Dear Gentle Readers,

Thanks for checking out this story! It's meant to be a prequel to Snape's EveryWoman, a story of how Professor and Student become more than that… I hope that no one minds the liberties I've taken with JKR's story. I don't really feel the need to give a deep background on the War, or why Albus is still alive, etc., etc.… I just am writing how I think it should have ended, instead of how it did end. Anyway, this story just for fun, just another way to let my silly, dirty imagination run free! So, pleassssssssssse comment, let me know if you like this, if you want more. Now, please begin…..

~ Always, with love from me to you, your humble servant, and his, Master Snape's Pet

Snape couldn't believe he was doing this. The Polyjuice Potion was foul enough without the hair of the Red-Headed Weasel, but there you go. This was the easiest way to determine if The Boy Who Lived To Drive Him Mad had had a hand in that little incident involving dungbombs, Peeves, and a large quantity of soggy tea dregs.

Weasley was, just as he'd been for the entire year so far, in detention with Filch, a year-long Saturday night punishment for dumping a bowl of pudding on Filch's mangy Mrs. Norris during the Sorting Feast.

Filch, irrational soul that he was, refused to believe that Ron had been trying to pass the bowl to Hanna Abbot, seated at the table across the aisle. Choosing to interpret the incident as a direct attack on his own person, Filch had insisted that Ron serve a two hour detention every Saturday night. He, Filch, would then spend the intervening days thinking up every disgusting task he could set to the poor, clumsy boy.

Now Snape was taking advantage of Weasley's occupied state to infiltrate the Golden Trio.

With a grimace, the Potions Master gulped down the gloppy liquid, which had turned a distressing orange color with the addition of Ron's hair. Watching the transformation in the full-length mirror in his dressing room, Snape reflected that turning into Weasley was more painful than almost any other transformation he ever undergone. Odd, really, because they were of a similar height and build. He did dislike Weasley the most of all those other transformees.

Hmmm, perhaps there was a correlation between the transformers opinion of the transformee and the difficulty/pain of the actual transformation…

Shelving that thought for another time, perhaps he could do some research on that, but for now… He tugged on the student robes he'd transfigured and slipped quietly out of the room.

About fifteen minutes later, Snape removed the Disillusionment Charm and stared at the Fat Lady.

"Well?" Her voice was strident and snippy when she asked, "Password?" Snape/Ron glared at her and waited. Within minutes, hurried footsteps sounded on the corridor and Neville Longbottom came stumbling up.

"Forgotten the password, have you? It's not often I can be the one to remember something!" His overly cheerful face made Snape was to deduct House points, but he just mumbled something and went back to staring at the Fat Lady. When a few moments passed without anything happening, Snape shifted his glare back to Neville.

The boy had his face scrunched up, clearly trying to recall the phrase. Snape's fingers were itching for his want to throttle the annoying fellow when more footsteps echoed up the hall.

"Oh good, Hermione's coming." Neville's face was a welcoming beam again. Snape gave just the slightest twitch at the sound of that name and felt his face begin to scowl. Taking a deep breath, Snape schooled his features into the friendly smile. It wouldn't do for Miss Granger to wonder why one of her best friends was scowling blackly at her, especially when he was supposed to have gotten out of detention very early tonight

With her nose buried in a book; how typical he thought. She hurried along toward the portrait and the two waiting boys.

"Hallo!" Neville's cheerful call made the brown mop of curls raise.

"Oh honestly, have you both forgotten the password? Really, Ron, it was your suggestion chosen this time!" With a longsuffering sight that covered the almost inaudible growl from Snape, Hermione turned to the portrait and said matter-of-factly: "Great Greasy Git." On a creak from hinges well past the need for oil, the Fat Lady swung open and the three climbed through.

For a moment, Snape considered scrapping the entire plan and going to tell Filch that the spidery offspring of Aragog needed milking; surely Filch would assign that task to Weasley. It would serve the little pustule right for suggesting such a password.

His train of thought was interrupted by Hermione's voice, however. He tuned back in to hear her say, "…and I still can't believe he hasn't caught wind of that password. You'd better hope that Professor Snape remains in the dark, or you'll be serving detention every night, not just Saturday. By the way, why are you not polishing Filch's thumbscrews with your toothbrush, or something equally vile?"

"Filch took ill." He out it out quickly, wanting to explain and get away before she started lecturing again. But she didn't seem inclined to continue, as she just nodded and walked to the stairs to where he assumed her dormitory was, her nose back in her book.

"Hermione!" Her name tasted sticky on his tongue, as though now he'd spoken it, he'd have it on his lips all night.

When she just called, "What?" over her shoulder, he felt like growling again.

"Where's P – Harry?"

She simply raised her arm, finger pointing up the other staircase and continued to her own stairs.

Grumbling about students, Gryffindors in particular, Snape went up the stairs. Stopping at the room with Ron and Harry's names, he took a moment to compose his features into a smile befitting getting out of a nasty detention.

He flung the door open.

Only to find Potter passed out cold on the (Ugh. Typical Gryffindor tastelessness) scarlet and gold coverlet. With a sigh, Snape moved to the bed to wake him. However, he'd only gotten in one good shake before running footsteps sounded on the stairs. Ginny Weasley came into the room with a flurry of robes and red hair.

"Come on, you two! Seamus slipped down to the kitchen and got his hands on a bottle of firewhiskey!" While Snape made what he felt were appropriate teenage noises of excitement over the chance to drink ill-gotten alcohol, Ginny grinned and jumped up to Harry's bed, kneeling next to him.

When she kissed him and giggled, "Wake up, Sleeping Beauty!" Snape had to turn away or vomit…. Possibly both.

"I'll just meet you…uh, where, umm Ginny?"

"Oh, sorry, up in Neville and Seamus' room. He figured since he went and got it, he gets to be its keeper. "

Leaving Ginny and the now-awake Potter cooing like lovesick doves, Snape stepped out and turned to walk up the stairs, pondering this new twist. Yes, he may be spending a bit more time on this project than he'd planned, but the addition of alcohol would probably make the endeavor to get information out to the group of troublemakers much easier.

Pondering as he was on his chance of casting a Never Ending Charm on the firewhiskey bottle, he knew very well how quickly a group of determined-to-get-drunk students could empty a single bottle of firewhiskey, he didn't hear the footsteps behind him…but he felt her.

His skin tingled and he turned his head. He was grateful that she was still engrossed in her book and not interested in chitchat as they walked up the flight of stairs to the next bedroom. At the door, he automatically opened it and stood back to let her enter first.

She shot him a surprised half smile as she walked past. Snape damned himself for not staying in character, then did it again when he deeply inhaled her scent, against his better judgment.

What was wrong with him? This was ridiculous! He was a professor, dammit. He should not be having such a reaction to a student. Even if that student were older than usual, having come back to fulfill the seventh year she'd missed. Or if she were exceptionally intelligent. Or a keen debater, constantly challenging him with clever arguments, so that he had to think very fast to avoid being bested. Or if she were lovely, in an adult way, not like a child. Or if she smelled like a rain-washed forest…Fuck!

Pull yourself together, man. She is your student! You've never even thought about crossing this line before, stop thinking about it with her!

Shaking his head to dispel the illicit images of Miss Granger that he Really Should Not Be Harboring, he fell in being behind her and walked into the bedroom.

Neville and Seamus were already there, along with Seamus' current squeeze, a sweetly plump sixth year named Beth Clymer, and her best friend, Rose Harper, who was making calf's eyes at Neville when he wasn't looking. Snape could hear Ginny and Harry coming up the stairs, still cooing nauseatingly.

Before long, everyone had taken a place on one of the two beds or chairs; Hermione and Ginny sat on the floor, with Ginny leaning against Harry's legs while he reclined on the bed.

Seamus whipped out the bottle of firewhiskey with a grand flourish and to loud applause. With an expansive gesture, he flicked his wand at the bottle and the cork popped out. Before he began to decant the liquor, Hermione said, "Here, Seamus, let me have it."

He passed it to her and grinned broadly when she waved hr wand in a complicated and extremly long pattern and called, "Contanum Eternia." While Beth passed glasses around, Hermione handed the bottle back to Seamus so he could do the honors. The all raised their drinks in an effusive toast to the thief and drank. Thought Snape felt no need to cough (he drank a glass or two of the stuff nearly every night) he faked a spell so the others, each caught up in their own coughing fits, wouldn't notice.

Clearly this was a first time for the students. Their eyes were red and wet, their faces a range of colors, from Rose's matching her face to Harry's interesting shade of purple. Every one of them was hacking as though their lives depended on it.

All of them, except Hermione.

With a bland look on her face but amusement in her eyes, she watched the other struggle to regain their composure, while she continued to sip her drink. Her eyes were indeed a bit damp and she looked more flushed than normal, but clearly the girl knew enough about firewhiskey to know to take it slow at first.

With her face breaking into a broad grin, she pointed her wand at the bottle, efficiently conducting it around the room, refilling glasses. The teens stared the glasses with more respect than before. With a laugh, Hermione said, "Oh, just do it! It'll go down easier this time!"

Taking her at her word, they all slammed their drinks back. Snape figured he'd have to actually drink one more shot before the others would be giddy enough for him to get the information he wanted and slip away.

He was correct, as usual.

By the end of the third shot, the girls were giggling madly and the boys had big, silly grins on their faces. Even the controlled Hermione had taken a shot this time, giving her a slightly foggy look.

Acting as loopy as the others, Snape took the bottle and poured a slug into his glass before leaning over to sloppily fill Harry's.

"A toast, mate! To the Great Greasy Git, many he be covered in dungbombs for many years to come!"

The assembled group roared out their approval. Harry's voice was slurred when he yelled, "Bloody hell, I wish we'd thought of it, Ron! With Hermione on our side, we couldda gotten the things to pelt the Bat from every door, all day long. That git Malfoy, he's got no 'magination. He thought for a moment, tossed back his shot and called, "An' no 'Mione! That's the git's trouble, he's got no 'Mione."

Snape stared, flabbergasted for a moment, trying to absorb that it had been Malfoy to set up that prank. Hell, when he got his hands on that little ferret…

Lovely thoughts of mayhem were distracted by Neville's slurred, "Wait…which git? Malfoy or Snape?"

Clearly thinking about something else now, Harry stared at him and asked, "Which git what?"

Neville poured Rose and himself another drink and asked curiously, "Which git ain't got 'Mione?"

"Malfoy," Harry responded firmly.

"So Snape's got her?" Curiosity colored Neville's tone.

Harry burst out laughing, which luckily covered Snape's sputtered "What?"

And just like that, the party became Snape's worst nightmare. The girls, except Hermione, were laughing hysterically. Hermione was, however, blushing slightly, more than from the alcohol.

Harry's initial burst of laughter faded and he mused aloud, "He's like something out of a nightmare. Poor 'Mione!"

Ginny craned her neck up so see Harry's face then swiveled to look at Hermione. "Poor Hermione! No, Snape's like the hero out of a Gothic romance: dark, dangerous, powerful, masterful... Lucky Hermione!"

Hermione blushed furiously while everyone laughed.

Beth called out, "Look she agrees, look how she's getting red!"

Hermione shot the girl a vicious look, one that lost a lot of sting due to the alcohol on both sides.

"I do not agree, I just think he's…" As though she realized she was digging herself deeper into a hole she hadn't known was there in the first place, she cut off her words.

To hoots and yells of "Liar" and "Professor's Pet," along with many interesting suggestions of ways she could earn extra credit, Hermione went even redder.

Needing to keep up the pretense of being a semi-drunk teen male, but unable to stop his true self from leaking through just a bit, Snape leaned closer to Hermione and hissed, in his real voice (Hell, I must be tipsier than I thought), "Yes, Miss Granger, be a good little Professor's pet."

Hermione met his eyes and he almost gaped. For a girl with that amount of firewhiskey in her belly, those brown eyes were entirely too sharp for his peace of mind. And those eyes were peering into his so intently, he was almost sure she could see his soul. Casually though, he leaned back and called, with a wide grin on his borrowed face, "Seamus, how 'bout another round?"

Three more rounds later, only one of which he'd managed to avoid drinking, Snape felt it safe enough for him to stumble away. It was nearing midnight and the real Ron would be returning soon from his detention.

In a slurred voice, only partly faked, he called, "Right, I'm off to bed! You!" Drunkenly he pointed at Harry, "You don't wake me up!" Swerving gently, he swung out of the room. Hermione, a slightly drunk frown on her face, made as though to follow him, but he hurriedly waved her back, mumbling, "I can do it…. Yeah…"

Adjusting his walk to that of mildly drunk, not that difficult, he stumbled his way down, laughing to himself. At the door to Ron and Harry's room, he fumbled with the latch, kicked the door, and laughed again. Opening the door, he paused, shuffled his feet, then slammed the heavily paneled door.

It was late now so the common room was mercifully devoid of students. Even in his slightly inebriated state; even in this ungainly body, Snape still managed to slip silently through the portal and out into the hall. Out of the darkness just ahead, Snape heard shuffling footsteps. Pressing to the wall for cover, he froze to see who was coming. When the all-to-familiar form appeared out of the darkness, Snape whipped his already-drawn wand into a tight pattern and muttered beneath his breath.

The combination confusion-and-delayed-reaction-sleeping charm, along with a few memory de-hancing tones thrown in, smacked into Ron's chest with a poof of dull grey smoke. The boy stumbled, tripping over his own feet. After a moment to regain some balance, he started off down the hall again, yawning broadly on the way to Gryffindor Tower. Ron's bleary blue eyes never even glanced into the alcove where his double stood in shadows.

When the hall was again silent, Snape slipped from the shadows and moved quickly toward his quarters. All the way down, through the Entrance Hall and down the steps to the dungeons, along the dank corridor to his office door, the only way to reach his private quarters. He silently congratulated himself on a mission well done. He'd not only discovered the culprit of the incident, though it wasn't who he thought it was (or hoped it was), but he'd learned more about the curious Miss Granger.

Shaking his head at the errant thought of the annoying know-it-all Gryffindor Princess, he quickly, if a bit clumsily unwarded his door. As he swept into the room and let the door slam behind him, Snape never saw the shocked, sharp brown eyes that watched him from the dungeon shadows.

Let me know it you enjoy this story, if it's worth my continuing it...

Thank you! Love~ MSP