Her Day, His Evening

Hugs to my two wonderful betas, Dreamy_Dragon and CharmedForce.

Special thanks to notsosaintly. She still knows why.

6: Her Day, His Evening

Hermione felt strange when she got up and stretched – she expected his hand to reach out to her, pulling her back to bed, and was somehow disappointed when he didn't.

"It's over," she said firmly, but not too loud so she wouldn't wake him up.

Then she looked at him and smiled. Lying on his back with his arms spread wide over the sheets and his mouth slightly ajar, he was snoring softly. Dryly, she stated, "Well, you sleep like a dead man. I guess even shouting in your ear wouldn't disturb your slumber. Sweet dreams, Professor Snape!"

As she had no business anymore in her Potions master's rooms, she assumed that it was time to leave. Somewhat reluctantly, Hermione took the blanket she hadn't managed to pick up earlier and pulled it over Snape's sleeping body, seeing him shivering with cold even in his deep sleep. She hoped that his skin wouldn't react so bitterly, so very aggressive anymore to the soft fabric now that the potion had left his system. "You will need a really good healing charm if you want to be able to so much as get up later," she told him and heard with surprise the fondness in her voice.

Then she shook her head. Frowning, she wondered why she was talking to Professor Snape as if he could hear her – or as if he would be interested in her opinion even if he were awake.

"Each of his reactions was potion induced," she sternly told herself. "When he wakes up, he will be nothing but the terror of the dungeons again, and I'm his most hated student. He possibly will expel me for what I've done and for knowing too much."

Briskly, she stepped away from the bed and went to the fireplace. It was cold and empty as warmth would have meant torture during the night. But now a fire was due. She piled a few logs and lit them. She was satisfied only when she felt the flames sending heat into the room – he would need the warmth to sleep comfortably. And only when she turned to him and saw his features soften in the light of the fire was she willing to leave Snape's bedroom.

In the living room she lit a fire as well and then looked for her abandoned clothes before she remembered that she had taken them off in the bedroom. So she went back, took another look to check if he was still asleep, picked up her jeans and jumper, and tiptoed out even slower than before.

Outside, she was just about to get dressed when a thought hit her. She dropped her clothes on the nearest chair. "I reek of sex," she stated to no one in particular. "It's impossible to leave, smelling like this and looking like... like having spent the night in Professor Snape's bed."

A view down her front confirmed her worries: there were various bruises on her hips and her waist, on her thighs, even on her knees. His hands were strong; his desire had been stronger, and his fingers had left visible marks on her body. Of course no one would see her naked in the near future, but there were bruises on her forearms, her wrists, her neck and her throat as well. She needed to check those more thoroughly in order to be able to hide them. She needed a mirror.

And she needed a shower.

Hmmm. She could combine both needs by using his bathroom. And it would give her the opportunity to stay a bit longer. Although she was pretty sure that this night had meant nothing but pain and embarrassment for him, it had meant a lot to her, and she hadn't yet a clue how to deal with it or her feelings or the longing to go back to the bedroom, taking another look at the man sleeping there.

Damn. It wouldn't be easy to go on as if nothing had happened. To see him in class again, to endure his sneers and his nasty comments, to hand in her homework, seeing his hands holding the quill instead of caressing her breast...

"Stop thinking about him!" she scolded herself, went into his bathroom and refused to admit that she was glad about the delay in leaving her professor's rooms.

His mirror revealed that his hands had been everywhere on her as well as his lips and his mouth. And his cock, she thought, having a hard time suppressing a lascivious grin that wanted to spread on her lips. He had taken what he wanted, and she had enjoyed it – no point in denying it. But still, she needed to do something about his marks on her skin.

A scarf would be a good idea; so would be very long sleeves until she had found the recipe for the salve to vanish the bruises. And she would have to remember to get undressed in the dark so the other girls in her dormitory wouldn't see the proof that the Head Girl had been very naughty indeed.

"Shower," she reminded herself and put her clothes on a small chair. His bathroom was small – bathtub, shower, sink – and only very few personal items were visible. Toothbrush and toothpaste, of course, a hair brush, and shaving items. A deep purple dressing gown was hanging behind the door. And the towels were of the darkest black: soft, huge and fluffy things, perfect to warm up a body after a nice, long shower. Actually, the towels as well as the dressing gown were big enough to even cover two people. If two people were to take a shower together, that was.

Oh, gods, Hermione thought and stepped into the cabin. Getting over this might be harder than I considered at first.

She turned the water on and sighed contently when the hard, warm beam hit her head, soaked her hair and relaxed her shoulders. For some minutes she just stood and let the water massage her, the soft patter washing her thoughts away as well. Then she searched and found the soap.

Sandalwood. The fragrance was very nice, and the thought that she was in her teacher's shower whilst the teacher in question was sleeping naked in his bedroom just a few steps away made her shiver.

"Stop it. Don't think about him," she murmured and took the soap. Creamy foam bubbled in her hands.

Resolutely, she turned off the water and started to wash herself. She had the strong feeling that – if she wanted to quench certain romantic feelings before they fully blossomed – she would need to wash off the night's events, would need to erase his fragrance on her skin, would need to cleanse herself of his semen that was sticking on her legs and which she could still taste on her tongue.

"The last thing I need is to fall in love with him," she whispered into the water. "I can't fall in love with him – this was just one night, born out of need and pain, and if I allow my emotions to run wild, there won't even be the chance of friendship between us!"

A tiny voice tried to get noticed, but was ignored. It wanted to say 'It might be too late', but of course that was ridiculous. She was not in love with Snape. Professor Snape. Severus.

Unfortunately, she realised only a moment later that the touch of his soap on her naked skin, combined with the pictures of its owner's nude body, didn't help much to forget what had happened.

She was wet, and it wasn't because of the water she had turned on again.

His hands on her head. The velvet texture of his cock. The power she had had over him. She remembered him trembling under her hands and trembled herself at the memory of it.

"Now that's ridiculous," she said aloud to the tiles. "I've had enough sex for a lifetime!"

So what were her slippery fingers doing between her legs? The area between her legs was in no condition to welcome fingers, slippery or not!

Her fingers, though, didn't listen to her, and actually it seemed as if she weren't as sore as she had thought. Her other hand had decided that gently rolling the nipple of her left breast was a good idea.

How cool the tiles were, how warm the water, how wet her entrance and how longing for release she was. Before her inner eye she saw his black eyes staring into hers whilst thrusting inside her. And her fingers urged on and her legs parted only a bit, and it didn't really take long to send herself off, moaning and groaning, thinking of Professor Severus Snape.

Oh, hell.

It took her a few moments to catch her breath again afterwards. "Damn," she stated and washed her hair with his shampoo. "Not only did I just pleasure myself in Professor Snape's shower, using his soap, but I did so and came whilst thinking of him!" Severely annoyed with herself now, she stepped out of the cabin and started drying herself with rough and careless hands.

And what the bloody hell was her nose doing now, searching for his scent in his towel? "Stop it!" she nearly shouted, tossing the towel into the next corner and running out of Snape's bathroom towards her clothes, towards safety, towards normality. Surely, when she was dressed this would be over, once and for all! Hopefully, when not naked anymore, her usually well-working brain would stop insisting that she should think about Snape, Snape, and Snape again!

She dressed hastily, but found that she was indeed quite sore and the fabric of her knickers not soft enough to go well with the tender places it touched. The sight of the chair behind the desk with its hard wooden seat caused her physical pain when she imagined sitting on it. Guess I should give up chairs and benches for a little while, she thought with a grin.

Right then, time to leave. Just a quick check if everything is all right with him. But she was somewhat taken by surprise when she found herself standing again in front of his bed.

He had turned in his sleep. She couldn't see his face anymore, but only part of his shoulder and his dark hair, reaching halfway down his back. She seriously considered getting undressed and slipping into bed with him, snuggling up closely, bathing in the heat of his body.

She had reached out her hand already, touching the blanket, when she realised that it was a really bad idea, this thing she was about to do. "Out! Get out – that's the last thing he wants, you getting sentimental over something that meant nothing to him!"

This time she got as far as the front door when she considered that she might have to come back here in order to make sure he was... well. Fine. Still asleep. Not relapsing. Whatever. She quite possibly would need to come back. And she decided that she couldn't leave through the front door anyway – how absolutely impossible if one of the students saw her leaving Snape's quarters at half past six in the morning!

Back via Floo then. Back to the headmaster who needed to know if his Potions master was still alive anyway. Back to face the man who would at least be slightly suspicious, seeing her at that time of day and knowing where and with whom she had spent the night.

Twisting her damp hair into a bun at the back of her head, Hermione considered that problem for a moment or two. Well, she would simply lie to him. She would tell him that Professor Snape had been too sick to be left alone, and that he was now asleep. Partly true, anyway.

Before she left, she altered Snape's wards, which was always easy from inside the warded room. Now she would be able to come in through the front door. When no one was around to watch her. "You are lingering," she hissed at herself and resolutely stepped to the blazing fire, found some Floo powder, and surprisingly enough, managed to leave Snape's rooms without further delay. It had only taken her a bit more than an hour.

******************

Dumbledore sat in the same armchair as the previous evening when Hermione arrived back at his rooms.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," he said in his friendly voice, but looked at the young woman sternly over his half-moon glasses. "Please take a seat. I would like to hear about Professor Snape's condition." He gestured to the big chair that stood in front of the fireplace.

"No thank you. I prefer to stand if you don't mind," Hermione answered shortly. She wanted to get out of here as quickly as possible. But she took a step towards the headmaster. "Professor Snape is asleep. I doubt he will wake up any time soon. He won't be able to teach either today or tomorrow."

"Is that so?" Dumbledore said more mildly. "You know, I was seriously concerned about your words yesterday evening and decided that I should check on Severus myself. Imagine my surprise when I found that you had warded his fireplace. I truly wondered why you did this. Maybe you would care to enlighten me?"

Hermione looked straight into his eyes. Usually, she would have quivered with uneasiness, knowing about the immense power of the headmaster beneath his friendly exterior. But after last night, she found that he wasn't that scary anymore. "Professor Snape asked me to do so," she lied blatantly. "He was grateful that I had information about the potion that made him sick and didn't want to be disturbed. With my help he brewed an antidote. I decided to stay and make sure that... that everything was all right."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "It was of your own free will that you stayed in Professor Snape's rooms? He didn't... force you? Or prevented you from leaving?"

He knows, Hermione thought, feeling surprisingly unimpressed by it. "Yes," she said coolly. "I stayed because I wanted to stay. Professor Snape even ordered me to leave. I declined his wish – he was in no condition to be left alone. And as I am old enough to make my own decisions, I think you have no right to question my actions. Headmaster."

Dumbledore got up and turned his back to her. "You are an extraordinary and most loyal witch," he murmured. "I must admit, I did not expect you to care for Professor Snape."

He thinks I'm lying. It was obvious to Hermione – his words and the way he spoke them betrayed him. Wondering vaguely if he would use Legilimens on her to find out the truth, she stared at her headmaster's back and really didn't know if she would dare to draw her wand if he attempted to do so.

He didn't. Apparently studying his books, it took him many minutes to remember that she was still standing behind him. Finally, he said, "I sincerely hope Severus will recover from the potion he was given. You may go, Miss Granger."

She sighed deeply. "May I please be excused from classes, at least in the morning?" she asked as relief made her knees weak. There wouldn't be a confrontation. Stifling a yawn, she explained, "I'm sorry, but I would surely fall asleep."

"Certainly," Dumbledore answered, still not looking at her. "I will inform Minerva and Rubeus."

Hermione was out of his rooms before he could think of some more questions to ask.

******************

There were students everywhere as breakfast was about to begin when Hermione passed by, heading for Gryffindor Tower. Inevitably, she bumped into Harry and Ron.

"'Mione!" Ron called, his mouth occupied with an early toast. "Where have you been? We were looking for you!"

"Didn't you sleep well?" Harry asked and eyed her tired face suspiciously. "Don't tell us you worried all night over Snape!"

Hermione stared at her two best friends and couldn't match their questions to the events of last night. Those two realities simply didn't fit. She opened her mouth to tell them that she felt unwell when Ron said, "We've been doing some research. We've found out something about the potion we slipped the greasy bat."

Hermione nearly dropped her bag in surprise. "Research? You? What's wrong with you, are you ill?"

"Oy!" Harry said and grinned. He took her arm and pulled her into a quiet corner. "After you scolded us we went to the library and checked up on that one ingredient, you know, the Ashwinder Eggs? We found out that... you know... that..." He chuckled too heavily to finish his sentence.

Ron took over for him. "Sometimes – rarely – they're used in aphrodisiacs, Hermione! Bet you didn't know that! We didn't brew a sickening potion, but made Snape... erm... horny!" His face turned crimson, and he couldn't suppress his laughter. Clearly, he considered the image of Snape craving for a woman as too ridiculous not to laugh one's head off.

"Really," Hermione said quietly. "How funny. See you later, boys."

Clearly confused, Harry and Ron stared after her. "Now what's wrong with her this time?" Harry said, and Ron shook his head. "Dunno, mate, dunno. Maybe she doesn't know what an aphrodisiac is?"

******************

Up to her dormitory, drawing the curtains of her bed close, getting undressed, hitting the pillow, and then sleep – that was Hermione's plan, but it didn't work out. She found her bed, she did get undressed, she even lay down and pulled the duvet over her tired body, but sleep wouldn't come. Her friends' words rang in her ears together with their laughter, which was one part of the problem. She knew they wouldn't keep it a secret for long that they – that someone – had laced Snape's tea with a lust potion. It would be most humiliating for the professor if they started babbling about it.

Not if. When. They certainly would talk. And it could very well cost Snape his job if somehow the rumour would spread that not only had he been given an aphrodisiac, but that he hadn't been alone the night he suffered from the consequences. Harry and Ron only needed to put two and two together, and they would guess in no time that she had been with Snape during the night in question. Obviously, they both would attack Snape immediately, assuming the worst and not bothering to ask her first.

And Dumbledore already knew that Snape hadn't been sick, she was certain of it. If there were rumours, he couldn't afford to support his Potions master as of course everyone would assume he had forced her, had raped her.

Additionally, there was the problem that whenever she closed her eyes, he looked at her with that damn cute, surprised smile on his lips and with those black eyes that could sparkle so mischievously. Squeezing her tired eyes shut didn't work, hiding under the duvet didn't work, tossing and turning didn't work, and after half an hour trying to get some sleep, Hermione gave up and got dressed again. Slowly and carefully and choosing especially soft underwear.

Obviously, she went to the library to find a nice book and to do some homework. Strangely enough, the thought of attending classes didn't cross her mind at all.

Hermione had a favourite desk in the library, and this was where she headed, settled down and enjoyed the silence that enwrapped her. Sunbeams had found their way in, and dusty little stars danced in the light. It was warm, it was peaceful, she felt safe and sort of at home. She had to write an essay for Professor McGonagall, and her Arithmancy homework was due tomorrow. She only needed to decide what to do first.

Wonder if I can find a healing spell, she thought and went to search for the book she needed. As she knew every volume personally, it didn't take her long to locate one that dealt with injuries of the skin, caused either by hexes, curses, illnesses or potions. Finding the right spell and copying it only cost her another few minutes. Dealing with her fury that she couldn't get Snape out of her head cost her half an hour.

Then she came to terms with herself. As the day had started oddly enough – With a shower down in the dungeons and other interesting things – she would just go with the flow even if it meant that she would end up in his quarters again. She was a very thorough witch, she had to give that to herself; therefore, she couldn't leave business unfinished. He needed the healing spell. He would need something to eat, later. She even couldn't be certain that her professor was all right, so she would make sure that he was.

And she hadn't dealt with Ron and Harry yet, either. Disembowel them, shot through her mind and, Find a dragon.

Then Hermione's eyes fell on her bag that lay forgotten on the floor next to her favourite table and an even better idea, better than anything Snape had come up with concerning the boys whilst lying in her arms, jumped at her out of nowhere.

A wide grin full of malice crossed Hermione's usually so friendly face. She snatched up her bag, stuffed the piece of parchment with the spell in and headed for the dungeons – the one place where certainly no student would be found today as Dumbledore had surely announced during breakfast that Professor Snape had been taken ill and wouldn't return to work before Monday.

When Snape woke up, he felt as if a large, unfriendly wardrobe was sitting on his head, hopping up and down playfully and crushing his skull to pieces. Ouch, he thought wearily and with tremendous effort managed to open half an eye to peek at the clock: ten to eight.

Must be Tuesday, he thought with a brain that wasn't really up to thinking yet. But he had figured out that, as his clock hadn't woken him at half past five as usual, it surely was the one day of the week where he didn't have to get up before sunrise.

He felt lousy. Actually, he felt as if he was dead. Hangover, he guessed. Big, bad hangover. Big, nasty, monstrous, awful hang... "Why do I have a hangover?" Snape muttered and forced his other eye open. "I don't drink. I hate firewhisky. I don't go out on Mondays. Or any other days. I don't drink alone. Therefore, I don't have hangovers."

Fighting with the duvet, he won after strangling it and then beating it down to the ground. Groaning, he sat up and rested his aching head in his hands. "Ouch," he murmured and nearly allowed his tired body to slump back to the mattress and drop off to sleep again. Only the fact that he was starving kept him awake.

He opened his eyes a bit wider and stared at his bare legs.

Naked legs, naked chest, naked everything; he wasn't dressed at all.

Bugger. Had he missed something?

"I never sleep naked!" Good Merlin, and his voice sounded as if he had been tortured – rough and hoarse, unfamiliar and faint. "Crucio?" he wondered as that would certainly explain why he felt like a three-day old corpse. It didn't explain, though, why he was in his own bed – naked. Each time the Dark Lord had been friendly enough to bless him with his attention, he had always made it up to the infirmary afterwards, not collapsing before he had reached Poppy's caring wings. And he had always been dressed, before, in, and after the infirmary bed.

So no Cruciatus Curse had caused his headache and the loss of his clothes. Hmmm. Strange.

And besides – hadn't there already been one Tuesday in this week? The Tuesday two days ago when he had given detention to an entire class for general inappropriate behaviour?

But, but... if today wasn't Tuesday, but Thursday, and if it was indeed nearly eight o'clock now... then this meant that he was late for classes! He, Severus Snape, who ripped everyone into pieces who dared to arrive as much as a second late, not to talk about half an hour!

"What's going on here?" Snape hissed, swung – or rather wobbled – his legs out of bed and heaved himself into a standing position.

Bad idea. Very, very bad idea. Actually, getting up was definitely not only a bad idea, but a lousy one. In front of his eyes colourful stars were dancing, his head was close to exploding, his legs didn't feel much stronger than wet spaghetti, and he generally wished he hadn't woken up at all.

But there were too many mysteries to unravel. So Hogwarts' Potions master fought hard to keep standing and won.

He swayed slightly. Warmth brushed his naked skin. Puzzled, he turned and stared into the flames. Had he lit the fire? And if yes, why he didn't remember doing so or putting new logs on? "Strange," he muttered and went to search for his clothes.

Just when he couldn't find his robes and was about to become really suspicious, his eyes fell upon a pot that stood on his bedside table. "You don't belong there," he sternly told the pot and picked it up to check its contents, in vain, though, as the pot was empty. Only the slight whiff of chamomile gave it away. A healing salve? What was that doing on his bedside table?

All of a sudden and still staring at the pot, Snape became highly aware of certain areas of his body.

First, he blushed all the way from his head down to his toes. Then he dropped the pot as memories came rushing back, reminding him which specific healing salve had been in that specific pot, and what exactly he had done with it.

The next moment he nearly fainted when he remembered what else had been done with the salve. He wanted to swear, but couldn't get his mouth to open as his inner eye chose this moment to present him with the memory of who had used the salve to do things he hadn't even dared to dream about.

Snape fled into the shower and hoped that the hot water would wash away those memories, those dreadful, catastrophic, highly erotic memories. The pictures of the girl underneath him and on top of him and beside him and him taking her and her giving him a blow-job whilst... whilst...

"Fuck. Oh goodness grief, damn fucking fuck. Shit! Fuck!"

Snape turned the water on and tried to drown himself.

Leaning his head against the cool tiles, the Potions master fought the memories of last night. His inner clock had caught up as well: it wasn't eight in the morning, it was eight in the evening, and he had slept all day in the aftermath of a countless amount of orgasms, reached only with the help of one of his students. A student he had forced to give him a hand job as soon as she had entered his rooms. A student he had raped. A girl who had come willingly into his bed and had done things to him he hadn't imagined possible. A young woman who had refused to leave, and who had found immensely satisfying ways to ease his potion induced desire.

"You perverted bastard," Snape groaned into the water that pattered on his head.

As soon as he had suspected that he had been slipped a potion, he should have gone to Poppy. When he had found it impossible to continue teaching, he should have asked for help. But he had been too stubborn and far too embarrassed, had thought he could deal with it even when it had been quite obvious that the potion in question wasn't a potion that could be found in a schoolbook. Or in Advanced Potion books. Or in any book at all he had searched in.

Defeated, Snape sunk to his knees and hung his head, his wet hair touching the tub, shampoo dripping from his eyelashes and the black strands. What he had done to this child was unforgivable, no matter the circumstances, no matter the madness that had rushed through his veins at the time. He now remembered his fear clearly – not to be able to look into a mirror ever again if he kept her in his rooms. Now he had to deal with the fact that it was a lot worse than that – he wasn't even able to face himself without a mirror.

Slowly, he managed to get up again, rinsed out his hair, and washed himself mechanically. The hot water vanished his headache, but he stepped out of the shower like a beaten man and fished for the towel, which wasn't where it always was, but lay instead in the corner of his bathroom. One step and he had picked it up, wondering how it had come to be there, went to dry his face – and smelled her scent in the fluffy fabric.

The fact that she had taken a shower here hit him like a hammer. Wide-eyed, he stared at the towel, then at the cabin, then pressed his face into her scent once more, her scent in the towel, mingled with his. The thought that she had dried herself with this very towel made him dizzy, made his head spin, made his heart jump. She hadn't stormed out of his rooms as soon as he had fallen asleep. She had taken the time to shower.

Maybe... maybe she didn't hate him too much.

"Sentimental fool," Snape said tiredly when realisation dawned. He knew his own heart only too well. He was used to being nothing but hated, feared, disliked and despised, being called the nasty bat and greasy git. Over the years, he had built a wall around his heart so no one could come near him and had forgotten that each wall has a weak point, and that his weak point was a smile, given willingly. He had forgotten that something as small as a smile could break that wall, simply because no one ever smiled at him. He had ignored the fact that such a smile, if cast at the right moment, could get directly through him – the very moment his stupid heart was unguarded and vulnerable.

And she had smiled at him, last night, at the perfect moment. And as he had been extremely vulnerable, his silly heart had opened to her.

"A pervert, an idiot, a bastard and a fool you are, Severus. Well, that's nothing new." Dropping the towel, Snape embraced the self-disgust that washed over him like an old friend and went to get dressed.

******************

Soft grey trousers, a very soft flannel shirt, thick woollen socks, and on top his dressing gown – he was cold to the bones, still very tired and hungry on top of it, and all he wanted to do was to sit down and forget what had happened. Unfortunately, this wouldn't be possible as he would have to summon a house-elf to get him some food. There was no way he would leave his rooms any time soon. But the house-elf would tell Albus that he was awake. Albus would storm into his rooms instantly to fire him for getting intimate with a student as, surely, she would have told the headmaster every detail of his crime. Actually, Snape wondered why he wasn't already here in his rooms, fuming – Albus could Floo in at any time. Headmaster's privilege.

If the fireplace wasn't warded, that was. And his fireplace was warded, Snape realised only now.

Hermione had made sure that Albus couldn't disturb his sleep? Quickly, Snape checked the wards at his front door and found them altered so that not only he could get in, but someone else as well. Someone female.

Hermione had altered his wards so she could come back without using the headmaster's Floo? Why the hell would she do that?

Confused, Snape dropped into his favourite armchair near the fireplace. Flames danced happily, shedding heat. She's been here, not too long ago, he realised. And at the same moment as his back touched the back of his armchair, he figured out something else: that he shouldn't be able to sit down so easily, to lean back without wincing with pain. When he had fallen asleep, his skin had been burning red, even after she had applied the salve. Under normal circumstances – without magical support – it would have taken days for him to heal, but apparently he seemed to be... fine.

Holding up his hands, Snape inspected them and found them looking pale as usual. Then he pushed back the sleeve on his left arm. Looking closely, he traced a muscle from wrist to elbow, expecting the searing pain he remembered from last night. But there wasn't any.

Experimentally, he flexed his shoulders, leaned into the pillow on his back. Fine. It felt a bit unpleasant, but all in all fine. Come to think of it, if he weren't fine, the towel would have had him screaming with pain given the harshness with which he had rubbed himself dry.

Impossible. Only a specific spell would have sped up the healing of his skin, and only Poppy would have known that spell... But then, the girl was a bookworm. A know-it-all. Someone who knew the library by heart.

Snape's hands grabbed the armrests as something very close to hope stabbed his already severely upset heart. Hope that maybe she not only didn't hate him, but cared for him.

It took him several minutes to persuade his stupid heart to calm down again. When it was beating regularly, his eyes fell on the small table next to his armchair, and his jaw dropped.

Oh, yes, and his heartbeat raced on at galloping speed.

On the table was a pot of tea, covered with a warming spell, a plate with sandwiches, and a letter. The tea was not his usual blend, which had been immensely thoughtful of her as he would have vomited at the sheer smell of it. The sandwiches were massively welcome as he was ravenous, and he devoured them all but one in just a few bites. The letter told him that she had indeed cast a healing spell, that she hoped he had slept well and felt better, that she had made the sandwiches herself so no house-elves were involved, and that she would pop in to speak with him in about another hour. And the headmaster thought it had been a sickening spell he had suffered from. Signed: Hermione. Just her given name – as if they were... close.

Snape sat for another few minutes and drank his tea. Then he summoned a house-elf – something he had been afraid of only moments ago, but which had now become mandatory after he'd read the letter – and told him to get the headmaster down to the dungeons as the Potions master needed to talk to him.

******************

"Severus," Dumbledore greeted him, "you look absolutely terrible. That must have been one nasty sickening potion, my dear boy."

"Good evening to you as well, Albus," Snape replied sourly and gestured at the chair opposite his. "Take a seat. I need to talk to you, but first I want to know what Miss Granger has told you about last night's events." His voice was cool and controlled, betraying none of his emotions; if there were any emotions he possessed at all, that was.

Dumbledore looked at him for a long moment. What he saw troubled him: his Potions master was grey with fatigue, although he had slept all day. He seemed exhausted, and in his eyes there was a haunted look Dumbledore had never seen before, not even when Severus had been tortured by Voldemort.

"Miss Granger told me that you had been slipped a sickening potion," he said, carefully studying Snape's face. "She said she found out coincidentally which exact potion it was, insisted on seeing you, refused to show me the book in which she had found the potion, and reappeared in my rooms around seven this morning. I must admit, I was... suspicious, to say the least."

Snape didn't say a word. But he wasn't surprised that she had lied.

"She said you told her to ward the fireplace?" Dumbledore asked.

"I did," answered the Potions master and met his headmaster's inquiring eyes squarely. He wouldn't tell Albus that the girl had been lying – it was unnecessary.

"She said you had been too sick to be left alone. She said she stayed because she wanted to stay. And she swore you didn't do anything... inappropriate whilst she was here."

"Of course I didn't," snapped Snape.

Snape expected Albus any moment now to accuse him of lying.

"You won't tell me the truth, Severus, will you?" Dumbledore stated gently.

Black eyes stared into blue ones. Snape just shook his head. He knew that Albus wasn't believing a thing either the girl or he had been saying. Still, telling the truth was not an option – it would only compromise the girl and force Albus to take measures no one wanted him to take, not even Albus himself. Snape hoped that Dumbledore would be able to rein in his curiosity and leave things be.

"I need a favour, Albus," Snape said, when silence had stretched a bit too long, and went on without waiting for a reply. "I can't teach the girl any longer. I need you to arrange for her to take Potions lessons and eventually her final exams either in Beauxbatons or Durmstrang. From next week on."

Dumbledore took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes closing at Snape's words. "As she worked closely with you, what explanation would there be for an action like that?" he asked wearily. "Everyone would guess that she either did something terrible to you to earn such punishment, or suspect that a highly personal problem occurred between the two of you. I suppose you don't want either rumour to spread."

Snape sighed deeply, most thankful that his friend didn't press him to reveal the truth, although he probably suspected it. "I've thought about that," he said. "Beauxbatons' Potion mistress owes me a favour; if I ask her, she will lure the girl into one of her highly advanced projects. She usually only allows her best students to participate, but the girl is most brilliant. That Beauxbatons would want her is therefore more than likely. It wouldn't be seen as punishment, but as a reward for one of the best students Hogwarts has ever seen. No negative rumours would spread, and it could ease the girl's way into a possible career. And the project she's been working on with me isn't that special – Beauxbatons is the better choice for her. You just need to pull some strings, break it to her parents, and make it clear to her friends that this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance for her she can't refuse to take."

"Why are you doing this, Severus?" Dumbledore asked quietly. "Do you fear you...?"

"Look at the table, Albus," Snape interrupted.

Dumbledore took in the tray on which one sandwich was left, the pot of tea, the piece of parchment, and raised an eyebrow. "Did she...?"

"Yes."

"So she cares for you, then," said Dumbledore after a moment of silence. "I see. You want to protect her. Well, if you insist..." Then he got up and placed a light hand on his friend's shoulder. "I will do what is necessary, Severus. But I doubt it is the right choice."

"It is the only choice," Snape said and closed his eyes whilst Dumbledore left, listened to the beats of his aching heart, and waited for the knock on his door.

******************

It came not too long after Albus had gone back to his office, and for a moment Snape considered ignoring it when he remembered that she was able to let herself in – he hadn't bothered to readjust his wards so far. "Come in," he called and shook his head at the faintness of his voice. He should sound stern, strong, maybe a little furious. Bu he didn't. At the moment, he didn't sound scary at all.

She opened the door slowly, obviously a bit taken aback that he was actually up and about. Well, up and sitting in a chair that was, but definitely awake.

"Good evening," she said after she had closed the door behind her. "I thought... I just wanted to make sure that you are all right."

"'All right' isn't the expression I would have used," he said, too tired to snap. "Please sit down. I... need to talk to you." She put her bag next to the chair, then sat down, pulling her feet underneath her, making herself comfortable. Observing her was a temptation too big to resist. And he had to make certain that he was right. That it was impossible to teach her any longer. For her own good.

She smiled at him, and his heart bled with the need to touch her. "The healing spell worked by the looks of it." Her voice was slightly smug, and why not? She had mastered a very complicated bit of magic. "Your skin isn't too red, and you are obviously not in pain anymore. Well, not much."

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. It was worse than he had feared – she not only checked on him but insisted on talking about the previous night as well. He should interrupt her, should tell her to shut up, to never mention it again. But for some peculiar reason he couldn't bring himself to do that. Instead he said, "I am feeling much better, thanks to your effort. I am grateful – I would have found it impossible to search for the spell myself, and for obvious reasons I wouldn't have asked Poppy, either." Then he watched her smile deepen and silently called himself a fool.

With bright eyes she looked at him and scanned him from head to toes. "You look very tired, sir, if I may say so. I hope you don't mind that I told Professor Dumbledore you wouldn't take up teaching again before the weekend."

A small smile curved his lips. "I doubt I would have made much sense even tomorrow. But on Monday, I should be all right. Again, thank you for your thoughtfulness."

"Good," she said happily. "I'm looking forward to it – the day is odd without Potions lessons."

Damn, Snape thought. Tell her, now! But he couldn't get the words out.

Instead, he wondered why she was so relaxed in his company. "Albus has just left," he told her, taking in her surprise as well as the way she looked and breathed and played with a strand of her crazy hair. "He told me what you had told him. I am surprised – you lied to him. I would have expected you to... explain to him what has happened."

Now she blushed, but only a bit. "None of his business what happened here," she murmured. "I didn't want him to think wrongly of you as he most likely would have despite the circumstances."

Oh Merlin, he thought, why did this have to happen? I might have been able to gain her friendship, if nothing else. "What I wanted to talk..."

"There is something I need to give back to you," she interrupted him and rummaged in her bag until she had found the book. Carefully, she brushed a few crumbs off its cover and handed it to him. "I think this is safest in your hands," she said, her lips twitching. "Ron and Harry won't miss it, I made sure of that."

"Potter and Weasley won't have use for any magical books anymore," Snape stated coolly. "I will have them expelled. I would rather take a more personal revenge, but I guess disembowelling them is not an option."

She laughed out loud. "You don't need to expel them, and I think it wouldn't be in your best interest anyway – they would come up with quite unpleasant rumours. Therefore, I have taken measures to silence them. They will never, ever cross the line again – at least not with you – they will never say a word about the potion they slipped you, and they will behave most respectfully towards you from now on. I guarantee that."

At a loss for what her words meant, he just nodded to her to go on.

She beamed at him. "I met them after breakfast. They had found out what the Ashwinder Eggs were for."

Snape's expression became fearsome. "They will not keep their mouths shut," he hissed, well knowing that the laughter would never die if they let slip that juicy piece of information. And if anyone ever suspected the girl to be involved, Dumbledore would have no other choice but to fire him.

She raised a hand, interrupting him again. "At lunchtime, I apologised for my rude behaviour yesterday – I had scolded them for slipping you an unknown potion – by giving them a bottle of butterbeer each," she continued lightly.

Silence. Finally, Snape was forced to ask, "And what exactly has that to do with the two imbeciles keeping a secret?"

Comfortably, she leaned back in her chair. "I gave them a piece of parchment as well. With your best regards. After they had emptied the bottles," she added, waiting for him to make a conclusion.

Unfortunately, he didn't have an idea what the connection was between butterbeer and parchment. He raised an eyebrow. "Pray tell me what was on the parchment," he said, surprised by the fact that playing hide and seek with her was most entertaining.

"A spell," Hermione answered. Her lips twitched again. "A lubrication spell. I thought it could come in handy sometime... during the day. Or the night. I guessed they'd be too distracted to think of it. But they will certainly will need a little help."

Her words for a tiny moment didn't make sense at all. Then his eyebrows shot up when he got her meaning. Staring at her, he thought for a moment that he had misunderstood, but then she grinned in the most malicious way he had ever seen on her face.

"How many drops?" he whispered, not really trusting his voice.

"Three. After all, they are still teenagers, and I wanted to teach them a lesson, not kill them."

He suppressed a smile. "They will be drawn to each other like magnets."

She nodded. "I know. I guess when they are out of the Room of Requirement by tomorrow, they will have lost all interest in lacing anyone's tea with a potion ever again. Actually, they will quite possibly have lost all urge to play pranks at all. They will not talk about which potion they have slipped you. They won't even play Quidditch for a few days, I suppose."

Snape brought his hand up to his mouth, trying to hide the wide grin that had claimed his lips, then just grinned helplessly. That was a lot better than anything he would have thought of, he had to admit that. A moment later his shoulders were shaking, and finally a deep rumble emerged as he laughed out loud. The thought of the two dunderheads drawn to each other by the potion he had made two decades ago was a wonderful thought indeed after the pains of last night and the prospect of having to tell the girl about Beauxbatons sometime soon. "They aren't gay, I assume?" he managed to get out, and she gave his amusement more food by answering, "Not usually."

It took him a few minutes to regain control, and even then chuckles emerged whenever he looked at the extremely smug looking girl. "You are wicked," he finally managed, wiping tears out of his eyes, and was delighted to hear her laugh again.

"I believe in justice," she replied. "I figured that Harry and Ron, having found out what potion they had slipped you, would have never kept their mouths shut. I needed to take care of that problem and decided to give them a dose of their own medicine. An eye for an eye, as Muggles say." Then she got up and poured a cup of tea. She handed it to him as if it were the most normal thing in the world – as if they were friends, sharing an evening.

"So when I tried to get some sleep this morning and couldn't, I went to the library instead, found the healing spell, had that special idea and then came down to the dungeons to brew the potion." She took the last sandwich and ate it. "By tomorrow they will know exactly what this potion does, and they will never ever dare to talk about it. It's only fair, don't you think?"

Snape gently shook his head and regretted immensely what he would have to do soon – push her away. "They will never as much as look in my direction again," he said, not really troubled by this prospect.

"They will be far too embarrassed," Hermione agreed and wiped her hands clean on her trousers. "There was only one concern – there aren't any side-effects, are there? And I am not asking that just because they are my friends, but because of you as well."

Snape snorted. "Do you think I would have given Lucius and Narcissa something potentially dangerous? There is only one side effect, and it is of no consequence to the two dunderheads."

Curious as always, she asked, "Which side-effect would that be?"

Shrugging uncomfortably, Snape said, "The potion doesn't go well with virginal blood. But Narcissa wasn't a virgin, and the boys for obvious reasons won't be bothered by this problem. As I have pointed out, it is of no concern whatsoever."

Hermione studied her hands for a little while. "What do you mean, it doesn't go well? Is it... dangerous or something like that?"

Goodness, the girl never passes up an opportunity to be nosy, Snape thought with amusement. "Virginal blood has strong magical properties. Combined with the potion, it will bind the person who has taken the potion to his or her partner."

"Meaning?" she asked, obviously unable to form full sentences anymore. Snape watched her closely – she had gone pale and quiet. His heart stopped to beat for a very long second.

"You are a virgin," he stated, much more calmly than he felt.

"Past tense," she replied with a whisper. "I was a virgin. Before you... before last night. That's why it hurt so much the first time." She now blushed, a deep red that started at her ears and went down her throat and even coloured her wrists. "So... what are the consequences for me?"

Snape got up quickly, although fast movement was still unpleasant. He turned his back to her. "There are none," he said, his voice hard. "It only has consequences for me until I have come up with a potion that will reverse the effect."

The effect that pushing her away so she can have a life will break me to pieces, he thought, slightly surprised that he didn't whip round to embrace her. To kiss her.

She got up as well now and stood only inches behind him. "What consequences?" she pressed.

He thought of not answering her, but then, she would continue asking, and he needed her to go before he couldn't control himself any longer and simply dragged her to bed, devouring her like a panther would devour his prey. "It means that I am bound to you – that I will be unable to be intimate with anyone else as long as I haven't found a way to break the magic."

Silence answered him, and he turned round. He wasn't surprised to see various emotions rushing over her face: Guilt, shame, pity, even fear. He couldn't stand to see it. He so much wanted to touch her and knew it was impossible. She was too young and too innocent, she was visibly shaking and he knew she wanted him to take her back to bed. She absolutely needed to be protected from her own emotions. "It serves me right," he mused and heard the bitterness in his voice. "For what I have done to you it seems to be quite... appropriate."

A hurt look crept into her big brown eyes. Good. That would make things easier for her. She would forget this soon. She would benefit from Beauxbattons. Surely.

"Professor, I... "

"You will go now. And you will not attend my class anymore or work with me on my projects. Talk to the headmaster. He will explain the conditions to you under which you will be allowed to stay at Hogwarts." Walking past her, he opened the door. She followed, a deeply confused, even scared expression on her face, and silently stepped out into the dark corridor. She was walking like a puppet on strings.

"But Professor..."

He glared at her. "Do not ever call me that again," he hissed, and categorically closed the door in her face right at the moment when the first tears began running down her cheeks.