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Chapter Text

The scratching of quills on parchment, the low bubble of potion base, the weak groans of weary students. Severus sat behind his imposing mahogany desk, black quill posed at the edge of his thinned lips as he judged the students present in his NEWT level class.

Everyone knew Severus Snape hated dunderheaded students, accident prone menaces, but what no one was aware of was that he also hated competency. It was... horrifyingly boring. Shouting at imbeciles was pleasantly diverting, almost soothing, but this... the ease and practice these students possessed - nowhere near the level that could satisfy or impress him - was utterly monotonous.

Severus marked papers, red ink slashing across the parchments in streaks of disappointment. That was quickly accomplished, and class continued. Then he'd attempt reading a journal or book, but it was quite difficult to concentrate with the ambient noises coming from the class. He had two hours with these teenagers, two long hours of nothing but staring, sitting, and writing on the board. Years of the same had culminated into an uneasy desperation that bid him act upon his boredom.

He didn't mean to peak into Miss Greengrass' mind, but it had at least been amusing. As she scribbled away at her notes, she was thinking about how to charm Pansy Parkinson's mirror to speak only insults at the girl’s image. Quite amusing, particularly because it seemed she was utterly pants at Charms.

Draco thought only of one thing, which made Severus's face heat and a bit of bile come up in his throat. Potter, laid out in all manner of poses on the Quidditch Pitch. Merlin, that boy was obsessed and utterly repressed. Coming from Severus, that was saying something. Severus resolved never to peek into Draco's thoughts again. It was much too distressing.

Longbottom - how in Merlin's left nut had he gotten into this class - thought only of exactly what he was doing. Stir, stir, pause, breathe, itch arm, stir, stir. It made Severus chuckle out loud, much to the shock of his students. What a simple-minded boy.

It was mid-November when Severus was bored enough to dip inside Hermione Granger's mind. He expected a chaos that mimicked her intense and nearly erratic behavior in class, but instead he found an Escher-like maze of file folders, filled to the brim with expertly cataloged information. Perhaps the girl had an eidetic memory, or perhaps she was just neurotic enough to color code her own bloody thoughts.

Severus pushed past the towering shelves into her stream of consciousness. The memory of her fourth birthday might be within reach, but he wanted to see what she saw within her mind’s eye. He pushed through what felt like dozens of layers of black curtains, disappearing then coming forth within his own classroom, looking through her eyes.

Granger was looking at him.

It was surreal to watch himself. He could feel his body, but the disconnect was dizzying. 

Granger was peering over her cauldron, doing expert work of stirring calculatedly and also observing her Professor. He shook his head, his long black hair sweeping a bit out of his face, and he felt Granger react. Her eyes followed the movement of his head, his hair, as if she was studying him.

Interesting.

One of his hands was holding his famous black marking quill. He experimentally dragged the soft edge along his lower lip, and again her eyes followed, tightly transfixed onto the path it trailed. He could almost feel her shiver.

Again, terribly interesting.

His other hand was flat on the desk, and he began to tap his index finger against the wood top. He often did this to startle and upset the rhythm of the class, counting down the seconds until they had to expose their lackluster work to their Professor.

As his finger tapped, the sound a soft tick within the din of the classroom, Hermione Granger's eyes darted towards the movement. The slow tick, Severus was realizing, was in time with the beating of her heart against her ribcage.

And then something most unusual began to unfold.

If one were not a Legilimens, they may not realize the sensory aspect that came with practiced introspection into another person's minds. You can feel everything, though subtle and distant as if recalling a feeling you once had rather than feeling it wholly and presently.

He felt aroused. Not the bone-deep desperation of his late night solitary moments of regretful pleasure, but the curious and anxious arousal of his long-gone teenage years. Granger was arrested by the sight his own long fingers, moving as they were over the smooth wood of the desk. The disconnect became painful and strange as his fingers moved from reality into fantasy. He could still see himself, his fingers and his face, but it was no longer him.

Now he was looking at her fantasy.

His fingers were tapping along a smooth plane of tanned skin, teasing the soft and sensitive area of a delicate looking torso. He could feel her shiver again, and it soon became clear what was happening. 

The image of himself bent over Hermione Granger, perched as she was on her stool, her jumper and blouse held in one hand just above her covered breasts whilst the other traced lazily over her skin. She was reclined back on the stone wall, eyes half-lidded and heavy. It was indeed a fantasy, so he could stand aside and act as observer to both their play movements. Granger too was likely a voyeur to this scene.

Fantasy-Snape trailed a long finger up the center of her sternum and with a strangely practiced flick, her sensible skin-toned brassier dematerialized. Granger gasped as her breasts were freed from their cotton prison, and so did Severus as her breasts shook ever so slightly from the movement. Her nipples were tight buds like little English roses, and as if bidden from his own thoughts, Fantasy-Snape plucked one, pulling forth a soft moan from the girl's lips.

"Don't tease me, Professor..." Hermione pleaded, pushing his hand downwards. Fantasy-Snape gave her a sly, nearly malevolent smirk as he obliged, slipping his hand under her pleated wool skirt. 

The slow slide of her similarly sensible knickers down her parted legs was lazily erotic, and when the material was pushed below her knees, the hand then disappeared back up under her skirt.

"So wet..." Fantasy-Severus murmured. 

One of his students was calling him, Severus blinked harshly as he fell from Granger's mind.

"Professor?" they called again, but he wasn't listening. He was gazing at Hermione Granger, whose eyes had a glazed, far off look about them. Her cheeks had reddened, and it was almost overwhelming to realize she was continuing her fantasy towards its natural conclusion. Her lips parted, ever so slightly, and her eyes closed just for a moment. She gasped silently.

The natural conclusion.

He felt his dark quill snap in half within his grasp, drawing the attention of a few of the students near the front. It jarred him from his reverie, and he realized just how compromised he'd allowed himself to become.

"Yes, Parkinson?" he managed to grit out. The girl blabbed about her potion, but he waved her off with irritation.

"Just leave the sample on your desk," he bit out. He didn't have the patience to be surrounded by students, he was as hard as granite under his robes and this had never happened before in the bloody classroom. 

At this point, he would be sweeping about the room making the students squirm, but instead one of them had him indisposed.

"When you are finished, decant your samples and vacate my classroom!" Severus ordered. It wasn't a horribly unusual demand, and soon the students complied. One by one they exited until all that remained was himself and Granger. She was so bloody slow, packing her books with an unnecessary reverence.

"Miss Granger..." he growled lowly. "Please make your way out... now." 

The girl startled and looked up, then gave his hand an odd sort of look. "Your quill, professor, it's..."

"Out!"

She grabbed her bag and fled, sparing him no backward glance.

When he was finally alone, Severus allowed himself to actually process what he'd seen, and he cast the pieces of his favored quill to the desk.

"Morgana, that girl is mad..."

And yet his erection did not abate. Perhaps he too was mad, for what Professor would peer into a student's mind?

Severus eagerly awaited his next opportunity to do so.

Chapter Text

Severus had tried not to think on it, tried valiantly and yet in vain. There was no possible way he could not think of it, reminisce, obsess. Hermione Granger fancied him, or something of that sort, and it was upsetting the very fabric of his life.

No one had ever fantasized about Severus Snape before, at least, no one to his knowledge. It was an ego stroke of the highest order. Literally seeing with your own eyes how someone else saw you.

Miss Granger saw him like no other, he was sure. She saw him as powerful, which was not an unwarranted opinion of him, but she also saw him as sexual. That was an incredible revelation, almost laughable really. He wouldn't have believed it if he hadn't actually been in her mind at the time. It wasn't exactly like witches were banging down his door.

Now Severus could do nothing but think of it, allowing himself the guilty pleasure of recalling her intimate fantasies and feelings over a glass of scotch, bringing them to bed with him after a few more. He should be disgusted with himself, but a person couldn't despise themselves any more than they already did, now could they? He was a horrid man, so he should have horrid hang-ups to match.

Severus had been watching her from his place at the front of the class as she stirred carefully and methodically added ingredients to her Sight Sharpening Solution. It was then, as she doled out six leaves of Blue Spice Basil and began to chop them finely, that Severus allowed himself to actually look at her.

The young witch was many things, and she was frequently described by her peers and professors as intelligent, kind, witty, and noble, but you would rarely find someone who would profess to her beauty. Shame, then, since she was exceedingly lovely on her good days. Perhaps the fact that she was pretty was too small in comparison to her being the brightest witch of her age, Severus almost scoffed at the moniker. It may be true, but it was ridiculous all the same. She was also a stickler for the rules, but only as they applied to a group. She flouted them on an individual basis, which Severus supposed was part of her obnoxious genius. Rules existed to guide the thoughtless masses, not to chain the brilliant and the bold. Like just then, as Miss Granger about added her chopped Blue Spice Basil to her Solution, she paused, seemed to weigh her own hand, then surreptitiously removed a pinch from her handful before releasing the purple and green plant into the cauldron. That, that was rule breaking - the book called for six leaves - but it was also genius. Severus had long ago come to the conclusion that six leaves was a stupid way to measure out anything and had determined instead that the Solution needed roughly five grams. It seemed then that Miss Granger had also deduced such. 

She had bitten her lip as she'd done it too, like a naughty little girl about to be caught doing something wrong. Severus found the notion of punishing her for crafting her potion as he himself would absolutely hilarious.

Severus stood gracefully from his chair, rounding his desk with a flourish of his robes to warn the class. Students looked from their simmering Solutions to him as he moved, dread settling into their eyes as they anticipated his rounds of biting critique. The students all looked away as he neared the desks, not wanting to be caught gawping, but Miss Granger kept looking on, from under the curtain of a few wayward curls. She kept a steady working rhythm as she gazed at him, sending water from her wand into a smaller cauldron to begin making the honeywater needed for her Solution. Her eyes were like smoldering embers, bright and hooded and full of anticipation. Severus swept slowly through the center of the classroom, making quick, cutting remarks as he passed by the other students' work. When he moved towards Granger's desk, he slipped gently into her eyes and fell into her mind.

He wanted to play with her.

Again, Severus could see himself through her eyes, less disorienting this time than last but still horribly strange. Miss Granger did not see him as he saw himself, Severus was coming to realize. When he looked into a mirror, he saw sallow, he saw angles and scars, and a nose that monopolized the real estate of his face. What she saw was enough to make him preen.

He was looking down at her with eyes that seemed to pierce her, seemed to draw her to his face like a tightly wrenched lead. Her gaze traced the contours of a jaw he'd never realized looked so strong, and a brow he'd never realized was so expressive. He quirked an eyebrow at her perusal and she shivered, she was intimidated by him. Intimidated, and electrified.

"Miss Granger," he said lowly, and his voice had never sounded so silky and sexual to his own ears. "Have you not begun your honeywater? I am surprised you are... dawdling... in my classroom."

Heat bloomed in her cheeks, he could feel it, and it amused him to ruffle her such. Miss Granger hastily snatched up the honey jar on the desk, opened it, and began to spoon some honey out for her component. Her hands stilled as one of his was placed on her desk, his own tall body looming over her and into her space. Severus said nothing and waited while she squirmed.

"I... I have sir, see?" Miss Granger gestured with her spoon of honey, carelessly tilting it so that the golden substance began to drip slowly from it. Severus wished he could have seen the droplet's descent, but he felt when it landed, for Miss Granger's embarrassment was palpable and fierce. It landed with a small plop on the top of her left thigh, and through her eyes he could see that it had settled just an inch or two shy of her skirt, which had been hiked up her legs as she sat and twisted about her stool.

How delightfully indecent.

Severus could not exactly see from his own eyes, but he glanced down at her legs all the same. Miss Granger felt the path of his gaze and shook with repressed desire, and it was almost distressing to feel a pool of need flare within her womb. The witch wanted him, and oh Merlin help him, he wanted her.

A flash of a fantasy, one he could not control. Severus was gripping Miss Granger's thighs as she looked down on him, her eyes dark and beautiful, and he leaned down for a lingering taste of her sweetened skin. His next target to savor was between her thighs. He slowly parted her legs, the taste of honey strong on his tongue...

The image had heat scorching a path all through Severus's body, arousal quick and unrelenting. He could not even tell if it was his fantasy or hers, but he hoped it was both. Could two minds create a single fantasy?

He was letting this get out of hand.

Severus slunk from her mind, reluctantly reentering his own eyes. Her desire was replaced with his own. The button placket of his slacks felt restrictive and he longed to free himself.

Miss Granger's face was a lovely shade of pink as she looked down at her soiled leg. The fantasy must have been his because all he could imagine now was laving at exactly that spot, and he wanted to taste it with all of his being.

"Tsk, tsk, Miss Granger," he admonished her. She looked up then, startled and mortified, and Severus absolutely luxuriated in knowing he had unsettled her such. "You must be less clumsy," he added, and she blinked away what looked like a small tear of shame. The fact that he had brought Miss Granger to tears shouldn't have aroused him further, but it did. He was a horrible, terrible man.

He then waved his hand, a lazy little flick of his wrist, and the area of her thigh was cleaned with a spark of magic, one strong enough to rustle the fabric of her skirt. Now as Severus looked down his nose at her, he could see a shadow between her legs, and he wondered if she wore plain cotton panties. It would not surprise him as she was an utterly wholesome sort of good girl.

Miss Granger audibly gasped, and it took all of his control not to pin her to the stone floor and make her gasp louder. If she had enjoyed the feel of his magic over her thighs, he wondered what other parts of her body he could charm.

"Five points from Gryffindor for wasting ingredients," Severus scoffed, and he strode away from her desk just as her luscious lips turned into an angry frown.

Oh yes, he was enjoying this immensely.  

Chapter Text

Christmas was upon Hogwarts. The halls had been decked with obnoxiously garish ornaments and garlands, ghosts were caroling tirelessly, and a massive evergreen stood in the Great Hall, blocking what little Scottish sunlight was still there from streaming through the windows. The grounds were covered in a thick blanket of snow, and the dungeons were like an icebox, even with copious Warming Charms.

Severus hated the holidays, loathed them with every fiber of his being. Students called him Scrooge, after that damnable holiday story, but there was no pitiful tale of greed and reconciliation for him, oh no. Severus hated the holidays for one plain and simple reason - he hated giving gifts.

It wasn't that he had never tried the practice, no, he had, many times in his youth, but it had never ended well for him. When he was six years old, he'd given his mother an acorn he'd found and drawn a little face on, and her response had been... cool, to say the least. He'd found it in the rubbish bin on Boxing Day.

The second and more damning gifting blunder had been in third year. He'd scrimped and saved his pocket money and bought a forest green scarf from a shop in Hogsmeade for Lily, but what had her response been? No 'oh thank you, Sev!', no 'How very thoughtful, Sev!'. No, she and her friends had just laughed. What Gryffindor girl would be caught dead wearing a green scarf? Lily had even had the nerve to accuse him of trying to bring her to his Slytherin side! He'd only bought the damned thing because it was the color of her eyes. It was lesson enough, and he never gave another gift again. Gift-giving required a certain level of trust, trust that the person whom you are gifting to is willing to receive and return the gesture, but Severus had no such trust in anyone. He never would. 

And bloody hell, he hated Christmas carols. Obnoxious, vile, and catchy.

The only thing Severus was looking forward to was the children vacating the castle. Then he would have two blessed weeks of peace and quiet, where he would do nothing but drink scotch and read to his heart’s content. No office hours, no teaching, and no exploding cauldrons.

But no peeking into Hermione Granger's mind either, which would be a damn shame. She would likely be gone as well, and she would take with her the amusing diversion that was her fancying him. Since he had first peeked into her consciousness in November, he had delighted himself with her insights, feelings, and fantasies on the regular. Whenever they had a slow class, he found himself easing into her mind, and there was endless entertainment to be had. Severus had even found himself influencing her fantasies, which was a bit dangerous, but he couldn't help himself. The more she revealed about her desire for him, the more he played into it and tried to surprise her with her own thoughts. It was a glorious exercise in torture, and he loved to watch the young witch squirm.

Today was his last class before the hols, and as the NEWT students filed into the classroom, he decided he would play with her again. It was like a drug, a confidence-boosting, erotically-charged drug and he needed a fix before she left.

The students slid into their chairs and waited, yet Severus said nothing. They were unsettled, looking about as they wondered when he would speak, and their discomfort could only make him smirk a little. He loved messing with his students.

"You will be composing twelve inches of parchment on Moonstone and how it reacts with three potion components of your choice," he drawled, and with a flick of his wand, the instructions he had just uttered appeared on the board behind him. Students were groaning in exasperation, but it couldn't be helped. Severus was already prepared for a vacation and he did not wish to be bothered dealing with their brewing just a day before they would all leave. 

Miss Granger was already eagerly pulling parchment from her bag, setting up her desk like this was a treat for her. Severus pinned her with his eyes and waited for her to look up. She did, almost called upon to do so by his gaze.

"And when I say twelve, I mean twelve. Not less, and not any more. Is that clear, Miss Granger?" he asked darkly, relishing the way her zeal dissipated and left only shame. A few of his Slytherins jeered, but a single look from him was enough to silence them. 

"Your time started when you entered class!"

Their quills began scratching rapidly, though it was likely most of them would already be composing nonsense to fill their twelve inches with. Severus did not care, he just wanted them all busy as he spent this last class before the holiday enjoying Miss Granger's mind. It took exactly six minutes before she glanced from her parchment to him, and he took the opportunity then to slip into her thoughts. With great expectation, he fell through the curtain that separated her stream of consciousness from the rest of her mind. What would it be today? Spanking? Oral sex? Dirty talk? Oh, she had quite the fantasies, all of which he couldn't wait to enjoy.

When Severus landed in her stream of consciousness, he did not find his own eyes as he often did, and he was not surrounded by a delicious fantasy either. There were no sweeping feelings of lust or passion, only an unsteady thrum of sorrow and dread, and he could see Hermione Granger some ways in front of him, approaching a door. The feel of the place he was in was distinct, there was an aura of memory to it. What was so important about this memory that had the witch thinking about it during class instead of engaging in her fanciful sexual fantasies?

Hermione Granger approached the door, attempted to knock but seemed to think better of it. Her indecision was unnerving to him, she was usually so brave.

"Can I help you?" someone asked kindly, a woman in her forties stood up from her kneeling position in a bed of butterfly bushes, brushing her hands off on her denim trousers. Hermione turned towards the woman and almost immediately began weeping.

"Mum?" she sobbed, sprinting towards the woman who was now backing away like a startled animal. "Did it work? Do you remember me?"

"Who are you?" the woman asked shakily, holding her hands out before her. “Get away from me!”

Oh no, this wasn't good. What was happening here?

"Mum, please..." Miss Granger was still crying, the hope in her eyes long dead and gone.

"Get out of my garden! Wendel, help! There's someone in the garden and I think she's crazy!" the woman cried towards the house, and apparently her voice could be heard through the open window. A shadow passed the window and the back door swung open, a tall, greying man coming forth.

"Mum, please don't..." Miss Granger begged quietly, eyes darting between the two older people.

"Why are you bothering my wife?" the man demanded, rounding quickly on them and stepping between the two women.

"Dad?" Miss Granger asked rather quietly, like a small child who had just had a nightmare. This felt like a nightmare, to Severus at least, but it was clearly a memory.

"This is lunacy, I'm calling the police over and they'll deal with her," the man said to his wife, pulling a small phone from his pocket and dialing. "You can't just come into someone's garden and start acting loony, I don't care what you've been smoking," he directed at Hermione, who was struggling to breathe and settle her own crying.

"I'm so, so sorry, I swear, I won't come here again," Hermione assured them, wiping her cheeks with her sleeve as she turned and ran. 

Severus followed her, not of his own volition, but from the pull of the memory. Miss Granger activated a small Portkey and landed in a dark and empty home, the mantle over the fireplace holding damning photographs of a once happy and wholesome family, a family that seemingly was no more. Miss Granger dropped to her knees and wept. 

Then the memory repeated. It seemed Miss Granger could think of nothing else. Her anguish was heavy and oppressive, and it had Severus jumping away from her stream of consciousness. He appeared in her mind again, in the wildly tall and terrifyingly organized stacks of cataloged memories, memories that, at a glance, proved to be just as telling. 

Hermione Granger had once had a happy life, parents that loved her and doted on her, but now they were no more. She was essentially orphaned, her Obliviate spell had been far too strong for their Muggle minds. She could not undo the damage, though she had tried. The memories of her family at Christmas time were particularly infused with a rawness and sadness, likely because the holiday was nearly upon them. She had no family to go home to, no loved ones to share gifts with. The garlands and carols were taunting her, and they taunted him. Beyond the cheer and holiday tidings, a bleak truth rang out for both of them, that they were utterly alone. Severus had never felt empathy for another person more than right then.

He practically stumbled from her mind.

Now, Severus could see the change in her. As Miss Granger wrote out her assignment in that neat and perfect way she always did, he could see she held herself poorly, like there was a great weight pressed down on her. It seemed ludicrous, but Severus wanted nothing more than to lift the burden, if only a little.

He had taken so much from her the past few months, perhaps he could find some way of giving a little back.

Chapter Text

Severus was not a kind man. He did not extend kindnesses towards others unless it was to a particular end, one that would benefit him enough to merit the effort. That was partially the reason why he had trouble finding a way of paying the Granger girl back for her endless hours of amusement and ego bolstering fantasies. It was beginning to feel like there wasn't anything he could do for the girl that didn't absolutely upend his intrusion into her consciousness. What was he to say? 'Thank you, Miss Granger, for having an open book of a mind, I greatly enjoyed watching your innermost thoughts and seeing your tits.'

Absolutely ridiculous.

Miss Granger had been one of only ten students to stay at Hogwarts for the holiday break, and her friends had gone off to stay at the Weasley home in Ottery St. Catchpole. Severus had even overheard the lie she'd used to get out of going with them.

"I have an important project I'm working on for extra credit in Astronomy. I have to observe the Lunar Halo on Christmas night and do some calculations, and the best place to do that is here at the castle. There's virtually no light pollution. Really, I'll be fine. Have a good Christmas without me, I'll owl your gifts to the Burrow," she'd said to Potter and Weasley, and the idiot boys had just nodded.

The issue with her lie was that the phenomena could be viewed practically anywhere, even in the very brightly lit streets of London. Apparently, her dunderheaded friends knew nothing of Astronomy, and more egregiously, they knew nothing of her troubles.

So, he had agonized over what to do for her, and if he should do anything at all, and eventually settled on a Christmas card. It was a weak attempt, he knew, but it was something. A small tiding so she wouldn't be gift-less on Christmas for Merlin's sake. Severus made the damnable thing by hand, well, more by wand. It was a simple card, with a gently swaying evergreen tree on the front heavily ladened with fresh piles of snow and bursting with little firethorn berries. Inside, it said only 'Happy Christmas'.

It felt... cold-hearted, especially considering the intimate experiences she’d inadvertently shared with him. Perhaps he should add a note.

The note ended up being only two lines, two stilted lines that made Severus cringe but, well, it had to do. He couldn't wax poetically on how much he enjoyed her fantasies or how lovely he found her bum, or how much he wanted to shag her silly at this point, and neither could he give consoling words over the loss of her parents. Either would be incredibly incriminating. No, all he had said was a few simple lines about her schoolwork. It was distant, but it should do. Severus didn't pretend to be good at these sorts of things, and he almost expected the girl to throw the card back in his face. It would be on trend with the rest of his life, after all.

Severus planned to have a house elf place it in the Gryffindor common room as all the gifts were, but the opportunity arose much faster. Christmas Eve dawned, dinner commencing swiftly, and Severus was pressed rather strongly by his fellow professors to attend. He did so, exceedingly reluctantly, and he held the silly card in his pocket still, intending to find an elf to foist the responsibility onto as soon as the meal was finished.

Leave it to Granger to upset his plans.

As he exited dinner, he heard the clack of her sensible shoes against the stone as she followed him into the corridor. His body tensed as she neared. What could she possibly want? Extra credit potions assignments? Would be just like her, too. Bloody swot.

"Professor, wait!" Miss Granger called, and he turned at the sound of her breathy voice. She was wearing a worn Weasley jumper, her hair tied up in a loose bun that looked a bit like it had come undone and been fixed many times. Her cheeks were rosy, perhaps from embarrassment or the cold. She held out a small parcel, neatly wrapped and tied with twine that suggested it had come owl mail order.

She hadn't...

"Your Christmas gift, sir..." Her voice was almost a bit shrill, like she was anxious. Maybe the girl imagined he was a true Scrooge, and he would grab the package and send it to the flagstone, stomp on her kindness like a raging ogre. It would be the kind of thing an utter bastard like he would do, and honestly he should consider it if only to preserve his reputation.

Severus took the gift.

"Thank you, Miss Granger," Severus said almost reluctantly, feeling the paper crinkle under his grasp as he held the gift. He almost didn't want to do it, but now would be the appropriate time to hand her the idiotic card he'd made. The witch was still standing there, rocking on her heels as if she was waiting for him to open the gift.

"I shall open this once I return to my chambers..." he admitted, and it seemed to dampen her spirit a little. Damn, why was this happening now?

Severus took the envelope from the interior pocket of his coat, and slowly extended his hand to her. He held the folded paper between two fingers, almost as if it were simply a hanky for a runny nose.

"Here," was all he could think to say. Severus almost winced at his own lack of tact.

His brusque demeanor seemed to do absolutely nothing to dampen her joy at receiving something. In fact, as she tentatively took the envelope from him, her eyes almost seemed to sparkle. Before he could begin to turn away, the girl was already tearing away the envelope, slipping the simply charmed card from the sleeve and gawping at it. She wasn't really going to read the card now, was she? Right now, in the corridor, where anyone could see? Good god.

Hermione delicately opened the card; her eyes moving over the quick holiday greeting and note with wide eyes and parted lips.

"Oh sir," she whispered almost to herself, eyes flicking between the message he'd thought was curt and shallow and his face. Apparently, it was not so, because the witch was actually beginning to look a tad misty. All he'd written was that she was a good student, and his favorite from her year. Was that so damnably sentimental as to bring a witch to tears?

"Oh sir, thank you!" Hermione cried then. She stepped forward and in one quick motion had her arms wrapped around his middle. She was embracing him, crushing him almost. The squeeze was enough to take his breath away.

"Miss Granger..." Severus began, scandalized. Her embrace was warm and comforting, her cheek pressed against his chest. He could feel her fingers gripping his robes and it sent a ripple of heat up through his spine and into his face. Her grasp was reminiscent of the way she clung to him in her mind after a particularly delicious orgasm, but here in the corridor, it was simply a hug. No one had ever simply hugged him before, not truly, and never with such gusto. He felt nearly aflutter, emotions springing forth and collecting on his tongue, bidding him say something embarrassing and laughable.

"Thank you, Happy Christmas." Her voice was muffled as she spoke into his buttons. Severus almost couldn't help himself then, as the heat in his body eased into a bone-deep warmth. He gently patted her on the shoulder blades, returning her gesture as much as he could without either pushing her away or pulling her much, much closer.

"Yes, well, Happy Christmas and all that rot," he replied, attempting to sound put out. One of his fingers caught a springy curl that had escaped her bun and he so desperately wished to pull the tie and release the monstrosity that was her mane of hair. It was an insane thought, one that had him pushing her shoulders back. "You ought to release my person, Miss Granger."

She stepped away easily, wiping her eyes a little with the ends of her jumper sleeve, and it hurt him most deeply to see that the small bit of comfort meant that much to the girl. Was kindness that hard to come by for her? She was supposedly the Gryffindor Princess, why was she so moved by a little card. She was so good to others, but it seemed they perhaps took advantage of her kindness.

"Have a good holiday, s-sir," she said weakly, then she turned and left in the direction of Gryffindor tower. Once the sound of her shoes dissipated into the background noise of the castle, Severus allowed himself to lament. He'd wished he had held her for just a moment longer, it had been too long since he had felt something so heartening. And wasn't that just utterly pathetic?

Chapter Text

The gift she had thoughtfully gotten for him was, of course, a book. It wasn't a surprise that she would purchase such a gift, but it was exceedingly thoughtful and one of his favorites. To Kill a Mockingbird. Of course Hermione hadn't known he'd already read the book, didn’t know that during the summers he enjoyed popping by used Muggle book shops, but he delighted in knowing she had excellent taste in fiction. A credit to her, he thought as he slipped the volume onto his personal shelves next to his battered copy.

Miss Granger was thinking of him in class again, and it did not come as any sort of surprise. The content of her thoughts did surprise him, however. She was not thinking of them tangled in a passionate carnal embrace, no, it was the memory of when they had exchanged Christmas gifts in the corridor, just a few weeks ago. She was playing the memory over and over like a favorite record, savoring each moment only to play it all again.

It was gratifying to experience firsthand how Miss Granger really felt about that moment, regardless of how cold he had acted and how curt his holiday message had been. "You are a tolerable pupil, as you know. You are my favorite from your class." That was all he had said, and he truly felt he hadn't said enough, yet here was the proof that he had undone her with those simple words. Her whole mind was swimming in a delicious cocktail of pleasure and glee, repeating the awkward embrace over and over, seeing his lukewarm praise for the first time again and again.

But perhaps he should have said more.

"Miss Granger," he found himself saying within her memory, and it was then Severus realized he had pushed it into the territory of fantasy. "Words cannot do justice to you. I wish I had written more; you are truly... gifted and bright."

"Oh, Professor..." he heard her sigh from within his grasp, her arms tightening around his middle. "If only you'd really say such a thing," she lamented, a bit of misplaced self-awareness on her part. Hermione thought this was her fantasy, not his.

"I would, Miss Granger, I would. You are intelligent, talented, and quite..." He inhaled, twisting a lock of her hair around a finger, until she looked up at him with her curious doe eyes. "Quite lovely."

"Oh god..." Hermione whimpered, her hands now clutching the fabric of his frock coat, leaning her weight into him. "I wished we could have kissed, I wanted to snog you so badly."

Her lips parted then, just a little bit, but it was enough to send him diving down for them. Severus had her in his arms then, tightly folded within his black robes as the facade of the gayly decorated corridor faded into nothing. There was nothing but them as his lips moved on hers, nothing to their fantasy other than their combined desires. 

Severus felt crazed - he hadn't ever acted this way in real life before. He could truly be her fantasy and his, unleash himself honestly and ardently. He need not act like a bastard, for Hermione would surely not want her fantasy Severus to be such.

"You are beautiful..." he whispered fervently between his kisses, the shaking of her body sending shockwaves through to his heart. "Obnoxiously kind and brave, and so talented... I could say so a thousand times and it would not be enough."

"Oh god, oh!" Hermione whimpered as she threw her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to the exposed skin between his cravat and his ear. Her fingers were twining in his hair, it was enough to make him feel mad. "You wouldn't ever say that..." she accused.

"Yes, yes, I would..." he hissed in her ear, trailing opened mouthed kisses down her throat to the scratchy neckline of her Weasley jumper. "I would if I wasn't such a shy bastard," he admitted then, hiding his eyes in the knit fabric, feeling the pounding of her heart on his cheek.

"Shy!" Hermione laughed then, a breathy and surprised laugh that tickled his ear and made him shudder. "I could scarcely believe Severus Snape shy, you're so imposing and demanding in class."

"Yes shy, shy when I am confronted with comfort and kindness, timid in the face of affection," he uttered to her breast, the feeling of her lips on his forehead spreading soothing ripples through his entire body. "I am no Gryffindor. Not like you, brave and audacious. You'll go far, Miss Granger, you will. You'll be successful at whatever you choose to do and have the pick of any man you wish."

"I wish for you..." she said ardently, pulling his face forth from her bosom and looking him in the eyes. Severus wanted to cry then, felt the sting of unshed tears as she gazed into what she thought was her own fantasy. He wanted her to really look at him like that; no one ever had.

"I wish-" she began to say again, but he quieted her with a firm press of his lips, his arms wrapped around her in an all-consuming embrace. Severus couldn't let her speak, couldn't let her utter another damning word. He would be too lost then, if he allowed it. Too lost within her. Severus couldn’t let himself forget that despite all this, he was still at the head of the class, and she at her desk. This was not real.

With a detached sort of self-loathing, Severus stepped away from their shared fantasy and allowed Hermione free reign. He didn't deserve to feel this way; he done nothing to deserve her affections. They were for her fantasy, not for him to witness. Severus felt no better than a peeping tom.

"Are you about finished manhandling my person, Miss Granger?" the fantasy version of himself asked, and his dialogue must have come from Hermione herself. It caused Severus to chuckle quietly, she truly had his biting wit well in-hand. 

"Not just yet," she replied, snuggling deep within his arms and sighing contentedly. It was a domestic picture, one that was too foreign and alien to even comprehend.

Severus would never experience something so blissful.

"I love you..." she murmured into the buttons of his coat. Hermione's pronouncement felt like ice water in his veins, and he slipped from her mind completely in shock.

Love? She loved him? The sheer notion suddenly propelled him into an extremely vile mood. Love? Oh, she was far less intelligent than he'd thought. What a stupid, idiotic utterance!

Miss Granger had such a dopey and pleased look about her when she finally came to turn in her work, the last of the class to do so. Besotted imbecile, Severus thought, and he was so angry with her.

"Have you enjoyed the book, sir?" she asked after he had taken her parchment. She wanted to chat?

"I have little time for idle conversation, my next class begins in four and a half minutes," he glowered, watching with baleful gratification as her pleased expression withered and died. "Get out of my sight, Granger."

The witch whimpered quietly in her throat and fled his classroom, leaving him stewing in a cauldron of his own bitterness.

It was with a weary groan that he realized exactly why he had reacted so poorly. She had easily uttered that she'd loved him, the Professor Snape of her fantasies, and it had made him jealous. Was it cause for alarm then, to be envious of what essentially was your own self? Perhaps. Perhaps he was insane, it would explain his actions all these past months. Yes, for now he would plead insanity, for the only alternative was slowly growing devotion.

Good gods, he could not love another Gryffindor.

Chapter Text

News was spreading throughout the halls of Hogwarts. News that Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley were now a couple. It settled the dread Severus had been carrying with him into a sort of scar on his psyche, he'd known their fantastical trysts wouldn't last, known her pronouncement of love had simply been play-acting.

Severus caught sight of her in the corridor on a cold and horridly rainy February morning. She was giggling as she chatted with Potter and Weasley, her hand gently placed on the redhead’s arm in a subtle show of intimacy.

This was the first time he'd entered her mind like a proper Legilimens. Severus wanted to interrogate her through the connection, his jealousy was coming full on and he needed to know. Needed to see the proof.

He found the memory he was searching for easily, and it sickened him.

Weasley and Hermione were in the Gryffindor common room, alone save for the flickering fire and the motes of dust catching light from the flames.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me, 'Mione?" the ginger asked, his face red as his bloody obnoxious hair.

"Sure, Ron, sure" Hermione agreed easily, apparently not realizing yet what the boy's intention was.

Smooth, Weasley.

"I meant, you know, as a sort of date..." Weasley amended. "I've been waiting for a while for us to sort of come around to it, but I don't know, I guess I felt like we should come around to it faster now."

"Come around to what, Ron?" she asked, blinking owlishly. Hermione had apparently never thought the boy would like her back; she had placed her crush aside a while ago in favor of their friendship.

"To dating, of course. I love you, 'Mione. I know you love me. We could be perfect together," the boy smiled, tilting his head. "We always have been."

"Oh, Ron..." Hermione sighed, leaning close to him. The image had Severus’ stomach ready to heave up what little breakfast he'd eaten. Weasley took Hermione in his arms stiffly then kissed her, fairly chastely compared to the fantasy snogging Severus had shared with the witch. Of course, none of that mattered. It had all been a fantasy, an illusion, and this kiss, this fumbling peck was more than he would ever share with her.

Now the memory was set aside, and Severus was pulled along as Hermione's mind set upon a long and winding river of daydreams. 

She wondered what their first date would be like, three days from then. Would Ron hold her hand, buy her a butterbeer, would he snog her by the Shrieking Shack? The childish giddiness was enough to make him ill. 

And what of after? Would they steal looks at each other during Charms, would they sneak into the Room of Requirement for alone time? Would Ron take her virginity?

Severus wanted to scream. He wanted to tear down the corridor and wrench Ronald Weasley away from her and beat the dopey expression from his freckled face. Would that imbecile take brilliant and lovely Hermione Granger's virginity? Merlin, he better not! Severus would kill the boy.

Yet Hermione was imagining it, and since Severus loved to torture himself, he watched on.

Weasley and Hermione stumbling into a bed, his oafish body pressing her down, gently groping at her flesh as if she were a lumpy duvet needing fluffing, with absolutely no finesse or skill. They shed their clothes and Weasley settled between her beautiful thighs, and they laughed and laughed when he missed his entrance the first time. Laughed like a couple of chums. The fantasy didn't continue, Hermione's thoughts were going farther and farther forward in her hypothetical future. Would they get married? Would Ron see her in a white bridal negligée? Would she become a Weasley? Would they have children? A little red-headed girl with a fierce appetite and a love of a good story? Would she be able to have a career and raise a brood of Weasley children or would she have to choose? Would they grow old together?

No! Severus almost shouted, losing control over himself. He pierced her daydreams so hard and fast that Ronald Weasley almost left her memory entirely. She could scarcely recall that she knew any such boy with red hair and a bulky figure. No, all she could see was them.

Severus had her on a date, pressed against the brick wall in an alley behind the club he'd taken her to in London. Hermione was wearing a knockout black frock that hugged her figure and made her look ravishable, and he was proving that true with his attentions. She was moaning as he fingered her through her knickers, making her keen and beg, and he could feel that Hermione was bewildered by the turn in her own thoughts, bewildered but not surprised. She thought of Severus often, even outside his classroom.

"I want you, Severus, please," she was begging, her lips open in that desperate sort of look that he would love to put on her face for real.

"Now? In this alley?" he drawled, tracing lazy little circles on her beautifully slick center. "How... unseemly." He punctuated that statement with a flick against her clit, one that had her gripping the white fabric of his oxford shirt with enough force to tear the fabric. Oh, if only she would, little vixen.

"Se-ver-us!" Hermione pleaded, and he knew she could feel the stars in her eyes. Yes, Miss Granger, a real man can make you come that quickly.

"Your first time shouldn’t be in an alley, you wanton witch," he said with a sardonic quirk of his brow as he righted the hem of her dress, then gave the side of her thigh a firm pat. "Come along, we should go back inside else we will miss the next song."

The date fizzled into a wedding, for they would of course get married, and it was nothing like what she'd imagined with Weasley. No fluffy white gowns and hundreds of guests, no dancing and no three-tiered monstrosities of a cake. No, they would elope, fall into a little Scottish inn as man and wife, and he would absolutely debauch her.

She would wear the utterly ridiculous bridal negligée despite his protest, and she would still be a virgin. Call him old fashioned, but he often fantasized about the perfect wedding night like he was still a lousy and lonely fifteen-year-old.

But he was nothing like Weasley, he was still a bastard after all.

Instead of a chaste and loving press of the lips, Severus pinched her cheeks between his fingers, her beautiful mouth open and waiting. Severus would slip his tongue inside the cavity of her mouth, roughly caressing her tongue with his. The strokes pulled forth a moan from Hermione, the vibration of which traveled through to his tongue, down his spine and into his cock. It felt almost impossible.

He wanted to make her scream.

Severus sucked her tongue into his mouth, and her hips began to undulate under the firm press of his erection. He loved her desperation, but he wouldn’t leave his witch wanting for long. The movements became jerky and wanting as his suck became suckling, and Hermione's moan devolved into whimpering. Her hands were clutching his back, pulling him into her like she wanted them to consume one another completely.

"Beg and I'll take you," he goaded her darkly after he released her mouth, moving to whisper heatedly into her ear. She was shivering in his arms, needy and gorgeous. He was prepared to demand she plead, but like a Gryffindor, she needed no such cajoling.

"Please, oh God please!" Hermione moaned, and her eyes were shut tightly as she rocked herself against him. She was so honest with herself, and Severus so desperately wanted to oblige.

He tore the ridiculous looking white nightie off her body and freed her, exposed her to his hands and his gaze and the cold air inside their rented room. Gods if she wasn't the epitome of sex, all curves and swells of lusciously blushed skin. He needed her, needed to be inside her. Severus drew back, but Hermione kept pulling him towards her.

"I need to get my slacks off, wench," he growled, prying her hands off of him. Hermione's hands were too fast for him though, and she swept his clothes away with a powerful little bit of wandless magic. His cock was free and ready for her and god, if this wasn't the most vivid fantasy he'd ever had. He felt so present and in the moment, and he could feel Hermione was too.

Severus was prepared to make her understand just how better he was than any other man for her, even if that made him petty and pathetic.

Severus slipped his arms under her legs and hoisted her hips closer, then with one smooth thrust, he slid his cock halfway into her until he absolutely had to stop himself. Hermione was grabbing fistfuls of the sheets, whimpering and looking up at him dumbstruck and hungry. The squeeze of her was almost unbearable, like an unrelenting vice on his cock as she moaned and tensed around him.

"God!" Hermione gasped harshly. She was breathing heavily, and with each inhale she clenched harder. Severus felt his testicles tighten and he ground his teeth together. Absolutely unacceptable. This was his fantasy, damn it, and he would not do that.

"Relax!" he gritted out, fingers digging into her soft thighs. Hermione keened at that, and his dick felt strangled. He couldn't stop the pull, he seated himself fully within her in a sharp thrust that had him bottoming out.

"Oh my g-g-" Hermione almost sobbed, and her nails were scratching down his arms from his shoulders, leaving pink lines down his pale skin. "Yes!"

"Yes?" he asked, feeling hazy and distant from himself, for he wasn't actually thinking about speaking at all. All Severus could think on was the feeling, the slide of his cock within her, and god if it wasn't an absolute revelation. Was this a fantasy? Was he in the corridor right now or was he truly inside Hermione? It felt so real, so right. What was happening to him?

"Oh, Severus I love y-you!" she was chanting, and her declaration had his thighs shaking as he held himself from simply emptying right then inside her. Her legs wrapped around his hips and locked him close, and he couldn't escape it. Couldn't control it, his body or his mouth.

"Gods, I love you too, I do-" Severus said, his voice clipped and strained as he bit the inside of his own lip. He felt it coming forth, he needed to release himself. Hermione was fluttering around him, and at his low admission, she was suddenly set loose. 

Hermione was coming, and he was coming undone.

"Yes," he growled deeply from his chest as he clutched her tightly, beginning to peak, "My wife," he said, almost like a promise to himself. It was truly his fantasy, for this could be nothing but a dream.

"Husband, love you..." Hermione panted, and it was the final straw before he couldn't hold himself any longer. It was exactly what he had always wanted to hear but never dreamed of hearing. 

Severus saw nothing but white until he came back to her mind.

Hermione was pushing forward with the initial momentum of his fantasy, and next they were seated comfortably in a small parlor, reading dog eared novels and snuggling closely by a fire. Nothing particularly suggested it, but it was more a feeling that told him she had decided to become a potions mistress. They’d opened an apothecary together and taken the potions world by storm with their brilliant patents. She had kept her last name and he didn't care a jot. They would have children eventually, though they hadn't any particular ambition. All they needed was each other, and it was bliss.

They could be so utterly brilliant together, so perfect, if only he wasn't a vile and loathsome man. A loathsome creep who had just taken his student’s virginity inside her mind.

What had he just done?

Severus fell from Hermione Granger's mind in a heap of uselessness, bile in his throat as he watched her shift between her two friends, her mind likely still wandering. Had he actually just violated her? Was that what he had done? In the corridor with students about, good god, he was insane!

Hermione looked up at him, and her face flushed deeply when their eyes met. He had, he had taken her virginity, if only in her fantasies, but he had taken it just the same. He shouldn't have ever done this, he had let himself go much too far. Her fantasies should he hers and hers alone, and what had he done? Abused them for his own purpose, all because he was jealous. Jealous of a seventeen-year-old redheaded twat. Severus didn't own her; he didn't have a right to do any of what he'd just done.

Severus turned in a billow of his robes and stormed away, down into the dungeons where he belonged. He hated himself, he'd taken something sacred from her and made it his. God, what a low creature he was. Bottom feeder, cretin... he took a quick look in the mirror of his bathroom and grimaced.

Absolute bastard.

Chapter Text

It was a small consolation to his guilt that Hermione was apparently no longer seeing Weasley, and it hadn't lasted long. The professors talked about it like sport in the staff room constantly, one lousy date in Hogsmeade where the idiot redhead had apparently whistled at a new barmaid at the Three Broomsticks. Idiot, imbecile! What man would whistle at any woman when they were with Miss Granger? Did the dunderhead want to stay single?

But it didn't mean anything for him, no, Severus was still resolved against himself. He hadn't entered her mind since that day in the corridor, and he wasn't planning on doing it ever again. His skin prickled when he neared her, and Merlin if he didn't want her like he was gasping for breath and she was air, but air be damned, he didn't need to breathe. He didn't deserve to.

Classes were torture, but Severus resolutely refused to look at her.

He couldn't help but to look for her, though, when during one class she seemed to just... vanish. Everyone else had retrieved their necessary ingredients from the storeroom, but Hermione was not at her desk.

Severus stood from his place at the front of the class and stalked into the shadowy storeroom, prepared to take points from her and make her scuttle away. He had to be a bastard; it was the only way. Distance was imperative; he could no longer give in.

He stopped dead-still in the doorway. Hermione was on her knees, peering into the cavernous lower shelves in vain as she searched for something. Her back was to him, or more accurately, her bottom was. It was raised up in the air as she pressed her face to the flagstone, and good lord, Severus could see the cleft of her buttocks and the thin line of her knickers.

Severus had the sudden urge to snap the elastic with a flick, test the strength of the fabric. Rip them to pieces.

He cleared his throat.

"Miss Granger," he drawled, though his voice sounded a tad bit husky. Merlin, he needed to get himself under control. Hermione startled at her name, banged her head on a shelf and rattled all the ingredient vials upon it, swearing silently to herself. It was enough of a show to make him smirk.

"Sir, I'm just looking for the dried Skullcap..." she explained, standing quickly and righting her skirt with a quick yank. 

Severus strode slowly towards her, prepared to grab the bottle for her and leave quickly when he settled his gaze onto hers. Her eyes were expressive and endless, little pools of desire, and Severus wanted to get lost in them. He hadn't stopped soon enough, and his long stride had him close enough to smell the faint scent of thyme and lavender from whatever soap she used. Severus wanted to inhale her, drink her down and intoxicate himself. He lost himself into her eyes, and it almost happened before he realized it. He was there again, inside her mind. Gods, he couldn't stop now, could he?

"Sir," she whispered desperately, and it shocked him to see her blouse was already half undone, exposing the tops of her breasts to the humid air of the storeroom. The darkness was casting weird shadows over her, and it made him want to see her body all the more. Severus stepped closer, feeling his thighs brush against hers, the wool of her skirt catching on his trousers.

"You want to? Now, in the storeroom?" he asked, his voice low and smooth like silken bondage. He clicked his tongue, then ran a finger up her neck to her bottom lip. "With your friends just on the other side of the door? What a little exhibitionist you are, Miss Granger..." Gods, he’d promised he wouldn’t do this again, but it almost felt like a compulsion.

"Yes, now!" she demanded, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him rather fiercely. Her lips were demanding and needy, their tongues already flicking out to meet one another's in a dangerous sort of dance.

He was already stripping off her knickers, and she was already releasing him from his slacks. Was this what Hermione wanted? What she fantasized about? To be roughly shagged against the shelves in the storeroom? Because it was exactly his fantasy, as well.

Great minds think alike.

Hermione's leg was slung over his hip and before he could take another breath, his cock was inside her. Inside her and pounding harshly, because Severus could not stop himself, not even if he wanted to. She was an indulgence of the highest order, and he was a glutton for her.

Her back was against the shelves and with every sharp thrust, the glass bottles and vials shoot and clanked. Hermione had her head thrown back, her eyes closed tightly as she keened. She was holding onto his robes for dear life as he pistoned into her, shagged the dread and the fear from them both and made them feel high on nothing but lust and movement.

And Severus wanted to see her eyes.

"Look at me," he demanded, wrapping an arm around her back and forcing her head down. Her eyelids fluttered opened as to lock eyes with him, and it became like a horrifyingly disorienting mirror tunnel. They were gazing at one another at so many levels that it was heady and frightening and, oh gods, he was going to come.

"Love you," she was whimpering, one hand clutching desperately at the base of his neck as she held on for the ride. Severus pressed his lips to her desperately, willing himself not to respond lest he expose himself again. It was a fantasy, though, and he couldn't help himself. He no longer had the control.

"Yes..." he mouthed against her lips, feeling himself slipping. He grabbed a handful of her wild hair and tugged, and suddenly she was coming too, squeezing the life out of him until all he could do was shout and release.

Severus blinked harshly as he came back to himself, out of her mind and clearly out of his as well. He was still standing close to Miss Granger, though one of his hands had moved up to hover in the air before her. He reached up, then plucked a vial of Skullcap from the highest shelf, attempting to control his breathing as he felt waves of heat rolling off of her.

"Here," he uttered harshly, his voice low and strange sounding. Hermione looked so lovely, cowed against the shelves and flushed down her neck, the color disappearing down into her collar. She'd experienced it all too, felt the press of his body and the slide of his cock. Gods be damned, he wanted her so badly.

Severus placed the vial in her trembling hands.

"Next time use a spell, like an actual witch," he bit out, then he turned and left her there.

What was he doing? His control was almost completely tattered, and it felt like it was only going to get worse.

Chapter Text

The halls were full of parents and students, wearing caps and gowns and looking utterly obnoxious. Why they were still milling about after the graduation ceremony, Severus didn't understand. Leave quickly, he bid them all as he stalked down to his office. Students kept trying to thank him as if they hadn't absolutely loathed him during their years here. He couldn't bear being around any of them.

Hermione had been breathtaking. Top of her class, highest NEWT scores in decades. Of course she was, though, who else could it be? She'd given a well prepared and eloquent speech to her peers, about their futures and their bright tomorrow now that the world was peaceful and theirs for the changing. Such a dreamer, such an untamed spirit.

And she would be gone, and he would never see her again.

The ante of his involvement in her fantasies had upped slowly as they'd neared May until he was practically entering her mind and her body on a daily basis. During mealtimes, during study hall, once whilst he was in the library and found her at a table with her friends, where he’d directed her to imagine being debauched on the table right in front of them all, shagged on top of her Arithmancy homework by a dark specter as her mates gawked and swallowed back their own lust. His little witch was such an exhibitionist, too bloody bad then that it was all an illusion. He was a disgusting bastard but at least he was being honest. Severus cherished every carnal moment, ever gasp and every utterance of her love. It was all he had, after all. All he ever would. He hadn’t the courage or the confidence to confess himself, though he’d found himself close many times to spilling his secrets to her. So many moments of bliss in her arms, in her mind, but it was a lie. A lie for her that she was simply enjoying some particularly vivid and shocking fantasies that year, and a lie for himself that his emotions were merely contained within them.

Severus sat behind his desk and sighed heavily, thumbing through the stack of apprenticeship applications from his Slytherins he would surely deny. He wasn't the apprentice-having sort of person, he much preferred to work alone. He'd never enjoyed making small talk over a cauldron.

A gentle knock came from the door, likely an ambitious one of his snakes hoping to push their application to the top of the pile. Idiots, they were hopeless.

"Enter," he called brusquely, and enter they did.

Hermione Granger, in a lovely navy gown and her graduation robes, entered his office. Why was she here? To torture him? To slap him? Had she figured out what he'd been doing all these months? She flushed something fierce, and it startled him to think she might be there to confess her feelings. No, it would never be so. Dementors would smile first, surely.

"Hello, Professor," she greeted him kindly, if not a little uneasily.

"Yes? What is it? I am a bit busy," he lied. Severus didn't want to do this, didn't want this to be how it ended. If she confessed, he would deny her. Hermione had her whole life ahead of her, a whole wonderful life full of accomplishments and men who were more handsome and worthy than he. She didn't deserve to be saddled to a git, didn’t need to be held down by his misery. He was not nearly a good enough sort of man for her.

"I just..." she paused, seemingly to draw courage and Severus waited for the sting. For the silly utterance of "I've always loved you" or any other such proclamation. He'd heard a few before, Slytherin girls who didn't understand a damn thing and thought they could sway him, but they never could. He'd never cared before, though, never cared about their hearts. Severus cared about Hermione Granger's heart, and he lamented that he would likely break it if only a little. She would get over it.

She set a parchment down on his desk, and he expected it contained some sappy confession, an essay on her affections perhaps.

It wasn’t.

It was an application to La Academia de Alquimia, the best school for potioners in Latin America. He'd studied there briefly during his apprenticeship; it was a top rate school.

"Argentina?" Severus asked her, a bit bemused.

"Yes sir," Hermione agreed with a lovely smile. She bit her lip then and nibbled on it a little. "I need a recommendation from a professor, and I know I could probably easily get one from Professor McGonagall, but...  I was hoping..." she trailed off, unsteady and unsure. She didn't think he would agree.

He picked up his quill and dipped in his lesser used black ink.

"Where do I sign? Or should I write a ludicrous fifteen inches waxing on about how teachable you are, how dedicated and studious you can be, or how bright your future looks from all the way down here in the dungeons?"

Hermione looked up at that, her eyes full of light and her smile twisting her face into such a beautiful expression as to blind him.

"Thank you, sir! Right here, at the bottom, it's just a few lines you'll need to write."

"A few lines," he murmured lightly, quickly scratching out the most glowing recommendation he could muster within the space given. "As you are well aware, I am capable of at least that much."

Severus felt her arms around him suddenly, her face hidden at the base of his neck. His breath had left him and disappeared somewhere untraceable. Gods, was she going to confess now? He couldn't break her heart now, not after she'd practically shouted that she was following in his footsteps, becoming a potions mistress and sod all else. He wouldn't be able to hold himself back from saying it, too. That he loved her, and wanted the best for her, and wanted to be with her.

"Thank you so much, Professor," she said, then she eased herself away from him, leaving him cold and wanting. It was like a bad dream that Hermione took up her application, neared his door, and with a little wave, left his office. Left him.

She was gone.

Hermione was gone and he'd missed his chance. All this time he'd been dreading her confession but in truth, he should have prepared his own.

What had he done?

Chapter Text

The summer after Hermione left Brittan went by in a blur. A blur of pain and self-torment, suffering and stewing in Cokeworth and dreading the new school term, knowing she wouldn’t be around. That year, Severus stalked the halls like a specter, persona as cold as ice and as transparent as an actual ghost. It took about a year before Severus went back to spying on his students. He entertained himself with their inane thoughts, with their petty teenage plots and their petty teenage worries, but it hadn't the same fun, the same draw any longer. Severus kept expecting to look into a student's eyes and see her eyes, slip into them like a familiar hug and find himself surrounded by her.

Of course, that was just a painful fantasy all of his own making.

Severus kept expecting to see her just around a corner, laughing and having her posse of boys carry her multitude of books to and fro, and he kept looking for her too. Kept torturing his mind with repeated memories of their exploits and their expressions of ardor, kept himself at the bottom of a glass for a while as well. He’d written dozens of letters confessing his sins to her, flaying his heart and admitting his feelings as well, but none had ever been sent. He’d burnt them all, sent them to ash where they belonged. He felt like a lovesick dog, but there was nothing romantic about his pining. Lovesickness was exactly that, sickness, and he was tired of being unwell.

It was a year and some change when he found himself in another fantasy. A fantasy starring himself, no less. It was enough to make his head spin, enough to push him back into his chair as he was taken along for the stomach-churning ride.

Leanna Heather, Hufflepuff sixth year, all rosy cheeks and baking cookies with the house elves, was fantasizing about him. Not of his hands or the line of his jaw, not of wicked talents and biting tongue, no, that was Hermione's deal. Miss Heather was quite a... quite a dramatic sort of storyteller, apparently.

He looked tall and frightening in her fantasies, like a bloody vampire, ready to bear down on her throat at any moment. Severus recoiled from the image and a stone dropped solidly in his stomach. This wasn't right, no, it was all wrong. Absolutely peculiar, and almost demeaning. Turnabout was fair play, though, since he demeaned her plenty in class.

"I need you, Leanna!" Fantasy-Snape begged, throwing himself at her feet as he bared his chest and arched his spine pseudo-erotically. "I need your sweet blood, need to make you my bride of the night!"

Oh, sweet Circe have mercy, she really was thinking about him as a vampire. Would the humiliation never end?

"I shall love you for an eternity and more, Leanna..." Fantasy-Snape lisped around pronounced fangs, and yes, it seemed the shame would be complete. It was enough to settle ash on his tongue and make him want to retch. He slipped back from Miss Heather's mind and had to actually convince himself not to simply ban her from entering his classroom again, for then he would be in a heap of trouble explaining his reason why. Severus couldn't look at the girl without shuddering in revulsion.

Vampires, how unpleasant and trite.

The taste of displeasure was still bittering his tongue when he sat amongst his colleagues in the staff room, taking his tea silently as they all gossiped and tittered. Gods, didn’t they have work to do or something? Anything other than yammering and acting like children.

"I've had a letter from Hermione, you know, Hermione Granger," Minerva proclaimed, pulling forth a small bundle of parchment from her sleeve. "You'll never guess what she's getting up to in South America..." The old cat said it with such sly glee that Severus wanted to shout obscenities, wanted to turn over the tea table and send the whole pot to the floor in a crash of anguish and childishness.

Instead, all he did was stand silently and walk out of the room. It wasn't unusual that he suddenly didn't want to remain with them.

He couldn't bear to hear what exploits Hermione bloody Granger was getting up to. What fun she was having, what Latin lovers she was shagging. Gods he was a fool, an imbecile. He should have taken his chance when he had it. Now he'd have to spend the rest of his days instructing dunderheads and pining like a lovesick imbecile after another woman who'd moved on.

What a mess he was.

It was two years when he finally allowed himself to admit to himself that he did indeed love her. His feelings hadn’t waned, not one bit, even though he no longer took his memories of their times together out of his mind to view in the Pensive. No, it felt too belittling to do that to her, so he kept them locked tight inside his head. Severus tried his very best to think very little of her, regardless of how much Minerva loved to speak of her, how often he saw her name in the Daily Prophet, or how many times he woke from his dreams thinking she would be next to him, but only found empty bed beside him. He hoped she was happy, at the very least. She would make a brilliant potions mistress one day, once she got past her obsession with ‘how things should be’. Potions rarely were by the book. Humidity, moon cycles, the creator’s mood and health, all things changed potion making into a sort of constantly altering field. He hoped she learned that, and in an easier and less painful way than he had. Nothing stayed the same, especially not for him. His only constant was the knowledge that he would be alone.

It was three years when he ended up at the Ministry's Victory Day Ball, the fourth anniversary of the end of the war. Severus didn't know why he'd come here, why he was skulking around the open bar and glaring about. He should have stayed at Hogwarts, should have stayed away. It wasn't as if she would be there, she was still in Argentina, living it up with her lovers and her masseurs and, gods, what was he thinking? Hermione would probably be making love to a textbook, but it still was enough to make him pine and whinge inside. Jealous of a textbook, oh how low he'd sunk.

He could almost see Hermione though, just there across the decidedly crowded dance floor. Standing with Potter and Weasley like old times, chatting and laughing and swishing her hips in a slinky looking emerald dress that dipped low enough to make his jaw tick but high enough to make him want more and more.

Wait, that was Hermione! It actually was her, and he blinked away the daydream to confirm. Hermione Granger, looking tanner and older and gorgeous, was standing just across the room from him, chuckling with her mates like old times and smiling beautifully.

Fuck! Merlin's tit, what should he do? What could he do?

Then she looked up and caught his eye, and the world stopped turning. Severus stopped breathing, and he fell into her eyes.

Chapter Text

Like silk through his fingers, Severus was slipping dangerously into Hermione's mind, or he thought so at least. It felt strange when he settled in, like he couldn't feel her emotions at all. Actually, all he could feel was his own desire, his own anxiety.

Maybe he was just fantasizing about her as he looked across the room.

That thought was proved true when Miss Granger began walking towards him, her eyes never leaving his as they seemed drawn together by gravity. His fantasy was playing out in full technicolor as she reached his side with a coy little smile, one that said so much and set his skin prickling with terror and desire. She was like a predator, and he her prey.

Before he could even begin to decide where his fantasy should go, Hermione was trailing her slender finger down his cravat, slipping it under the white cloth to tease his neck.

"You didn't come over to me, Professor," she admonished him lowly as she stepped fully into his space. "And you never wrote me, either, you wicked man."

Bloody hell, his own fantasy was badgering him about how much of a coward he was.

Severus placed a hand on her hip and pulled, bringing them into a sort of embrace as they looked at one another.

"How could I? I have not the courage needed to approach such a..." Severus breathed in and smelled only thyme and lavender, could she still be using the same soap? Perhaps she made it herself, she would be that kind of overachiever. "Such a vixen."

Hermione giggled at that, then kissed the shell of his ear. He could feel her breath on his skin and it made him shiver; he could only want more.

"Come to the lift," she said cryptically, then she eased herself out of his grasp and the mirage seemed to fall apart.

Hermione Granger was still standing across the room, but she was looking at him squarely, a queer glitter about her eyes that felt powerful and familiar.

Lift? Why would he fantasize that?

Hermione Granger was walking away then, her hips swaying in a taunting sort of swing, heading for the elevators that lead to the guest suites, to likely fall into her hotel bed. As she hit the call button, Severus' mind blanked.

No... she hadn't gone into his mind. He would have felt that, right?

He broke into a run, pushing past party goers and ruffling a few feathers as he disrupted their dances and conversations. He could see the sly smirk of Miss Granger as he neared the lift doors, half hidden inside as she was. 

Severus stepped inside and stood closer to her than he'd ever thought he would again, and Merlin help him, the doors were closing and they were all alone. He could truly feel the heat of her body against his, and she was looking up at him with a devious little grin.

She knew, and she had been inside his mind!

Hermione tapped the button for the twelfth floor then turned fully to him, the hem of her gown swishing against his trouser legs. The contact had his heart racing.

"Hi, Professor," she said in way of greeting, her smoky voice pulling him into a sort of thrall. “Miss me, sir?”

Severus' mind was whirring like an unhinged gear, thinking over what she'd done frantically. He felt at first like he'd been Legilimancing her, but it had been the other way round, hadn't it? She had been toying with his mind, speaking into his ear from across a crowded ballroom like the clever little sorceress she was. 

"When did you first know I was using Legilimancy on you, Miss Granger?" Severus inquired stiffly. Hermione was grinning up at him like a pleased cat as the elevator ascended, she was playing some kind of game and he didn't know the rules.

"I can't believe that an accomplished spy and legendary Occlumens didn't realize it until now," she giggled, pressing her hand against his chest just a little. "All that time and I thought we were on the same page." She sounded genuinely astonished.

"When?" he asked fervently. ‘All that time’? How far back had she known? How much groveling did he have to do?

"Since after that Christmas. I was thinking about when I hugged you when suddenly it felt like I wasn't alone with my thoughts. Then you began to say unbelievable things, things that had me weak in the knees and that I would have never thought to make you say." She snickered then, easing herself even closer. “I always tried to keep my thoughts of you in… well, in character.”

She had known then? That was almost the entirety of the time! Almost every tryst, every shag, and certainly every utterance of I love you on both their sides!

"Gods!" Severus gasped like a maddened man, running his fingers through his hair. "Why would you allow me such liberties? Why would you say such things to me?"

"Because I wanted you, Professor. I was half in love you already, but after that card and the things you said in my head, I couldn't help but love you completely," she admitted, fingering the buttons of his coat. “I can’t believe you hadn’t known! What a sly bastard you were, then…” Hermione was looking up at him through her lashes as she easily flicked one of his buttons undone. Gods!

Merlin, he could scarcely breathe. Severus had always thought her utterances of love were just from the heat of the moment, the kind of admissions that meant nothing more than a release of hormones and passion. His has been real, but he hadn't needed to guard his heart so closely when he was concealed as her fantasy. Now he knew, though, that he almost never had been concealed. She'd known and she'd still professed it. She’d known!

And oh, there were things he'd exposed during those times, things about his desires and predilections that shouldn't be known! That he wanted her, that he loved her, that he liked being caned of all things, and that he was still the kind of ninny who even at forty-one years of age still fantasized about getting married.

"Well, Professor?" Hermione asked, startling his panicked reverie. Her toying with his many buttons was on-going, and it was driving him mad. She had three undone already. Was she going to strip him in the lift?

"I'm not your professor any longer," he rumbled in reply, his voice deep in his chest and his heart in his boots. Gravity was back to strike, pulling him towards the center of his existence as he swept forwards and captured her lips. It almost brought him to tears; it felt so familiar to taste Hermione's lips, yet now it was real. Now they were present, and there was fire in his veins and his heart was beating harshly in his ears.

As her tongue swept against his lips, bidding them open, Severus couldn't help but release a small bubble of disbelieving laughter. Not only did Miss Granger know he enjoyed a good caning, but she'd done it willingly. Gods, she'd been magnificent, a little mistress of Hades. After, she'd ridden him down into the mattress, and Severus couldn't help but feel buoyed by the knowledge that she'd known he'd been under her the entire time. It had been real, every moment!

Severus gripped her hips and pulled her tightly against him, and as he ground himself against the slippery material of her gown, the doors opened with a soft and insisting ding.

Hermione's floor, with Hermione's room, and she was dragging him towards it like he was her willing captive.

Severus didn't have time to see the wallpaper or the carpet, to see the view that looked over London, not when Hermione was kicking off her heels and pulling him down on top of her as she fell to her bed. Their clothing vanished, and suddenly he was assaulted with the most intense and stimulating slide of skin. It was nothing short of miraculous, and yet he was beginning to panic. He would say it again, say it and make himself look like a fool. He was already saying it; his tongue was betraying his confidence as she wrapped her legs around his hips and he felt the heat of her center against him.

"I love you-” Severus uttered with great distress, dropping from his hands to his elbows over top of her, as Hermione ground her molten center against his cock in an intoxicating caress. She was moaning, getting herself off on him whilst he choked back his emotions like a git. He was an experienced seducer in the playground of Hermione's mind, but here on top of the sheets of her hotel bed he was inexperienced and touch starved.

"Love you, Severus..." Hermione whimpered against his neck and Merlin, he couldn't stop himself. Severus gripped the base of his cock and slid home, slid into the slick and startlingly comforting entrance of her quim.

As Severus moved within her, all his energy seemed to seep away and leave him clutching onto her like a pathetic limpet, each sound of ecstasy from her lips rattling his weary old heart.

"Hermione," he breathed shakily, rocking himself within her with only enough force as to couple them and none more. Severus could feel himself building towards the inevitable crest of his orgasm, but he already felt spent. Wrung out and weak and needy. Severus rested his cheek against her breasts, eyes shut as he simply felt. It was a dream, it had to be, and he would wake up any second. His fingers dug into the smooth curve of her bottom and Hermione gasped harshly, rippling and clutching his cock tightly, urging him with her body to release.

"G-god, I missed you," Hermione whimpered, wrapping her arms tighter around his chest as to bring them closer, closer than he had ever been to another human being before.

"That right?" he asked roughly, kissing his way up to her temple. He was picking up speed then, her words rejuvenating him and bringing him back. No dream was this good, no, this was too wonderous. She'd missed him.

"Yes, yes I did," she continued breathily. "I missed your g-grouchy grumbling and your dramatic b - oh fuck - billowing robes, and - oh god, there! - and that thing you do with your tongue..." she was purring into his neck, sending shivers along his skin.

"I do not grumble," he growled, a smile ticking the corner of his lips despite himself, and for some reason that had him strung tighter than a bowstring. He was thrusting mercilessly then as he alternated between growling and gritting his teeth, watching all the while as Hermione's eyes went glazed and half-lidded and her eager hips were meeting him halfway. The soundtrack of their coupling was the panting moans of their pleasure and the slap of his hips against hers as he entered her in a carnal staccato.

Severus sat back on his heels and kept Hermione in his grasp, feeling powerful and yet consumed by her as she writhed beneath him. She was still looking at him in the eyes, struggling to keep them open as every thrust made them flutter closed, made her bite her lip to hold off a scream.

Now, that wasn't what he wanted.

"No biting that little lip, Hermione," he chided her roughly, using the pad of his thumb to ease it from between her teeth. He caressed her bruised lower lip then slid his thumb within her mouth, his other hand gripping tightly to her thigh in a desperate attempt to keep himself grounded. He wanted to play the game right, not embarrass himself. 

"Suck," he commanded, pressing his thumb against her tongue. Hermione's eyes seemed to darken a shade then, as she suckled at his finger and tightened around his cock. It was meant to tease her, but she was practically fellating his thumb, teasing at the sensitive pad with the tip of her tongue like a little succubus. He would come undone, surely.

Severus removed his thumb from between her lips, leaving her open-mouthed and gasping, then he trailed his hand down to her sodden center. He ignored her needy clitoris and instead squeezed her lips tighter around his shaft, and gods, that had been a mistake because he was moaning at the added squeeze and ready to let go. Hermione was keening too, from his attentions and likely because his rhythm was becoming brutal; the head of his cock was pounding against her cervix and it seemed to make her lose herself.

"Yes! S-Severu-uh!" Hermione cried, her fingers digging into his forearms as she unraveled around him, strangling his cock into submission until he too was following her over the crest, free falling until his eyes saw nothing but white-hot stars.

Severus collapsed on top of Hermione, nearly crushing her with his weight as they breathed in desperate lungfuls of air. Their skin was slick with perspiration and Hermione was actually petting him like a great big cat, stroking down his spine as she murmured shakily in his ear.

"Missed you, missed this..." she murmured gently. "I hoped so much during that year that you weren't just playing with me, that you would eventually try and seduce me properly. Why didn't you? I wanted you to so badly, and all these years I thought for sure you’d owl."

Could he say? Say that he was a pathetic man who hid behind her fantasies? He must say something, anything.

"I am not so bold, you know..." he responded in a soft and shaky rumble. "Not so confident as to stake my feelings before you and hope you handled them with care."

"I would have! You know me better than that, I hope. I wouldn't be the kind of person to disregard you callously. You saw my feelings plain as day," she argued with a smile, and a peck on the end of his nose.

"You are forgetting you were also my student, Hermione. Eighteen and not yet out in the world. I wanted you to be able to learn, to grow, not to be shackled at an old man's side," he groused, settling his head at her breast. "How was Argentina, by the way? Is Professor Alvarez still teaching Distillation? That woman must be well over her bicentennial at this point."

Hermione laughed heartily at that, the shaking of her diaphragm rattling him out of his post-shag bliss and awakening him.

"Yes, she is! And that yellow parrot she has that can only insult people, did she have that when you studied there?"

"Bloody hell!" Severus practically barked with mirth, feeling the corners of his eyes crinkling. "That old bird is still alive as well? We always used to say it was a foul language fowl."

They laughed together then, wrapped up in one another like tightly knotted ribbon.

"I've graduated, you know," she said between her giggles. "Graduated Alchemy school and now I'm looking for a master to work under..."

"Gods," Severus breathed, getting a hold of himself and resigning himself to selfishness. "I suppose I'll have to, else how would I get my fix of you? You'll have to be my apprentice."

"Don't go to such trouble trying to please me, Severus," she smirked at his dry and wretched tone.

"Sweet girl..." he murmured like a benediction against her neck, his lips pressed to her without a kiss as their joy became ardor. "Sweet Hermione, what am I going to do with you?"

"Well..." Hermione wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him, nuzzling herself into every crack in his darkened soul. "Well I suppose we will have to open an apothecary, create wonderful potions together, read books by the fire, and elope in Scotland, apparently..." she mused lightly, reminding him of his own shameful fantasy.

Was it shameful, though, that it had brought them together? She had lived through his idea of a perfect future and come forth from the other side ready to throw caution to the wind and attempt it. Would they really do all those things? Would they really elope and have a little cottage? Could he dare hope?

Severus hoped, and felt his heart close to bursting.

"We should elope tonight," he uttered foolishly, immediately shutting his eyes against the idiocy. What was he saying? This was the first time he'd seen the witch after three years! What kind of dunderhead was he?

"We can't," she replied solemnly. "I’ve thought a lot about this actually… Not that I wouldn't love to be swept away to Scotland in a swirl of black robes by a tall, dark, and mysterious lover, but Severus..." Hermione said softly.

Here came her rejection, surely.

"I can't apprentice under my husband, you know. That sort of thing isn't allowed. We’ll have to elope after I receive my mastery." She was lecturing him almost, like he was one of her slow-minded friends that she was guiding by the hand, and it made him breathe out a laugh. She said they would have to elope after she received her Potions mastery, which of course she would achieve quickly because she was brilliant. She’d said it so assuredly, too, as to stir confidence within him. Like it had been her plan all along.

"Of course," he smiled into her wild hair. "Of course, you're absolutely correct." Severus claimed her lips again, with open and free adoration. "We won't have to wait long then, seeing as you're such a know-it-all, hmm?"

End