Tension in the Laboratory

Hermione strode down the corridors of Hogwarts toward the dungeons. The early autumn light at this time of day was thin beaten gold, shafting through the high windows onto the stone flags in watery bars. Once she descended to the dungeons, though, the light became gray and uncertain, overtaken by the eerie green lamps. Still, it did not dampen her mood. She swung open the door to Snape's office.

The first day of term classes had gone all too well. She had, of course, prepared meticulous lecture notes and practiced until she could deliver her lectures smoothly, one for each of the seven classes. She had also devised strategies to counter the challenges she expected to her authority-and she was not disappointed. She had managed to cow the Slytherins, even the Seventh Years, some of whom had known her when she was a student. She had half-bullied, half-humored the rebellious Gryffindors into following her rules. The Ravenclaws had tried to stay a step ahead of her, without success. And Hermione fervently blessed the Hufflepuffs for being the easiest of her pupils.

"Hermione," Snape said, looking up from an ebony desk with flickering candles, the only light in the room. It startled her anew to hear him call her by her first name. "Close the door. Please," he added as an afterthought.

She shut the door. "Professor."

"You'll have to call me Severus now. Otherwise, the students will think you haven't taken your N.E.W.T.s yet."

The words were faintly mocking, but Hermione was learning to disregard that. She cleared her throat. "Severus," the name still felt awkward on her lips. "You said you were starting a project?"

Pushing himself back from his desk, he said, "Look at this spell and tell me what you see." He extended a page of parchment toward her.

With some trepidation, she drew near and took the parchment, which was covered with his close, crabbed handwriting. She scanned it twice, then looked up, alarmed. "There are three Unforgivable Curses. Why make a fourth?"

Something glimmered in his eyes. "I thought you might see it. But it's a little more than just a curse, I think."

"It has a powerful deflective element. The most powerful I've ever seen. These elements together would, would--"

"Deflect the Killing Curse, I believe. Not much, but maybe by enough." He blew out one of the flickering, nearly liquid candles on his desk, and the room sank into deeper shadow. "We shall see."

"But you'd have to be very close to your...target..." She looked at him with renewed alarm.

"I'm crafting a number of new charms and potions this term. I think we may be needing them." He blew out another candle. Only two were left, guttering in the gloom. "It is, of course, something close to Dark Magic." He blew out the last two glimmering candles, and the room plunged to black.

In some ways, it was a relief not to see those unreadable black eyes and to be always trying to avoid looking directly at them, with their probing power. But the darkness also hid his expression, and Hermione needed whatever clues to his thoughts she might be able to glean.

She set her hand on top of his desk, near to where she remembered his own hand had been.

"Prof--Severus," she said.

"Yes."

"You've called me to your office to work in the dark with you?"

After a split second, he gave a small laugh. "You are brilliant as ever, Hermione. However, it's true that I want to develop these charms. And it's also true that some of the experimenting must be done in darkness."

"Some?"

"Not all," he admitted after another brief pause.

"Which bit are we on now?"

"I think we're on a bit that doesn't have anything to do with charms. Not these, anyway."

Did he mean that she had charms, beyond the magical ones? No one had ever said so before, including her mirror, and Hermione didn't delude herself.

"No flattery," she said. "Tell me what you want from me."

"You don't believe I might want you for yourself?"

"No," she said bluntly. "You're Head of Slytherin House, and I know what defining characteristics you embody."

"Which are those?" His voice sounded a bit too smooth, she thought distractedly.

"Ambition, primarily," she replied. "Cleverness, resourcefulness. Blood purity."

"As you know, my blood isn't pure."

"You want me for something, and it isn't my stunning looks," she persisted. "So what is it?"

She heard a rustling and scraping and knew that he was standing up. Then she heard him walking around the desk toward her. She backed up a step and raised her wand.

"Don't light it," he said. "I just want to talk."

She lowered the wand warily. The footsteps came nearer, and she knew he was standing just an arm's length from her.

"It's been highly enjoyable having you under my thumb these many years--ah, ah, no wands, now! But you're a few years past your majority, with a position of power in your own right, so I won't patronize you. What makes you think I might not want to...change the ground rules of our...relationship?"

Tempting, tempting thought. "I know you, Severus. I watched you for years, and you don't do anything without purpose and calculation!" Her voice sounded shrill to her ears.

"I didn't calculate when I was with Lily Evans," he said quietly.

Hermione felt tears spring to her eyes and her throat constrict. "I'm not Lily Evans."

"No. She's gone, and you're here." A finger touched her shoulder, then she felt his thumb move along her cheek.

She turned her head away, but he did what he had done before, taking her chin in his hand and turning it back toward him, though neither could see the other.

"Don't insult me," she said, but her voice wavered. "What do you want? I can help you. You know I would."

She heard him start to speak and then stop, and the next thing she knew, his lips were on hers, his hand still holding her chin in place. Confusion and pleasure swirled through her. She lifted her hands to curve tentatively around his face. The light contact seemed to galvanize him. He took hold of her waist with one hand and the back of her head with the other and pulled her against him. She could feel the wiry hardness of his legs and chest against her body, the power in his arms, the single-minded intensity of his mouth against hers. For several moments, she felt lost, her head spinning, her body feeling weak and clingy. Then Snape's fingers moved down the column of her throat, touching her with firm, light strokes, as though she were a doe that might startle, and he needed to reassure her.

Hermione had only ever been snogged by two teen-aged boys before, and the experiences had left her cool. Neither Viktor Krum nor Ron had shown any particular talent for pleasing her. Although being snogged was exciting, at least for the ego, it was also hard on the mouth. Usually, Hermione felt as if she had been in an oral dueling match after a those sessions. But this was different.

"I've never been interested in students or former students before," Snape murmured in her ear, very quietly. "But you're different. You're different. I've been watching you. ...Hold still." That was all the warning she received before she felt his mouth touch the hollow of her throat, softly at first, then more firmly. She tilted her head back. Never had she thought that area could be so sensitive. One of his hands was splayed along her collarbone and neck, the other still held her firmly by the waist. A rushing sound was in her ears, and she was dimly aware that she was making breathy noises with each inhalation. She ran her fingers lightly and shyly along his jaw and through his hair, which felt rough to her touch.

One of his hands caught hers, and then she felt his lips on the back of her hand. "Sweet," his low voice cut through the buzz in her head. Then he turned her hand over, and a shock ripped through her as he touched his tongue first to her palm, then to the inside of her wrist, then up between her ring and middle finger.

Someone knocked tentatively at the door. "Professor?" a boy's voice said. "The start-of-term feast begins in 20 minutes."

Snape pulled abruptly away. Hermione heard the sound of a match being struck and flame leaped to life in the palm of Snape's hand. "Thank you, Gibbet," Snape said in bored tones. "I shall be out presently." He lighted the candles on his desk again, and closed his hand to extinguish the flame.

"You'll have to return to your rooms, as we can't leave here together," he said.

She pinkened and started for the door. But her heart was singing.

"Hermione."

She paused but didn't turn around.

"Meet me here tomorrow after classes." She didn't respond. "Please." That little word came hard for him, she could tell.

She gave him a quick smile over her shoulder and left the office. No one was in the corridor. She headed back to her rooms, close to Gryffindor Tower.

It seemed to Hermione afterward that she almost floated. Through the start-of-term feast, the ensuing night, and the classes the next day, her thoughts flitted happily back to that moment in Snape's office, with darkness all around, when he had enfolded her in his arms. She knew she was behaving in a silly way and that her friends would mock her if they ever knew, but she couldn't seem to help herself.

This happy interlude lasted until just after lunch, when she was coming around a little-known spiral staircase headed toward her classroom in the dungeons, when she overheard Snape's voice. Her spirits soared. Then she registered what he was saying.

"It's none of your affair, Minerva."

Hermione froze, listening in spite of herself.

"It may be none of my affair, but she was my star pupil, and I'm fond of her, and I won't stand by while you use her!"

Hermione felt a sudden breathlessness.

"Whoever said I'm using her?" came Snape's derisive monotone.

"You want that Defense Against the Dark Arts position! You've wanted it for ages, and now that dear, malleable girl has it, and you're going to twist her around your little finger!"
Hermione waited for Snape to deny it. Instead, he said, "Observant as ever, Minerva. But I'll thank you to keep your nose--and your claws--out of my affairs."