Well, here we are again! Hermione and Snape! Gotta love 'em! Some things are different from the books (like Snape being alive...) so don't be surprised. Rated M for yummies!
In case you are wondering, I don't own anything, it all belongs to some woman...what's her name? Oh yeah! JK Rowling. Review!
Hermione groaned and tossed about in her bed. Sleep was becoming something she was unfamiliar with. In fact, Hermione couldn't recall the last time she'd had a good night's sleep. She let out a frustrated sigh. At least she had her own rooms this year. Well, sort of. She shared a suite with Malfoy, who was Head Boy.
Luckily, Malfoy wasn't so bad this year. Apparently, war could bring about major changes in people. He wasn't half bad. They didn't bother each other too much. Rather they got along well. Almost like siblings. Malfoy did have an irritating habit of bringing girls home, but at least he was fairly discreet about it. Hermione preferred to keep her room boy-free. It hadn't been easy to explain to Ron, who automatically assumed that she was sleeping with Malfoy.
The resulting argument led to the big break-up. Hermione was surprised how little she cared. She was actually relieved. The relationship hadn't been doing much for her anyway. All Ron cared about was shagging, snogging, eating, and quidditch. None of those things was high on Hermione's list of things to enjoy. She didn't mind the occasional game of quidditch, but the constant discussion grated on her nerves. Ron accused her of not caring about his needs or being supportive. When she tried to counter that he did the same to her, he exploded. He called her cold, passionless. He said she'd never find anyone that really wanted her. She'd bore any man to death. The next day Hermione saw Ron snogging Lavendar in the astronomy tower. She figured their relationship was over.
Maybe that was the reason she couldn't sleep. Hermione was worried that Ron was right. What if no man ever wanted her? What if she truly bored every man to death? She wasn't beautiful and exotic like Parvati. She wasn't vivacious and outgoing like Ginny. Hell, she wasn't even delicate and mysterious like Luna. She was nothing but a bookworm. An insufferable know-it-all that didn't have anything to offer.
Hermione groaned, tossed her covers back, and grabbed her potions book. She wandered out into the common room she shared with Draco and plopped down on the couch. Her potions book usually calmed her. There was something soothing about reading page after page of instructions that brought about amazing potions that could do almost anything. She set the book down on her knees and stared into the fire. Her thoughts strayed from the potion she'd been reading about to the Potions Master.
Professor Snape. Hermione found herself fascinated by the man. The man who successfully led a double life and helped bring about the downfall of the Dark Lord. He'd almost died when Nagini bit him. Luckily, Snape had been smart enough to swallow a bezoar, to combat her venom, and ingest a healing potion prior to the meeting that should have sealed his fate. Snape had been rescued from the Shrieking Shack and transported to the infirmary at Hogwarts. Under Madame Pomfrey's eagle-eye, Professor Snape had made a slow but complete recovery.
By the time he'd recovered, Severus Snape had been received as a hero. While it had originally been difficult for him to understand, Snape had grudgingly accepted his new position in the Wizarding World. He returned to Hogwarts as Potions Master. There was really nothing he enjoyed more than brewing. And, if he was truly honest with himself, Snape had to admit that he didn't find the thought of teaching the dunderheads at Hogwarts as distasteful as he pretended.
Hermione had been pleased to see Professor Snape at the beginning of the school year. He'd never looked better. She'd always enjoyed potions. It was one of the few classes that actually challenged her. Snape had never let her coast. He constantly forced her to be her best and perform above and beyond what most teachers would want. As the year continued, Hermione had been more fascinated by the changes in Professor Snape.
By no means had he become a friendly, helpful man. He was still as snarky and critical as ever. Students still cowered to seem him stalking down the halls at Hogwarts, and his classroom was always silent, except for the necessary sounds of potion making. But, under his hard exterior, there seemed to be a layer of…contentment. Professor Snape was slightly more patient, and, while he still exulted in taking points from rival houses, he rarely subtracted more than 50 points per offense.
Hermione sighed. Here was her second issue with sleeping. Whenever she did sleep, her dreams kept her up. They were either nightmares about the war, or they were slightly inappropriate dreams about her potions professor. Okay, very inappropriate dreams about her potions professor. Most of them involved his massive desk in the potions classroom. Or her desk in the potions classroom. Or the storeroom off the potions classroom. Hell, even the hallway outside the potions classroom.
"Grrrrrr," Hermione growled as a familiar warmth began in her body. Hermione knew there was only one way she was going to get any sleep tonight. Grabbing her potions book, Hermione returned to her room. Tossing the book on the desk, she laid down on her bed. One hand slid down her stomach. Her fingers found their way into her wet heat as visions of the dark potions master flickered behind her eyelids.
Severus Snape found himself pacing in his quarters once again. This had been a rather trying day. Unfortunately, the First Years seemed intent on destroying his classroom one cauldron at a time.
"Dunderheads!" Snape snarled. He picked up the glass of firewhiskey he'd poured earlier. So few were gifted with the talent for potions. Although few realized it, there was much more to creating potions than simply following instructions in a textbook. It wasn't cooking after all. In fact, in all his years at Hogwarts, only a handful of students had ever shown the instincts necessary for potions. One was his godson, Draco Malfoy, and another was Gryffindor's princess, Hermione Granger.
Snape grimaced at the thought of the girl. Woman, really, he corrected himself. She was of age. If it hadn't been for the war disrupting the normal course of life, Hermione Granger would have graduated by now, and been out of his hair. Instead, she was still here. Sitting in his class day after day, hanging on his every word, successfully creating every potion he set for her, looking at him with those soft, brown eyes, her teeth biting gently into her full lower lip as she concentrated, driving him crazy throughout class.
And here was Severus Snape's only true problem since returning to Hogwarts. He was unfortunately somewhat infatuated with the little bookworm. Somewhere along the line, Granger had transformed from an insufferable, bushy-haired, buck-toothed know-it-all into a desirable, luscious, brilliant, warm young woman. He knew it was wrong. Lusting after one of his students was totally unacceptable, but, try as he might, Severus was unable to shake his desire for Hermione. Perhaps it was the way she looked at him from time to time. Almost as if she didn't find him to be nothing more than a greasy dungeon bat.
The other day she had glanced up at him from over her cauldron. He'd been watching his students, but his eyes were resting on her. Hermione's eyes met his from across the room. As he watched, her beautiful eyes darkened somewhat, her breathing quickened, and a delicate blush had started to rise over her pale skin. If he didn't know better, he would have thought she was aroused. Severus had quickly looked away as if he hadn't noticed anything. He was mistaken, that was all.
Still, that moment had fueled his dreams for the next several nights. Those dreams had made for some uncomfortable potions classes. His nerves were stretched tight, which made sleeping difficult. Even now, as he paced with the glass in his hand, Severus felt the tension in his body. With a self-deprecating sigh, he realized there was only one thing to do if he wanted any sleep tonight.
He slammed back the rest of his drink and deposited the glass on his table. Settling himself in his black leather chair in front of the fireplace, Snape released his throbbing erection from his trousers. Grasping his length in his hand, he began stroking himself, visions of Hermione's flushed face and darkening eyes dancing behind his eyelids.