7- At the Other End of the Castle...

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Author's Note: Thanks for coming back, and I hope you enjoy it! :)

Chapter 7- At the Other End of the Castle

"All right there, Hermione?" Harry called loudly from where he had been awaiting her arrival, his expression alert and concerned, as she climbed in through the portrait hole into the common room.

"Of course, Harry," Hermione replied, brow furrowed as she looked about the common room in amazement, quickly covering her ears at the din of multiple music boxes playing and excited conversations.

Harry grinned at her reaction and joined her near the portrait hole, laughing as he turned back to survey the commotion from her point of view. "It is a bit loud, isn't it!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him in exasperation and jerked her head in the direction of her Head Girl's room. "I'm going to go put my things away and get away from this racket!"

Harry deftly took her possessions from her and gestured for her to lead the way. Hermione took one last look around the chaos and sped toward her room, Harry one step behind her. As the noise dissipated behind them, she slowed down and shook her head, slightly amused by the sights and sounds that had greeted her in Gryffindor Tower. Why, the whole of Gryffindor must have been crammed into the common room!

Harry saw her bemused expression and thanked his luck that it was so easy to get her away from everyone. He moved up next to her and smiled. "Guess they were all rather excited. Half the Tower was waiting for us when we all came back, asking questions and wanting to see the scripts and listen to the music boxes."

She laughed. "Well, Gryffindors are naturally curious!" They reached her door and she turned to take her things from Harry. As she reached for them, he swept them behind his back. She looked up at him in surprise and he smiled deviously at her.

"Mind if I come in and we can look over our parts together?"

Hermione saw the glitter in his eyes like earlier and blushed. Unable to think of a way to say no without hurting his feelings, she just opened her door and stepped to the side, waiting for him to enter. He stepped inside and she shut the door, instinctively locking and warding it. Harry walked to her desk and put the script and music box on it. He turned and leant against the edge and looked at Hermione. He was unaccountably nervous about being alone in her room again after that morning, so he did his best to be nonchalant.

"So, what did Dumbledore want with you and Snape?" he asked, with his characteristic smirk of distaste when he said Snape's name.

Hermione was startled by the question, her thoughts having been caught up with what she and Harry had done that morning on her bed. Her mind cast about for the information and she inadvertently remembered the searing look Snape had given her. She felt her pulse quicken even more at the sensations it evoked. "Uh, he just wanted to make sure we understood how important this was to him and that our parts will require dedication and discipline."

Harry looked at her, perplexed. "Hermione, he said all that when I was there. Surely he didn't keep you both there just to repeat himself."

She blinked. "Oh yes, of course." Unwilling to admit the heated looks that had passed between her and Snape...really, she didn't know what to think of them herself...she continued. "Well, he told us to behave like adults and to get over our personality conflicts for the good of the production. Then he left us there to work things out." She looked down, flushing hotly, her stomach fluttering at the memory of being alone with Snape.

"He left you there? Alone with Snape? I'm surprised he didn't hex you once Dumbledore was out the door!" Harry went from astonishment to warning anger, shooting away from the desk and advancing on Hermione, hands clenched tightly at his sides. "What did he do? Did he say anything? Did he hurt you? I swear, Hermione, if he does anything to you again, I'll make him regret it! I mean it!..."

Shaking off her uncomfortable thoughts, Hermione focused instead on dealing with Harry. She cut off his tirade, grabbing his arm and pulling him to sit on the edge of the bed. "Harry! He didn't do anything! We talked about the production in a calm and civilized manner." She ignored his disbelieving snort. "Once I explained to him that I was an adult and expected to be treated as such, he calmed down and was rather tolerable."

"What do you mean 'explained that you were an adult'?" Harry's eyes clouded for a moment with confusion.

Hermione rolled her eyes, aggrieved. "Harry, the time turner, third year, remember? I'm eighteen now." Then, a slow grin spread across her face at the recollection of Snape sulking when he knew he was wrong. "I just explained about that to Professor Snape and he agreed to treat the production professionally."

When Hermione grinned, Harry's breath caught. He thought about her being eighteen now, older than he. Seeing her wicked grin made him forget about Snape and the production and focus only on her. A devilish grin of his own widened and he looked at her through hooded eyes. When she glanced up at him again, her eyes flew open wide and her grin disappeared. Warily, she said, "What?"

Harry edged closer to her and said, "So, you're an older woman. You know, I think older women are sexy." His gaze locked with hers and he kept leaning closer to her. His insides jumped when his lips covered hers again. When she didn't pull away immediately, he revelled in his success and slid his hands up and around her.

Hermione was shocked, even as she berated herself for it. She should have known what Harry wanted when he came with her to her room. It was plain in his eyes. She responded to his kiss like she had earlier that morning, feeling the tingling in her centre. She vaguely thought about what they had been doing when Ron had shown up. Her body was responding to Harry's fevered kisses and the warmth of his hands on her back. She felt him trembling under her hands as he devoured her. Gasping for breath, she pulled back.

Harry reluctantly released her a bit and looked at her face. Her lips were glistening and her eyes were dark with whirling emotions. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her into oblivion. His stomach felt like it was on fire. He was breathing heavily, trying to control his hormones. He felt her heartbeat racing under him and knew he couldn't have spoken at that moment if he'd tried.

Hermione searched his face and saw only affection and passion. She could tell that things could go much too far and too fast if they weren't careful. Taking a shaky breath, she finally whispered, "I thought you wanted to look over our parts." Harry's eyes narrowed at the inadvertent innuendo and a smirk played over his lips. Hermione's eyes widened in chagrin. She felt even more colour rise to her already heated cheeks. "I... I meant... you know..."

Harry chuckled at her embarrassment and kissed her quickly, cutting off her attempt at explanation. "I know what you meant. Although, I do think that looking over some other parts could be quite entertaining." He raised an eyebrow at her with an amused smile. When Hermione looked away, he laughed aloud. This made her push him away, petulantly, and she smacked his arm.

"Prat! Don't make fun of me!"

He rubbed his arm where she had slugged him and took a deep breath through his laughter. He tried to regain his composure and dampen the ardour that had been coursing through him. Hermione squirmed away from him, moving to the desk and standing for a moment, turned away from him. Taking a deep breath, she picked up the script and turned around. Very causally, she held it out toward Harry and said, "Here. Let's read the script. That's what you came here for, isn't it?" She gave Harry a challenging look, raising her eyebrows.

Harry had the grace to look away, abashed. Then he gave her a wry grin, looking at her through his lashes...Gods, I wish he wouldn't do that......and retorted, "Well, it was a handy excuse."

Hermione threw the script at him and he caught it like a Snitch. She should have known better; his reflexes were far too fast for her to manage hitting him like that. In a low voice, Hermione said, "Harry, I think it might be better if you went back to the Tower. It's getting late, and I don't want either of us to get in trouble."

Harry stood abruptly, closing the distance between them, putting his hands on the desk on either side of her. He looked earnestly down at her. "Don't make me go. I'll behave, I promise. C'mon 'Mione, let me stay and read the script with you."

Her pulse quickened as she felt the heat from his body on hers again. It's too risky if he stays. I don't know if I could stop him if he pressed the issue... I don't know that I'd want to stop him... She set her lips in a determined line and looked resolutely up into Harry's wistful gaze. "No. It's just too much right now, Harry. So much has happened today. We'll just take things as they come, okay? Please, go back to the others and I'll see you tomorrow." She placed her hands firmly on his chest, shooing away the errant thought about how nice it felt, and gently pushed him away from her.

Harry's face fell. He stepped back and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Hermione slid past him and stepped around the bed to the door. He sighed deeply and trudged after her. She opened the door and he looked at her, pouting a little. He covered her hand on the doorknob and stroked her knuckles. "Are you sure I can't stay a bit longer?"

Hermione glanced cautiously into the corridor, to see if anyone were about to see them. The corridor was empty. She was startled to feel Harry's lips near her ear, sending a shiver down her spine. "Please?" he whispered.

Stoically, she turned her head and found herself enveloped in a deep green gaze of want and heat. Gulping, she shook her head "no," not trusting her voice. Her stomach was roiling again. She closed her eyes for a moment and when she opened them, Harry was looking down, defeated. He let go of her hand and stepped past her. She let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding. She felt the goose bumps on her arms from his whisper. It gave her a tingle deep inside again and she knew she had better shut the door before she gave in to her out of control hormones.

She closed the door about halfway and Harry turned back. He manfully put aside his frustration and smiled. He realized he'd have to take baby steps if he didn't want to cock things up. In as normal a tone as he could muster, he said, "So, see you at breakfast?"

Hermione gratefully nodded and shut the door a little more. She paused and said, "Good night, Harry."

With lightning speed...damn those Quidditch reflexes!...he stepped forward again and kissed her. When he broke away, she was breathless. His voice trembled a bit, full of deeper meaning, as he said, "Good night, Hermione. Sweet dreams." He turned quickly on his heel and rushed down the corridor.

Hermione numbly shut the door, locked and warded it. She leant against the heavy wood and took a deep calming breath. Mercy! I always thought those ridiculous romance novels Ginny reads were exaggerating things. Who knew it could be like this? I never really looked at Harry like that until just recently, and now I could snog him into next week!

Pushing herself off the door, she picked her script up from where Harry had dropped it. She already knew the story. She had loved the musical when she had seen it with her parents years ago. She had even bought the CD of the soundtrack right after seeing the show. What none of the others at Hogwarts knew, as she had kept it to herself, was that she already knew the whole soundtrack word for word. She was still curious to read the script, however, knowing it had some dialogue that was not on the soundtrack. She idly hoped that the singing lessons she had had as a child would be enough for her to perform on her own without the spell. Her instructor had told her she had a natural talent. Of course, being the perfectionist she was, she knew that if her skills weren't good enough, she'd use the spell in a heartbeat. She loved the play too much to not give it the very best she could.

Humming to herself, she took the script into her bathroom and opened it as she started the water running for her bath. She was a few pages in when the water was ready and she disrobed.

"Wingardium Leviosa." The script hung above the water and she smiled with satisfaction as she soaked in the warm water, reading.

As she read, she pictured each of the cast members in their roles, remembering what the costumes and the set looked like.

It will be so beautiful! She giggled to herself when she pictured Ron and Neville dressed as the managers in their Muggle suits. Actually, I'm sure they'll look quite handsome. But they'll both be so uncomfortable! She returned her gaze to the page and rolled her eyes at the thought of Pansy and Draco as Carlotta and Piangi.

Gods, as if she weren't annoying enough! Hmph, she's perfectly suited to playing a conceited bitch. Hermione smirked at the shocked reaction she would get if she ever stated her opinion out loud. They all thought she was such a goody-goody. Well, if word got around that she had been snogging Harry alone in her room on a Saturday night, perhaps her reputation would change. Thinking of Harry again made her stomach flutter. She pictured him in his costume as Raoul and felt her insides jump. Now, he would definitely look handsome in his suits! He'll look every inch the dark romantic hero. She smiled to herself. Savouring the lingering warmth from their kisses, she continued reading.

She laughed again as she pictured McGonagall as Giry, complete with her cane. Really, the Sorting Hat did quite a commendable job on casting. And Ginny will be positively sweet as Meg. I'll bet Dumbledore has something cooked up with some charms to make the magic mirror...

Her thoughts trailed off as she arrived at the part where the Phantom first sings to her in the dressing room. Her mind's eye saw Snape, but not the Snape of her Potions class, instead, she saw the Snape from just a few hours before. When she relived the piercing gaze that had raked her from head to toe, she felt the same tingling sensations in her body. Her heart sped up and she felt perspiration beading on her lip. She vividly remembered the answering look in his eyes before he had quelled it and had torn his gaze away.

Stop it. You're imagining things. You've let yourself get carried away with this play and you're imagining things that aren't there. Just be grateful that he stopped raging at you.

She forced herself to read again. In her mind she heard the music and sang along in her head with the words on the page. Imagining Snape as the Phantom, she paid careful attention to what he would sing, wondering whether his singing voice would be as commanding and powerful as his speaking voice. She shuddered as she remembered how silky his voice could be. Really, his voice is the most attractive thing about him.

She mused over the lyrics of their duet. As loath as I am to admit it, he really is the only choice to play the role. He certainly has power over people. Witness his classes for proof! Then her eyes narrowed at the line, "man and mystery... were both in you." That fits him perfectly. He's always been an enigma. Even in the Order, we never learnt much about him.

Continuing on to "Music of the Night," she relaxed into the water and closed her eyes. Letting the song play in her head from memory, she put Snape in the place of the Phantom she had seen. She had been much younger then, and couldn't fully appreciate the hypnotic beauty of the song, but now she lost herself in the poetry, imagining Snape's velvet voice wrapping itself around the words.

She remembered the way the Phantom had stalked Christine, circling her as if she were prey, accustoming her to his cold touch. Vaguely she felt a heat pooling in her stomach, but she was immersed in the images and the song in her head and paid no heed. She saw the way Christine caressed the mask and sighed almost inaudibly.

Then, the images of the Phantom changed to those of Snape in his Death Eater mask and cloak. She had seen him wearing them and sleek black gloves not long before the Final Battle, when he had come to warn them of the impending strike. She had been petrified for an instant until he had ripped his mask away. Then she felt foolish for not realizing it must have been him. Number Twelve was too well guarded for any other Death Eaters to find it. Still, she had never been more thankful to be looking up into the familiar pale, grim face framed by lank black hair. She had smiled in her relief and he had curtly nodded to her before striding purposefully off.

Now her mind was mixing memories from the play with her own memories. She thought about the part where Christine snatches the mask off the Phantom and easily saw Snape whirling on her in anger. It was something she had seen so many times before, even just that morning.

The sadness of his song, "Stranger Than You Dreamt It" tugged at her. She had always felt pity for the Phantom at that point. It wasn't his fault that he was so reviled. She wondered if anyone had ever learnt to "see the man behind the monster" that was Snape. Then she felt a moment of shame. He was not a monster. True, he had done some monstrous things in his past, but he made up for that! He was noble, and, in the end, good.

Harry and Ron never tried to see the man behind the Potions Master, but she did. She knew how much Dumbledore had trusted him, and how dangerous Snape's position had been. It was the least she could do to try and ignore the taciturn manner he used as a front and appreciate the brilliant mind and integrity buried behind it.

Her stomach roiled again. She blinked her eyes open. The water was getting cold, and she hadn't turned a page since the Magic Mirror scene. She was taken aback at how long she had been soaking in her tub thinking about Snape. She flushed again at the feelings she suddenly noticed.

You are not getting turned on by Snape! It's the character... and the costumes... and the romance of the story... and likely you're still a little worked up from Harry earlier! She refused to admit to herself that she had got all sorts of hot and bothered while thinking about Snape.

She drained the tub, putting the script on the sink. As she dried off, she was embarrassed to note how stiff her nipples were, and how the wetness between her thighs was not just bathwater. She sighed in frustration. It's a good thing I sent Harry away. Gods, just look how out of control I am! It would have been disastrous if he were still here to take advantage of it...

Hermione finished drying herself and put on her nightgown. The fabric scraped across her hard nipples, making her hiss at the sensation. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror and saw the colour burning in her cheeks and the glint in her eyes. It reminded her of what she had seen in Harry's earlier that day.

She shooed Crookshanks off the bed and turned down the covers. "Accio script. Accio music box." She sat on the bed and tucked her feet under the sheet. She marked her place in the script and set it on her nightstand, on top of a stack of books. Then she put the music box on the edge nearest her and scooted down on her bed, lying on her side and looking at it. It was very ornate, carved and gilded and painted. She smiled at the ingenious way Dumbledore managed to get the recording to them without access to Muggle devices. She had been rather disappointed when she brought her CD player to Hogwarts, only to find out that it wouldn't work. She had actually managed to forget that part of Hogwarts: A History.

She picked up the box and rolled onto her back, shoving her hair above her head on the pillow. She saw the little dials and toggles on the sides, marked with their purposes. Smiling to herself, she set them so she could listen from the "Angel of Music/ The Mirror" through to the end of "Stranger Than You Dreamt It." She set the volume at a soft, unobtrusive level and placed the box back on her nightstand.

Rolling back onto her side, she stared at it without opening it. Her stomach still fluttered and roiled. Too much excitement for one day. You'll feel better in the morning. She pulled her covers up to her ribs and doused the lights in her room, able to see the box in the glow of moonlight from her window.

She heard the music in her head, but didn't open the box. Images of the play, and of her friends, and of Snape swirled in her head. She closed her eyes, but she could see the box outlined against her lids. Taking a deep breath, she reached out a tentative hand and opened it. Almost immediately, music started, and the Phantom's voice came out of the darkness.

She closed her eyes and it sounded like he was there in her room. The quality of the recording was amazing. She had a fleeting thought of Snape as the Phantom in her room and shied away from the tingle in her body that made her shiver.

She rolled onto her back again and rubbed her hands over the goose flesh that had risen on her arms. Her nipples pressed against her crossed forearms, still stiff. Frowning, she gripped her arms tightly under her breasts, hugging herself. The music swelled around her and she felt the lure of the Phantom's words, "I am your Angel of Music... Come to me: Angel of Music..." Her heart beat quickly against her ribs.

An image of Snape imperiously holding his hand out to her through a magic mirror, willing her to follow him, flashed in her mind. She felt the twisting in her gut as the image of her took his hand and disappeared with him. She remembered the electric jolt she felt when she shook hands with him that night and her breathing quickened.

During the song while travelling to the underground labyrinth, Hermione envisioned the misty lake at Hogwarts that she crossed as a first year. But instead of Hagrid, she saw Snape at the prow. His gaze was magnetic. She heard the extravagant vocalizing that Christine was doing in the recording and felt her senses soaring higher as Christine's pitch climbed. She was mesmerized by the low, insistent tones of the Phantom coaxing Christine to dizzying heights of sound. Her mind turned the Phantom's voice into the dangerously soft purr of Snape at his most cunning and she shuddered.

As Christine hit the peak of her vocal climb, Hermione gasped. Her thoughts raced in a jumble as her intellect...older and more mature than when she had first seen the play...realized that Christine's vocal flight and peak in response to the Phantom's insistent words were very like the build-up and climax of a woman being brought to orgasm by her lover's seduction.

Her mind reeled and she latched onto the song playing next, trying to fend off the throbbing in her body.

It was "Music of the Night." Hermione lay there as if drugged. Her body felt leaden with need and her mind was consumed by the hypnotic lyrics. She released her ribs from her rigid grip and rolled to her side, hugging a pillow against her stomach. She could feel her heart beat in every limb. But she was most distracted by the pulsing in her core. She curled into a foetal position, wrapping herself around the pillow.

Her mind replayed the images of Snape as the Phantom circling her as Christine as he sang his seductive ode to darkness. She was in the thrall of the music and the situation and felt buoyed along in the swift current of emotion. Finally, the song ended. She lay still as Christine woke from her sleep to hear the Phantom composing.

When the Phantom rounded on Christine in rage, Hermione remembered Snape bellowing at her in front of the notice board that morning. She cringed and shivered in terror at the memory. She knew she had fainted in reaction to the shock and Harry and Ron had brought her to her room. She realized that she'd have to get over her terror of Snape's wrath if she was to perform her role correctly in this scene. Christine didn't back down from the Phantom.

She heard the misery in the Phantom's voice and wondered if Snape would be able to show that kind of emotion. She was sure he must have felt that way at some point, but he kept his emotions so carefully locked away that she didn't know if he could even pretend to show such feelings.

Suddenly Hermione was drawn from her musings by the line, "Fear can turn to love." Startled by this notion, she wondered if it was really true. Again, her mind turned to Snape. Most people, with very few exceptions, were afraid of the daunting, imposing Potions Master and ex-Death Eater. Could someone learn to love him? She marvelled at the idea of putting Snape and love in the same sentence. It was too fantastical. She shook her head, momentarily distracted from her physical discomfort by the unlikely nature of her thoughts.

Abruptly, the song ended and the music box stopped. The silence in her room was deafening. She heard her rapid breathing and Crookshanks's contented purr from her armchair. She gingerly uncurled herself from around her pillow and stretched out onto her back. She felt the stirring in her centre and the heat that seemed to pour off her. She sighed, frustrated. Frustrated. That's exactly it! You're sexually frustrated after so many ups and downs today. She suppressed a wry grin as she thought about what else might have had its ups and downs today as well.

An embarrassed expression took up residence on her face as she analytically pondered the possible solutions.

The recently awakened part of her that fired right up when Harry kissed her smiled devilishly and said, Well, you could always pretend you're doing a bed check as Head Girl and just 'end up' in Harry's...

Hermione instantly quashed that dangerous line of thought. She squeezed her legs together at the strong throb that idea elicited.

Well, you could always take a Dreamless Sleep draught, but then you'd have to go to Madam Pomfrey or Professor Snape to get one. And they'd want to know why you need it, and... She let out an explosive breath, shaking her head. No, that's a bad idea too. She especially didn't like the idea of disturbing Snape right now, not after the events of the day, and not with her current condition.

So, the rational, practical side spoke up. You know what you should do. Why are you even bothering with anything else? There's nothing wrong with it. It's completely natural. You'd be more abnormal if you didn't do it. Remember, those books on sexuality you read two years ago said so.

Hermione blushed, even in the solitude of her dark room. She knew it was normal, but she had only ever tried it a few times before. She always felt like she was doing something naughty and shameful.

Out of nowhere, that newly roused part of her being popped her head up and grinned at the idea of something naughty. Mmmm, that sounds like fun...

Writhing in a combination of embarrassment and need, she pulled the covers up to her chin, slipping her hands underneath. She shut her eyes tight and her hands lightly travelled down her torso to lift her nightgown. She felt a shock of surprise that she had neglected to put on her knickers when she got ready for bed. A delicious shiver washed over her. She felt... wanton.

Her hands slid over her belly and down over her thighs. She was momentarily disconcerted by how much moisture she felt leaking out to coat her curls. She gasped as her fingertips brushed over her swollen lips, stunned at how aroused she was. She gave herself over to the pleasure pulsing in her loins as she stroked her fingertips up and down her soaked pussy.

Her breath caught as one finger slipped between her lips and flicked against her clit. She rubbed her fingers along either side of it, letting out a ragged sigh. Her hips rocked as she continued her explorations. She licked her lips, remembering Harry's fiery kisses and felt a surge of excitement. Fleetingly, she wondered if it would feel different if Harry's fingers were touching her. A wave of heat crashed over her at the thought.

She sped up, her fingers dancing over her clit and the lips around it. She felt her pulse race and her breathing increase to match it as she went higher and higher toward her peak.

Unbidden, her connection of Christine's dizzying vocal acrobatics and the build-up to an orgasm flashed across her mind. She felt the tightening of her muscles, and knew she was on the edge. Suddenly she heard the low, coaxing velvet voice of her Potions Professor urging her, "Sing for me!" She moaned as she climaxed, her muscles clenching spasmodically. Her head rolled on her pillow; her hand gripped the bedclothes; her toes curled and twitched. Visions flooded her mind as she spiralled down from her crest, and she sank into a sated sleep with the image of one Professor Snape, eyes burning with intensity, locking eyes with her through a mask as he pulled her to him and they disappeared.