Chapter 10: Involvement, Part 2

A/N: This ten thousand word monster was beta-read by DeeMichelle and Sshg316; MagicAlly Brit-picked. My little PWP has sprung free and grown a plot. Whatcha gonna do?

Chapter 10: Involvement, Part 2

The boys went to the Burrow with Ginny for Christmas. The headmaster had explained to them that Hermione would remain behind, for her own safety. Her parents had accepted her excuse of receiving an invitation to spend the holiday elsewhere, and thus far, she had spent her days revising and reading for pleasure, with obligatory trips to find Professor Snape, as needed.

After lunch on Christmas Eve, Hermione nervously inspected herself in the mirror over the basin in the professor's bathroom. He had an unbreakable engagement to spend the holiday with his family, and she was going with him. She did not want to go, but what choice did she have? She had to be where he was, and he was going away.

'How will you explain me to your family?' she had asked nervously.

'It is not unheard of for a student to spend a holiday with a professor,' he had replied, his manner discouraging her from making further inquiries.

Now she extinguished the candles and walked into the sitting room, where he stood waiting for her, already cloaked and booted, ready to depart.

'Do I look all right?' she asked nervously.

He frowned at her. 'Your appearance is perfectly acceptable,' he replied with a trace of impatience. 'Come, put on your cloak.'

He had the black garment over his arm, and she walked over to take it from him, but he gestured for her to turn, so he could place it about her shoulders.

Hermione reached up to fasten the clasp and her fingers met an unfamiliar golden Gryffon-embossed latch. She turned to Professor Snape, confused. 'This isn't my cloak,' she said, looking down at the elegant garment. It was matte black and light upon her shoulders, yet very warm. The lining, which flashed as she moved, was crimson silk.

'It most certainly is your cloak,' he replied, bored. 'Come.'

He strode out into the corridor, pausing to ward his door against intruders, and led the way at a brisk walk.

'But, sir,' Hermione said, hurrying to keep pace with him, 'did you buy this for me?'

'Your cloak is worthless,' he said, starting up the first stairway leading to the entrance hall. 'I will not have you catch cold; you would likely transmit it to me.'

Hermione smiled to herself, smoothing her hand down the densely woven wool. It was the nicest one she had ever owned, and it was a terribly thoughtful gift. She was glad she had a gift for him, as well.

They moved through the empty entrance hall and into the weak winter sunlight. Each of them carried in their pockets small bags containing the things they were taking with them. Hermione had been fascinated with the small beaded bag Professor Snape had given her that morning, telling her she could probably fit everything she owned in it if she wished – although he sincerely hoped she had more sense than to take too much with her for a two-night visit.

When they were clear of the Anti-Apparition wards, he stopped and looked at her sharply. 'Does Side-Along Apparition make you nauseous?' he demanded.

'No,' she answered, amused with his ability to make concern sound like annoyed accusations.

He pulled her securely against him, and she experienced the compression of Apparition; when she sensed the earth firmly beneath her feet once more, she opened her eyes to swirling snow.

'How pretty!' she exclaimed, stepping away from Professor Snape and making a slow circle, looking all around.

The house was large and old, with many enchantments to conceal it from Muggle eyes. They were standing in a big, well-tended garden, which was now covered in snow. Hermione could see no other dwellings in any direction.

'Where are we?' she asked.

'We're in Yorkshire.' he replied, staring at the house. 'This is Prince House; we're in the back garden.'

'Prince?' she asked.

'My mother's maiden name,' he answered absently.

'Your family must be very wealthy,' she said, counting the windows on the first floor. There were nineteen, the central one twice as wide and tall as the others, a stained glass representation of Merlin's betrayal by Nimüe.

'No,' he answered, 'but the Princes are an old family, and this house has been theirs since the seventeenth century.'

He started forward, a curiously shuttered expression on his face. 'Come along, Miss Granger,' he said.

Hermione followed him to a side door, which was opened before they could knock by a bowing house-elf.

'Welcome to Prince House, Master Severus and young Miss,' it said in a high-pitched voice.

'Hello, Scampy,' the professor said, entering and turning to make sure Hermione followed him. When she stepped into the rough stone-flagged hallway, he added, 'Where is my grandmother?'

'Mistress is in the parlour,' Scampy replied, closing the door on the snowy afternoon. 'She is very excited to have you, Master Severus.'

The little creature trotted along the narrow, twisting corridor, which navigated through the regions of the kitchen, the scullery, and the wash room, each populated with more house-elves, and Professor Snape and Hermione followed. They came at last to a formal entrance hall at the front of the house, complete with a candle-filled crystal chandelier and a marble staircase sweeping up to the first floor. Upon the landing, Hermione spied the stained glass window, its gemstone colours even lovelier with the scant light of the winter afternoon coming through. Distracted by the depiction of Merlin being shut up in a cave by the witch to whom he had imparted all his magic, Hermione was startled from her reverie only when her professor grasped her wrist and pulled her along.

The room to which Scampy led them was very dark, with darkly panelled walls covered with dark-coloured portraits of black haired wizards and witches. The carpet and upholstery were forest green, as were the moth-eaten velvet draperies, which had been pulled across the windows. A large fire burned on the hearth, and an old woman sat regally in a throne-like armchair, her wrinkled face showing the ravages of a once-great beauty. Her hair was pure silver and worn swept up into an elaborate coiffeur; her eyes were a rather startling blue.

Beside her chair stood another witch who was demonstrably younger. Her black hair was threaded with silver and was wound into an untidy bun at the nape of her neck. She had a heavy brow and a face bracketed by frown lines, but just now she came forward, her arms outstretched, a smile upon her lips.

'Severus!' she said, and he permitted her to embrace him.

'Happy Christmas, Mother,' he said, gently loosening her hold on him and turning to Hermione. 'I would like for you to meet the top student from my school, Miss Hermione Granger.'

Hermione flushed crimson to hear herself described in such terms, and she held out her hand. 'How do you do, Mrs Snape?' she said politely.

Mrs Snape took her hand and murmured words of welcome, but the old witch in the chair spoke so loudly then that Hermione could scarcely hear what was said to her.

'Well, Severus?'

Professor Snape went forward and bent to kiss the wrinkled cheek. 'Hullo, Gran,' he said, his voice full of a tenderness he had not shown his mother. 'You look very well.'

His grandmother pursed her lips at him. 'Don't try your flattery on me, young man,' she said tartly. 'You're not likely to get around me that way.'

Professor Snape's lips quirked up on one side, which was the closest to a smile Hermione had ever seen on his face. He turned and held out an imperious hand to Hermione, who came to stand beside him.

'Grandmother, this is Miss Hermione Granger, our Head Girl and top student. Miss Granger, this is my grandmother, Madam Prince.'

Remembering her lessons in wizarding etiquette, Hermione dropped a tiny curtsy before taking the hand of her hostess. 'Thank you for having me here, Madam Prince,' she said.

Unblinking blue eyes surveyed her for a moment before the old woman said, 'You are welcome.'

Hermione detected no outward sign of dislike, but she had a distinct feeling that Madam Prince did not approve of her.

---

After tea, Scampy came and showed Hermione to her room, an elaborate guest room with very handsome furnishings in crimson and gold. The four-poster bed was canopied and hung with crimson velvet curtains; the matching draperies at the windows were tied back with tasselled gold cords.

'Young Miss is to have a lie-down,' Scampy informed her. 'At six, Scampy will come to help young Miss dress for dinner.'

Hermione smiled at the house-elf; she had decided that the Christmassy gold tinsel the creature wore in its hair identified it as female. 'Thank you, Scampy, but I can manage that for myself. You don't need to bother.'

Scampy took a step back, as if from a dangerous wild animal. 'Scampy will be back at six!' she cried before bowing low and backing out of the room.

Hermione hung her new cloak in the handsomely carved wardrobe and removed her other clothing from the beaded bag and hung it, as well. She had brought two sets of dress robes, and she only hoped they would be nice enough for her not to feel self-conscious in these rather grand surroundings.

That task complete, she piled pillows at the head of the bed and settled back to read Charles Dickens' A Christmas Carol. She always read it at Christmas time and had brought it along to help her feel less out of place in this unfamiliar place. She felt a slight twinge of homesickness, followed by a sharp pain of loneliness, but when she asked herself if she would rather be with the boys at the Burrow, the answer was, oddly enough, a resounding No.

By some means she could not identify, entirely apart from the fact that she was sexually imprinted upon Severus Snape, she had begun to find that she was not entirely happy if she was separated from him for too long.

---

True to her word, Scampy came at six and woke Hermione from the sound sleep into which she had fallen whilst reading.

'Professor Snape sends you this potion,' Scampy said, showing Hermione the phial, 'and this note.'

Opening the note, Hermione read her professor's spiky handwriting: This Calming Draught may be sufficient to delay your symptoms for a few hours; if it is not, tell Scampy that you still feel unwell and need my assistance. She has been told that you are ill.

Hermione swallowed the potion and felt the wonderful tension relief drift through her body. Scampy very efficiently drew a bath for her, scenting it liberally with sweet-smelling salts. Hermione relaxed in the bath for twenty minutes, feeling utterly decadent, and when she emerged wrapped in her dressing gown, she found that Scampy had set out her black satin robes and the accompanying black under things she had brought to wear with it. Hermione had never failed to feel attractive when she wore pretty lingerie beneath her clothing, but lately she had given up the practice – it seemed indecent, somehow, to wear sexy clothing to entice her teacher - especially when he was already duty-bound to have sex with her.

Besides, she was far too fond of her matching black knickers, bra, suspenders, and stockings to risk having them Vanished upon the whim of her mercurial professor.

Scampy insisted upon helping her dress, gently persistent until Hermione also permitted the elf to arrange her hair. Rather than smoothing and rolling the bushiness into a chignon, Scampy threaded her long fingers through the brown hair until it was charmed to hang in glossy ringlets. Hermione had never seen her hair look that way.

'What did you do?' she breathed, admiring the spiralling, shiny curls.

'House-elf magic,' Scampy replied, frowning at the serviceable black shoes in the wardrobe. 'Where is Miss keeping her party shoes?'

'I don't go to many parties, Scampy. I'll just wear those.'

Scampy took the shoes from the wardrobe and snapped her fingers, and Hermione's mouth dropped open. Her shoes had been Transfigured into elegant sling-back black satin stilettos with a very narrow three-inch heel. The severely pointed toe was embellished with a crystal ornament in an elongated "S" design, and the satin lining of the footbed was as red as Father Christmas' bag of toys.

'Those are smashing!' she said reverently, taking the shoes from the elf's hands. 'But I could never walk in these, Scampy – I'll fall off and hurt myself.'

Scampy knelt and placed the shoes on her feet. 'Scampy has specially charmed the shoes, Miss – you won't fall.'

Hermione took a few steps across the room and found she could easily walk in the high-heeled shoes. As she walked, she was surprised when her robes were Transfigured as well, with a slightly more daring neckline and a greatly more fitted bodice.

Scampy clapped her hands in delight. 'Miss is as pretty as a picture!' she declared. 'Now, come along; the family is gathered for drinks.'

With one last look at her unusually chic appearance, Hermione followed Scampy down the stairs, her feminine confidence at an all-time high.

---

Scampy delivered her to the doorway of the same room she had been in earlier in the day, then disappeared. Hermione stood uncertainly on the threshold, unnerved by the unexpectedly large number of people standing about, drinking from crystal goblets.

In her absence, the gloomy parlour had been transformed into an inviting, brightly-lit, Christmas-decorated room. An enormous tree filled an entire corner of the room, the star on its top nearly touching the fifteen-foot ceiling. Red velvet bows adorned almost every stationary object in sight. Madam Prince was ensconced in her throne-like chair, but everyone else in the room was standing. Mrs Snape was in conversation with a plump, pretty woman, whose hair was an unnaturally pale blonde. An unfamiliar tall man, with short jet-black hair and a hawk-like nose was watching with amusement on his handsome face as three teenage boys argued and joked before the Christmas tree. And standing in the darkest corner of the room, looking terribly debonair, was her Potions master, his hair tied back from his face, dressed in green robes so dark they were nearly black. Hermione's heart turned over in her chest at the sight of him, so foreign to her with his face uncurtained by stringy black hair. It came to her that he was the most striking man in the room, regardless of the more conventionally attractive group by the tree. Unable to look away from the figure whose very presence spelt security to her, Hermione began to cross the room to his side.

It was only then that she realised he was in conversation with someone – with a red-haired witch who placed a manicured hand upon the dark green sleeve as she leant in to speak to him. She was quite tall, her eyes on level with his lips, rather than with his chest, as Hermione's were. As she watched, Professor Snape chuckled and inclined his head, as if in agreement. At that moment he caught sight of Hermione, and he stopped, his eyes widening a bit as if in surprise. Confused, Hermione halted her approach, and she felt her cheeks flush as his eyes raked down her body, then up again, coming to rest upon her face. There was such a warmth in his expression that even the witch in his company turned to see what had caught his attention, and Hermione saw that the red-haired woman was quite beautiful.

'Ah, Miss Granger.'

Startled from her own thoughts, Hermione turned to the voice and found herself addressed by Madam Prince. 'Good evening, ma'am,' she said politely.

'My grandsons will be so pleased to have another young person present tonight,' Madam Prince remarked, her keen scrutiny missing no detail of Hermione's appearance. 'Allow me to introduce you to them.' She raised her voice and spoke to the group by the Christmas tree. 'John!'

The eldest of the boys turned to her.

'Bring your brothers to meet Miss Granger,' the old lady commanded.

The three boys came dutifully to their grandmother, standing in a line beside her chair. They were all dark-haired and dark-eyed, with good-humoured faces.

'These are my grandsons, Miss Granger,' Madam Prince informed her, smiling with great pride, 'my son Tiberius' children. John is the eldest, then Paul and George.'

As she spoke their names, the boys nodded to Hermione and smiled. Hermione murmured greetings to each of them.

The handsome older man who had been with the boys at the tree came forward and offered his hand to Hermione. 'How do you do?' he said smoothly. 'You must be my nephew's pupil. I am Tiberius Prince.' He held out his hand to the plump blonde witch. 'Come say hello to Severus' student, Ava.'

Ava Prince broke off her conversation with Mrs Snape to turn and speak to Hermione with a thick German accent. 'Frohe Weihnachten,' she said. 'You are a student at Hogwarts?'

'Yes,' Hermione replied.

'My boys go to Durmstrang,' Mrs Prince said. 'John left school in the spring, and Paul is in his sixth year. You are in your seventh year, are you not?'

Hermione glanced at the Prince boys and found the two oldest ones grinning at her with nearly identical smirks. 'Yes, I am a seventh-year,' she agreed.

The middle boy stepped toward her, speaking in English only faintly tinged with a German accent. 'But perhaps it takes a sixth-year to appreciate a woman's beauty,' he said, taking Hermione's hand and pressing a kiss to it.

His older brother stepped up and jostled him into releasing Hermione's hand. 'Hermione, don't let this dolt annoy you,' he said with an engaging smile. 'You know how children can be.'

Madam Prince rose from her chair and took her son's arm. 'Let us go in to dinner before you boys quarrel in my drawing room,' she said, her tone indulgent. 'John, please show Hermione to her place.'

The party moved into the dining room, where the long table was laid with two-hundred-year-old china and ancient Goblin-wrought flatware. Hermione took her place between John Prince and his youngest brother, George, who informed he was in his third year at Durmstrang. Paul was seated directly across from her, and he lost no time in catching her eye and giving her a charming smile. George, on the other hand, was much more interested in his dinner than in the girl whose attention his brothers sought.

Silent house-elves served their plates as Madam Prince initiated conversation. 'What is the attitude toward the return of Lord Voldemort at Durmstrang, Tiberius?'

Hermione dropped her salad fork, astonished that the fragile-looking old lady would so casually mention the name of the most feared wizard in existence. John, Paul, and George seemed unfazed, but Hermione's eyes darted nervously down the table to her Potions master, who seemed to have been waiting for her to look at him. He moved his head in a tiny negative motion, and she dropped her eyes again to her plate. She would try to continue eating as if she were accustomed to hearing talk about Voldemort over holiday meals.

'There are those who feel he has the right idea about some things,' Tiberius Prince said, sipping from his wine glass. 'There are also those who feel he takes vulgar vandalism too far.' He replaced his goblet on the table and took up his fork. 'Why do you not ask Severus, Mother? He is, after all, in the know about the Dark Lord.'

Professor Snape lifted an eyebrow. 'You give me far too much credit, Uncle,' he said. 'I know nothing of the Durmstrang attitude – after all, it is you who teach at Durmstrang, not I.'

The beautiful red-haired witch, who was seated to Professor Snape's right, laughed musically. 'Should we not moderate our conversation?' she said, glancing down the table and finding Hermione looking at her. She stared into Hermione's eyes, her expression anything but friendly; Hermione was chilled by the woman's manner, but fascinated by her green eyes, so like Harry's. 'Is Severus' little student aware of his loyalties? Or will we be having a bit of Obliviate for pudding?'

'Morgen!' Ava Prince gasped. 'Stop!'

'Let her talk, Aunt,' Professor Snape said lazily, his half-lidded eyes fixed on the red-haired witch. 'Miss Granger is fully aware of my loyalties. Morgen can stir no controversy there.'

Ava Prince looked down the table to Hermione. 'I must apologise for my sister, my dear. She likes to shock.'

Aware of the scornful green eyes upon her face, Hermione answered calmly, 'There's no need to apologise, ma'am. Professor Snape is correct: I am fully aware of his loyalties.'

Hermione glanced down the table to meet the green eyes with disdain, and she saw amusement touch her professor's face. Was he enjoying having two women spatting over him?

'Morgen,' Madam Prince said, 'it is so good of you to join us this Christmas – I am so pleased that Herr Singer could spare you. How are your parents?'

'My parents are well,' Morgen replied, her manner respectful as she spoke to the old woman.

Madam Prince looked pointedly at her eldest grandson. 'Of course, it is wonderful how frequently you find yourself free to join us when it is known that Severus will make one of our party.'

Hermione observed the heightened colour in Morgen Singer's face, which only made her more lovely, damn her green eyes. Morgen lowered her eyes deferentially, but Hermione clearly saw the coquettish look she darted at Professor Snape, whose only answer was a quirked eyebrow.

Unsure of why she was so annoyed, Hermione directed her attention to John, who was only too happy to engage her in quiet discussion of the similarities and differences between their schools during the remainder of the dinner time.

---

After dinner, they all retreated to the drawing room again. Tiberius Prince and his mother sat with a chessboard between them, involved in a battle of wits. Mrs Snape and her sister-in-law talked together on one settee whilst Morgen pulled Professor Snape down beside her upon the other. The sight of the other woman's blood-red fingernails upon her teacher's arm filled Hermione with a fury she was at a loss to explain. Furthermore, the Calming Draught's beneficial effects had worn off, and she was fully aware of the compulsion's hold upon her again. She needed to relay this information to Professor Snape, but she was loath to approach him when he was engaged so raptly with Morgen.

Hermione stood by the window gazing out at the snow-covered garden, now illuminated by the light of a nearly full moon. It had been a long time since she had permitted the compulsion to reach this state; her routine with the professor had not required it. She was not aware that John Prince had come up behind her until he spoke near her ear.

'Would you like to go for a stroll in the snow?'

Hermione turned to see the admiring eyes of the good-looking young wizard entreating her to agree.

'Miss Granger is scarcely dressed for walking in the snow,' Professor Snape said, rising from the settee and coming stand near them, carefully scrutinising her face.

'She is dressed to attract the attention of a young man,' Morgen said archly, 'just as she ought to be. But she cannot go traipsing about in the snow in those shoes, John.'

John flushed. 'I'm sorry – I wasn't thinking.'

Irritated, Hermione said, 'Don't be sorry. I have boots. It will only take me a moment to change.' She smiled at John and moved to the doorway, struggling to maintain her composure. What could she do? Her hands were already beginning to tremble – but how was she going to manage a shag with her professor with all these people around them?

'Miss Granger!'

She stopped at the sound of her teacher's voice, her quim throbbing painfully, but did not turn to him, fearful of what the others would see in her face.

'You know what Madam Pomfrey said,' Professor Snape said, remaining in his place beside Morgen. 'You're not well enough for late-night strolls in the snow, no matter how romantic it might be. Go up to your room, please. I will have a house-elf bring your potion.'

'Yes, Professor,' she said, nearly weak-kneed with relief. He would come to her on the pretext of going upstairs to fetch her potion. She glanced over her shoulder at John, who looked rather stricken. 'I'm sorry, John, but Professor Snape is right – I promised the school matron I wouldn't over-do during the hols.' Turning more completely, she said to the room at large, 'Good night.'

The others murmured 'good-night' to her, and Madam Prince looked up with her keen blue eyes. 'To bed with you, Miss Granger, and Professor Snape will provide your potion. One must be very careful, even after recovering from the Black Water Flu.'

Hermione inclined her head submissively and fled to the sanctuary of her bedroom, praying that her teacher would come to her quickly.

---

She was pacing back and forth in her bedroom, her distress increasing with every moment, when a portion of the elaborately panelled wall slid silently aside, and Professor Snape entered.

'Thank God!' Hermione cried, advancing on him precipitously.

He caught her by the shoulders and held her from him, his hands less than gentle.

'Who would have suspected you possessed such finery?' he said mockingly, letting her see his blatant appraisal of her body in her party clothes. 'I am particularly fond of the shoes.'

'Don't!' she cried, twisting away from him. 'Just do it!' She reached for the fastening on her robes, but he stilled her hands.

'I will do it.'

Hermione shuddered at his words and pressed herself to him, her hands grasping his bum through his robes, pulling him against her. 'Then do it!' she cried, 'but don't you dare Vanish anything!'

He cast a Silencing Charm, then he backed her up to the bed, pressing her onto the mattress. Next, he reached up beneath her robes and tugged her now soaked black lace knickers down her legs. Letting them fall onto the floor, he slid two fingers into her wetness and bent his head to put his lips around her clitoris. In less than one minute she cried out, but she did not calm much, her croaked, 'More!' testament to how long she had let the need grow before seeking relief.

He took her hands and pulled her to her feet, his burning black eyes intent upon her face. Now he glanced down at her slightly décolleté neckline, and he placed his hands on her breasts over her clothing, drawing his thumbs surely over her climax-hardened nipples.

'Oh!' she gasped as he lowered his mouth to kiss her, squeezing and massaging her breasts as he plundered her mouth.

'You needed this when we were at dinner, didn't you?' he demanded, his lips now on her throat as he deftly unfastened her robes.

'Yes!' she said, trying to help him, only to have him bat her hands away.

'I wanted to do it then – when I saw you in this dress – right on my grandmother's table.' He pushed the satin robes from her body and stepped away from her again, letting his eyes roam in a leisurely way over her black lace demi-bra and the lacy suspenders attached to her black stockings; it seemed to her as if his eyes travelled very slowly down her legs to the shoes. She reached behind her back to unclasp the bra, but he said, 'I would like for you to remain as you are.'

Hermione stood upon the carpet in her elf-made sling-back stilettos, knickerless, and watched her professor undress before he took her wrist and led her back to the bed. She ached for him in every cell of her body. 'Please...' she whispered.

'Lie down,' he answered. 'I should very much like to fuck you, now.'

She bent to slip off her shoes, but he stopped her.

'As I said – I want you to remain as you are.'

Hermione looked at the spiked heels of the shoes. 'I'm afraid I'll hurt you.'

With a strange, blazing expression in his face, he said, 'I'm not.'

She moved onto the bed, lying upon her back, and whimpered with relief when he knelt between her thighs. She was surprised when he lifted her legs to his shoulders, running his palms down the length of the satiny nylons, but once he entered her and began moving in and out of her body, she was too electrified by the different sensation of intercourse from this position to pay attention to anything else. The way he filled her – fulfilled her – occupied her entire awareness.

After her second climax, her eyes opened and focussed on his face. She was surprised to see his utterly transported expression, framed between the exaggerated pointed toes of her black satin shoes. As she watched, he gasped and gripped her ankles before spilling within her, his movements at the end becoming jerky and uneven. There was something terribly personal about the way he had looked at her tonight, something that seemed entirely divorced from the effects of the curse, as if he would have wanted her – wanted to make love to her – simply because he found her utterly enchanting in her party clothes.

He lowered her legs to the bed and sat back on his heels for a moment, sweat from his exertions gleaming upon his pale skin, his hair now swinging free from its binding. After a moment, he stood and cast a cleansing charm upon himself.

'Where are you going?' Hermione asked, sated and sleepy.

He began to dress. 'I am expected elsewhere and have delayed too long.'

Hermione yawned, reaching to tug off the shoes. 'Expected where? By whom?'

'Morgen Singer expects me in her room,' he replied, stepping before the glass on her dressing table and binding his hair back again.

Hermione leapt from the bed. 'What?' she screeched. 'You're going to her bedroom?'

He turned from the mirror, his expression thunderous. 'Silence,' he hissed.

'You're going from my bed to hers?' she demanded.

'Go to sleep,' he replied, his manner dampening. 'I have no time for these theatrics.'

'Fine!' she threw at him, turning and beginning to remove her things from the wardrobe, throwing them willy-nilly upon the bed. 'I'm going back to Hogwarts!'

In a rage, Hermione began to grab things from the pile and to shove them into the enchanted beaded bag, unmindful of her state of undress, wanting only to get as far away from him as she could go, as quickly as possible.

Snarling something that sounded distinctly like 'Merlin in a merry-widow,' Professor Snape crossed the room to her and pulled her around roughly by the arm. Hermione retaliated by jerking her arm away and swinging her fist with all her strength, landing a square blow upon his jaw.

He sat down hard upon the floor, a stunned expression upon his face.

Immediately contrite, Hermione fell to her knees beside him. 'I'm sorry! Are you all right?'

He rubbed the spot where her fist had connected with his face and moved his lower jaw experimentally from side to side, watching her with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

'What do you weigh?' he asked conversationally. 'Eight stone?'

Hermione looked outraged. 'None of your business!'

'More?' he asked, surprised.

'Less!' she snapped. 'Shut up about it!'

'Call it eight,' he said. 'I'm about eleven – and you knocked me on my arse.' He stood up. 'If you've given me another shiner, I'll take a cane to you.'

'You can't go to her,' she said plaintively, looking up the length of him, feeling rather foolish sitting about in her under things with no knickers on.

He bent and hauled her to her feet. 'You've seen enough to have sussed out the political leanings of my family,' he said. 'This behaviour is expected of me, Hermione – deviation from what is expected will be reported to the Dark Lord, and neither of us wants that, I assure you.'

Pressing her lips together to suppress threatening tears, Hermione pulled her hands from his and turned away, taking off her remaining garments and replacing them with a warm flannel nightdress from the pile on the bed. 'I hope you've brought Potency Potion,' she said morosely, slipping beneath the covers, shoving the contents of the wardrobe to the other side of the bed.

'I will come to you in the morning, before breakfast,' he said to her back.

Hermione did not respond, and she managed not to cry until the panel slid shut behind him. Did he have a handy panel into Morgen's room, as well? How long had they been lovers? Why had he never mentioned her before?

And why the bloody hell did she, Hermione, care?

---

The room was still in pitch darkness when he slid into the bed beside her, pressing his naked body against her flannel-clad one. He spoke no incantation, but the nightdress was suddenly gone, and she knew he had Vanished yet another piece of her dwindling wardrobe. Then his lips were on the nape of her neck, and one hand was insinuated between her legs, cupping her mound in his warm palm. Her need for him flamed to life within her, and she turned in his arms, reaching down to take the rock-hard, satiny length of him in her hand, stroking in the way she had learnt would inflame him very quickly. Fleetingly, she wondered how many doses of the Potency Potion he had found it necessary to take this night; then, he lifted her leg onto his hip and rubbed the silken head of his cock between the lips of her vulva, stroking her clitoris and driving from her mind all thought, save incoherent desire.

---

As dawn broke over the Yorkshire countryside, Hermione sat astride her professor, who reclined, propped up on every pillow the bed possessed. Two fingers of his left hand applied perfect pressure to her pleasure centre as her climax built within her, billowing like smoke from a brushfire, up and up and up, until she became one with the inferno, burning as red hot as the rising sun.

---

Severus moved wearily through the hidden passage, wanting nothing more than a shower and an hour's sleep before breakfast in the dining room – but he soon saw that was not to be.

'Good morning, Severus,' his grandmother said, comfortably established in the chair beside his bed. 'How would it be if you explained to me how that child came to be burdened with such a Dark curse – and what you mean by bringing her here to carry on as if this were a house of ill-repute?'

---

Hermione was sitting before the dressing table, applying her make-up, when there was a knock at her door, followed immediately by the appearance of Madam Prince in her bedroom. Nervously, Hermione stood, feeling quite self-conscious in her dressing gown.

'Forgive an old woman her bad manners, won't you, Hermione?' Madam Prince said with an expression far warmer than any Hermione had seen from her before. 'May I speak with you?'

'Of course,' Hermione replied. 'Please, sit down.'

When the old lady was seated in a squishy armchair with Hermione on the matching pouf at her feet, Hermione waited politely to find out why her hostess had come to find her.

'Severus and I have been discussing your Eternus Perturbatio curse,' Madam Prince admitted.

Hermione blanched, her stomach twisting in shame.

'You have done nothing wrong, child,' the old witch said, leaning forward to place a hand on Hermione's arm. 'Tom Riddle has been a crass bounder since he joined the wizarding world.'

Hermione could do nothing but wait in silence to see what would next be said.

'Albus Dumbledore is a fool, of course, but I cannot see how he could have contrived better for you, all things considered – it would have been a mistake to imprint you upon a wizard of your own age, even had you been involved with one, for young men are notoriously inconsiderate.' Madam Prince cocked her head to one side. 'Severus tells me he gave you his Nexus.'

Hermione blinked at this. 'His Nexus?' she said, confused.

'Do you have it?' the old woman asked.

'Yes – he explained I was to always keep it with me,' Hermione responded.

'May I see it?'

Hermione went to the wardrobe, where she had replaced all of her belongings before she had her morning bath, and extracted the rolled socks from the beaded bag.

'That's an interesting place to hide a Nexus,' Madam Prince said with some amusement.

Hermione sat down again on the pouf and unrolled the socks to reveal the silver Nexus. The old lady reached out and took it into her hands, looking it over carefully, from end to end. 'Did he explain to you what it is? I don't imagine a Muggle-born would be aware of its significance, and it is rather too arcane to be taught at Hogwarts.'

'He told me it is a practice from ancient times,' Hermione replied. 'The silver is dug from enchanted mines and hand-wrought by a Mage. A woman would collect her virgin's blood upon her wedding night and put it in the bottom chamber of the Nexus, then she and her husband would exchange promises, bound by the ancient blood magic. Upon the birth of their first child, the umbilical blood is added to the top chamber, strengthening the bond between the witch and wizard.'

Now it was Madam Prince's turn to blink. 'My word, child – do you have perfect recall?'

'Nearly,' Hermione admitted.

'But do you understand what you have so admirably repeated?'

Hermione nodded. 'I have researched the Nexus – Professor Snape required me to do so before he would discuss it with me. The Nexus is bound to the witch whose virgin blood baptises the metal. It is the decision of the witch if and when she will exchange promises with a wizard based on the Nexus – it does not have to be with the wizard who takes her virginity. And the binding power of the blood magic remains linked to the witch – if the wizard with whom she has exchanged promises dies, she can then choose another wizard to whom she may be bound – although she is not required to bind herself to any wizard, ever. Upon the death of the witch, the Nexus passes into the keeping of the child whose umbilical blood it contains, and upon the death of that child, the magic passes out of being – and the Nexus does, as well.'

Madam Prince reached a finely-wrinkled hand into the neck of her robes and pulled out a dainty silver chain, from which dangled another Nexus. 'This is mine,' she said, her gaze fixed upon it with a certain reverence. 'It was one of the last dozen Nexuses forged in Europe, before the death of the last Mage. It contains the umbilical blood of my daughter, Eileen – a disappointment, if ever there was one. I was bound to her father with this Nexus, and upon his death, I chose not to confer that power of magical union upon another wizard.'

Hermione waited, her mind teeming with questions. 'I beg your pardon, ma'am, but how does Professor Snape come to have a Nexus? He isn't a witch – and if there were only a dozen left when you were a girl ...'

Madam Prince smiled, apparently pleased by Hermione's curiosity. 'My sister, Elaine, died when we were children. My father had procured one for each of us, and hers passed into my possession upon the death of my parents. It would have become the property of my daughter – but she chose to marry a Muggle.' Her lips thinned, and for a period of time, she did not speak.

Hermione tried not to fidget upon her pouf, longing to ask more questions, but perceiving that the old witch was lost in memory.

At last, Madam Prince put the magical item back into Hermione's hands. 'I told Severus when he was just a boy that his mother's Nexus would pass to him when he became an adult, as an invaluable gift for his wife. It remained in my possession until he sent a house-elf to fetch it over a month ago.'

Hermione frowned down at the Nexus. 'But I'm not his wife – he doesn't even like me very well.'

Madam Prince nodded. 'So he advised me,' she said, her voice touched with amusement. 'I think, Hermione, that he felt very, very badly about what Albus Dumbledore asked him to do – to take your innocence – to be responsible for the demands of the curse. It was the most momentous gift he, in his limited male mind, could conceive of, to present to you as recompense for the injury he was forced to do you.'

Hermione sat in silence, holding the Nexus, wondering why Professor Snape had told her so little of its huge magical significance. 'It is an old-fashioned custom,' he had informed her in an off-hand way. 'Someday, when you choose the wizard with whom you wish to join, you will have this token of your commitment with which to present him.'

She was stirred from her thoughts by having a tiny gift-wrapped box placed in her hands.

'Please,' Madam Prince said, 'open it.'

Hermione tore the paper from the box and removed its gold-embossed lid, revealing a gossamer silver chain, almost faerie-like in its delicacy.

'This is the chain which is meant to go with the Nexus, Hermione - your Nexus. A witch as powerful as you obviously are should never leave such a potent fragment of her magic unattended. You can Disillusion it, if you wish – no one else will be able to see it, then.'

Hermione knew it would be churlish to even consider refusing the chain – it was, after all, part of the Nexus, which could never belong to anyone but her, now. She threaded the chain through the tiny eye at the top of the Nexus and turned to allow Madam Prince to fasten it about her throat.

The unfamiliar weight of the silver Nexus as it dangled between her breasts was simultaneously strange and very, very right. Placing her palm over silver pendant, she turned to Severus Snape's grandmother with a rather misty smile.

'Thank you,' she whispered.

'Merry Christmas, my dear,' the old lady replied, standing and shaking out the creases in her forest-green robes. 'Hurry, now – Christmas breakfast at Prince House is an experience not to be missed!'

---

Christmas morning amongst the Prince family was not unpleasant. Hermione received small, generic gifts, the types of things women kept tucked away in case of unexpected guests at Christmas. Madam Prince gave her embossed note cards, Mrs Snape gave her eau de cologne, and Mrs Prince gave her a box of Honeydukes chocolates. John, however, surprised her and seriously annoyed his younger brother by presenting her with an inscribed copy of Durmstrang, A History.

To a girl too lovely not to have all her questions answered –

Happy Christmas, Hermione –

From John Prince.

It was illuminating to watch Professor Snape's mother and grandmother open their gifts from him – identical black cloaks, differentiated only by the colour of the lining and the shapes of the clasp on each garment. Mrs Snape's clasp was a badger and the lining of her cloak was Hufflepuff yellow. Madam Prince's clasp was the sinuous serpent and the lining of her cloak was Slytherin green.

He had bought her the same gift he had bought the women of his family. What in the world did it mean? That he thought of her as family? Or that it was convenient to make all his purchases at one shop?

'Good heavens, Severus!' Madam Prince said, stroking the lining with a loving hand. 'Acromantula silk! I don't suppose you've become rich on your teacher's salary?'

Mrs Snape, who had rushed to embrace her son in thanks for her gift, stepped back from him with a worried look. 'Oh, Severus, it's too dear ....'

'Grandmother, a simple "thank you" will suffice, I assure you,' Professor Snape said, apparently bored.

Hermione grasped her heavy new book and kept her eyes on the text before her. Acromantula silk! No wonder the cloak was so warm, in spite of being so light!

'Severus, open it!'

Hermione looked up to see Morgen Singer on her knees at Professor Snape's feet, smiling up into his unresponsive face.

'Really, Morgen,' he said, not moving to take the proffered box. 'You shouldn't have.'

'Oh, stubborn!' Morgen cried gaily, and then she ripped the silver paper from the box herself. 'It's a warm jumper – cashmere! You live in that terrible dank dungeon ....'

Not that you wouldn't like to live there yourself, you hag! Hermione thought angrily.

The Prince boys were opening and exclaiming over gifts when Hermione saw Professor Snape extract her gift to him from beneath the discarded paper at his elbow. He made eye contact with her, then unwrapped the gift. She watched as he lifted each item from the box before returning it and moving to the next; at last, he opened the enclosed parchment and read what she had written.

A phial of condensed Enchanted Mistletoe Elixir for Migraine Headaches – only three drops needed!

He looked up and inclined his head at her in congratulation, and she flushed with pleasure. She had worked hard to find a way to condense the formula – he was impressed.

A jar of condensed Enchanted Mistletoe Crème for Migraine Headaches – rub a small amount on each temple and at the base of your skull for immediate relief!

He looked up again, and she was gratified to see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes – she had found the formula for the crème in one of his old Potions textbooks, and he was obviously pleased to have it. She wanted to wriggle like a tail-wagging puppy, but she kept her seat, content to communicate with him silently across the bedlam of his cousins' gift exchange.

A lump of Lucite with an eternally preserved sprig of Enchanted Mistletoe – for one never knows when a paperweight may be needed to preserve one's desk from the cross draught in the dungeons!

This time when he looked up at her, he seemed first curious – and then speculative. Didn't he like the paperweight? It was just a whim on her part – a joke, really. Perhaps he disliked being reminded of their night in the forest?

She watched as he tapped the box surreptitiously with his wand and slipped the now minuscule container into the pocket of his robes before allowing himself to be drawn into conversation again with Morgen Singer.

---

They met in her room before Christmas lunch. Neither of them spoke, but he swallowed the Potency Potion and they got down to business. Quite deliberately, Hermione raked her nails down his back whilst they fucked, hoping it would cause him to wish to hide from the Singer woman. Remembering her annoyance about the other witch, she pushed him onto his back and straddled him, planting her palms on his shoulders as if pinning him to the bed as she rode him. It startled her when he grasped the Nexus.

'What the devil is this?'

Hermione stopped. 'You're not supposed to be able to see it.'

'It bloody well hit me in the nose,' he snapped, dumping her onto the mattress and sitting up, his back to her.

'It's the Nexus,' she said.

'I can see that, Miss Granger, thank you.' He stood and began to dress.

'Your grandmother came to visit me this morning – she told me more about it – and she brought the chain.'

He did not answer her, but checked in the mirror to make sure he was reasonably tidy, then left without saying good-bye.

---

Scampy came to her again that evening to dress her for dinner. She arranged Hermione's hair as she had done the night before and made alterations to the ruby-red velvet robes until they fell, slim as a pencil, to Hermione's ankles, with long, tight sleeves and a high, snug neck, trimmed with luxuriant white fur.

Hermione admired her reflection, terribly pleased with the little elf's lady's maid skills. 'Scampy, can you make my boots appropriate for wear with these robes, yet also sufficient protection for a walk in the snow?'

Delighted to have been set a difficult assignment, Scampy took Hermione's plain footwear and transformed them to white-fur trimmed red velvet boots with discreet ridges on the soles. 'The boots are waterproof, Miss,' Scampy told her as she helped Hermione put them on.

'Please carry my cloak down to the front hall, Scampy, in case I decide to go for a walk after dinner.'

---

The seating arrangement at dinner was the same as it had been for every meal; Paul was no longer trying to compete with his brother for Hermione's attention, for she obviously preferred conversation to flirtation.

Morgen Singer was apparently not content with the impact she had made thus far on her prey, Professor Snape, for tonight she wore robes so deeply décolleté that even Madam Prince appeared to be shocked; Ava Prince whispered angrily to her sister before they took their seats, but Morgen was not to be deterred.

Just as he had done since turning from her in the bed at midday, Professor Snape kept his attention resolutely upon his dinner partner, never looking in Hermione's direction. She had no idea how she had offended him, but she had resolved not to fret over it. He knew her needs – he had, after all, sent the Calming Draught with Scampy again tonight, to buy her a few extra hours before the compulsion came upon her again – and he would do what had to be done.

Had he not always done the necessary?

Hermione enjoyed the extravagant meal, drinking the elf-made wine freely, chatting with John, who was a convivial companion. He was employed with the German Ministry of Magic in the International Cooperation Office, highly prized because of his fluency in English, as well as German.

Before they even reached the drawing room after pudding, John invited her to go for a stroll in the moonlight. Hermione readily agreed, retrieving her cloak from the hallway before they slipped out into the icy December air.

'So, Hermione,' John said when they had walked some distance from the house, 'you have no boyfriend?'

'No,' she said with a smile. 'Do you have a girlfriend?'

'I have been seeing a witch I work with,' he answered carefully. 'But she's not as much fun to talk to as you are.'

'What a nice compliment!' she replied. 'I think you're great to talk to, John – perhaps your witch friend is just not comfortable with you yet? My best friends are both boys, so I'm quite accustomed to them.'

John seemed to swallow with some difficulty. 'I see – two best friends who are boys?' He gave her a shy smile. 'How did you decide which one ... you know ...?'

Hermione frowned. 'How did I decide which one ... what?' she asked.

'I'm very flattered, Hermione – so pleased you came out to walk with me ...'

With a convenient tree at hand, John put his hands on her waist and pushed her gently against the bark, looking down into her confused face with admiration and excitement shining in his eyes. Before she could ask him what he meant by it, he kissed her, taking advantage of her gasp of outrage to thrust his tongue into her mouth, pressing her firmly against the tree, his interest easily discernible through the layers of his robes and cloak.

Hermione was immediately assailed with the details about him which were different from what she was accustomed to. He smelt all wrong, of cologne and chewing gum, instead of Hogwarts bar soap and potions ingredients. He wasn't tall enough, and his hands were too thick and hairy. His tongue was like a very wet, floppy thing, rather than a slick rapier caressing her mouth until she moaned with desire.

She pushed against him, not wishing to hurt his feelings, but repulsed nevertheless. She knew the curse had imprinted her upon her professor, but she hadn't realised it would give her such profound distaste for the touch of another.

It seemed as if her efforts succeeded with surprising speed, but she quickly realised that she did not have the strength to have pushed him from her hard enough to send him flying so far from her, where he landed so hard in the snow. The presence of her very angry Potions master explained it all, as he dragged John up out of the snow bank and pressed his wand to the younger wizard's throat.

'You will never – never! – touch this girl again,' he hissed, his enraged face thrust within inches of his cousin's fearful one. 'You will apologise for your inexcusable lapse of good manners, and you will get out of my sight!'

'I beg your pardon, Hermione,' John gasped, staggering backwards toward the safety of Prince House, even as he spoke. 'I didn't know Severus was your – I completely misunderstood!'

He turned tail then and ran, never having drawn his wand.

'Well what a coward!' Hermione exclaimed, pulling a handkerchief from the pocket of her cloak and scrubbing at her lips with it.

For the first time since their midday interlude Professor Snape looked into her face, and she quailed, stepping away from him. His expression held such loathing that she was afraid of him for the first time in a long while. He grabbed her wrists and jerked her against him without speaking, and without warning, they Disapparated.

They arrived in her room, and she staggered, for he released her as if she had burnt him.

'Do you mean to tell me my grandmother gave you the chain for the Nexus without telling you the significance of you wearing the thrice-damned thing?' he demanded, his voice low and trembling with wrath.

Hermione put her hands on her hips, a posture which would have alerted Harry and Ron to a coming disturbance in their peaceful existence, but which Professor Snape had not seen before.

'How dare you speak to me like this?' she demanded. 'You know I don't know anything about the lore of the Nexus! I told you everything I found on it, and there was nothing about the consequences of wearing the bloody thing! In fact, your grandmother told me ten times more this morning than any of my resource materials knew about it! Why is there such a paucity of information?'

His nostrils flared at her tone, which bordered on disrespect, and his eyes narrowed, as if daring her to cross a line with him. 'Because it is considered a Dark Object!' he spat. 'There is nothing harmful about it, but the books at Hogwarts – the ones to which you have access, at least – tell nothing of the practical use of it.'

Hermione's hands left her hips and her arms crossed over her chest, hands tucked angrily in the crooks of her elbows. 'Then suppose you enlighten me?' she snapped.

'An unmarried woman who wears the Nexus containing her virgin's blood is advertising to the world at large that she is in search of a sexual partner.'

'How could you not tell me that?' Hermione screamed, advancing on him with clenched fists.

'Why do you think I didn't give you the goddamned chain?' he returned, stepping forward as well.

'I'll take it off, then!' Hermione took the chain in her hands, and Professor Snape closed the distance between them, batting the chain from her hands.

'You can't!' he said, and then he bent his head and captured her lips in a hot, bruising kiss.

The conflagration came upon her at the touch of his lips, and in spite of her fury, she was driven to return the kiss, sucking his tongue into her mouth, dragging the riband from his hair and twining her fingers in its inky length.

Her lifted her and carried her to the bed. 'You will never kiss that boy – any boy – again, do you hear me?' he snarled, one long-fingered hand about her throat.

'I will if you kiss that Singer woman!' she snapped defiantly, and pulling her wand from its sheathe, she Vanished every stitch of clothing he was wearing.

Incensed beyond reason, he dropped her on the bed and grabbed her wand, tossing it onto a chair. 'I thought you didn't know that spell,' he snarled – then Vanished her entire ensemble as well.

'I learnt it in self-defence!' she snapped, reaching for him, but he secured her hands above her head as he had done once before.

'But you're not so accomplished yet with wandless magic,' he mocked before joining her on the bed and moving over her and into her, sure of his welcome.

Hermione arched to meet his thrust, insensibly excited by the binding of her hands, her whole upper body flushed with arousal. 'Harder!' she begged, and he complied, driving too hard, too fast, and she screamed as she came, calling his name and speaking every filthy word she had ever heard.

Still he pounded, staring into her face with glittering black eyes. 'Say it,' he panted, 'no more boys!'

Hermione did not answer him, for her body was riding the crest of another orgasm, swept higher and higher; she knew he was aware of her state, for he stopped talking, and synchronised himself to her, seeming to take every breath with her. 'Come with me,' he said, and it sounded like a plea.

'Yes,' she said, and she did, cresting the wave and crashing into the pounding ocean of his climax, pummelled by the incredible force of the wall of passion which drowned them, and ever so happy to feel her hands being released, so she could hold him as he fell beside her, seemingly incapable of speech.

'No ... more ... boys ...' he managed between panting breaths.

'No more Morgen,' she replied, applying her teeth to the pulse beneath his jaw.

He wound his fingers in her hair and gently but inexorably pulled her up to face him. 'I have not touched another woman since this began,' he said.

'But you said – Morgen expected you in her room! That you had to go!'

'I made my excuses convincingly,' he said, 'but tonight's happenings will get back to the Dark Lord, I promise you.'

Hermione lifted the Nexus. 'What did John see?' she wondered.

'It's not something you would see,' he answered, his tone showing his exhaustion. 'Only someone carefully trained in the Dark Arts would see that your aura has changed colour – someone who was looking for such a change.'

Hermione placed her hands on the chain. 'Why can't I take it off,' she said. 'I don't want people looking at me and thinking ....'

'Once you have donned it, you cannot cease wearing it, Hermione. It is peculiar to this type of blood magic: the Nexus will be with you until the day you die. No one at Hogwarts, however, will be aware of the aura change – it is not something for which they would know how to look.'

'But people here – your whole family ...'

His eyes drifted closed. 'The entire household knows where we are and what is transpiring,' he said. 'There is no help for it.' He extinguished the candles with a wave of his hand and settled to sleep.

Hermione's face burned in the dark. 'I won't go to breakfast.'

'Suit yourself ...' He punctuated this with a yawn.

'And I'm never coming back here as I long as I live.'

'We'll see,' he responded neutrally, before drifting into the deep, regular breathing of sound sleep.

Hermione lay awake for some time, feeling his sticky seed drying upon her thighs and holding tightly clasped in her hand the Nexus he had given her, baptised as it was with her virgin blood – which he had spilt.

---

A/N: Hunnybunch assures me that "Frohe Weihnachten" is the German phrase for "Merry Christmas."