Summary: "Miss Granger, I do not have the time to indulge in these little fantasies of yours."/ Oneshot. HGSS.
Rated: T (for language)
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, have no affiliation with Warner Brothers, Scholastic or Bloomsberry, and I have no rights to Harry Potter. I also have no affiliation with the band, The Police nor do I own their song, 'Don't Stand So Close to Me'. Lyrics are copyrighted and are the sole property of The Police.
Author's Note: This fic is written in 2nd person. Also, it completely disregards books 6 and 7. Enjoy!
Young teacher, the subject
Of schoolgirl fantasy
She wants him so badly
Knows what she wants to be
It had been over three months since Hermione Granger had the epiphany.
"Professor?" she asks.
"Miss Granger," you say, with out looking up, marking papers with red ink.
"I was wondering if I could stay after class and help—"
She opens her mouth, but then thinks better of it. You see her shoulders sag slightly in disappointment as she leaves.
The next day, she makes the same request. You look at her curiously, brows furrowing. You deny again.
Three days pass before she requests again. You sigh.
"I-I" she stutters, "I talked to Professor McGonagall and she agreed that extra credit might be useful for NEWTs."
You glare at her.
"9 PM on Saturday. You will help me make potions for Madam Pomfrey."
"Thank you, sir!" she exclaims. She rests her hand on yours quickly before dashing out of the room.
Inside her there's longing
This girl's an open page
Book marking - she's so close now
This girl is half his age
You see her waiting outside the classroom at exactly 8:59. You roll your eyes at her exuberance.
"Come in, Granger," you say, black robes swishing past her.
She walks in tentatively and puts her bag down at her usual seat.
"Pepper-up Potions," you snap, "15 vials. Ingredients are in the student cabinets. I will come back and check on your progress in a half an hour." You turn away and start heading for your private quarters.
"But sir," she protests, "aren't you going to stay?"
You scoff, "I had thought that a Pepper-up potion would be simple enough for a girl in her 7th year."
"Then I have no intention of being in your insufferable company." You stalk into your bedroom leaving Granger somewhat hurt.
Thirty minutes later, you return back down into the classroom. You head towards the two bubbling cauldrons where you see Miss Granger leafing through a novel.
As she hears your footsteps, she stands up, "Oh. Professor, the potions were in their simmering stage so I thought I'd just start reading while I waited. They're just about ready, if you could—"
You wave your hand to shut off her babbling and look into the vats. Sure enough, they made you sneeze. You pick up the ladle and stir them both.
Then, you feel something soft against your cheek. Granger is looking at the potion with you, her wild hair resting against your face. Idly, you pick up a citrus fragrance. You pull your face away and glare at her.
"Sorry," she squeaks.
"I will separate them into vials. You are dismissed."
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
"Your homework is 15 inches on the uses of metals in potions." With that, you head back to your desk, wondering if you could sneak a bottle of Firewhisky in between classes. The dunderheads were getting to you.
As you open your drawer, you are forced to snap it shut again as the annoying bushy haired girl is at your desk.
"Professor I was wondering if—"
You pinch the bridge of your nose.
"No, I'm afraid not. My schedule is booked for the rest of the year."
Her friends are so jealous
You know how bad girls get
Sometimes it's not so easy
To be the teacher's pet
"Severus, old chap!" Dumbledore exclaims clapping your shoulder.
"Albus," you say sourly.
"Now what's this I hear about Miss Granger wanting to assist you?" He says, blue eyes twinkling.
"That chit. She's gotten to you now, too?"
"Now, now," he says, acting like your irritating Uncle Archie, "Miss Granger is a smart girl. She could be a help."
You roll your eyes.
Next hour, you stalk over to her desk in the beginning of class.
"Miss Granger, it seems your extra credit sessions may resume. Nine o'clock tomorrow evening. Do not be late."
As you stalk away you hear Lavender Brown mutter, "I think we need extra credit in this class more than her."
Granger, on the other hand, seems slightly flustered.
Bugger, you think.
So bad it makes him cry
Wet bus stop, she's waiting
His car is warm and dry
Her extra credit sessions go by more or less smoothly. Time to time, you notice her looking at you. You try to spend more time in your private quarters but she calls you down over and over again, asking inconsequential questions.
Chit, you think, whenever she flushes with pride after you award her 10 measly points.
Your previous suspicion leads to certainty. Hermione Granger has a stupid little crush on you.
You glare at her as she leaves.
The next morning you stalk up to the Great Hall in a bad mood.
"Good morning, Severus," says Minerva.
You scowl in response. You stare into your goblet, trying to forget the dream you had about Granger. You look up and see her staring at you.
At least you could go to Hogsmeade today. You wouldn't be forced to see her.
The fates have in for you. This much is certain.
It's raining fairly hard, so you conjure up an umbrella. The weather seems to be reflecting your mood. As you make your way towards the rare books store, you see Granger standing underneath a ledge, her thin cotton shirt drenched. Potter and Weasley are no where in sight.
She sees you and her expression turns hopeful. She glances at your umbrella. You sigh, knowing she was standing near the Hog's Head without an umbrella on purpose. Twat.
You have half a mind to just leave, but then your dream pops back in mind.
"Miss Granger? May I accompany you into town?"
She grins hugely, "Yes, please."
She rushes into the sanctity of your umbrella and sighs. You notice that she is shivering.
You groan, "Do you enjoy becoming hypothermic?" You cast a warming charm.
She doesn't say anything but instead, links her arm through yours. She looks surprised at her own daring.
You scowl at her.
But you don't say anything, either.
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
Looking back on the incident you decide that you probably should not have been so kind to her.
"Professor," she asks, as he leads her into town, "would you like to join me for some tea?"
You stop abruptly and unwind yourself from her.
"Miss Granger, I do not have the time to indulge in these little fantasies of yours."
Loose talk in the classroom
To hurt they try and try
You look up and see Granger hovering hesitantly at your door. Will she never leave me alone? you wonder, exasperated.
"I-I'd like to apologize for yesterday," she says, walking in, not sounding apologetic at all, "Perhaps I was a bit too forward."
"It was to be expected," you say, waving your hand dismissively. Belatedly, you realize how that sounded.
She puts her hands on your desk.
"What was?" she asks. You look up at her. Her brown eyes were startlingly intense.
You smirk. Granger was trying to play a dangerous game. You decide to humor her.
"Don't try me girl. I'm not who you may think I am."
"Is that right, Professor?" she says, leaning closer.
"Yes," you whisper, leaning towards her, too. Her eyes close.
You stand up.
"Good day, Miss Granger."
She leaves feeling rejected.
What the hell, you think.
"Granger!" you call, "Tea actually sounds quite nice."
She turns around and smiles, elated. "I'll swing by around 9."
Strong words in the staffroom
The accusations fly
Your evenings with Granger have continued since the first one in November. You don't know exactly why, but you find yourself anticipating these evenings. She was always sure to show up and telling you beforehand when she canceled.
Unintentionally, you find yourself comparing her to Lily. She too accepted you when most didn't. However, you notice that Granger brought a lot of intellect to your conversations. You enjoy her company.
She enjoys yours as well. You reveal a lot about yourself to her.
On Christmas, you had woken up to find an extra package at the foot of your bed.
I'd noticed that you keep a journal of your potions findings. I thought your notebook might be getting quite full.
The green leather notebook was enchanted to duplicate into a fresh new notebook when the used one was filled.
"Miss Granger," you ask one day, "Why do you do this? Spend so much time with me? I can imagine other ways for you to spend your evening other then, ah, spending time with 'the greasy dungeon bat'."
She laughs uneasily, "You're a decent person."
"I'd hazard a guess that you do not spend evenings with Minerva."
She didn't reply.
"You're wasting your life mooning over someone like me," you finally say, standing up and dumping your tea in the first cauldron you see.
She looks up, her eyes wide.
"Don't pretend to be surprised," you say, heading up to go to sleep. She sits on the stool, her head down.
Two days later, at precisely nine o'clock, Granger returns to the dungeons with a packet of Earl Grey.
"You wanted to see me, Albus?" you ask, walking hesitantly through the headmaster's door.
"Yes," he says, frowning. His face does not look too pleased. Next to him, you recognize Mr. Garunkle, the head of The Hogwarts Board of Governors.
"Sit down, Professor," Garunkle motions to the seat across from him.
"What's going on?" you ask, suspiciously.
"It's come to my knowledge that you are involved in a romantic relationship with a student," Garunkle says bluntly.
You stare at him.
"I'm afraid Mister Malfoy has seen Miss Granger visit your quarters after dinner on a regular occasion," says Dumbledore.
"You bloody fool," you seeth, "Didn't you want me to spend time with her?"
"For extra credit yes, not for some—"
"She comes over for tea, dammit. Not for some late night shag!"
"I've been informed that she has feelings for you, Severus. Maybe you encouraged her."
"Either way," Garunkle interrupts, "Teacher-Student relationships are meant to be purely platonic."
"I know that, idiot," you hiss, "And you," you say to Dumbledore, "How many times has Potter been over for tea and biscuits?"
"Well," Dumbledore looks uncomfortable, "if you don't mind me saying, your personal life hasn't exactly—"
You laugh hollowly, "Just because I haven't been getting shagged means I can't have a pleasant conversation with a student?"
"It doesn't matter," Garunkle says, "I must insist that you stop seeing Miss Granger outside of classes."
The next time Granger came over with a bag of Green Tea, she found that your doors had been warded shut.
Its no use, he sees her
He starts to shake and cough
Just like the old man in
That book by Nabakov
It had been a mere month since Garunkle's command. You find yourself becoming restless in the evenings, surrounded by empty boxes of tea you used to enjoy with her. Chai, Oolong, Dian Gui, Black…
In class, she has become silent, not participating. You haven't told her the reason in fear that she might think that you reciprocate her feelings.
Which you don't.
It's not really the fact that you can't see Granger any more that bugs you. It's the fact that the Board of Governors thinks they can handle every aspect of your life. You cannot even enjoy the full freedom of leaving the castle as you please. It feels like being underage again. Restricted.
You go for a walk in the forbidden forest. The sun manages to squeeze its way through the layers of overlapping leaves. You pick a golden apple on your way there, thinking you'll be a while.
You step into your favorite clearing and you see a heard of thestrals. You smile slightly, wondering if you could sneak off the grounds on one. Two of them shift away, revealing a bushy haired 7th year.
The apple constricts in your throat and your hands start to quiver. You are seized by the feeling of forbidden and want.
The latter feeling was, of course, not important. A spur of the moment thing.
She is smiling sadly as she pets one. You realize that she must have seen a lot of death during the Final Battle. Her hair is bound neatly into a plait and she is wearing casual jeans and a gray sweater. She holds a book in one hand, the title 'LOLITA' emblazoned on it. You can't help but go closer to her.
A twig snaps under your feet. She glances up startled. You run away before she can see you.
As you leave, you hear her soothing the frightened creature.
You catch your breath, coughing.
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
"Professor Snape?" she asks. The scene feels reminiscent. You have been in this position before. She comes up to your desk, like last time.
You don't say anything.
"Professor?" she asks again.
You keep your head down, gripping your quill so tightly that it rips a hole in some 3rd year's paper.
An odd noise comes from her throat as she contemplates what to say.
"Sev—" she begins to say. She silences when you look up. She is startled to see your eyes so bloodshot and wild.
"GET OUT!" you yell.
She turns around quicker than you can imagine and dashes out the door.
You slump against your chair, feeling defeated.
Bastard, you think, you care for her. You damn bastard.
Don't stand, don't stand so
Don't stand so close to me
It was the last day of school. It was the last day of having Hermione Granger as a student. She was graduating. You would never see her again. In some ways this was a good thing. You didn't have to worry about the stupid Potter or the damned Weasley. No more rotten 'Golden Trio' nonsense. You didn't even have to deal with the Malfoy brat anymore.
You should be happy.
But of course, your luck was never that good, was it? You had to go capture the attention of the damned 'Gryffindor Princess' as some dubbed her.
You make up your mind. Albus be damned. You get up and grab the copy of the Marauder's Map you had made. You see in the map that she is sitting alone in her head girl dormitory.
Being a teacher has its perks, you notice dryly. You know the passwords for every known room in the castle.
Andromache, you mutter in front of a statue depicting The Judgment of Paris. The statue sinks into the ground to reveal a door behind it. You slink in, afraid if you are invading her privacy.
You see her sitting on her bed, looking absentmindedly out the window. Her eyes are puffy, probably from crying, you note uncomfortably.
"You're not at breakfast," you say startling her.
She jumps and has a confused expression on her face.
"Neither are you," she says at last.
You shrug and head over to her, placing one hand on her shoulder. She stiffens but then pushes it off.
"I'm…incredibly sorry," you say. You take in a deep breath.
"I was immensely rude to you these past months."
"Yes," she murmurs, still looking out the window, "you were."
This is agonizing.
"Listen to me," you say sharply, grabbing her chin, forcing her to look at you, "I am trying to apologize. You could have the decency to look at me!"
You continue, explaining, "Dumbledore, that idiot, assumed that there was something between us, thanks to Mister Malfoy."
She says nothing. You are still holding her face. Idly, you realize how soft and utterly young her skin is.
"I didn't want to encourage you," you say softly, "It's not right."
She meets your eyes, her expression softening.
"Was there," she says, taking in a deep breath, "Was there anything going on?"
"Maybe," you admit, looking down.
She puts her hand on your cheek, making eye contact again.
She sighs as you unintentionally lean in.
Your hand brings her face closer to yours, your nose brushes gently next to hers. Your lips hesitate just long enough for her to intake a sharp breath and close her eyes.
"Please leave," she whimpers, moving her face away.
You lean away, feeling as though she stabbed you.
"What if I don't want to?" you growl.
She starts crying again. She flinches as you try to wipe the tears away.
A few minutes tick by and you realize you're still standing. Hesitantly, you sit next to her. She edges away, forgoing discretion.
"Hermione," you say at last. She sniffles at the sound of her proper name coming from your lips.
"Listen to me, please," you take her hands in yours, holding them tightly as she tries to squirm away, "I am not particularly good at articulating feelings."
You take in a deep breath.
"I stopped meeting with you for a perfectly valid reason. I ignored you for something unbeknownst to myself. You confuse me, Hermione. You disregarded what your friends thought of me and talked to me. To say the truth, I did not just bear those afternoons. I looked forward to them. But, you and me, Hermione, I don't know if this can work. Honestly, I don't think it can. You're much, much younger than me. I was your teacher. We had mutually disliked each other. But I can tell you this: despite all of that, I-I've felt a connection with you, as cliché as that sounds. You remind me of a woman I loved many years ago. You've brought that back in me. I want to be with you, Hermione. That is of course, if you'll have me."
You look at her and hang your head. She's turned me into a romantic sod. Damn.
You feel a hand on your cheek and she's looking at you with an expression you've never seen before. You take her face between your hands, and this time without hesitating, you kiss her. Her lips feel warm and soft, chapped at the edges. Her arms tangle around your neck as she pulls you closer. She sighs against your lips.
"Am I forgiven?" you whisper, your eyes still closed.
"I don't think so," she says, sadly.
"How about now?" You lean down once more and capture her bottom lip.
"Perhaps," she gasps.
"Now?" you kiss her again, and again, and again.
She laughs, "Yes."
Then Hermione sees you smile so wide that your eyes grow bright as you hold her in your arms to kiss her once more.
Author's Note: I enjoy this shipping a lot. It's my first attempt at writing it. The song is 'Don't Stand So Close to Me' by The Police. I strongly recommend listening to it.
Ten points to the reader who sees my (two) Greek Mythology references!
A review would be much appreciated.