On the first day of Christmas

“The wormwood.” Snape murmured that night, holding out a pale palm and not looking up to see Hermione’s bored eyes. They had been working only an hour and already she was starting to hate him.

Hate his voice, hate his sneering, and hate his contempt…it was all too infuriating. So much for the infamously desirable Severus Snape.

Perhaps if he hadn’t called her an idiotic Gryffindor the minute she walked into the classroom it wouldn’t have been an issue. Or the fact that he handed her a large quill in which she would be writing notes with for the next five hours…or perhaps it was because he was treating her like a slave?!

Why had she bothered trying to be nice to him? Good will to all men…that was a saying wasted on him. Ever since she had stepped into his classroom he had been rude, ordering her around and telling her to pay attention.

At this moment he was glaring at her. Merry Christmas you bugger. She was still nervous, but her plan off attack stayed the same: act like she didn’t care.

She handed him the small item as he put it into the bubbling mix, it was turningovelovely shade of deep green that Hermione herself cherished. She loved the color…before she knew of what the color would soon mean.

Her finger’s brushed his by accident and she quickly pulled away, not wanting to touch him longer than she had to, his hands were so cold. His dark eyes pierced hers, and she felt herself growing agitated.

She didn’t notice Snape beside her, shifting shakily foot to foot feeling the exact same way.

Today in Hogsmeade walking with her from shop to shop…it felt almost comfortable. She never tried to be someone different, she was a know it all, clumsy, funny on occasions…rare ones, outspoken stood by her convictions, had wonderful smelling skin-

Oh bugger.

When had these thoughts crept into his brain? Oh bugger oh bugger. Out of the corner of his narrowed eyes he saw her hand dip her quill into the inkpot and go back to her scratched writing. His mind suddenly went into overdrive and enticing scenarios…her hand as she unbuttoned his ever confining pants, her mout-

“Professor?”

He stiffened beside her; worried she might have noticed his sudden flush…which of course she had.

“Are you ill sir?”

Snape shot a glare at her, sudden and unmistakably a cover for his frustration. He was shifting where he stood, tying to loosen the excruciating tension. “Go back to writing Granger.”

He went to his office a moment, slamming the door behind him and drawing all the blinds down. Hermione looked to the closed door momentarily confused and then with a shrug went back to her notes.

He emerged a few moments later, looking a little less peaked and quite comfortable actually…almost groggy? He gave her a not so severe glare and walked over to his cauldron that stood next to her.

She looked to him earnestly, which he greeted with his usual sneer. He spoke his next words lazily, not really meaning any of it…but more wanting to see what she’d do.

“What are you looking at Granger?”

“Nothing sir.”

She looked to his cufflinks that were exposed once more before looking back to the parchment. Snape suddenly recalled the morning, and he look of surprise at his cufflinks. Why had she been looking at his cufflinks before?

In the desolate Potion’s lab they were so very isolated, so very detached from the rest of Hogwarts in its barren dungeons. They’d been working in such close quarters for what seemed forever and he was starting to feel at ease around her.

Perhaps that’s what made him ask.

“Miss Granger…” he said agonizingly slow as he stirred the concoction, and she tried desperately to look as if she didn’t care what he had to say…this was indeed abortive.

“Sir?”

He paused a moment, not sure whether or not to go on. He seemed to collect his thoughts and after an arduously long wait he spoke in that smooth, detached tone that always tricked Hermione into being interested in what he was going to say almost breviloquent.

“What’s the real reason you didn’t go home?”

Hermione looked to him in complete astoundment, what did the unctuous git care?

“When I went home for summer vacation, I was informed that my parents, who are dentists consequently, that they’d like to travel about Europe on stupid lectures and leave me here to rot for Christmas.”

Snape nodded, writing something in the book and hoping she was done her venting…which she wasn’t.

“So then they tell me that I’m wasting my time here at Hogwarts, that once this silly ‘magic’ stuff is out of my system that I’m to go home to some muggle Ivy League school.”

Fine, fine you stupid girl, I’m only trying to break the ice.

Snape nodded, trying to seem indifferent, but was in a state of absorption to what Hermione was saying. He wanted to ask her more…but he was her professor and that was that…one question was most clearly in his mind at the present moment…

‘Why did you ask Dumbledore if I would be attending the Christmas banquet? Why could you possibly care?’

Did she perhaps…want him there? Had she been the one that sent him the parcel? He snuck another glance at her from behind his raven curtains of black that hung on either side of him. Yes…it was entirely plausible.

She was looking to his hands with a strange and unreadable expression on her face…it appeared to be puzzlement. Suddenly her imploring eyes met his, and she gave him an inquiring look.

“Why do you ask sir?”

Cover it up…quickly you old fool.

“I was trying to make a conversation.”

“Right.”

Snape looked to her again, his dark eyes greedily taking in her features. She wasn’t gorgeous by any means, but sort of attractive, in a younger woman sort of way. Her hair was still a mad mass and she never shut up…but she had a certain elusive charm abou-

Shut up.

Again she looked to his cufflinks. He couldn’t take it any more, and he looked to her with a severe gaze.

“I believe I’ve come to the root of your fascination with my cufflinks, Miss Granger.\"

If only you knew Snape.

“You purchased them for me.”

Oh…you do.

He smirked at her, as she looked absolutely flustered at the present moment. What could she say to him? How had he found out?

“The only question…” he drawled, leaning a bit so that their eyes were level, “Is why…”

Hermione shook her head, trying to focus, she had to think of something…fast. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Professor.”

“Did you get these cufflinks for me, Miss Granger?” there was an icy undertone to his already deep voice. Hermione looked to him in mute horror.

“No sir.”

She was lying. It was so evident it was laughable. Why wouldn’t she tell him? Why was she acting so aloof all of a sudden? Why did she have to look so…kissable?

“I’ll ask you again.” He growled, stalking closer to her, “Did you or did you not purchase the cufflinks?”

Hermione was growing frantic, now standing and backing up with every step he took towards her. She saw the way he was looking to her and she did not like it one bit. He was getting furious. Finally she answered.

“Yes sir. I did.”

He nodded, still looking vexed and Hermione couldn’t understand why, and felt herself blush, which didn’t seem to make him any happier.

He knew why she had done it…it was the same every year…especially around Christmas. Every year one little seventh year twit wanted to conquer the dark Potions Master. Every year some one would try to worm their way into his affections. He was angry at this, angry that he was probably seen as nothing but a conquest.

But most of all, he was angry because she was succeeding.