him without the layers of black clothing he habitually wore. Whatever was he doing?

Snape finished unbuttoning the coat and shrugged it off. "Take these," he said, holding the coat and robes out to her, "and go into the bathroom. Remove all of your wet clothing and put on the robes and button them all the way up, then put the coat on. You will warm up more quickly if you are not wearing wet things. Unfortunately, I do not have anything to offer you to replace your jeans."

Hermione stood and took the coat, frankly staring at him as he stood in his fine white linen shirt, black trousers, and black boots. "Why aren't you wet like I am?"

He gave her a sour look. "I thought to put a water-repelling charm on my cloak before I set out on this expedition. It is a pity that you did not think to do the same."

Accepting the rebuff stoically, Hermione remained where she was, worrying at her lip. "I don't see why you should have to give up your coat just because I didn't think, sir," she said.

Snape's voice took on a well-practiced edge. He needed to be firm without setting off emotional fireworks. "Miss Granger, I will appreciate it very much if you will resist the everlasting urge to argue with me, and simply do as I ask you." He gestured towards the bathroom. "The next twelve hours will pass much more agreeably if you will make the attempt."

"Yes, Professor," she said and obediently headed for the bathroom.

Relieved to have cleared one hurdle, Snape fastened the woollen cloak once more about his throat and slipped his hand in the pocket, fingering the two chocolate bars hidden there. He tried to keep himself thus supplied at all times. Chocolate had great restorative powers in regards to the Dark Arts; more importantly, a bar of Honeyduke's finest chocolate could tide him over for hours if he were unable to partake of regular meals. Granger would not have any experience at going hungry, unlike Snape. He removed his hand from the pocket as he heard the bathroom door open.

Granger walked into the room, which was swiftly becoming dark within as the night darkened without. Though he could barely make her out, he could see that the sleeves of the robes and the coat both hung past her fingertips, and the bottom of the robes trailed in the dust on the rough, wooden floor. The coat came down to her knees; she looked like a little girl playing dress-up in her papa's clothes. The wild mare's nest of bushy brown hair bloomed about her head like a living organism; from beneath the hem of the robes peeked one pale toe.

"Sir?" she said tentatively.

Snape shook himself from his reverie. "Are you warmer?"

She smiled at him tremulously. "I am certainly dryer, and I hope that warmer will not be far behind," she said.

"Are you hungry?" he inquired.

"Yes!"

He produced a bar of the Honeyduke's chocolate and extended it to her. "See how long you can make it last, Miss Granger; it is the only bar I can spare for you."

Hermione took the bar with a reverence reserved only for books and chocolate. "Thank you, Professor Snape!" She looked up at him searchingly. "Where is yours, sir?"

"I am not hungry. I will eat mine later." He gestured to the spot where she had been sitting before. "You should sit down and wrap your feet in the excess fabric of the robes to keep them warm."

Hermione sat down, never taking her eyes from him. "But what are you going to do?" she asked quietly.

Snape raised an imperious eyebrow. "What did we agree about you constantly questioning me?"

Hermione's eyes dropped to the candy bar, clutched in her hands. In a tiny voice, she said, "I'm sorry, sir. I'll be quiet."

Without encouraging her to speak again, Snape went back out the door, onto the porch. The rain was continuing to fall steadily; combined with the brisk, biting wind, it made for miserably cold conditions. He considered lingering on the porch, but without the robes and the frock coat, he felt the wind much more keenly. In addition, he did not know how a traumatized teenage girl would fare if left on her own in the chilly, damp dark. He crossed to the edge of the porch and bent to pick up the two plastic buckets, now brimming with rainwater. Taking a deep breath, he reached within himself for whatever reserves of patience he possessed, then went into the shabby old building to do his duty by this child entrusted to his care.

---

Hermione resolutely put away the last two squares of the chocolate bar, tucking them carefully into the pocket of the professor's frock coat. The rich, smooth confection had melted in her mouth and administered to her nerves as well as her hunger. How like Professor Snape to prefer the dark, bittersweet chocolate to the milder milk chocolate favoured by everyone else she knew. Somehow, the implied contradiction seemed to suit him. A secret woman's smile played over her lips.

Now, she felt up to talking to Snape, but he was pacing the floor like a caged animal.

The professor had brought in the buckets of water and demonstrated for her how to use them to make the toilet flush, and then he had proceeded to ignore her as he prowled the inside perimeter of the old cabin, going from window to window in the darkness, moving with an almost silent tread.

Screwing up her courage, Hermione said, "Sir?"

Snape stopped moving long enough to turn to face her. She wished that she could see his face, but it was much too dark to distinguish his features. Maybe it was just as well; he was unlikely to be smiling encouragingly at her, after all.

"Who is the Interrogator?" she asked.

Snape exhaled noisily through his large, hooked nose. "His name is Alverard. He has perfected certain techniques which aid him in extracting information from even the most resistant sources. He is very highly regarded by his master."

Hermione spoke in a horrified tone. "You mean ... torture?"

"Yes. Some methods of Muggle torture, combined with advanced Legilimency skills. But perhaps his most fearsome trait is his willingness to use the subject's affection for family or friends against them."

"He ... he hurts their wives?"

"Wives, husbands, children, parents, sweethearts, closest friends – he is quite varied in his choice of weapons, depending upon who the subject is, what kind of information the Dark Lord requires, and what sort of havoc he feels like wreaking that day."

Hermione listened to the catalogue of horrors she had just barely missed, and the emotions lurking on her sleeve caused her to burst into tears.

Damnation! Why could he not remember what a fragile state the girl was in? How in the world would he get her to stop that blasted caterwauling? How in thunder could he listen for the approach of their pursuers with that noise going on? Merlin's petticoats, they would hear her from a distance.

Snape concentrated very hard, trying to remember what he knew of his half-sisters. He had seen his taciturn father soothe his middle sister out of a fit of hysterics one time – what had he done? Think, Severus! he reprimanded himself.

Approaching her as he might a wild deer, with cautious steps and hands held out palm up before him, he reached her side, then crouched before her.

"How can I help?" he inquired, calmly.

"I'm s-sorry," she sobbed helplessly. "I don't mean to be this way. I can't help it!"

"I know," he said.

Hermione lifted her face and looked at him; she could not really see his expression, but he was not shouting or sneering or snarling at her. "Would you sit with me?" she asked.

Without speaking, Snape eased down onto the floor beside her, leaving a space wide enough so they would not touch, but not so wide that she would feel a great gulf between them.

"I went to London today to s-see my p-parents," she choked out, between wrenching sobs. "I'm s-so worried about them, and no one understands that. H-Harry and Ron just think they'll be okay because they're M-Muggles, but I'm not so s-sure."

"Did you see them?" Snape inquired.

"N-No!" she wailed, a fresh wave of sobs wracking through her body. "I d-didn't get there. Those f-foul Death Eaters grabbed me! I hate them!"

Things were not going very well. He was down here, on her level, engaging her in conversation, and all she could do was cry harder. How did one make them stop?

The decision of what to do was snatched from him as Granger lunged in his direction and began to blubber all over his best cloak. "Now they'll never know I tried to warn them!" She grabbed handfuls of his clothing and held tightly to him. "If they die, it will be my f-fault."

Snape looked down at the mass of frizzy hair, which obscured the rest of the girl from his sight. Now he remembered how his father had calmed Shadow's hysterics. He who hesitates is lost, he told himself, before reaching to pat the girl on the back.

"There, there," he muttered, feeling like a fool.

His touch and voice seemed to bring about a minute lessening of the volume of the sobs, almost as if she were quieting in order to be able to hear his words. "You're all right," he tried, continuing to pat her back.

Now there was a definite calming of the tempest.

"I am so s-sorry to be such a p-problem," she whispered into his chest, as her breathing began to even out.

"The Aurors did put up additional wards on your parents' home and offices, you know," he told her, wondering if he could safely quit patting her now.

There was an ominous sensation in the region of his left pectoral, as if she were burrowing her undoubtedly wet face into the fabric of his white linen shirt. An indistinct murmuring came to his ears in the same moment that he could have sworn he felt her lips moving against him. A man can withstand only so much. Reaching for a tool that would remove her lips from his body – sod the shirt – he allowed his tone to border on annoyance.

"Miss Granger! If you must speak, do so clearly."

Now it felt as if it were her cheek pressed to him, rather than her lips; that was some improvement, was it not?

"I'm sorry, Professor – what I said was, do you believe my parents are safe?"

The retort her query deserved hovered on his lips. How the hell was he supposed to know who was safe and who was not? Perhaps she mistook him for Trelawney? Then again, did he want her to become hysterical once more? She had all but stopped snivelling, now.

"I believe that they are as safe as the Order can make them, without taking them into protective custody. I believe that they are safer than relatives of other Muggle-born students."

He was aware of her face tilting upwards; a glance down his nose revealed that the impossible corona of bushy hair was no longer obscuring his view of her face, though he could discern nothing of her expression in the ambient light of the room.

"Really?" she whispered.

Snape bit down on the temptation to swear and perjured himself without a pause.

"Certainly."

"Thank you, sir," Granger said, seeming to loosen her hold on his shirt, while simultaneously cuddling still closer to his side.

A moment of time passed in silence, where the only sounds came from the patter of the incessant rain upon the roof. Granger was no longer crying; her breathing had calmed and her torso, pressed so close to his, had relaxed from the bundle of clenched muscles she had been when she first launched herself at him. He had ceased to pat her between the shoulder blades, and his arm rested noncommittally over her shoulder, neither pulling her closer nor putting her from him.

"I knew you would come."

Snape stared at her as if she could see his forbidding expression. "Don't be foolish," he said shortly.

"I knew Harry and Ron wouldn't be looking for me; they weren't expecting me back before nightfall. And no one else in the Order knew where I was." Her voice held a surreal quality, as if she were relating the happenings of a dream. "But you're a Death Eater. Somehow, I knew you would find out, and you would come for me."

Good God, now what? How to put a damper on this high-flight of hero-worship?

"What utter rubbish," he drawled, his tone dripping with insolence. "The Dark Lord's Death Eaters care nothing for scrubby schoolgirls."

Once again he felt the movement as she tilted her face up to him. "You say that as if you're trying to make fun of me," she said complacently, "but you're not. I can tell."

How easily he could annihilate this ridiculous child and her "sleeve" proclamations! For a moment he allowed himself to dwell on the constraining, discouraging things he could say to her. In less than sixty seconds he could have her cowering on the other side of the room, offended and chastened enough that she would never again think a charitable thought about him, much less dare to utter one!

The throb of an on-coming headache speared through his skull. He did not need to have Granger as a sodden mass of emotion to deal with through the rest of the night. If he gave vent to his defences, she would be just that, in a matter of seconds. It would behove him, rather, to engage her in conversation – on impersonal topics, preferably.

"I have been meaning to ask you," he prevaricated, having never intended to speak of it, "what your thesis was, when deciding to base your Independent Study project on the uses of Jobberknoll feathers ..."

Granger stirred; now her head angled so that she leaned against him, rather than holding onto him. Her posture became even more relaxed, less frantic as she was lured into intellectual discussion.

---

"... but you've never had a word of praise for any work I have ever done in your class."

Snape snorted. "Do you not receive praise enough from every other professor you have?"

"But what does that have to do with you? Or with my Potions work?"

"Have you ever heard me praise anyone's work?"

"Is my work in Potions praiseworthy or not?"

"How dare you plague me about it? How much admiration and adulation does one insufferable know-it-all require?"

"What a mean thing to say!" Tears threatened in the tremulous tone.

Bugger.

"Your work is perfectly adequate, as your marks from me attest, Miss Granger!"

Anger flared. "My marks are much more than adequate, Professor!"

"Are they?" How easy it was to bait her with a touch of contempt.

"They are OUTSTANDING!"

In her extreme annoyance, she had pushed away from him, now fully prepared for battle as her unchecked emotions poured from her. Snape twitched the edge of his cloak out from under her leg and pulled the warmth around himself as he contemplated his next taunt.

In the next moment, a pulse of magic throbbed through the worn boards of the derelict hunting box. In one smooth motion, Snape covered Granger's open mouth with his left hand and pulled her flush against him with his right.

"Quiet!" he breathed into her right ear, as he strained to listen for the hunters who pursued them. His right arm held her to him so tightly that he could feel her heart thumping erratically beneath the palm of his hand, pressed so firmly to her ribcage.

Another throb of magic, diffuse and widely cast, thrummed around them. Snape now pressed Hermione to the rough, dusty floorboards and followed after her, flattening himself against the surface and using an insistent hand to shove her backside down until her legs straightened out and her hips came into contact with the floor.

He could hear Granger's panicked breathing, but saw with great satisfaction that her wand was already in her hand; she was prepared to fight her way out, if necessary. Perhaps Potter and his Dumbledore's Army nonsense were of some use, after all.

From some distance away, he heard one voice, then another. They were doing sweeps of wide areas with magic scans, searching for the warmth of living beings large enough to be human. Without resorting to magic, there was nothing Snape could do to disguise the fact that they were human-sized and living. He could only hope the weakened, wide-range probes would fail to detect them.

The minutes ticked past, as they lay face-down on the filthy floor and listened for the harbingers of impending doom, but no further signs came. The voices faded away and no further flashes of magic passed through the walls.

When half an hour had gone by, Granger's voice spoke up. "May I get up now?"

"Yes," Snape answered.

"Could you move your hand off my bum, please?"

Horrified, Snape snatched his hand away from her as if he had been burned and both of them moved into sitting positions.

In a very soft voice, Granger said, "When we were first scared and thought they were coming, I wasn't cold at all – I didn't even feel the cold. But now it's as if I'm colder than e-ever!"

Trembling seemed to set in upon her with a suddenness that gave Snape some alarm. He would be well and truly paid out if the girl went into shock now. Purposefully, he shoved his hand into the nearest pocket of the coat she wore; not finding what he sought, he shifted her to one side and plunged his hand into the other pocket. There! The chocolate!

Pulling the foil packet from the folds of his own coat, now sheltering this small, trembling female, he twitched the candy from its wrapping with the impatient movement of his fingers and thrust it to her quivering lips.

"Take the chocolate," he said in a no-nonsense tone.

With unthinking obedience, Hermione's lips parted and the sweet was on her tongue. The long fingers then closed her mouth with a gentle but insistent pressure, and she immediately began to feel the peace radiating out to her extremities.

"Good girl."

The words were so softly spoken that Hermione thought she had likely imagined them. In the wake of the adrenaline rush of her second brush with Death Eaters in one day, a languorous exhaustion had come over her out of nowhere. She felt as if she could barely keep her eyes open.

Pinpointing his location from the warmth to her right, she moved against him as she had done before.

"You're so warm," she said by way of explanation, unabashedly leaning towards him.

Snape's smirk was quite wasted in the darkness. God knew he was warmer with her next to him; it was pointless to repulse her. He lifted his arm, holding the cloak up and providing unimpeded access to his side.

"Come on, then," he said in a voice of resignation.

Hermione scooted as close as she could get without moving into his lap and contentedly snaked her arms around his narrow waist as her cheek found its way back to his pectoral muscle.

"Lovely warm," she murmured, near incoherence.

Snape did not answer her, but brought the warm woollen cloak back down so that it now covered them both. Granger's cheek nuzzled along until she rested upon his sternum, and her pointed little face peeked out from the folds of the great black shroud engulfing them.

"...like your voice..."

Merlin, what was she saying now? Perhaps he should pretend he did not hear her and she would go to sleep.

"...you know, Professor?"

What, in the name of every deity, was worth this aggravation?

"Know what, Miss Granger?" He kept his voice soft, hoping she would continue to drift off.

"The dark chocolate. When it melts in my mouth, it tastes just like your voice sounds ... especially when my ear is pressed to your chest."

Fortunately, she floated then into sleep and required no reply, for Snape was gobsmacked into silence.

---

And the dark of the night closed around the two refugees, huddled in the rickety shanty in the English wood. One slept serenely in the arms of her protector, supremely confident in his ability to shield her from all harm. The other stared into the inexplicable dark, a fragrant charge cradled to his heart, tantalized by yet another prize the likes of which he would never possess, breathing all that night her scent of strawberries and essence of almonds.

---

When morning came, Hermione opened her eyes, wondering where she was. The deep breathing of the body upon which she rested quickly reminded her that she was bundled up with her disagreeable Potions professor. Tilting her head back, she risked a look at him.

Snape's head was leaning against the rough wall of the room. Though his mouth was slightly open, he did not snore. The arm which held her to him clasped her even in his sleep; the long-fingered hand resting in the curve of her waist, above her hip, actually clutched a scrap of the fabric of the robes she wore; the hand had slipped beneath the rougher wool of the frock coat to seek out the softer fabric of the robes to hold in his fingers as he slept.

During the hols she had spent with the boys in Grimmauld Place and at the Burrow, she had fallen asleep more than once in a tumble of blankets and Weasleys. She had been held by Viktor, as well as Ron, and kissed by each of them, too – but nothing she had experienced thus far in her life compared to the feelings conjured by her nearness to this man. Severus Snape was not handsome, nor was he charming – he wasn't really even kind, in the general way. Yet, he had boldly and quickly come up with a plan to free her, had risked his own life as well as his position within the Death Eaters to save her from the fate planned for her by her captors. He had brought her to this place, made her as comfortable as he could make her, shielded her from the Death Eaters' search, then held her while she slept. The dark stubble of beard along his jaw, the iron grip of the arm about her, the definition of the muscle beneath the fine linen shirt upon which her cheek rested – these were the physical attributes of a man, not a boy – and as she absorbed the entirety of the man she held in her arms, the thrill of warmth that rushed through her had nothing at all to do with the restorative properties of chocolate.

---

Snape's eyes opened and his first sight was of warm brown eyes and a welcoming smile. Waking from his restless dreams, it seemed a perfectly natural thing to him, that he should open his eyes and find a pretty girl giving him a glowing look. Without thought, he murmured, "Good morning, girl."

The radiant look upon the girl's face brought an answering smile to his lips; one corner of his mouth quirked up and the opposite eyebrow went up also, as if to balance his face. The memory of her scent came to him, and he dipped his large, ugly nose to the top of her head, where he surreptitiously breathed in the strawberry-almond scent which meant ... what? His waking mind struggled to recapture the meaning of the scent as his physical reaction to it, and to the warm, welcomingfemale body pressed to his side asserted itself.

Hermione – yes, Hermione – had never taken her eyes from his face, even when he half-buried it in her hair and took a deep breath. She simply continued to look at him with eyes full of wonder. It was not until she reached a timid finger to touch his face, with a whispered, "Severus," that Snape snapped back to reality. The abruptness with which he put her from him and scrambled to his feet was somewhat disorienting to both of them.

He stood for only a moment, towering over her as she sprawled upon the dusty floor clad in nothing but his own clothes, before whisking himself and his inappropriate reaction into the bathroom.

---

He had shooed her into the bathroom, where she used the toilet, washed her face in water from the bucket, and removed his clothing with some regret. The collar of the frock coat held a trace of his musky scent, and she buried her face in it one last time before she put on her own nearly-dry clothing and returned the professor's robe and coat to him.

"Thank you, sir, for all you've done," she began, looking up at him shyly.

Snape turned from her hastily. "Are you hungry?"

"Yes," she admitted.

Snape pulled another bar of chocolate from his cloak pocket and extended it to her. Hermione's brow furrowed as she looked at the Honeyduke's wrapper.

"That's yours, sir," she said, making no move to take the bar from him.

"Nonsense," he snapped. "I ate mine while you slept."

Hermione looked pointedly at the part of the floor where they had slept.

"I don't see a wrapper," she stated.

Snape took a menacing step toward her. "Your skills for espionage will never develop if you continue to leave your rubbish littered about." He took her wrist and placed the chocolate in her hand. "Eat it," he ordered tersely as he headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"To make sure it is safe for us to leave, Miss Granger."

Hermione settled again on the floor, wishing there were something else to sit on, and opened the Honeyduke's wrapper. If she were to be confined to only one food, she supposed she would want for it to be chocolate – but she couldn't help thinking about the breakfast of eggs and sausages the boys were likely settled down to now.

She had eaten half the chocolate and tucked the rest away in her cloak pocket when he returned.

"We will walk into the village and you will catch the next train to London," he informed her, indicating that she was to go out the open cabin door. "From there you will walk to Diagon Alley and immediately Apparate to Hogwarts. There will be no detours." He looked unyielding, merely gesturing her again out into the early morning air.

Hermione held her ground. "I'm not ready to go just yet," she said.

Both of his eyebrows arched. "Feeling insubordinate this morning, Miss Granger? Must I remind you that I am not only your teacher, whom you are bound to obey, but that I am also your superior officer in the Order?"

Hermione advanced upon him. "You know I – I feel something for you," she began, feeling her face flame at her own audacity. Her daring was making her feel ill, but if she did not say it now, when would she ever have the chance?

Snape's closed face seemed, if possible, to become even more shuttered. He crossed his arms over his chest and loomed over her, glaring down his nose. "You are suffering from an understandable bout of hero worship, compounded by that bloody potion!"

She placed one hand on each of his forearms as he held them firmly crossed.

"You feel something, too. Something for me. And you haven't had the potion."

Snape delivered her his most denigrating sneer. "I hesitate to wound your feelings, Miss Granger, but if I were going to develop feelings for a female, my choice would not be a bushy-haired, buck-toothed schoolgirl!'

Tears started to her eyes, but she did not stand down. "You're saying the very meanest things you can think of to make me stop, but you don't mean them, and I won't stop. You were happy when we woke up. You smiled at me. You feel attraction."

Oh, Merlin in a merry widow – why could he not catch one break in this whole damnably disastrous enterprise? She was going to begin blubbering again, and he would never be rid of her!

"What is your point?" he demanded, thinking he might be more successful if he approached this from a different direction.

"Just that I would like to know you – outside of school."

She had taken her hands off of him, which was a relief, and was wiping the latest of the apparently endless supply of tears from her face.

"You know very well that socialization between a teacher and a student is strictly forbidden," he said with the remaining tatters of his patience, hoping that his milder tone would stop the waterworks.

"I didn't mean now!" She looked up into his eyes, her own still holding some remnant of the wonder he had glimpsed there when he awoke. "I meant after I leave school. I know we can't, now."

Against his will, he felt some vestige of the emotion he had experienced upon awakening, and his eyes softened as he looked at her. What harm was there in saying he would see her socially after she left school? He would likely die before having to fulfil the promise; if he did not, one Order party would discharge his debt.

"I think it would be quite something to know you in private life, Hermione Granger," he murmured in capitulation. Probably he would never be called upon to keep his word; she was at that age when some spotty boy would sweep her off her feet and her fascination with the greasy Potions master would be forgotten. On the off-chance that she stubbornly persisted – and with Granger, one must always take that possibility into consideration – there were certain rules she needed to be aware of. Briefly, the idea of altering her memory flitted through his mind, but he rejected the notion; it was akin to rape, unless she consented – and there was a distant part of him that did not want her to forget.

"I have conditions," he stated baldly. "No negotiating."

Granger stood docilely before him, waiting to hear his words.

"This will never be spoken of. You may tell your friends all about your big Death Eater adventure and being subjected to hiding in the woods with your slimy teacher – but if I hear one whisper of conjecture about anything else, I will be seriously displeased and no social meetings will ever occur." He raised an eyebrow, awaiting her agreement; she nodded mutely, and he continued. "Additionally, there will be no exceptions made to waiting until you leave school for us to see one another socially. Do you understand me?"

There was a momentary blazing look of triumph in her eyes, quickly masked as she averted her eyes. "Yes, Professor," she said dutifully.

He looked at the top of her head and wondered what that look was about – what did she think she had just done? Well, never mind – she was quiescent again, and he was that much closer to the end of this ordeal.

Stepping to one side so that she could precede him through the doorway, he gestured. "Shall we go?"

---

It had taken them nearly an hour of walking, but they had reached the village called Wool. Snape led her to the small train station. As they approached the ticket counter, he reached into his pocket; he bought a ticket for London and placed it in Granger's hand.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Dorset," he replied, glancing at the large clock on the wall. "Your train will leave in five minutes. You'll be in Waterloo Station in London before nine."

The passengers began to board the train. Without asking, the girl stood on her tip toes and tugged his head down for a kiss to his beard-stubbled cheek. Snape removed her hands from his neck and glared down at her.

"Never speaking of it begins when I get on the train, Professor," she said.

"Good bye, Miss Granger," he replied.

Hermione stepped onto the train and took a seat by the window, where she could see Snape.

She need not have bothered. He was gone.

---

A/N: For those curious about what Merlin's merry widow would look like, check this link:

http://www.pointshop.com/Mall/Catalog/Product/ASP/product-id/104201/store-id/1000020051.html

I leave Merlin's petticoats to your individual imaginations.

Hah! I finally worked the word "gobsmacked" into a story! I feel so Brit-savvy, now. Hubby swears that my entire life has been devoted to working up to the place where I could properly use the word "prevaricated" in a story.

"I think it would be quite something to know you in private life," is stolen directly from the lips of Hannibal Lecter in a remark he makes to Clarice Starling in the novel Silence of the Lambs, by Thomas Harris. I had to tell y'all that, because Kabochon and Horserider will call me on it if they read this!

Good Morning, Girl is the title of both a poem and a song, written for yours truly by her beloved Slytherin, right around this time, 29 years ago.

It might interest you to check back in Chapter 4, when Hermione first enters the study and begins to speak with Snape. He doesn't snap and lose it until she leans over and he catches her scent...