Tension in the Laboratory

Snape pulled himself away abruptly and turned from her. Dazed, Hermione stood without moving for a second, then slowly turned toward the door, which seemed very far away. She still felt ill, though not in immediate danger of a visit to chunderville. She needed to get back to her flat, consider what she would say tomorrow, do something about this dizziness, and here was not the place. She wished Snape would stay with her in her bedroom—-she shook herself mentally. What was she thinking? This was Severus Snape she was imagining. He would never do that. Shag her, yes. Often, long, hard, and thoroughly. But comfort her? If she wanted to stay with Snape, she would have to get a dog. Crookshanks had been showing an extremely independent side these last several years--sometimes Hermione didn't see him for weeks at a time.

“I’ll see you to your rooms,” he tossed over his shoulder as he gathered some books. Hermione nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. What was that he’d said? He would see her to her rooms? Well, that was more than she’d expected of him. Really, it was good of him. She shuffled to the door and leaned unobtrusively against it while she waited for him. Silently, she began to review the happenings of the past hour.

Snape approached her with an armload of books. “You didn’t want me to cast another Mobilicorpus spell, did you?” he said with mild derision.

Hermione didn’t think her already fragile state could withstand another of such remarks. “No,” she said clearly and moved as quickly as possible out the door. Now she was faced with the long corridors back to Gryffindor Tower. Her vision seemed to constrict to a tunnel.

She felt Snape’s hand at her elbow. “You don’t have to go all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, you know,” he said in carefully neutral tones.

She turned her head and blinked at him. Now his face was in the center of her limited field of vision. “What?”

He sighed. “You’ve been going through the portrait hole, like a student, to get to your rooms. You don’t have to do that. Surely you’ve noticed Minerva, me, the other faculty, getting to their rooms in the usual fashion?”

Hermione twisted her elbow out of his grasp. The corridor spun around her for a split second, but she ignored the sensation. The man was lecturing her on the best route to her flat? “I’ll go to my rooms any way I like, and I don’t need help to get there,” she returned in a frustratingly soft, flat voice.

He seemed about to say something, then shut his thin lips, tightened his jaw, and took her elbow again. “Come with me.”

Hermione wanted to shove some words in his face, words like why, what for, or no, but she had no stomach for a scene in the hallway, so reluctantly, she walked with him, though at a slow pace. Snape made no comment.

When they reached the point where Hermione normally turned right, Snape gently pulled her elbow left. “This way.”

Hermione sensed that her energy would not last much longer. If Snape were wrong about how to get to her rooms, she would have to ask him to wait so she could rest. She could just imagine how joyful he would be at that prospect. On the other hand, presumably his many years at Hogwarts performing Merlin knows what kind of Dark Magic with the Future Death Eaters Club of Great Britain gave him some rough idea of how the place was laid out—Hermione stifled hysterical laughter. If I laugh, I won’t be able to go on, she thought. No laughing.

She trundled after him, her pace flagging.

“Here it is,” he said. His voice seemed to be coming from a distance.

She fumbled for her wand and raised it. “Alohomora.” The door opened. Snape stood back, and Hermione entered her flat.

She fully expected to turn around and bid him good-bye, but when she turned, she nearly collided with him. He had entered her rooms. He flicked his wand at the door, and it closed smartly.

“Now,” he said, pulling her toward the bedroom, “let’s get you settled.”

Settled? Oh. Right. He was going to get her settled in bed and be off. Guilty conscience, maybe. “I can get myself settled,” she said stiffly, pulling her arm away (again, the whirling sensation). “Classes are still on for the rest of the day. You’ll need to be getting back. Please tell Dumbledore I’ll return to class tomorrow.”

“Hermione,” he said, bending down to get his face level with hers, his eyes opaquely black and hard to read, “do you really think I’m going to leave you at your threshold?”

“Yes.”

He mouth tightened as he straightened up. “I thought you saw the good in me,” he said with grim humor, taking the three strides necessary to get into the bedroom and pulling her with him. He turned down the bed and stood back.

“I can’t get into bed. It’s not noon yet. I have to think about what I’m to say tomorrow,” she protested.

“We’ll talk about that later,” Snape said. “Bed. Now.”

Hermione shot him what she hoped was a furious look before pulling off her sensible low-heeled shoes, sliding under the sheets, and laying her head on the pillow. Once there, she felt slumber’s heavy arms begin to try to drag her down. She must have hit her head harder than she thought. Snape approached her and extended his index finger toward her temple. Hermione hoped he wasn’t going to touch her there. She tried to move her head away just as he pulled his hand back. “I’ll return after classes,” he said.

Hermione nodded as her eyes closed. She heard Snape move through her little flat and open the door, where his footfalls stopped.

“...like to see her, if you please, Severus,” she thought she heard McGonagall’s voice say.

“I rather think not,” Snape said in his most abrasively gloating tones. Hermione tried to concentrate. If only she had some extendible ears now! “Mild concussion, I should say. ...already said...appropriate spells... Entertaining won’t be high on...calendar...”

“All the same—-"

“Minerva,...seen her to her rooms...asleep already...”

After a brief silence, the door closed, and all was quiet.

***

Hermione heard the clink of a cup hitting a saucer. She opened her eyes. Her lamp was on. Severus Snape was sitting by her bed, drinking a cup of tea balanced precariously on her bedside table as he pored over an ancient volume on his lap.

He looked up at once. “Ah,” he said, and closed the book. “How are you feeling?” Hermione could tell by the way he said the words that he didn’t say them often.

“Much better, thanks.” It was a partial lie, but she wanted to think about tomorrow before it was too late.

“Good. About tomorrow--”

Hermione sat up, ignoring the various pains and discomforts. “I’ve been thinking about that. You’re going to know the best way to approach Him.”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “Here is what you shall say. Tell him you’ll never give him any access to your class, that the only person you’d dream of allowing to teach the Dark Arts to the students of Hogwarts is Severus Snape, and that I’ve turned you down.”

Hermione nodded slowly, and she saw some tension leave Snape’s body. He sat back and took another sip of tea. “Hungry?” he said lightly.

To her surprise, she was.

“Then let’s go to the Great Hall. They’ll be glad to see you.”

“You’re going to walk me to the Great Hall?”

He set his cup and saucer aside. “I’ll try to look as though it’s a trial to me.”

She almost asked if it was, but thought better of it. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, hiking up her modest skirt in the process. As she tried to tug it back down, Snape rose and loomed over her. “It’s my intention to walk you back as well.”

The words hung in the air. It was almost as if he were giving her the chance to object. But the thought of having his arms around her, even if all he were capable of giving were the sex act, was too strong a temptation to resist. She looked up at him. His crotch was nearly level with her mouth. Still she stared at him. Maybe he could read her thoughts.

“We should go now,” he said in a low voice. She guessed he had only read what he wanted to see.

She stood up, again ignoring the complaints of various body parts, put on her shoes, and walked beside him out the door and to the Great Hall.