I Want You To Want Me

A/N: A special thanks to my betas, Lariope and Lulabelle72. You both worked very hard on this chapter and held my hand my hand through all the re-writes. I love you both. And to RedSkyAtNight, who just returned from holiday and found the time to Brit-pick my little chapter--you are an amazing woman.

Hermione was glad to finally be back at her parents' house after spending the week alone with Severus Snape. So much had happened in that week--from seeing him injured to helping him heal, to discovering the Grotto and waking up naked in his bed. She was relieved when Dumbledore had walked into the library one morning with a grin painted across his face and a twinkle in his eye. He had thanked her for staying and looking after the castle... and Snape, while he was away. He had told her that she could go home for the weekend, and Severus would Floo to her house Monday morning to escort her back to the school, where she would continue her research.

Overjoyed at her dismissal, she had sprinted from the library up to her guest room on the seventh floor, packed her belongings and jolted down the stairs to the headmaster's office where she Flooed herself home. She had never wanted to leave Hogwarts so badly before; Hogwarts was her home as much as her parents' house, but with all that had transpired that week, she had felt that she needed to get away and clear her mind. Suddenly, she had a brief pang as she realized that she might really miss Severus that weekend, but of course, he wouldn't miss her at all, and besides, it would be wonderful to be in her own house again.

Hermione was finally lying in bed her own bed, comfortably propped up on her headboard reading a good mystery novel, when the musical chimes from the doorbell sprang to life.

She froze--her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. Her ears perked up, listening for something dangerous. Again, the doorbell rang, and she whirled around to look at the digital clock on her bedside table.

2:08 a.m.

Her parents were away for the weekend, and she was alone in the house. After she had found Severus Snape lurking in her home that afternoon where he practically invited himself to lunch with her and Jezzie, Hermione had begun placing protective wards on her home to keep magical sources, such as unwanted Death Eaters, out of her home. Tonight, however, the alarms had never activated. And she had never dreamed that any Death Eater would ring her doorbell like a Muggle--especially at this hour.

She slipped out of her bed and grabbed her wand from the bedside table. She walked past the floor-length mirror and glanced at herself--she surely looked ready to attack an intruder in her purple striped, cotton pants and matching t-shirt, her frizzy, unwashed hair pulled back into a pony-tail high upon her head, bouncing with every step she took. She tiptoed down the hall, careful to avoid the squeaky floor board in front of the bathroom door, down the stairs, wand at the ready, and to the front door. She hesitantly peered out the peephole and was surprised to see her cousin standing there with her arms wrapped around her body, shifting from foot to foot.

Hermione hastily removed the wards and unlocked the door. "Jezzie? Are you okay?" she said as she opened the door.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I think. I--I was on my way over here when I crashed my car into a ditch."

Hermione gasped. "Are you hurt? Come inside!" she said, pulling her cousin over the threshold and looking her over for cuts or bruises.

"No, I'm fine. It wasn't a big deal. I think I fainted, though; I feel a bit groggy. Actually, it's funny, I was dreaming about being surrounded by a bunch of men in black... Then, I woke up to find myself lying across the front seat, and my car in a ditch. My mobile died so I just walked over here--I knew you'd be awake."

"I think we still need to take you to the hospital, just to make sure everything is--"

"I said, I'm fine!" Jezzie shouted.

Hermione was concerned, but she knew her cousin all too well--she was a stubborn arse. And Hermione had plenty of experience in dealing with stubborn arses, so she let her be. If I get the chance, I'm going to scan her with my wand... Just to make sure she's okay.

"Well, come inside, and I'll put the kettle on," Hermione said, walking towards the kitchen.

"So, what's new with you? Anything exciting going on with the Order?" Jezzie asked, sitting down at the kitchen table.

"Oh, loads! We had a meeting tonight," Hermione said while pouring water into the electric kettle. She switched it on and took two mugs from the cupboard.

"Really?" Jezzie said softly.

"Dumbledore returned a few days ago. It seems that Voldemort and his Death Eaters have been trying to bring down Beauxbatons. Now we know his reach extends beyond our immediate area. So, we've come up with a plan to help protect Madam Maxime and her students."

"I thought everyone was safe because of that charm that hides people?"

"The Fidelius Charm? Oh, well, of course they are under that for the school. However, Dumbledore believes the Secret Keeper had told the wrong people the location because there was an attack on the school last week," Hermione said as she poured the steaming water from the electric kettle into the mugs. Before Jezzie could ask, Hermione added a splash of milk and some sugar to hers, just the way she preferred it.

"Can't he just ask Severus to find out who knows the location?"

"Well, I suppose he could... if Professor Snape had attended the meeting. I presume he was at another meeting," Hermione said, handing her cousin a fresh cup of tea.

Jezzie took a sip while Hermione sat across from her and stared into her mug, looking at the swirling dark liquid and wondering how Snape's meeting had gone tonight--if he was able to get out of it unscathed.

After several moments, Jezzie said, "What's the plan?"

"It's brilliant!" Hermione said excitedly. "Dumbledore suggested that they needed a new Fidelius Charm and Secret Keeper--someone that isn't associated with Beauxbatons. So, I volunteered! But what is great about this is that Dumbledore and Madam Maxime altered the charm so that the Secret Keeper can only tell ten people the location, before he or she loses the power. It then goes to the first person that the Secret Keeper told. Then, that person can only tell ten people.

"For example, I was put under the charm and told Madam Maxime, then Dumbledore. So, after I tell eight more people, then it will be Madam Maxime's turn to tell ten people. When she's finished, the Secret Keeper's power goes to Dumbledore and he tells ten people. When my tenth person has told his ten people, then the power goes to the first person that my first person told, so it would go to Madam Maxime's first person, and so on. It's a brilliant idea because the Secret Keeper keeps rotating."

"What if the Secret Keeper tells the wrong person? Eventually that person will have access to the school and tell other people that shouldn't be able to get inside. Right?"

"Well, that's what I thought when I first heard the plan. However, with this new charm, it detects a person's intentions. For example, if someone accidentally gave away the location to a Death Eater. When it becomes the Death Eater's turn to be Secret Keeper, he wouldn't be able to tell anyone else because it is his intention to do harm to the place under the Fidelius Charm. So, when this person can't tell anyone the location, we will know that he or she is... well, a bad guy."

"Oh. But the Death Eater would still know the location, right?"

"Unfortunately, yes. But that person wouldn't be able to spread the word, and then we would catch the rat."

"Shouldn't this charm be able to stop the Secret Keeper before they tell a bad person?"

"Only if it's their intention to do harm to the place being protected. There are still a few kinks that need to be adjusted, and Dumbledore is continuing to work on the magical properties of the charm, but we needed something fast, and this is what he was able to produce under a time constraint. As of now, if the Secret Keeper's intentions were to cause trouble, they couldn't tell anyone. But if it were an accident because he didn't know that the person he was telling would turn against us, then yes, he or she would know the location.

"So, since I have no internal intentions to ever harm Beauxbatons, I can easily say that Beauxbatons Academy of Magic is located in Marseilles, France at the end of Avenue des Pébrons, hidden in the hills. So, if you were a witch, you'd be able to find Beauxbatons!" Hermione said excitedly, giggling as she stood up and went to the cupboard looking for a snack.

"Yes, if only I were a witch," Jezzie murmured.

Hermione was too busy pulling biscuits out of the tin to see the evil glare that her cousin was giving her, as jealousy flickered in the depths of her eyes.

Hermione spent the weekend hanging out with her cousin and enjoying a break from the madness of the wizarding war. As soon as Jezzie had fallen asleep after appearing at Hermione's house, she had performed a diagnostic spell over her body, to insure that the accident hadn't hurt her cousin internally. Nothing had been found, so Hermione had decided not to speak about it again since it was a touchy subject for her cousin.

After spending most of Saturday at the beach, Hermione Apparated both of them to Jezzie's flat--to clean up and get ready to go dancing at a club near Jezzie's pub. Hermione felt adventurous and wore a pale blue, strapless dress--something that had been hidden away in her wardrobe--charmed her hair straight and borrowed a pair of wedge sandals from Jezzie.

When they walked into the dark, loud room, Jezzie was quickly surrounded by a circle of men, who wanted her attention. Hermione was used to this and stood off to the side, but she was surprised when a tall, blond man approached her.

"Hello, beautiful," he said in a deep voice. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Hermione felt herself blush. "Sure," she said and walked with him over to the bar. He ordered two beers, handed her one and leaned against the bar. He wasn't overly large in the muscles, but Hermione couldn't help but notice his arms and the way they dipped and curved, accentuating the bulge of his biceps. Hermione took a sip of her beer, then realized that he was eyeing her as well, specifically her chest. This time, she took a large gulp. No one ever looked at her like that--not even when she dated Ron briefly.

"You like what you see? 'Cause I know I do," the American said, smirking.

Hermione nodded her head, smiling.

"You're quiet," he stated. "But we can fix that." He turned back to the barman and ordered two shots of... something. Hermione downed her beer, urging herself to relax, that it was okay to feel pretty and to be wanted sexually.

She sat her glass bottle down as he handed her an orange shot glass full of a strong smelling liquid. They clinked their glasses together and drank. It burned as it went down, and immediately Hermione felt dizzy and flushed. She felt his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to his body. Then, she felt a cool breeze on her neck. He moved her hair to the side and was blowing on her skin gently, giving her goosebumps.

She looked over his shoulder onto the crowded dance floor, but she felt like she was spinning. The room was dark, and the only light was coming from a strobe light that made her extremely dizzy. She squeezed her eyes shut. The music was unrecognizable sounds to her ears--harsh sounds that vibrated through her chest. She tried stepping backward, but was caught off guard by the hand that began sliding up her thigh and around her round arse.

She felt herself dampening her cotton knickers, but suddenly she was panicked. Her heart felt constricted, like it was being sat on by an elephant. And the higher he traveled, the worse she felt. Was it the alcohol? Was she having another reaction like she did with the elf-made wine that Snape gave her?

Then, when she felt his fingers under the hem of her knickers, sweeping around her soft curls, Hermione had a sudden urge to vomit. She pushed away from him with all of her might, grabbed her stomach and doubled over, screaming in pain.

She opened her eyes when she heard Jezzie calling her name. Somehow, she was now standing in the bathroom.

"What happened?" her cousin asked worriedly.

Hermione faced the wall and leaned her forehead against the cool, tan ceramic tiles.

"I don't know. I think it was the drinks--you don't think he put anything in it do you?" she said softly, worried.

"How are you feeling now?"

"I feel... better, but scared," Hermione whispered. She opened her beaded handbag, pulled her wand out and clutched it to her chest. She needed to feel something familiar in a place that was so cold and strange. She needed to feel like Hermione Granger again. With a flick of her wand, she did a diagonistic spell over herself--much like the one she did on Jezzie--but everything was fine. No poison or drugs--just alcohol.

"Phone a taxi. We're going home. I don't want to Apparate us feeling so..."

"I understand," Jezzie said, leaving the bathroom.

Hermione walked over to the sink, splashed cold water on her face and waited for her cousin to return.

She had spent the night at Jezzie's flat, and the next morning, after sleeping until noon, she returned home. She felt fine, but was still a little shook up by the sudden illness, so she lazed around her house most of the day. She ate ice cream and read two smutty romance novels--she even fulfilled her own desires that night in her bubble bath. Even with the excitement of the night before, the weekend had been relaxing, but Monday morning rolled around quickly, and Snape had arrived, promptly at eight, to escort her to the school. She was surprised that seeing him--dour though he was, as usual--made her heart flutter a little in her chest. She swallowed and forced herself to greet him with her own usual warmth.

"Good morning, Severus," she said, as she walked into her living room, smiling.

He nodded.

"Let me quickly clean up; my parents will be home later this afternoon and will expect the house to be tidy."

"Did you not understand that I was to escort you back at eight this morning? Do you think that I have nothing better to do than act as babysitter for a girl with no understanding of time?"

Hermione ignored him as she stood in the middle of the room, and using non-verbal magic, she flicked her wand at the books that were lying around the room, floating them all into a nice and neat stack by the foot of the stairs. Then, she floated the stacks up the stairs and into her room. She did a few quick slashes in the air, and the couch cushions were fluffed, the pillows were organized nicely, the dust disappeared, the curtains were pulled back to let the sunlight in, and a nice lavender smell filled the room.

After she was finished, she picked up her tote, which was filled with more books, and slung it onto her shoulder. "Okay, I'm ready."

Snape was still standing in front of the fireplace. "You have an obsession with books," he said.

"So do you," she snapped back.

"No, I don't. I enjoy books, but I'm not obsessed with them. I can leave home without a book attached to my hip... unlike you."

Hermione huffed. "You know I need these for the research I am doing at Hogwarts. Besides, I don't always carry a book with me."

"Oh, really. When was the last time you went anywhere without a book?"

Hermione thought about that for a second. Bugger. He's right.

"Well?" he asked, cocking his eyebrow.

"Fine, you're right. Excuse me for loving books. Apparently, you know nothing of what an obsession can do to a person, and that's why you are criticizing me," she said in a snippy tone.

He looked at her directly in the eye and grinned. "I know more about obsessions than you give me credit for. That's why I mentioned yours. Because I do understand. And I can relate."

Both of Hermione's eyebrows rose. She was shocked--he was trying to connect with her, and she was being rude. She mentally kicked herself for being an arse.

"Oh. Well, if it isn't books, then what type of fixation do you have?"

He chuckled. "I'm positive that you'll guess mine over time."

"That's quite a challenge--guessing Severus Snape's fascination. And you're sure it's not books? Because I've seen your collection." she said, teasing him as she stepped into the Floo.

He chuckled softly and stood in the fireplace next to her. "Inanimate objects are not worth my time," he said right before he tossed Floo powder onto the ashy ground of the fireplace and shouted their location.

Inanimate objects? Hermione thought as she stepped into the Headmaster's office.

"I'll be in my office for most of the day, if you need me," Snape said, walking past her.

"Ah, Miss Granger. Did you have an enjoyable weekend?" Dumbledore asked. He was sitting in a cushioned chair that sat in front of his private library. He was holding a book about American Film Classics in one hand and a piece of toast in the other.

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"A person must rejuvenate their mind, body, soul and spirit from time to time, Miss Granger. Otherwise, we all would crumble like burnt toast," he said, smiling.

"Is that how you relax?" she asked, nodding toward the book. "By reading things that have nothing to do with our world?"

"Only when I can't go on a holiday to the Caribbean."

Hermione giggled, then started toward the door.

"Oh, by the way... Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are waiting for you in your guest quarters," he called after her.

The boys! Hermione hadn't seen them for almost two weeks--they had been on location for their Auror training. She hadn't been away from them for this long since the summer between their six and seventh years, and she had felt like a part of her had been missing since they had left.

Hermione waited until she was out of Dumbledore's office before she took off in a sprint up to the seventh floor, smiling from ear to ear.

Severus Snape's weekend had been far less relaxing.

After leaving Jezzie at the end of the Revel, Snape returned to Hogwarts, wanting the strenuous night to be over. He looked forward to drinking half a bottle of whatever spirit he had in his cabinet and crawling into his soft bed. But as soon as he walked into his office, he noticed a familiar blue envelope waiting on his desk. He huffed, then walked over to the table, sat down, tore open the thick envelope and read the letter. After he finished, he rifled through the large package, looking at the rest of the contents. All of a sudden, he angrily threw everything across the room.

Every summer, Snape had been asked to write several articles about different topics within the Potions world to be featured in the most prestigious journal that was printed in all of Europe and North America--this was his chance to speak to an audience of his peers, and he felt that it was really worth his time. The wizards and witches who read these journals were by no means dunderheads, and he looked forward to writing about topics that would stimulate the wizarding world.

He had begun writing these articles thirteen years ago and had made quite a name for himself since then. Well, Severus Snape wasn't famous, but his counterpart, Sullivan Samuels, was. He also had attended conferences and seminars across the globe, speaking about his skills and research, and offering advanced classes to those who could pay for his services, which were not cheap. And because of this, he had made a small fortune; although, no one would know it by the way he lived. At first, when he had begun making almost as much as he had teaching, he spent his money frivolously, but now it piled up his vault at Gringotts.

There had been times over the years--well, several times a week during the entire school term--when he had wished that writing articles and giving lectures had been his permanent occupation; because of the circumstances of his real job as a spy, however, he had to teach. But he had always looked forward to his summer break, when he would have the time to do the thing he enjoyed the most.

But not this year.

This year was different. This year, Hermione was finally in his grasp. During the last few years, when she was still his student, he always had his articles, conferences, and classes to help take his mind off her. But this year... She wasn't protected under Hogwarts magic any more--she was no longer a student, and as soon as the special charm to protect her well-being lifted, she became a sitting duck for Death Eaters.

Snape was irritated that he would have to leave for the weekend to speak before a bunch of Italians about how to mix a proper Draught of Living Death and how to refrain from suffering its effects. In fact, 'irritated' was mild. He was furious that this letter showed up tonight and that he would have to leave town and couldn't keep an eye on her. It was even more important to keep an eye on his most valuable possession after the events of tonight's revel.

What if something happened to her while he was gone? He knew Greyback and Lestrange were still intent on exacting their revenge on him, and they had managed to capture her cousin. Although Hermione was powerful, she would never stand a chance against those two disgusting bastards. What if they broke her? Or worse. She was his, and he couldn't suffer the thought of leaving the country--and leaving her.

He stalked to his bed, pulled out the bottle of gin that was in his bedside cabinet, took several swigs and fell onto his bed. He would deal with this predicament in the morning.

Snape woke up Saturday morning in a nasty mood, having had less than five hours of sleep. As soon as he dressed, he went straight to Dumbledore's office where he nearly begged Dumbledore to make Hermione stay at the castle. He even went so far as to concoct a story, saying that it was rumored that she was a prime target, and insisted that he was concerned for her safety while he was away. The old man just smiled at him, assuring him that she would be safe and would be watched over.

This only inflamed Snape further. Who? Who the bloody hell was watching over his woman? That was his job. No one else knew her like he did. No one else would know that between ten fifteen and eleven twenty-five on Sunday night, Hermione would take a bubble bath and would fall asleep in it for about twenty-five minutes and be in her most vulnerable state. How would anyone be able to protect her if they didn't know her schedule?

Feeling as though his hands were tied, he gathered the scattered papers he had tossed across the room last night and reluctantly left Hogwarts. In a foul mood. He Apparated to the Ministry and used an international Portkey to travel to Florence.

One of the letters inside the blue envelope contained directions to the hotel he would be staying at, along with a key and room number. He quickly found his location and checked into his room. An hour later, he was in the ballroom of the hotel giving two lectures to a nearly full audience.

He finally finished speaking after seven, but wasn't able to get back to his room until nine due to the annoying people that wanted to meet the charming Sullivan Samuels, who had been invited by several people to join them for a late dinner. Snape, not having a moment to himself in hours, stomped to his room to clean up before he had to meet his party at ten in the hotel restaurant. He seriously thought about leaving and forgetting about his alter ego, but then he realized that eating dinner with people who had no idea that a notorious Death Eater was sitting with them was going to make the evening much more bearable.

Snape was finishing his entree, when he suddenly began to feel nauseous. He sat very still, breathing slowly, thinking it was his anger over his impotence literally eating away at him, and tried to calm himself and resume eating. But the roiling in his stomach grew too much, and he began to feel violently ill.

He stood up and said in a rushed voice, "It has been a lovely evening, but I've traveled and given two lectures today. Pardon me while I turn in for the night." He nodded quickly, dropped some Italian money from the blue envelope and left the restaurant.

He reached his room at almost a run, sweat beading on his brow. His stomach was twisting in knots, and his heart felt like it was being carved out of his chest by a wooden spoon. As soon as he entered the room, he fell to his knees and crawled to the small bed, pulling himself onto it. Clutching the sheets, he screamed his agony into the pillows. Not even when his Dark Mark burned fiercely when Voldemort had been a bad mood, or those times he had been nearly beaten to death, had he felt pain like this. It was internal, like his insides were being shredded by the claws of an angry dragon. The pain intensified, and his mind searched frantically for an answer--had he been poisoned? Suddenly, the pain ceased. He rolled onto his back and wiped his forehead onto his sleeve, breathing slowly through his nose and out of his mouth. It took him a few minutes to regain his composure and realize what had happened.

Hermione had nearly broken the promise she had made to him while they were in the Grotto.

Promise that I will be the only man that you will ever want and will ever be with. Promise me! The words of the promise rang in his mind.

Oh, yes. This sudden illness and the actual hurting of his heart had been the start of the effects of the Grotto. He had known about the consequences of broken promises, but he hadn't expected to feel them as well--he had thought the person who had made the promise would suffer--not both parties.

Which meant that Hermione was in the presence of someone she desired and wanted, and that other person had wanted her in return. But the pain had stopped; he could only assume that she had felt the same pain as he and left the situation.

And if he was at home, watching over her like always, she never would have been in that position to begin with. He would have made sure of that.

As he had lain in the bed, regaining his strength, he mentally pictured his Hermione out in a pub somewhere, looking sexy in a blue dress... a boy buying her drinks... her knickers dampening as she gazed into the eyes of a stupid, blond, American bastard!

His eyes suddenly popped opened. Bloody hell. He realized that in his fit of anger, he'd delved into her mind from across the continent. This was the first time he had been able to do that sort of Legilimency. Voldemort had been known for being able to dip into the minds of others from across the globe, but he had never had the power to do it. Until now.

He didn't bother wondering how he had so suddenly achieved this connection; his thoughts were solely on Hermione. So that's the type of person she wants. A blond idiot. He sat up in bed, fuming. "She's not supposed to desire anyone but me!" he shouted as he leapt from the bed. He looked at himself in the mirror before applying a glamour. Dark circles outlined his eyes, his hair was tangled and matted from thrashing around on the bed in pain, and there was even white spit fizzing out of the corner of his tightly squeezed lips. But after he applied the glamour, he became a blond, blue-eyed, straight nosed swine.

This was what she wanted. And it made Snape disgusted. He desperately wanted to go back home and show her the difference between that blond oaf and a man such as himself, but his return Portkey wasn't until Sunday night, he didn't have a connection to a Floo and would not be able to Apparate because his agitated state of mind was not clear enough for such a long distance.

Swept up in his anger, he decided to go fetch him a few blond men and use them as... What was the expression? Oh, yes... a punch-bag. He disguised himself so that Severus Snape, the famous Potions master of Hogwarts and Sullivan Samuels, the famous author, would not become wanted men in Italy.

As soon as he finished taking his anger out on three unsuspecting blonds, he returned to his room, feeling somewhat better, and tucked in for the night.

On Sunday, he rose early and tried to reach her mind once again, but failed. He should have known it wouldn't work, because using Legilimency across that much distance had seemed to depend on his emotions, but at least he could say that he attempted. He was scheduled for three lectures today... three, long lectures and lunch with the editors of the journal.

He felt like he was being released from a cage Sunday evening, after his lectures concluded. He quickly made his way to the Italian Ministry location to take his Portkey back home.

But instead of going to Hogwarts, he went straight to Hermione's house. Two Aurors were standing by the front door, keeping watch. He looked up to her window, but saw only darkness. Not wanting to Disillusion himself or perform any magic in case the Aurors were alert for it, he starting sneaking around her house, hiding behind trees, ducking behind bushes and staying in the dark shadows like a Muggle burglar. He wanted to see the other window. Her bathroom window.

Although the curtains were drawn, a flicker of light showed between the narrow opening where the two curtains met in the middle.

Right on schedule, he thought as he pulled his pocket watch out and looked at the time. It was five minutes after eleven.

Remembering what he had seen in her mind, rage began to pour through him. Without thinking of the consequences, he began to break her wards. Wards that he had taught her to use before the trio had gone on that blasted scavenger hunt for Horcruxes. Wards that she still was using to protect her home.

After removing the last of the enchantments, he Apparated inside, landing downstairs in the living room. He waited for the crash through the door signaling the Aurors' arrival, but all was silent outside. He mentally congratulated the Aurors on being such imbeciles; they should have been patrolling the house rather than standing at the doorway, and they hadn't noticed the magic going on at the side of the house.

Levitating himself, he glided upstairs, ready to surprise her with his presence and immediately begin barraging her with insults and demands. But he stopped in the hall; he heard the sound of water running and Hermione... Hermione was whimpering. He immediately stopped levitating and pulled his wand out, ready to kill the person who was making her cry. Darting over to the open door, Avada Kedavra ready on his lips, he stopped short as he heard Hermione shout, "Oh, Severus! Oh, god! I want you!"

Surprised, Snape nearly dropped his wand and stood rooted to the floor. After a second, he peeked into the bathroom, while hiding his body behind the wall. Hermione was lying on her back, elbows propping her upper body up, her legs spread wide, heels digging into the wall while the stream of water from the faucet splashed onto her clit. Back and forth she rocked her hips, her wet tits standing on end and jiggling with each movement. Her head was tilted backward, her hair splayed behind her, the ends soaking in a small puddle of water, eyes closed and her mouth slack from moaning.

Again, she called his name, crying out that she wished that he would shag her senseless, that she wanted to feel his fingers, his tongue, his cock, inside her.

Snape was mesmerized. She was a siren.

He had always fantasized about watching Hermione fondle herself, lusting after him, the same way he would do for her. Of course, he had never thought she had the perverse mind that he did. And yet again, she surprised him. He couldn't stop watching her wiggle, the way her head bent backward revealing the lines of her slender neck, the way she opened herself even wider at the moment of her orgasm and how her pink quim seemed to be calling him.

His cock throbbed beneath his trousers, aching to be released and touched, but for once, he was frozen in place, not knowing what else to do but to watch his subject and ignore his own demands.

As soon as she finished, she slid up the length of the tub, laid her back against the side, and closed her eyes, waiting for the water to finish filling the tub. Lazily, she turned her head to the side. A book was lying on a chair and next to it, a feathery quill, much like Rita Skeeter's, only in purple. The quill began moving soon as Hermione started speaking out loud.

"Well, Severus Snape, if you knew what I just did, you would probably not be too happy... Thinking how disgusting I am," she said. She shook her head, grabbed a bottle of bubble bath and poured it into the tub. "You had more interest in my cousin, whom you met only once, than you have ever shown in me. You may be a complex person, but you're the only man that I have ever been interested in. It's a pity you would never open yourself up long enough to let a woman like me inside--unless you already have someone special. But I don't think you do. And I know you aren't gay like some of my friends, so there shouldn't be any reason why we couldn't be together. Oh, the things I would do to you if you were mine... The things you would do to me with that nose... And that voice..." she began giggling after that, and instructed the quill to stop writing. Then, she took a large breath of air and slipped completely under the water.

Snape had stumbled backward, hitting the opposite wall with his back. His mind swirled, causing him to feel light-headed. He staggered down the hall, eyes wide open, staring off into nothing.

She wanted him. Really, honestly wanted him. This was impossible! No one wanted Severus Snape, not even his two masters--they always had a use for him, but never truly wanted him.

His heart felt like someone turned its switch on, and it began beating madly. Strange emotions flooded him. He wanted to kiss her then, to take her into his arms. But at the same time, his brain was arguing with his heart, telling him that it was a lie, that she only wanted him because of the promise she had made in the Grotto. But his heart reminded him that the power of the Grotto did not evoke feelings. But she hadn't been calling out for another; she screamed his name.

Snape didn't know how he had returned to Hogwarts without Splinching himself. But the next thing he knew, he was standing in front of an old wardrobe that was hidden behind a secret wall in his private chambers. He opened the two doors and took several steps backward, as though in a trance.

Slowly, his boggart emerged from the depths of the darkness. He hadn't faced his fears in quite some time, but after that evening's revelation, he felt he needed to see them once again--to see if he would be able to fight off his many fears, to see if anything inside him had changed, to see if he was going to be able to take the next step and move forward in fighting his demons.

Finally, a perfect copy of Hermione Granger stood before him.

She wore a black knee-length skirt that hugged her form and had a slit up the right side, with a pink, long-sleeved cotton blouse that was tucked into the skirt. The buttons on the front stopped at the top of her cleavage and he could see the black bra, the one with the lace, underneath the fabric of the shirt. Her hair was in perfect soft curls, flowing down her back. In one hand she was holding a book, and in the other, her wand, which was pointing directly at him. Her eyes were narrowed, her lips pursed (not in the cute, pouty way) and her nostrils flared.

Walking toward Snape very slowly, in a tight and controlled voice she said, "No, Severus Snape, I do not want you. I hate you; you disgust me. You're a sniveling, filthy, pathetic excuse of a man. You are just a pawn in a game that is being played by both your masters. You are easy to use, easy to manipulate, and so easy to throw away! No one will ever love you; you're not worth the time and energy it takes to love a person! You're lower than a maggot eating rotten shit at the bottom of a rubbish bin!"

"ENOUGH!" he bellowed at the boggart Hermione. "She wants me!"

"It's a lie! How could someone as intelligent as Hermione Granger ever want an ugly git like you? How could she ever want a doormat such as yourself? Your mother should have abandoned you in that river like she had planned! And after she decided against it, your Muggle father should have killed you that night you made the television fly across the room, slamming into his collection of his favorite whisky, shattering his two favorite things in life--he should have beat you to death with that filthy cricket bat!"

"SHUT UP!" he yelled, covering his ears. His body was quivering, and already his knees felt ready to give away.

"The only reason you lived that night was because your stupid black cat attacked your father!"

"I loved my cat!" he had cried out, sounding pitiful even to his own ears.

"If you did, you wouldn't have killed it when your father gave you the choice between him killing you, or you killing the cat! You coward! If you really loved that cat, then you should have sacrificed yourself and let him kill you instead!"

"I am NOT A COWARD! I WAS ONLY SEVEN!" he yelled as he sank onto his knees, hands balled up in tight fists. "My fucking drunken father even said that if I had chosen myself, he was going to kill my pet for the hell of it. He would have been brutal! I gave Jynx a quick death--he didn't feel any pain!" Finally, the tears broke free. He sat hunched over, holding himself, crying over his cat--over his first murder, over the one thing he had ever loved with his entire heart.

"See, even now you don't have the courage to stand up to people who force you to do things! Look at you, crying like a little girl who lost her lollipop. Stop sucking in your nasty snot through that crooked, revolting nose of yours," the boggart Hermione said, sneering. She stopped walking and was now standing over him, looking down upon him. She poked the tip of her wand into the side of his nose.

"You know why your mother never mended that hideous nose, don't you? Because every time you looked at yourself, she wanted you to be reminded of why your father left her... Because you outed her as a witch that night you let your magic overtake you and threw the telly across the room. Because your father couldn't handle the truth. It was all your fault. So, she left you with that dreadful nose so you would always know that if your own parents can't love you, then nobody ever will."

Snape began murmuring beneath his breath, gripping his wand tighter. His stringy hair was covering his face, and he felt like a beaten animal.

"Have something to say, Snape?" the boggart teased.

"S-she wants me. S-she likes my nose," he had said a little louder.

"What was that, Snape?"

"S-she wants me. She. Wants. Me." he said, standing to his feet, "SHE WANTS ME: SEVERUS SNAPE! CROOKED NOSE AND ALL!" he finally screamed, pointing his wand at the boggart. "RIDIKKULUS!"

The boggart suddenly turned into Dobby, rocking in a chair, knitting socks, and then quickly Snape threw it back into the wardrobe, where he locked it in.

For the first time in his life, he had defeated his boggart. This was one thing that Snape had never been able to do, and he kept it a secret even while he had been a student. At first it had been his father, but it changed during Hermione's third year, when Lupin was the D.A.D.A. teacher. He had accidentally stumbled upon the boggart in the wardrobe one night and was extremely surprised that it changed into a student. He had run out of the room, shaking, and into his bedroom, where he had lain in his bed, covers over him, crying. The morning after, he'd been so angry at himself for letting a stupid boggart scare him nearly to death that he had taken his anger out by visiting a Muggle whore house where he had fucked his hooker, hard and fast. Then, on Monday, he had taken away more House points in that one day than he had for an entire month--which hadn't been unnoticed by the old man who ran the school.

The day had been long, and Snape was mentally exhausted. His last thoughts before passing out on the cold floor were of Hermione. He had made a mistake in wanting to try to hurt her. He chastised himself for ever thinking that he needed to break Hermione Granger mentally and physically before she would submit to him. That had been so foolish. If he had really given her any credit, he should have known that she, of all people, would find something in him that wasn't worthless. That she was the one person who sincerely wanted Severus Snape. And if he let her into his blackened heart, she might one day... love him--something he never had before in his life.

Of course, facing ones fears was a difficult task. But he was Severus Snape. Spy, Death Eater, author, teacher. He could face Voldemort's dangerous magic without batting an eye; he could set out on the life-threatening tasks that Dumbledore set him to, so surely he could be honest with Hermione Granger. He must find out if she could ever love him. And if he wasn't as broken and twisted as he had thought he was, then perhaps, he could love her back in the manner she deserved.

The next morning, his resolutions fresh in his mind, when Snape went to escort her to the school, he had started a small discussion about obsessions with Hermione. He needed her to understand that anyone, including her, could become obsessed with something. That one could let those obsessions cloud their mind and their judgment. He would eventually let her guess that she had been the object of his obsession, but he had hoped that when that time came, she would be willing to understand him more, to not just completely reject him like his boggart had always done.

After leaving her with Dumbledore, Snape returned to his office. His steps were light on the stones; he was in a pleasant mood. She had done exactly as he hoped--she understood about obsessions and even laughed with him over his obscene amount of books, something only she would understand.

As he began writing his second article for the Potions journal, he had a sudden jolt of optimism, something very unusual and new to him. He was excited that he would see her later today, if not sooner, that maybe she would need him in some way. He promised himself that their friendly encounters from here on out would be genuine, and that he would try to begin showing her the affection he felt for her. A small thought entered his mind that maybe Dumbledore (and he would never, ever admit this again) had been right--there was something special about love.

Up next: The trio is back together again.