A Budding Rose

Chapter One

"It is of utmost importance that you do as I say, Severus," said Albus Dumbledore, his blue eyes grave behind his golden glasses. His withered hand trembled over the papers splayed across his desk, an unusual sign of distress.

The Potions Master's face was immobile, but his beetle-dark eyes glimmered malevolently. "I have given my life to you already. What you ask is of little consequence."

The Headmaster hesitated. "There is one more thing I would ask of you, Severus, if you can."

Sardonically, Severus Snape met the older man's fervent gaze. "Yes, Albus?"

"Be kind to her.." At those words, Severus' white face contorted.

"The way you have been kind to me all these years, I suppose. Albus, I do not owe her anything, save for what must be given. And all you asked was that I give her the dubious name of Snape. That is all I have to give."

He left quietly, the door shutting with a nonetheless final click. Dumbledore's bitter sigh echoed against the walls.

*

Ron Weasley was at the moment attempting to find his awkward way under Hermione Granger's robes, with little reward. His lips ground against hers bruisingly, and although she hated to admit it, Hermione was bored out of her mind. It was more than discomfort, although it WAS very tiresome to have someone's wet tongue invade her mouth with such viciousness. It was more disappointing than anything.

The Muggle romance books hadn't described this to be so unpleasant. Quite the opposite, actually. For her part, she couldn't see why people engaged in this activity so often. Books offered much more satisfaction and interest. It was also alot more sanitary. Sighing, Hermione pushed Ron away.

Breathing heavily and his eyes rather hot, Ron panted, "What's wrong, 'Mione? Doesn't it feel good?" Suddenly his lips were latched on hers once more, his hands scrambling over her knickers.

"Ron," Hermione hissed. "That's quite enough. I need to write that essay on flobberworms and I don't have all night."

"Can't you stop being such a prude for once?" Ron snapped, all his previous amorous feelings gone- to Hermione's relief.

"I am not a prude, Ronald Weasley!" she said angrily. "Just because I find your constant pawing displeasing does not mean I am a prude." Tossing her heavy dark hair back from her face, she glared at the much taller boy, whose face was slowly purpling with humiliation and rage.

"Bugger off, Hermione. You can just stick to your precious BOOKS to get you off from now on." Turning away, Ron stomped off.

"As it is, they might do a better job!" Hermione shot back, biting her lips until she tasted blood. Sighing, she got up from the sprawled position she had been in, and straightened her black school robes. Her mind was distracted as she grabbed her scattered books. Was she truly such a prude? Was there something wrong about her, that she didn't find Ron's rough advances arousing? All her life, people had thought she was odd for loving books as much as she did, but she hadn't minded for the most part. Now, doubts began to overwhelm her.

"Very good, Miss. Granger," spoke an acidly amused voice, startling Hermione. Her back stiffening, she turned flinchingly to Professor Snape. She looked at him, his funereal robes covering what she assumed to be a pasty and scarecrowish frame, the depthless dark eyes glittering hatefully on her.

"I.. you were EAVESDROPPING?" Hermione gasped, then reddened as she realized belatedly how inane and offensive that sounded.

"Surprising though this may be to you, I was not eager to listen in on the pathetic love life of Potter's sidekicks," Professor Snape replied, sable eyebrows arching.

"Ron and I aren't Harry's sidekicks," Hermione said coldly.

"At any rate, you seem to have gotten his unfortunate habit for disregarding rules."

"I.." Hermione stuttered, for the first time noticing how melodious Professor Snape's voice could get when it got low. It was almost... sensual.

Cutting in smoothly, Snape said, "You don't need to offer me any half-baked excuses as to why you are out of your dormitory. I know very well what just took place. Ten points from Gryffindor, Miss. Granger. Now get back to bed, where you belong."

Nodding numbly, Hermione headed towards the Gryffindor towers. It could have been worse. But the sound of his voice whispered into her dreams that night.


*

Breakfast the next morning was not good. Hermione had woken up a few minutes later than usual, and her hair had turned into a bird's nest overnight. Tumbling out of bed, she had managed to put on mismatched socks, button her robes all wrong, and had run out with truly terrifying morning breath.

Ron hadn't even greeted her, merely went on stonily demolishing two plates of bacon, kidneys, and toast. She had tentatively approached him. She truly felt bad for being so rude to him last night, especially because Hermione cared about Ron very much. He had only turned to Harry, who shrugged apologetically.

As Hermione sat down in the chair beside a rather chubby Gryffindor named Edwina March, she had gloomily forked some scrambled eggs and buttered bread but not touched it, feeling too depressed to eat. Instead, her thoughts retreated to none other than Severus Snape. Her cheeks flushed at the memory of the dream that she had had the night before.

Unwillingly, Hermione's eyes turned towards the table at which the professors sat eating. There he was, his lank locks covering the pallid features of his face as he speared a sausage with his fork. When his face tilted upwards, and the light hit his face, she thought with a strange acknowledgement dawning within her that he was not ugly. For ever so long, she had imagined Professor Snape to be a disagreeable looking man. But now, when she really focused on him, Hermione could see that his face was very finely molded. And though his coloring was austerely pale, it somehow struck her as elegant rather than unhealthy. Then there was the slim masculinity of his hands, long with nimble fingers that emanated a medicinal odor.

In her dreams, those hands had been latched to her breasts, and his surprisingly sensual lips had been pressing burning kisses onto her skin. Hermione felt her breath catch, her loins clench, moistening the cotton of her panties. And that silken voice of his... oh gods, if Ron ever found out that just the thought of Hogwart's greasy bat could get her where he had failed- heads would roll.

*

An important looking golden eagle swept into the Great Hall, a creamy sheaf of paper tied to its leg. It headed straight for the Headmaster, who extended his good hand towards it. After dropping the sheaf into Dumbledore's hand and dipping its beak into his goblet for a refreshing draught, the eagle sped outwards. Albus Dumbledore carefully unfurled the rolled up parchment, and read. And read. And read it once more, for good measure.

Severus Snape's sharp eyes had been glued to the Headmaster from the moment the eagle had flown to him, and dread filled him. It must be what they had been expecting. His suspicions were confirmed when Dumbledore's eyes lifted and shot him a meaningful glance. So it was to begin.

He looked towards Hermione Granger, who was sitting away from her usual enclave. Not surprising, from what Snape had observed last night. For what probably was the first time, Severus Snape took in the person who was to ruin whatever was left of his life. She was not displeasing to the eye, despite the tangle of hazelnut curls that waved down her back. Her figure was no doubt diminutive, although he couldn't judge too well, as it was hidden in the voluminous folds of her cloak. There was still a youthful curve to Miss. Granger's face that caused a sudden ache in his chest. She was so young to be condemned.

Slowly, he turned away from her, as Albus stood up and cleared his throat.