Eden, My Deadly

This is Snamione (Severus Snape and Hermione Granger) so if you don't like this pairing, you don't have to read the fic! If you do enjoy these two together and it's your OTP, then let the ship sail, my friends! Also, this takes place starting at Hermione's 4th year and goes on to her 6th year. The actual smut doesn't happen until Hermione is 16/17 (she's older than Harry and Ron, as some reviewers have pointed out my mistake, I'm sorry guys!) If you don't like this idea in any way, shape, or form, please, do not proceed any further!

I don't own anything at all, the lovely characters all belong to Queen Rowling, bless her.

When I started this fic eons and eons ago, I had no idea it would become my most popular one. Thank you so, so much for your constant patience and continued support through the years, and gosh I've missed you guys! I should tell you guys that all of the previous chapters that were uploaded have been heavily edited and replaced with new ones (which is a very good thing, because I had errors and a lot of things I needed to fix) and I also smushed two of the later chapters together so they weren't so short.

"If Prometheus was worthy of the wrath of heaven for kindling the first fire upon earth, how ought all the gods honor the men who make it their professional business to put it out?"

~John Godfrey Saxe


Severus has no idea why he is drawn to that Granger girl, and Hermione can't understand why she's intrigued by Professor Snape. Yet as Hermione continues studying for classes at Hogwarts, Severus is studying her...

Chapter One: Nymphetine

The Yule Ball was the first time he truly noticed her, the girl behind the bushy brown hair and overly large front teeth, behind her pretentious know-it-all attitude. Her little nose wasn't buried behind a book this time, and she was smiling, laughing freely, spinning and twirling and it twisted something inside him. Guilt and a bit of panic for appreciating her...and the other side of the coin...

...held this image as a revelation that he couldn't ignore her any longer.

And so Severus watched the girl silently as she danced with that blundering oaf, Krum, and he was mesmerized by her grace. Such poise and elegance, for one so young as her. She's only 15, what kind of monster—

She was not the most stunning girl he had ever seen, but she had captivated him all the same. She was like a winter rose…if he tried to pick her from the garden, her thorns would pierce him and make him bleed.

In that moment he realized he didn't care. He had gone through so much pain in his life, what was a little bit more? Pain was a reminder of his many sins, sins that he had yet to repent for.

Pain was proof that he could still feel.

A flash of emerald eyes and fiery red hair glimmered in the back of his mind, but for some reason, it didn't bother him. He did not feel guilty for feeling this way—about a student, nonetheless! There was something wrong with him. For Merlin's sake, he was old enough to be her father.

Yet he couldn't take his eyes off of her, and she was oblivious, so innocent, so young…

And he thought this of her before, hadn't he? Before, when he saw her in class so many times with those two insufferable morons, laughing and showing the warmth of her smile, to the two of them, who were unworthy to see it, because they could not appreciate the simple beauty of the curve of her lips, and the way that her eyes crinkled up and sparkled—

Albus laid a hand on his shoulder. "Something on your mind, my friend?" he asked, his eyes twinkling insufferably.

"Karkaroff intends to flee if the Mark burns," Severus answered, not wanting to give the old coot any hint of what was really on his mind.

"And do you intend to join him?"

After a slight pause, Severus replied, "No. I am not such a coward."

"No, you are a brave man, Severus Snape. Indeed, I sometimes think that the Sorting Hat sorts too soon…"

And with that, Dumbledore wandered off, no doubt in search for his beloved lemon drops.

Severus took a sip of firewhisky—it was a Christmas miracle that Dumbledore allowed the staff to drink on such a night, with the students frolicking about, doing Merlin knows what—relishing the path that burned down his throat.

He chanced another glance at the girl—his eyes narrowed as he saw her arguing with Weasley and the ever obnoxious Potter boy. The light hit her face just so, and he could see the tear tracks shining on her face.

Anger filled him, and he wanted to do so many things in that moment…wanted to hurt them, for making a young girl cry like that, especially her, in all her innocent splendor. She was so much like a girl he knew some time ago, a girl he loved...a girl who died for all the wrong reasons, despite Dumbledore telling him it was right.

He turned and walked out of the Great Hall, heading down towards the dungeons. Maybe sleep would take him away from all of this insanity, and all of these tumultuous feelings.


Hermione furiously wiped the tears that streamed down her cheeks. Men were idiots. No, not men, they were children. Boys.

A real man would never treat a girl like they had, she was sure of it. Krum, he was a real man.

As she hurried along, stumbling over her own two feet as she rushed towards the Gryffindor common room, she did not anticipate running into anyone. Surely everyone was in the Great Hall, and all of the younger students were in bed!

She ran headlong into a very solid figure, and she looked up in shame to see who she had bumped into.

Professor Snape stood there, but strangely enough, he did not meet her gaze. He was looking elsewhere, almost as if he were avoiding…something.

After a second he looked down on her, and something soft shone from his eyes for an instant—just a second, and then they were hard and cold once more.

"Watch where you're going, Miss Granger," he snarled, as his eyes roamed her face.

Hermione, still distraught from the goings-on of that night, sniffled in response, much to her dismay.

Silence echoed between them for what seemed like the longest time, until Snape's voice penetrated it.

"What's wrong?"

What's wrong. Why should he, would he care? But still, Hermione felt compelled to answer him, to tell someone, anyone, what was wrong.

"They—Ron and Harry—they don't understand. I'm not…f-fraternizing with the enemy," and to her horror, tears began to trickle down her face again.

"Your friends, Miss Granger, are idiots. They don't realize it because their small minds refuse to let them understand. They are jealous." He cleared his throat. "You are…pretty."

Hermione looked up at Snape, blinking furiously as the candlelight reflected in her tear filled eyes, capturing the brilliance and holding it in so all she could see was fire.

She could feel it too, as it burned her skin and all her insides to ash. She stared at her teacher in shock. What was there to believe now, when the one man who she thought disliked her most, thought she was…


She smiled, and she could feel him staring at her as she looked down again.

"Really?" she whispered, and she wasn't sure that he heard her, but as she glanced back up at him, his statuesque form that was carved from ice seemed to melt a little.

"If you are not going back to the Ball, Miss Granger, then I shall escort you back up to your dormitory." He turned abruptly and his cloak swirled around him, brushing up against her. She hadn't realized how close they were.

As they walked in silence up to the Gryffindor common room, Hermione's mind was racing and her heart was full of conflicting emotions.

She had always thought that Professor Snape was, well, attractive, albeit in an unconventional way. It wasn't so much as his...unkempt appearance, as it was his intelligence and wit. The power that he exuded was intoxicating. He was much more mature and probably more experienced than boys her age…she thought of Krum, and his fumbling hands underneath the Quidditch bleachers, and blushed. Krum was older as well, but he lacked finesse.

But Snape was still the sour, greasy-haired, sarcastic, mean man he always was. It was wrong of her to think of him in any other way than he a teacher, and she, his student.

Suddenly they stopped walking, and Hermione looked up at Snape's tall form inquisitively.

"Miss Granger, do you intend to sleep outside of your dormitory tonight?" Snape bit the words out, and the edges were frosted with ice.

Hermione shook her head, feeling shame at her own thoughts. If only he knew what she was thinking now, he would be disgusted., no matter if he said she was pretty.

"I'm sorry sir," she said, and she started to face the Fat Lady when a feather-light touch to her hand stopped her.

Hermione looked back in shock at her professor, who was staring back down at her intently.

"I meant what I said," he murmured, and his silky voice threaded with the veins that pulsed hot blood underneath her flesh. She saw his eyes widen as if he had surprised himself by touching her hand, and he let go of her, his lips parted slightly over yellow, crooked teeth.

Hermione could feel herself start to shake slightly, the shock of what was happening, and the revelation that Professor Snape thought she was attractive overwhelming her.

"Goodnight, Professor." she said, her voice rising slightly to a higher pitch.

"Goodnight, Granger." He turned, and his cloak billowed behind him majestically as he strode down the corridor.

"Oh my," Hermione said to herself, and the Fat Lady regarded her with sly interest, and Hermione knew that she was watching the whole time. "Galloping gargoyles," Hermione whispered, as the tears threatened to fall again. Guilt rose up inside of her, and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. The Fat Lady let her pass, and as Hermione went through the door, she saw that the common room was completely empty from students. The fireplace, which should have felt pleasant on such a chilly night, made her uncomfortable as the heat from the flames prickled her already warm body.

She retreated to her room and undressed, slipping out of her dress and taking out her earrings, all the while thinking of those dark, dark eyes that regarded her with strange some emotion that she was too young and too innocent to understand.


Severus prided himself on his self-control.

He had never consorted with a student, or even with a faculty member; he had not given into such petty desires before.

So why was it now that he felt such passion for one individual? She was intelligent beyond her years and kind, and brave, and he wished that he could tell her so.

And she was here.

Here, at Grimmauld Place.

There were so many things he wanted to say to her, to do to her, and it was wrong, he knew it. But nothing would happen, he had an iron will, and he trusted himself around her.

At least, that was what he told himself before when she wasn't in the room with him. Alone.

"Professor Snape," she muttered while flipping through what seemed to be a textbook, "Now that we are alone, do you think you can answer a question for me?"

"It depends on the question asked," he stated smoothly, and she giggled a little, the soft, girlish sound awakening something primal deep within him. A small smile graced her pink lips, and he shifted uncomfortably in his chair as desire blossomed from the pit of his gut and rose up further until it encompassed his whole being.

Damn her.

Damn her.

"Why do you always pick on Harry and Ron in class? Even more so than Neville, and Neville is atrocious at Potions," she said in a calm voice, turning over the next page and reading it.

Severus glared at her. "They are idiots. Surely you know this, what with hanging around them all the time, and you being as intelligent as you are."

"No worse than Neville, though," Hermione answered, and was it wrong, Severus thought, to get a small thrill of triumph from the fact that she did not deny that those two boys were dunderheads?

"HERMIONE! Where are you—oh, there you are. We're going outside to fly, want to join?"

Granger looked up at the youngest boy Weasley with disinterest. "Oh Ron, I'm a little busy right now, and you know I hate broomsticks."

Weasley laughed, and it was a horrible, raucous sound. "You seemed to like them well enough when Krum was in town."

Hermione's eyes narrowed, and Severus could see the anger bubble just beneath the surface. Ron left, and it was just Severus and Hermione again.

"Why are you friends with him, if he makes you feel that way?" Severus asked, and Hermione turned on him.

"Do you even know the meaning of the word friend? Or have you even had any?" she snapped cruelly until her words caught up with her and she seemed to have realized what she had said. Her little pink lips formed an "o" and she covered her mouth with one hand.

The words didn't hurt him. They were like barbed arrows bouncing off his armor. Severus scowled at her, and she backtracked immediately.

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Miss Granger, if we were at Hogwarts right now, I would have landed you in detention so fast that you wouldn't know what was happening."

"Oh? Detention? And what would you have me do?" Her brown eyes glittered slightly, and Severus suddenly wondered if she maybe wasn't as innocent as he had thought.

He smirked and crossed his arms over his chest.

What would I have you do, hmm? I would probably put that little insolent mouth of yours to good use, and then, I would soon find out if your screams are as delightful as your laughter.

"You would have cut up flobberworms for me, and then I would have you crush scarab beetles for the fourth year class."

Severus was quick to catch the disappointment that shadowed her chocolate eyes for only an instant.

"Oh, I see. And nothing else? I can assure you, I may not know everything about Potions, but I am a very fast learner."

Oh, she was quite the little tease.

"Well, I am the teacher, so I suppose a few lessons in discipline are in order…"

A blush crept over her little impish face, and desire gripped him once again as he was reminded of her youth.

So wrong. He was wrong but god how he wanted to take her, and possess her innocence, her passion, her fire, her everything…

He stared into her eyes, and, blushing, she lowered her gaze and turned away.

He wished he could tell her how he felt, how he truly felt, instead of hiding behind this cold façade. He wanted to show her how full of passion he was, passion for her, all for her, but she was so young, only just 16.


The mantra repeated itself over and over again in his mind, and he couldn't stop watching her every move—he noticed all the little things, like how when she breathed, her breasts would rise and fall, the creamy white globes peeking out from her shirt; she had grown quite a bit from last year, he noted.

He wondered what they would look like with nothing covering them, nipples pebbled from the cool wind blowing in from the open window, and she would shiver from the chill, but he would cover her naked body with his own, and taste each rosy peak and see how sweet her skin was…

He wanted her, wanted her more than anything he could ever remember wanting…

Merlin, he was going to hell for lusting after one so youthful and innocent. And he would deserve every single lick of flame that scalded his skin.


Hermione dipped her quill in her inkwell, twirling it around her fingers absentmindedly. It wasn't like her to lose her train of thought, especially in class, but she felt restless and agitated lately.

"Now, if you could turn your pages to page 479—yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Sir, will we be studying how to brew Amortentia soon?" Draco's question was interrupted by a series of obnoxious giggles, and his own mirth was evident in the tone of his voice.

Snape looked unimpressed, though, Hermione surmised, since Malfoy was Snape's favored student, he would give him the benefit of the doubt.

"It is not on the curriculum for this quarter, no. However, we may-"

The sound of that velvety soft voice, so melodic and sensual, started to lull Hermione to sleep. It wasn't that he was droning on in a monotone voice—quite the opposite, actually. Each syllable she heard was carefully pronounced with so many different emotions, and it fascinated her. It was like a song, each word, each sentence, everything that came from his throat.

"Miss Granger."

Hermione slowly lifted her nose out of her book and met Professor Snape's black, bottomless eyes, eyes that seemed to be like black holes, sucking up everything and not giving any warmth back. But there was such depth to them, and it intrigued her.

"Sir?" she stammered, her heart pounding loudly in her chest, the sound resounding in her ears. Surely he could hear it…hear the steady staccato beating over and over and over again…

"Miss Granger," he whispered again, but this time, the words tickled the sensitive shell of her ear, and her skin prickled with more electricity than a thunderstorm. She could feel his rather prodigious nose rub up against her skull.

She let herself fall back into his embrace, and oh, how warm it was, not icy cold like she half expected it to be.

Dry lips followed by an obscenely wet tongue worshiped her neck and throat, and she didn't know what to think—what was this? How inappropriate, how utterly wrong and—sensual, and good…

Somehow they ended up on the table, knocking over her inkwell and staining her wool skirt, but she didn't care. Their limbs intertwined as if they were practiced lovers, and she bit back a cry as his hands roamed farther down her body, inching ever so slowly down the contours of her sweaty frame. She wanted to scream with frustration, to tell him to move faster, and she would do anything, anything for him if he complied…

"Mr. Potter!"

Hermione jolted next to Harry, snapping herself from her reverie.

Harry gazed up at Snape, who in turn stared back at him relentlessly.

"What?" he demanded sullenly.

"Now now, Potter, there is no need to address me in such a rude manner. Ten points from Gryffindor. Granger!"

Hermione's eyes widened as she stared into Snape's deep dark eyes, and she saw something flash in them, something that made her uneasy yet excited at the same time.

"See me after class, it is obvious that your foolish Gryffindor head is in the clouds. I will not tolerate such attitude in my class."

"Yes, sir," she answered, demurely dropping her gaze so that she wouldn't have to look into his eyes anymore.

She could still feel his gaze upon her long after she had looked away.


Hermione stood before him, alone in the classroom, and her breath faltered as he came closer to her.

"So, Miss Granger. You think that because your intelligence far accedes those of your fellow classmates, you don't have to pay attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts class? You think because you have…experience, you don't have to listen?"

Her heart beat faster underneath her fragile chest, and she feared her chest would shatter.

"I have seen such horrors that young, innocent eyes such as yours can never even dream of seeing…nor would you want to. I have…done things that would shock you. I've felt things that would make you never want to come near me again. Do you still think you're better, or more experienced, still?"

Closer, coming closer and closer still…

"Not everything can be learned from a book, Miss Granger," Snape murmured, and she felt fingers underneath her chin, raising her head up to look him in the eyes.

Her own eyes widened when she saw the desperation in his, he schooled his features quickly to hide it, but it was too late.

"Professor?" Hermione whispered, and Severus backed away suddenly.

"Go to your Common Room," he said harshly. "Leave me."

Hermione bit her lip, and Severus saw a small bead of blood rise from the pink flesh. Her flushed face, her scent, everything about her mocked him in that moment.

He thought to himself, before he strode towards her, that perhaps Dumbledore was right. Maybe he was Sorted into the wrong house.

And then he kissed her.

Severus' blood turned to fire in his veins, and the evidence of his desire rose tumescent beneath his robes. He pressed into her slightly, abandoning his rigid self-control, and he could feel her wriggle against him in shock.

Ah, but this was delicious, the way she was moving against him, the way she sounded, as he roughly turned her head to the side to nip at her throat...drawing gasps and moans from his student as he slid his hands lower.


Hermione felt a hand on her shoulder, slipping down to cup her breast; it fit in the palm of his large, rough hand and she gasped as his thumb rubbed over her nipple.

She hadn't expected anything like this—this raw, animalistic pleasure, so mindless, all-consuming. She clutched at his larger frame to keep herself from falling over. This was wrong, this was her teacher, but she didn't care, not now. This more forceful and passionate than anything she could have imagined.

Snape bent down to take the nipple in his mouth, his mouth was so hot, so wet, and his tongue flicked over the peak just so…he pulled himself off of her, and she let out a tiny whimper.

"God, how I've wanted you," he growled, as he pushed her onto the nearby table and climbed on top of her, caging her underneath his body.

She could feel his hardness, hot and insistent against her thigh, but he didn't seem to pay it any mind. He seemed content sucking at the tender flesh of her throat, humming and purring against her as she writhed and moaned underneath him.

"Ah, ah ah," he scolded, as she reached down in an attempt to stroke him to completion. "There will be enough time for that. Just relax, Miss Gr—Hermione, I know what you want."

"How?" she asked, feeling a bit ridiculous, and he chuckled against her collarbone.

"I can tell by your reactions what you truly want," Snape murmured, his hand gliding down underneath the waistband of her panties to rub her slowly. She cried out in frustration, and he smirked, lifting his hand to his mouth.

She watched through a haze of desire as his tongue reached out to taste the wetness that dripped from his fingers, and he closed his eyes for a moment before slipping a finger between his lips and sucking at it.

"Mmm." He licked his lips, and bent down over her prone body again, trailing with his lips down her torso until he reached her panties. "These have to go," he muttered, and with one motion of his hand, he ripped the underwear off of her body and went in for the feast.

Hermione forgot, in that instant, how to speak, or how to make any noises at all other than the inarticulate sounds that were being pulled from her throat. Snape seemed intent on devouring her whole, body, heart, soul, and mind, and if this was death, well, then, what would be a better fate than this? She shuddered and mewled as he worshiped her flesh, and she reached down to run her fingers through his greasy hair. Pleasure mounted up inside of her, threatening to erupt like a volcano as his tongue laved her over and over again, as he moaned in turn against her damp skin.

He lifted his head up, his lips glistening with her juices, to meet her gaze.

Hermione had never seen desire in a man's eyes, not directed towards her, at least. But this unbridled passion that she saw in his dark eyes, dark as the starless night sky, she was sure was reflected in her own brown orbs.

And he was, was a man, and that was what she wanted, not some childish, immature caricature of a man, like Ron, or Harry, or even Cormac and Krum…

"Oh," she said softly, and Snape looked down on her, running a hand down her newly acquired curves. She prayed to whatever gods were in the heavens that he would have mercy on her, and quench the thirst that seemed to plague her for so long…but once she had a taste, would she only want more? Hermione didn't care, as long as he—

"You have to tell me exactly what you want," he whispered, and she sobbed against him.




That sweet word, murmured in that sweet voice, uttered by those sweet lips…how could he resist?

She wanted it, wanted him. It astounded him, but he wasn't going to question. Not yet at least. This innocent, young thing longed for him, and his touch.

"Have you ever done this before?" he asked, though he had a sneaky suspicion that he already knew the answer.

"No, not this far," she said, and her face flushed instantly. "I'm sorry—"

"Merlin, don't be sorry," he responded, and he couldn't believe that she had waited for this moment, with him. She was going to give him something precious, and he wouldn't take it lightly. "I'll go slow," he promised, and she stared up at him with wide eyes.

"Okay," she whispered. "I think-I think I'm ready."

"I know you are," he breathed into her ear; as he dragged his fingers through her wetness again, this time, penetrating her slowly—slow, gentle, don't be too rough with her—with one finger.

She gasped, but whether it was in pain or pleasure, he couldn't tell.

And it was such a wondrous torture, to feel her clench around each finger, god he wanted to sink in now, but she wasn't quite ready—not yet—he had to be careful...his thumb gently swirling around the rosy, greedy nub that made her whole body quiver.

Severus finally deemed her ready, as she moaned in frustration against his robed shoulder.


She watched with hooded eyes as he sprung out, hard and ready, and she felt elated to know that she did this to him.

Merlin, how was all that going to fit inside of her? She reached out and touched the ruddy, sticky head, and it jerked a little at her feather-light touch. He smiled toothily down at her, and it was obvious that he was not used to smiling, yet she could tell it was genuine.

He placed his erection at her entrance, and slowly began to push in. She winced as pain lanced through her body. He seemed to sense her discomfort and wrapped his arms around her. "Shhh, it's alright. You want this," he said, and it almost was as if he was convincing himself that this was happening, that they were really together like this, that he was trying to absolve himself of guilt or something—

"Yessss, I want it," she hissed through her teeth, as he broke through her hymen. He paused, waiting for her to become accustomed to his intrusion, before sliding in further, slowly—

The pain was thick and burning, but it subsided a bit as she tried to relax. She could feel herself molding around him as if they were created to do just this, this sinful act. She clutched at his back, scrabbling with short nails. "Yes—yeah—it's...okay..."

She wasn't prepared for him as he slowly began to move in and out with shallow thrusts.

She let out a little cry, but the initial pain was starting to slowly subside and was replaced by an insistent throb of pleasure that coursed through her body.


Severus willed himself not to hurt her, not to take her too hard, but it was all so overwhelming, and he began pushing into her at a steady pace. His hand slid down to play with the little pearl of flesh above him, and she bucked up with a wordless gasp.

"…yes, please—faster—" and he almost didn't hear her.

He complied, pounding in and out at a furious pace that surprised even him. It had been so many years since he had had a woman underneath him like this, and he was shocked at his stamina.

Woman…was she a woman, yet? She was so young and fragile, and he looked down at her again, at her heaving breasts, her flushed face and shining eyes, and decided that yes, she was.

She's a girl, you're fucking a child, Severus, and don't you feel any remorse? Taking her innocence, when she is too young to know what she wants—

And he should have felt more remorse than what he did, he knew that. But at that moment he could only feel the pleasure rising inside of him, threatening to spill over. His finger pressed down hard on the little nub as he began to feel too much, oh god it was too much—

She let out a little scream as she clamped down on him, and that was enough for him. He buried himself to the hilt inside of her as he exploded inside of her, trembling and shaking the whole while as the pleasure consumed him. For the first time during their encounter, he leaned down to capture her lips in a kiss, their tongues dancing together as he pumped the last of his essence into her willing body. He pulled out of her gently, guilt once again gripping him in its unforgiving claws as he saw blood mixed with other bodily fluids trickle down her small thighs.


I will never tire of this, he thought as she fell to her knees before him, looking up at him with those seemingly innocent eyes.

"We can't," he said reluctantly, and she pouted her lower lip out. He wanted to nibble on that lip.

"No one will find us back here, I put a charm on the door," Hermione answered cheekily. Severus huffed to himself, but didn't stop her as her tiny hands parted his robes, fumbled with the zipper and drew him out of his trousers.

He sighed in relief as her hot mouth engulfed him, and she bobbed up and down his cock, licking and sucking and—


He came in a white-hot flood down her throat, and she pulled back, scrunching her face up at the taste and texture of it, and some of it spurted on her face and in her hair.

That sight was something he wanted in his memory for the rest of his days: Hermione Granger, the sweet, innocent bookwork, looking thoroughly debauched with his come dripping from her face.

She got up to leave, and he grabbed her arm to stop her. "You can't go out there looking like that," he chided, and with a wave of his wand, the mess vanished.

Hermione smiled brightly up at him, and his lips quirked in response.


"I want to try something different," Hermione said one day in what was another pretense of a detention.

"What do you want to do?" Snape asked, not looking up from his book.

"Professor, what don't I want to do?" she said with a little giggle, and finally he looked up at her.

"You are an insatiable little creature, aren't you," he murmured as she straddled his lap, feeling his hardness bump against her crotch.

"What I want, I get," she answered, before kissing him fiercely.

He answered her back in kind, their tongues fighting for dominance until finally, Hermione succumbed. She fell back onto his desk and he followed her, pressing the contours of his body into her own, but she didn't feel like he was crushing her. No, instead she felt wanted and owned, and breathlessly she told him that.

"I do want you, I always want you," he murmured, grinding against her, making her whimper. "And you are mine. So say it."

Hermione stared into his eyes and she could see that he meant every word he said.

"I want to hear you say it," Snape repeated, reaching down her shirt to pinch a nipple between his fingers. She squirmed against him until she gasped, "Yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I'm yours," she answered, and he rewarded her with a kiss.

"And how do you want to prove to me that you are mine?"

Hermione blushed a pretty shade of pink.

"You can do whatever you want to me, you know," she said. Severus' heart skipped in his chest.

"Even this?"

She gasped as his hands slipped lower, but not in her wetness; instead, his long, bony fingers circled around her other entrance.

"Oh," she sighed, and she stretched out on his desk as if she were a feast, preparing herself for him to devour her.

And how he wanted to devour her…

He took the tie from her neck and bound her hands above her head, and she struggled a little as he did so.

"I want to touch you," she said, a slight whine in her voice, and he silenced her with a smack on her pert little bottom.

"You will speak only when I say you can," he growled, and Hermione's eyes widened, but he could tell that she was excited nonetheless.

"Yes, sir," she whispered meekly, but a smile played upon her soft pink lips.

He tapped his wand against her bottom, and murmured a spell and was instantly rewarded with a moan as she was slicked up and prepared for him.

He thrust into her ever so slowly, and it took all of his will and self-control to not pound away at her like some ridiculous teenager. Merlin, it was tight, so, so tight, and he could feel her surrounding him, could smell her, and taste her upon his lips, and she was all around—


No matter what he did, or what he was doing, she was never far from his thoughts.

He still couldn't believe that someone like her would want someone as mean tempered as he, but she did, and it was a mystery that he would never solve.

It amazed him still what she was willing to do to be with him, that she was willing to sneak around behind Albus and Minerva's backs at night to spend even a little bit of time with him, in his chambers, sometimes just talking and reading together. Sometimes, his raw, instinctive side compelled him to take her as soon as she walked through the door.

He wouldn't give her his password to his private chambers, and he knew that it hurt her feelings that he did not trust her enough to, but that wasn't the case at all. He had spent his entire childhood trusting people who ended up letting him down in the end, so it was better to not trust anyone at all, and Hermione was no exception.

They sat in bed together, and he found his fingers playing with the curls that fell down the nape of her neck.

"Ron is dating that idiotic bimbo, Lavender Brown, still," Hermione said contemptuously, and Severus frowned.

"Does that bother you?" he asked, pushing back some of the wisps of hair that fell on her face.

"No," Hermione said, and Severus could tell that she did care, a little. But she turned and looked at him with pure need sculpted into her pretty features, and he could do little to resist her kiss.


She never wanted this to end.

She melted into the kiss, first feeling his breath against her lips, then feeling every stroke his tongue made against hers.

She knew that he wanted her, so much, if actions truly spoke louder than words, for he didn't reveal what was on his mind a lot of the time. But she wanted, more than anything, to be loved, preferably by him.

She knew that he was a strong, extremely intelligent and powerful man, yet she also knew the power she had over him was immense. He may not be easily manipulated, but she knew that he cared about her somewhat, because someone like Snape couldn't be with someone he cared nothing about.


"Why in the world would you care what those blithering idiots do, or what they think of you?" he snapped, one night when Hermione was complaining about Ron again.

She could hear the possessiveness in his voice.

"Those idiots are my friends," Hermione snapped, and Snape's eyes narrowed.

"Friends wouldn't treat you like this, Hermione. That Weasley is bad news, he only cares about himself."

"You don't know anything about him!" Hermione said angrily, pushing away from Snape's embrace and pulling her robes over her school clothes. "It's none of your business anyway! Just because you and I are having sex doesn't make us a couple!"

She hurried out of his chambers, without looking back to see what she was sure was pain and confusion in his dark eyes.

Those eyes haunted her relentlessly that night in her dreams.


"What's going on, Hermione?" Harry asked.

Hermione looked up from her morning porridge, doing everything she could to avoid Snape's gaze from the Head Table.

"Nothing is wrong," Hermione mumbled, and Harry raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"I've known you for six years, Hermione; I think I'd know if something was wrong."

"Well, you're a man, and men are stupid, dunderheaded fools!"

"Dunder-what, have you been listening to the greasy git lately?" he chuckled, and Hermione turned to him, her eyes full of poison.

"Don't call him that," she hissed, and she immediately regretted her words as she saw Harry's smirk turn into a frown. God, the last thing she needed was for anyone to find out about her and Snape. At least Ron was too wrapped up in his own pathetic life to give a care about what was going on in hers. But Harry—Harry was more insightful than Ron.

A little bit more insightful.

"Why are you defending him?" Harry said, and Hermione shrugged nonchalantly.

"I just—I think you're too hard on him," she answered.

"Too hard? Hermione, you hate him as much as I do! And he hates us! Especially since you're a Muggle-Born and he's a—"

Hermione flinched.

"I'm sorry," Harry backtracked, but it was too late, Hermione's eyes welled up with tears, and her voice faltered as she spoke.

"I don't think he'd care, he treats me just the same as he treats all the Gryffindors." For the first time that day she chanced a glance over at the Head Table, at him, but he wasn't looking at her at all.

He was talking with Professor Sinistra, and now it was her turn to feel envy seep into her being. Harry followed her gaze and looked at her with a question in his eyes.

Sinistra was very pretty, much prettier than she was, she thought. Sinistra was a teacher, and closer to Snape's age.

"I have to go," Hermione mumbled, pushing her plate away from her and rushing from the Great Hall. This time, she didn't feel his gaze on her at all.

She tried to convince herself that she didn't care.

No, she didn't care one bit.


She cried herself to sleep that night, missing the warmth of his embrace, the feeling of his breath against her sweat slicked skin.

She missed everything about him.

And it had only been one day since their confrontation.

How was she supposed to live like this? She felt like a part of her was empty without him.


Severus was sleeping, well, at least trying to. He had taken a Dreamless Draught before going to bed, so he didn't dream of her, and her lightly scented skin, and her sweet taste, and everything else that he would never forget.

The scent of her skin, softly fragranced with some kind of sweet, marzipan perfume, mixed with her own natural scent—so intoxicating. Even now, he could imagine he smelled it.

He scowled to himself. His thoughts were so conflicted that he couldn't sleep at all. Damn her.

He hadn't seen her in class yesterday; when he see her did she avoided him completely. He wouldn't admit that he missed her.

A soft knock at his chamber door interrupted his reverie.

He had hoped it was her, yet at the same time, he didn't want to see her, didn't want to acknowledge that something went wrong.

That she might have feelings for—

Merlin, even Potter would be better than Weasley.

"What do you—Albus?"

Severus' heart stopped for an instant as he peered into Dumbledore's eyes; they had lost their signature twinkle, and he looked very concerned about something.

"Severus, something is wrong with one of the students. I—frankly, I'm not sure what to do."

"And you think that I'm a good candidate to aid you? Albus, the students hate me."

"I've talked to Miss Granger's friends, they are unsure of what to do as well."

Severus' blood ran cold.

"Hermione?" he whispered, his voice cracking slightly.

"Yes, she's not been attending her classes, not eating, I don't—"

Dumbledore stopped mid-sentence and looked at Severus.

"It's not often that you refer to a student by their first name, Severus, let alone a Gryffindor."

Severus cursed himself silently for letting her first name slip past his lips.

"I—" and for once, he was at a loss for words.

"Let's go to my office, shall we, Severus?"

Severus nodded silently and retreated back into his chambers to put his black robes on. Damn, damn, damn it all, Merlin, he was going to be sacked, he was going to Azkaban, he was going to Hell…

"I would like to think that I know you quite well, Severus. But I have a sneaky feeling that there is something you are not telling me. Do you perhaps know why Miss Granger is acting the way she is? It just doesn't seem like her."

Severus put his mental blocks up as he met Dumbledore's eyes, replacing the memories of Hermione with fake ones that he concocted while he was walking to Dumbledore's office: of Severus privately tutoring Hermione, of the two of them playing Wizards Chess, but a flash of one memory—Hermione's smiling face, and her laugh—was at the forefront of his mind.

Dumbledore broke Severus' gaze, and Severus could still hear her melodious laughter echo in his mind and heart.

"Severus…" Dumbledore started, and Severus braced himself for what was sure to come. "Do you love her?"

"Love?" Severus chuckled darkly. "I would hardly call it love. She is a brilliant young witch who has much potential. I…admire her. I just wish she would pick better friends to interact with."

"And you believe you would be a better friend?" Dumbledore asked gently, and Severus bristled.

"I highly doubt that."

"Oh, I don't know, Severus. You have been a good friend to me. After all," and he lifted up his blackened hand as a reminder of what Severus had to do, "you have kept every promise you have made to me."

Severus nodded sharply, and Dumbledore let his hand drop to his desk.

"Now, get some sleep, Severus, you have classes in the morning. I have one more request of you, however."

Severus looked at Dumbledore. "Yes?"

"Talk to Miss Granger, will you? You two seem close, and she has seemed to detach herself everyone else. Maybe she will listen to you."

Severus sighed inwardly. "Alright. Good night."

"Good night, Severus," Dumbledore called after him as he rummaged for his lemon drops, and Severus could feel his gaze upon his back even after he left the office.


"Get up."

Hermione groaned in her sleep, covering her head with her pillow. Suddenly the pillow was ripped off of her head, and she snapped out of her dreamless sleep, only to stare into familiar black eyes.


"What do you think you're doing?" Snape said, and Hermione scowled.

"None of your business what I'm doing."

"Alright then. What aren't you doing?"

Hermione looked up at him silently.

"You aren't doing your schoolwork, you aren't attending classes, and your grades are suffering. Do you really want to give up all of your dreams, just for one fight?"

"Why do you think I'm upset because of our fight?" Hermione asked, and Severus caught the single tear that dripped down her face with his finger.

"Lovers sometimes fight, Hermione, but they get over it and move on."

"Yes, well, I'm not very experienced in that area, am I? You are the only man I have ever been with."

"Don't you blame this on me," Severus seethed, gripping one of her hands, not too roughly, but none too gently either. "You told me you wanted it."

"I did," Hermione admitted.

"You don't feel that way anymore?" Severus asked, and his tone was deadpan, yet she could detect a hint of desperation in his voice.

She paused. "I do feel that way. Still."

Severus ran his other hand up her bare thigh. She was still in her nightclothes, and if he had never before seen her naked, it would have left little to the imagination.

"Good. Because I feel the same way," Severus murmured, pushing her back onto the bed, reminiscent of their previous encounters. "I've missed you."

"And I, you," Hermione replied, and she pushed herself back up to look at him. "Sit down," and she patted the space next to her on the bed.

Severus sat down on her bed, and Hermione shoved him down onto it roughly, falling on top of him and kissing him passionately as his arousal made itself known.

"We can't do this here," he gasped as he broke away from her soft lips. "Dumbledore already suspects something is going on between us."

Hermione froze, panic and fear seeping into her brain. She sat up abruptly, and he followed suit.

"Dumbledore knows?"

"I didn't say that," Snape hissed, "but he does know something is going on between us, whether it's sexual or not."

"Oh god," Hermione whimpered, her finger reaching up to her mouth so she could gnaw on her fingernail nervously.

"You have to be very careful," Severus finished, "and if you want, I can teach you Occlumency."

"I know enough," Hermione mumbled around a mouthful of finger, and Severus reached up to gently remove her fingers from her mouth.

"That isn't enough, Hermione. Dumbledore is an exceptional Legilimens. I'm not trying to scare you, but I don't want this—us—to end anytime soon."

"Neither do I, Severus."

That was the first time his first name escaped her lips; it was usually just "sir" or "professor," or Snape, in her mind.

He was Severus.

Her Severus.

His hand clutched hers tighter, and he coaxed her down on the bed; their lips meeting along the way, moving together in perfect harmony.

"Hermione," he murmured, in that silky, sinful voice.

"Severus," she whispered huskily.

Yes, he was her Severus, and she was his Hermione.

Hadn't it always been that way?