Author’s Note: I have no idea where this idea came from. I don’t know how to make it go away, either, other than to write it out and post it somewhere. This is the Harvey (ref., 6-feet-tall invisible rabbit) of plot-bunnies. Or maybe the pink elephant of plot-bunnies; I just couldn’t stop thinking about doing this one, even though I really didn’t want to think about doing it… Enjoy! ~Lotm

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In retrospect, Hermione felt she should have seen it coming. After all, things had been far too quiet among the Slytherins since the fall of Voldemort over the Easter holidays. Mind you, the fact that so many of their parents had been captured at the end of the war had subdued them, but, that had been over two months ago. More than enough time for their innate ability to literally slither out of any situation with their equilibrium intact to return. She should have expected that their House-picked cunning would reassert itself.

Yes, in retrospect, she should have seen it coming. But, alas, Hermione Granger, her head full of the impending N.E.W.T’s, didn’t even register the snickers and furtive looks shot her way by the Slytherin contingent of Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson currently studying Advanced Potions. They were supposed to be working on independent research projects, and she was deep into a complex draught she’d designed to hopefully dissolve the Permanent Sticking Charm keeping the portrait of Sirius Black’s mother on the hallway wall at 12 Grimmauld Place.

Grimmauld Place was still the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix as they mopped up the last of Voldemort’s Death Eaters, but it was also the place Harry was soon to call home. He’d been told by his Uncle Vernon that he would no longer be able to call the Dursley’s residence his home, and would in fact be expected to move out of 4 Privet Drive precisely 24 hours after graduating from Seventh Year. A fact that amused him greatly, given that ‘home’ was the last thing he’d normally call Privet Drive. But the fact remained, after that point, his Muggle relatives would kick Harry out the front door with a sadistic level of glee. Thus, in little more than three weeks, Harry would be moving into Grimmauld Place more or less permanently.

Hermione thus considered it her duty to assist her friend to be able to get down all those hideous house-elf heads and awful, foul-mouthed portraits so that Harry might, at last, have a chance at living in some reasonable facsimile of peace and quiet in his godfather’s house. Sirius had willed Harry his house and fortune before the accident during the battle at the end of their fifth year; it was the only tie Harry had left to his parents’ generation, save for infrequent visits from Remus Lupin, and Harry was reluctant to give it up and live somewhere else. Despite the hideous decor.

The portrait of Mrs. Black was certainly both hideous to see and to hear; it had to go, but it had been affixed firmly to a load-bearing wall--so firmly, in fact, that currently the only way to remove it would required taking the wall out. Not a viable option, unless one wanted to bring the whole house down in the attempt. Hence her absolute concentration on her potion, with none to spare even for any peripheral awareness of what the three Slytherins who had made it into the second year of Advanced Potions were doing. She certainly didn’t realize they had finished a good ten minutes before she did, but then it was a Double Potions class, and each student was working on a unique potion.

With fifteen minutes to go in the class, she levitated her cauldron from the flames, setting it on the scarred wooden surface of her worktable to let it cool while she set up a row of bottles for storing the brew. It didn’t take long to decant the lot, nor to label everything, and when she took her research notes and three requisite samples up to Professor Snape’s desk, Hermione switched her attention from her meticulous efforts to the hardest-to-please teacher in the whole school. All but holding her breath, she watched him as he examined the liquid in the clear, stoppered flask, skimming briefly through her notes. When he didn’t offer a sarcastic comment, she sighed in relief, knowing her project had passed initial muster. This was not only her project in Potions, but also in Arithmancy, since she’d used that particular discipline to predict how to make the Dissolving Draught. If it passed Professor Snape’s high standards, she was bound to get a very high mark from Professor Vector as well.

Even after Lord Voldemort’s fall, Professor Snape was still sarcastic and difficult to please, though at least he’d levelled his own House with the declaration that he would no longer favor any imbecilic Slytherins just because they were the sons and daughters of Death Eaters. Miracle of miracles, he’d even followed through on that threat, giving the scions of his House quite the shock when their House points started dropping radically in his classroom whenever they misbehaved. He’d even been seen to smile in the past five or six weeks, more than half a dozen times. Once, he’d even almost smiled at Hermione, just an upward twitch of his lips for being able to answer a truly obscure question in his class--Hermione had thought he would have scowled at her for knowing that particular tidbit of information, but he’d seemed pleased that she’d risen to his challenge, rather than annoyed. She’d walked on a cloud of heady pleasure for the rest of the day, after that.

Still Hermione held her breath in trepidation as Professor Snape’s brow furrowed. He fingered the bundle of her neatly written notes, touched the three bottles, and then looked up and frowned at her.

“Miss Granger, where is your test subject?”

“…Sir?” Confusion set in for a moment. “Test subject?”

His finger tapped the cork stoppering the middle bottle. “Test. Subject.” He enunciated the words crisply, enough that it carried a little even if his voice was low enough to be pitched for her ears alone. He didn’t berate his Advanced students quite as badly as he did the younger ones, especially now that the Dark Lord was dead. Hermione suspected it was originally because those that actually made it into the Advanced classes knew just how dangerous potion-making could be, and had finally learned to be properly wary during their creation. “You need to hand in something bound with the Permanent Sticking Charm for me to test these potion samples with, otherwise this is nothing more than three bottles of some unidentifiable, silvery sludge.”

“Erm…well, can’t you just go to…to Headquarters and test it there?” Hermione stammered quietly, upset with herself that she’d forgotten to prepare the required test-subjects as well as the potion. “There’s lots of Permanent Sticking Charms all over the place. That’s why I developed this potion.”

His lip quirked in a sneer, “Miss Granger, that place is outside the school grounds. It is not my responsibility to go forth and find a suitable test subject. It is your responsibility to provide one for me. Right here, within the Hogwarts grounds.”

“Oh. Right.” Her mind raced as she eyed the classroom clock mounted on one of the sidewalls, trying to figure out how quickly she could learn to cast the charm in the next…eight minutes and some odd seconds. Flustered, she couldn’t remember if the charm was in her Charms textbook or not. “Um…if I just had a little bit of time…”

“You have until curfew to bring three sets of Permanently Stuck objects to my office,” he said as he looked out over rest of the students.

“Thank you, Professor Snape.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the reprieve. Before the final battle, Snape would’ve demanded her samples before the end of class. Since Advanced Charms was her very next class, she should have time to pull Professor Flitwick aside and ask for instruction on the Charm before the class started, if it wasn’t in the book. Or maybe afterwards… Her sigh of relief gave way to a snort of surprise, however; it seemed her professor was following her thoughts.

“…You might want to consider Mr. Malfoy as a subject. We could always see if your potion is up to removing his head from his arse,” Professor Snape commented in a low voice pitched for her ears alone. “If he doesn’t remember he’s not supposed to be chatting in class in the next minute, I might have to remind him.”

…Did he really say that? she thought, staring at him in wonder. His expression was neutral, but there was something in his eyes, a faint gleam that could have been humor. It was hard to tell; the man was a closed book most of the time. Right now he was giving Malfoy a hard, pointed look over her shoulder, silencing the whispering Slytherins.

Despite his glare, Hermione found herself enjoying a rare moment of shared humour as he flicked his gaze back to her face; his dark eyes gleamed with a hint of humor before he lifted his chin slightly in a dismissive, return-to-your-seat gesture. That moment of concord was rare enough that she was able to ignore Draco, who was smirking openly at her when she turned away from the professor’s desk. Pansy’s snickering and Blaise’s laughter were similarly ignored; if they’d managed to overhear her gaffe with the test subject requirement, well, it was of no moment. Class was almost over. And, given Professor Snape’s sotto voce comment, the joke was most likely on them, if they didn’t stuff it soon.

Shaking her head slightly, Hermione cleared her workspace and waited for the class to end.

Her gaze rested mostly on the Potions Master as he answered a question from one of the five Ravenclaws who had managed to stay in his classroom for all seven years. He really was fascinating to watch; a more mercurial yet subtle and self-controlled man Hermione had never seen. Whole ranges of emotions could be expressed in the twitching of a brow--

SPLAT!

Hermione gasped, body jerking under the unexpected jolt of rapidly cooling liquid that had struck her head, neck and shoulder, soaking straight through her school robes. Some of the potion ended up striking her lips, getting into her mouth as she reflexively closed it. The liquid stung, and she spat as quickly as she could, but her lips and tongue were already tingling and growing cold, the same as her entire right shoulder and most of her throat on that side.

Professor Snape, fast as a striking cobra, left his desk and was looming beside her scowling angrily. “What is going on, here?”

Hermione spat again, gingerly wiping at her lips with her fingers. “I…I was hit with something, sir--my skin is tingling…and my mouth. I think I swallowed some of it!”

His wand-hand twitched; the locks on the classroom door rattled shut with ominously loud clanks and thumps. Dark eyes narrowed, the Potions Master glared at the other students. “No one leaves until I get an explanation for this unacceptable behavior! This is the top Advanced Potions class, not some playground brawl! You will not go around poisoning each other like lowbrow, witless imbeciles! Confess!”

“Oh, it’s not a poison, sir,” Draco drawled. Hermione, squinting as she scraped some of the amber-coloured muck from the edge of her eye, saw the Head Boy had the temerity to smirk. “It’s just my project. Manchecouerum. I needed a…test subject.” His smirk broadened as Hermione’s eyes narrowed. Apparently he had heard her gaffe after all. “I predict the Head Girl will be feeling the effects of the potion within a minute or two…and then we’ll get to see if she has any feelings for anything other than her textbooks and her study schedule. It should be quite amusing.”

She glared at him, drawing in a breath to blast him verbally. Instead, Hermione blinked as she felt the last of the potion absorb rapidly into her flesh, burning hot now instead of freezing cold. A moment later, the tingling and burning vanished, replaced by a burning line of light that glowed through the sleeves of her shirt and her school robes. A line that curved itself into the dimpled, pointed mark of a heart. Still angry at Draco, she lifted her gaze from her shoulder to glare at his face again…and saw at the edge of her vision two silver objects shimmering into existence an arm length over her head. Two daggers.

Her gaze refocused on a now gaping Draco Malfoy--and the daggers leapt at him. Yelping, the Head Boy flung himself below his desk. The blades thocked solidly into the spines of a couple textbooks on the reference shelves behind his worktable. Hermione winced; she hadn’t meant to harm the books. When she winced, however, the daggers vanished, fading quickly from view. The books were still injured, but the daggers were gone.

A tousled blond head rose cautiously into view. Hermione automatically glared at him again. This time a miniature stormcloud gathered in the air between them, darkening quickly and snapping a miniscule bolt of lightning at the gaping Slytherin. Draco yelped and scuttled behind his desk again, seeking shelter from the conjured storm.

This time it was Hermione who smirked. The cloud slowly dissipated, unlike the daggers, which had vanished quickly from surprise. “You shouldn’t have picked a ‘test subject’ who hates your guts, Malfoy.” The thought of her manifested feelings for the Slytherin ferret drove her smirk from merely wicked to absolutely evil. “--Oh, and before you think you can escape…we both have Advanced Charms, next period. Either you’ll have to skip class, and the revisions Professor Flitwick said would be vital for the N.E.W.T’s…or you’ll have to dodge the nastiest emotions I can fling towards you!”

Thunder rumbled, the ground shook, and the daggers rematerialized, this time with tongues of flame burning along their double-edged lengths.

“--Enough! Control your emotions, Miss Granger!” Professor Snape snapped at her. “Mr. Malfoy, you’ve just lost Slytherin sixty points for picking such a poorly-considered test subject, and earned yourself a detention with Mr. Filch every night of next week!”

“But, Professor, next week is the Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests! I need that time for reviewing!” Draco protested from somewhere behind his desk, wisely not daring to lift his head into view, though that didn’t stop the ground around him from shaking a little more. Hermione just grinned.

“You should have thought of the consequences of your choices before you so foolishly made them,” Professor Snape snapped before he whipped about to face Hermione. “Miss Granger! I said dissipate that stormcloud!” Professor Snape ordered her curtly. “Twenty points from Gryffindor for disrupting my classroom--and another twenty points each for the two books you damaged!”

The thunder stopped rumbling, but the cloud remained, flattening from a thunderhead to a pervasive haze. It settled over the Head Girl’s position as her shoulders slumped, proof of the effectiveness of his chastisement. He gave her a pained look, but before he could say more, a bell rang in the distance, signaling the end of the period. The others escaped, Draco quickly dodging into their midst, no doubt hoping for safety in numbers.

Hermione struggled to control her emotions as she gathered her belongings into her book bag, taking her time as the room emptied. She had to get her emotions under control; that much was obvious. “I’m sorry about the books; I’ll repair them, sir, I promise.”

“I can see your remorse is sincere…though knowing you and your love of books, it would have been sincere even without such tangible proof.”

That made her glance up; the hazy cloud of depression had morphed into cloud-like hearts, each one rent partway down the middle by a jagged line in the classic symbol for sorrow: a breaking heart. “Oh no… I can’t go to class like this! How long will this stuff last? Please tell me there’s a quick cure!”

The Potions Master rifled through the projects on his desk, and skimmed through one of the scrolls. Hermione focused quickly on packing up the last of her own project bottles, trying to think, or rather, to feel anything but the mending of those hearts over her head. His voice, smooth as silk, rich as chocolate, didn’t help.

“According to Mr. Malfoy’s notes, the potion’s magic is consumed in direct proportion to the strength of the emotion experienced, through its physical manifestations.” He looked up at her. “Given the results of your literally glaring daggers at the idiot, I cannot allow you to attend class. I will send a note to Professor Flitwick excusing you from Charms.”

“I really wanted to review, but I suppose I’ll have to go back to Gryffindor Tower, then.” Bag packed, she turned toward the damaged books. A peek upward showed the hearts breaking again. Think about damaging the books, and nothing else… Just think about the books, and how terribly sorry you are for harming them, and for missing Charms class…

“Miss Granger, what makes you think I will allow you to roam the corridors either, right now?” Professor Snape chastised her. “At least, not until your condition has worn off. I would rather not have to dock you even more points for searing someone else with the heat of your distaste.”

“Right…right.” Hermione didn’t look at him as she drew her wand, tapping the spines of the books she’d damaged with her emotions. “Biblicum Reparo!”

The gouged leather and parchment resealed itself on both tomes. Even some of the age-worn damage repaired itself. She heard the Potions Master moving away from his desk, and focused her thoughts firmly on how sorry she was she’d harmed his reference books.

“Neatly done. Twenty-five points to Gryffindor, for each book.”

“Th-thank you, Professor.” Don’t feel don’t feel don’t feel!

“Regarding your ‘cure’… As I am accustomed to suffering damage to my classroom, you will stay here, and think of your strongest, most volatile emotion, and get it literally out of your system. Try not to blow up any more of my books, though. Now, what exactly is your most powerful emotion, Miss Granger?”

Damn that voice! Hermione heard popping noises around her head and glanced up. Lurid red and pink hearts were bursting into the air around her. A few of them were broken, but that was mostly in despair that she couldn’t suppress the manifestations.

“…Hearts?” Professor Snape mocked. “You feel…love…for someone as your strongest emotion? Why are some of them broken, if you feel love for someone?” he demanded. “Surely your affections are returned by whatever dunderhead you’ve chosen to date.”

They popped into the air around her faster than before, many more broken this time. A sound of disgust escaped him as he backed up, batting at the hovering, balloon-like manifestations as they drifted his way. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think of something else, anything else. It was impossible. It was like being asked to not think about rollerskating elephants: an obsession over smooth-gliding pachyderms would ensue.

“Miss Granger, kindly think of something else before we’re smothered in these cloying things! And stop sending them after me! It is not amusing, given how much you must surely hate m--”

He stopped speaking abruptly as comprehension dawned.

She buried her face in her hands as the popping swelled to a crescendo. She didn’t have to see how many hearts had bloomed to know just how strong her feelings were for him, though surely the vast majority of them surely were now broken from humiliation…and unrequited love. The popping ceased with a tingle of her shoulder and cheek. Unfortunately terminating the effects of the potion before she could try to focus on a need to have the earth swallow her whole. It would have been nice to avoid such a deep and blatant humiliation, but the world wasn’t quite that kind to her.

“You…care about me?”

His voice was hoarse with shock. Hermione couldn’t see any way out of this mess, other than confessing the truth with what few tatters of her dignity remained. Sniffing, she surreptitiously wiped at her eyes, then lowered her hands. Keeping her gaze firmly on the floor, she confessed, “I’m in love with you. But I know it’s unrequited, and you don’t have to worry about my fawning all over you, or acting silly about it. I mean, there’s only the N.E.W.T.s and another week beyond that before we all go home, and then you’ll never have to see me again after that, so…so let’s just pretend this never happened, shall we?”

Somehow she managed to stretch her lips into a facsimile of a smile, which she aimed blindly through the fading, falling hearts as she turned back toward her desk. Striding through the slowly vanishing remnants of her feelings, Hermione slung her book bag over her shoulder. Without looking in his direction, avoiding eye contact, she headed towards the door. Just as she reached for the latch to pull the heavy oak panel wide enough for her to exit, however, the door swung shut, snicking loudly as it closed. Hesitantly, she touched the doorknob. It wouldn’t turn. She was locked in his classroom. He’d locked her inside.

“…Professor, the potion has obviously worn off. I’m perfectly safe to wander through the corridors, now. I’m…I’m going to be late for Charms. It’s my last chance to review in the professor’s class.”

He didn’t reply. She heard him doing something at the far end of the classroom, but couldn’t, daren’t turn around to face him. That much courage didn’t exist in all of Gryffindor Tower, past and present courage levels combined. His footsteps drew near. She rattled the doorknob again, then drew her wand, raising it to cast the Unlocking Charm. Fingers caught her wrist, tugging her around before she could do so.

“You need to review something else, first,” the Potions Master muttered, and lifted a flask of something thick and amber-coloured to his lips. She watched him swig a mouthful, her eyes widening, but before she could do more than part her lips, drawing a breath to question his actions, he lowered the flask and quickly covered her mouth with his own. Sharing the tingling cold-hot liquid with her in a tongue-tangling kiss as she gasped.

Stunned, Hermione didn’t resist. It took her a few seconds to react, in fact. When she could, she couldn’t find the strength to push him away. This was one of her secret, perverted little fantasies, after all: being snogged passionately by Severus Snape, Potions Master. And it was passionate; he pressed her back against the door with his warm, wool-clad frame. He even released her wand-hand so that he could delve his fingers into her curls. Tipping her head under the guidance of his touch, he devoured her mouth with his own until the initial tingling faded. Only then did he draw back. Dazed, she opened her eyes in time to see the results of this ‘review’.

A pop, and a heart appeared over his dark-haired head. It swelled, growing rapidly in size, a dark, rich red with purplish underhues, a colour scheme that suited him admirably well. But it wasn’t the sheer size of the balloon-swelling manifestation that caught her attention; it was the faint images reflected on the heart’s gleaming, swirling surface that held her in place, wide-eyed.

The reflection was of the two of them. Not standing chest-to-chest against the Potions classroom door, but tangled together on the rumpled coverlet of a bed, sharing caresses and kisses as they made love. A circlet of flowers attached to a lacy veil went sailing out of view as the dream-wizard helped the dream-witch strip each other of what looked like the wizarding equivalent of wedding finery. For a moment she was too shocked to respond. Severus Snape, bane of Gryffindors everywhere and the know-it-all and her two best friends in particular…wanted to marry her?

Ruby hearts burst into bright-glowing life around them, sounding like someone had lit several strings of firecrackers all at once. Comprehension gave rise to another kiss, this time one mutually and eagerly joined as she lifted her face to meet his descending head. Something else popped, and soft, cool, fragrant objects showered down around them, tickling their skin. That broke them apart. The great heart had burst, scattering rose petals over their heads and shoulders. Rose petals, of all things.

Hermione lifted her hand from his shoulder, plucking one of the pink-purple petals from the black fabric of his teaching robes. Being showered in rose-petals during a kiss of realized love was a very romantic touch. It was also a disconcerting one, since her own emotional manifestations were still clinging to him, bumping and caressing his frock-coated body.

Severus Snape…is a closet-romantic? She looked up at him, wonder in her gaze. It was stunning to think of him loving her, nevermind associating him with such a delicate consideration as a shower of rose-petals for the woman he loved.

Lowering his forehead to hers, he stared into her eyes. “Miss Granger…Hermione… I have never been tempted to cross this particular line, before now,” he confessed quietly, huskily. “Not in my entire career. And I should not have done so now. You are still a student. My student.” The fingers rubbing one of her curls between their tips reluctantly released her hair. Stepping back, he straightened himself formally, putting distance between them. “Nor will it happen again, while you are enrolled within these walls.

“I will write you a note, excusing your tardiness to your Advanced Charms class. You will need to focus your formidable attention on passing your N.E.W.T’s, and graduating,” he added, striding for his desk. His attitude seemed cold…but now that she knew the fire that burned underneath that tightly contained exterior, Hermione couldn’t look away.

The petals fluttered free of his robes in his wake, fading from view as the last of the potion he had shared lost its potency. A scrawl of his quill across a scrap of parchment, and he returned to her, standing frozen by the door as a thousand thoughts and possibilities tumbled chaotically through her mind. He stopped slightly closer than he normally would have done--though maybe that was just a figment of her hyperawareness of him--and lifted the folded paper between them, proffering it to her.

“Take this tardy note to Professor Flitwick. Pass your N.E.W.T’s with highest honors. Retire from this school and join the wizarding world as a fully acknowledged adult. Take some time to think about what it would mean to…share your life with someone like me. Take a month or more to consider the choices before you carefully, in all aspects, including the reactions of others…friends, family, colleagues,” he recited quietly. “If you still wish to discuss the matter with me after you’ve given it due consideration, send me a missive detailing where and when you wish to meet.” He held onto the tardy pass for a moment as she grasped it, their fingers carefully not touching. “Do have the courtesy to inform me of your decision, whatever it is. A simple ‘no’ in a letter is preferable to unending silence, waiting for an owl to arrive.”

Stepping back, he flicked his wand. The door clanked open behind her. Turning, he strode back to his desk without a backward glance. Dazed at the implications--stunned and yet buoyant by the idea of a requited love--Hermione exited his classroom, clutching his note to her chest.



…



“You have been really spacey all day long, ‘Mione,” Ron observed that evening. “Are you still under the effect of that potion I heard Malfoy tossed on you?”

“--The moment we get on the Hogwarts Express, that slug-thing we did to him a few years ago is going to pale in comparison, if he’s hurt you,” Harry added firmly.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, to say something…and found herself floundering. “I’m fine. I… Oh, bugger.”

Ron blinked in surprise. “What’s wrong?”

“Yeah, you don’t swear very often,” Harry agreed, shaking his tousled black hair dubiously. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

“Oh, I just… I just realized I have to thank Ferret-boy for what he did,” Hermione muttered, disgusted with the thought.

“Thank him?” the youngest Weasley male protested. “What have you to thank him for? The way I heard it, he made you literally wear your heart on your sleeve! Though I would’ve laughed myself silly to have seen him ducking under his desk just to hide from you and that thundercloud I heard about.”

“Yes, he did make me wear my heart on my sleeve, Ron. And because of it…because of it, I discovered something wonderful. At least, I think it’s wonderful,” Hermione added, wondering how her two best friends were going to react to the news of her discovery. Except she couldn’t tell them while she was still in school; that might get Profess…Severus in trouble. She now had permission, if only in her thoughts, to call him by his first name.

“What’s so wonderful, if Ferret-boy had a hand in showing it to you?” Harry asked her skeptically.

“Erm… I had an encounter, after Potions class,” she hedged very carefully, knowing she needed to stick as closely to the truth as possible without giving anything away, so her two best friends couldn’t accuse her of lying, later. “My feelings for someone came out literally into the open. I couldn’t exactly help myself.”

“Oy! You mean to tell me you had, like, fluttering cupids buzzing around your head, ‘cause you fancied some bloke? And he saw it?” Ron asked her, incredulous.

“Yes--well, it was a bunch of hearts, but yes. It was a bit of a shock when he didn’t mock me for it, either.”

Harry and Ron exchanged looks. The Boy Who Triumphed pushed his glasses up his nose, frowning at her. “He didn’t mock you for it? I suppose that’s good, but…who is this guy?”

“I’d rather not say, right now. He’s, um…not in Gryffindor.”

“--I knew it! You fancy Justin Finch-Fletchley!” Ron exclaimed.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “It’s not a Hufflepuff, Ron.”

“Then who?” Harry asked her. “Adam Cider?”

“He’s not a Ravenclaw, either--and if the two of you continue down this path of enquiry any further, you’ll have your own churned stomachs to blame,” she added firmly in warning. “It’s best if you just drop the subject right now.”

Ron was already turning a sickly shade of green. “A…a…a Slytherin? You fancy a Slytherin?”

Heads turned in the common room, drawn by his overly loud, undignified squeak.

“Shut up, Ron,” Hermione mumbled, feeling her face start to flame. Thankfully not literally; it had been several hours since that remarkable, revealing kiss. “And we’re not doing anything about it. We’re not going to do anything about it for a while.”

“What, doesn’t this bloke think you’re good enough for him?” Harry protested.

“If he’s a Slytherin, then it’s probably because she’s a Muggle-born. What do you think he thinks about that?” Ron pointed out dryly. “Of course it’ll be a problem!”

“I don’t think my parentage even came into the equation, Ron,” Hermione retorted dryly, rolling her eyes. “I’m just saying that we’re not going to do anything about it now. Not while there’s the N.E.W.T’s in the way. Not until the school year is over. And he asked me to consider how my friends would react to him…to him reciprocating my feelings, and to the two of us being in a relationship. Your attitudes toward Slytherins are renowned throughout the school. And just because my heart’s full of love doesn’t mean my brain’s dribbled out of my ears, or that I’m about to give up my two best friends!

“But I’ll ask you this: which is more important to you? That I am happy, whomever I may end up with? Or that you selfishly demand I date only who you think I should date, regardless of my own feelings on the matter?” Rising from the couch in the corner of the room they had claimed for their studying, she gave her two best friends a pointed look. “I went along with the two of you on many an occasion when I thought you were wrong. And I’ll point out that, despite my reasonable misgivings, many of our adventures turned out all rright in the end. Your misgivings in this matter may also be reasonable, but I do expect you to give me what I gave you: the freedom to make my own decisions, and your presence in supporting me and my decisions regarding my own life, as I stand or fall.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to go to my room to do the rest of my reviews. This conversation is too distracting to hold right now. I’ve got my N.E.W.T’s to prepare for, and so do you.” Leaving them in what she hoped was a thoughtful silence, Hermione headed for the stairs.


…



He didn’t look at her. He didn’t glance her way, didn’t acknowledge her presence, and she even caught him detouring abruptly down one of the cross-corridors when she approached the intersection. It hurt a little, but Hermione consoled herself with the belief that he was simply limiting any possible interactions that could lead to unfortunate repercussions. Such as kissing her again, while she was still his student. Or touching her, or even looking at her in even the slightest lascivious way.

Still, when she boarded the Hogwarts Express, she watched out the windows until the castle was beyond viewing, hoping she might see him following her. Perhaps on his broom; he’d been quite a skilled flyer, back in her first year at the school, refereeing that Quidditch match for Harry’s sake. But no, the only thing that chased them were a few sparrows.

“So. Who is it?” Harry asked her bluntly. “We’ve already figured it’s not Draco; you said you’d have to thank him for the realization, but you also said it like you’d have to thank him for pointing out a bit of manure on your shoe.”

“It’s not Blaise, is it?” Ron added. “He’s a good Seeker, but…”

“Who are you guys talking about?” Ginny asked her brother, giving the three of them a confused look.

“Hermione says she’s in love with some Slytherin bloke. We think she’s mental, but, erm…it’s her right to be mental about it,” Ron informed his sister, wrinkling his nose a little. He eyed his long-time friend, sitting across from him on the window side of the compartment. “We just want to know which Slytherin it is, so we’ll know which one to break…er, which one to not break his kneecaps.”

Hermione debated what to tell her two best friends. Three, counting Ginny. Finally, she took a page out of Luna Lovegood’s book, and said simply, blithely, “It’s Severus, actually.”

Silence.

“--Professor Snape?!”

Wincing, she waited for the echoes of three outraged voices to die down. When they did, Ginny was the first to recover her wits. Ron was still spluttering, and Harry looked like he was going to have a heart-attack.

“…But, how could you fall for him? He’s mean, sarcastic, cruel, hates Gryffindors, and he’s always called you a know-it-all…”

“And he’s intelligent, witty, charming in his own way--sarcasm is a highly advanced form of humor, you know,” Hermione added as Ron stopped spluttering long enough to gape at her. “Quite frankly, he’s the only male at that school who could hold my attention for more than an hour, no matter what he talks about. I never wanted his classes to end. And that voice…trust me, if you were female, boys, you’d know what a good baritone does to us girls.”

“Well, you might be right about the voice, but…he’s a greasy git!” Ginny protested.

“He’s my greasy git,” Hermione returned calmly. “I’ve been thinking about nothing else, once the N.E.W.T’s ended, and I think I could be very happy in a relationship with him.”

“Yeah, but could he actually make you happy?” Harry protested, finding his voice. “I mean it, Hermione! Even if he doesn’t laugh in your face if you ever tell him your feelings--”

“--He already knows how I feel. I couldn’t help it, thanks to the Ferret’s potion,” Hermione reminded him, her voice tart and pointed. “And he didn’t laugh in my face about it.”

“I can only thank Merlin he didn’t bruit it about the school! Though I wonder why,” Ron mused, a frown creasing his freckled forehead. “It would’ve been the perfect opportunity to humiliate you.”

“He didn’t tell anyone else, because for one, he didn’t want to hurt me. For another, he…he feels the same way. And for a third, doing or saying anything about it would’ve gotten us both in trouble, so we just avoided each other for these last two weeks,” she informed her friends.

“Hermione, he’s a Slytherin,” Harry stated grimly. “If he says he loves you, he’s just saying it so he can use you for his own ends.”

“He didn’t say it at all, Harry James Potter!” Hermione snapped, angry with the Boy Who Didn’t Think. “He took Malfoy’s potion, too! He showed me the sincerity of his affections for me. And that those affections are honorable. He was also wise enough to remind me that my friends would give me a lot of flak over this--exactly like the lot of you are doing, right now!” Rising from her seat, balancing herself against the rhythmic sway of the train, she glared at them. “You say you’re willing to accept me in a relationship with a Slytherin, but you don’t really mean it, do you?”

“But, Hermione, he’s old enough to be your father!” Ron protested.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” she demanded, throwing up her hands. “He’s most emphatically not my father, and that’s all that matters. In fact, I’d rather date an adult than some barely-grown boy! I grew up a long time ago. Why shouldn’t my taste in men have matured equally as well? What’s so irrational about that?”

“Sit down, Hermione, please,” Ginny coaxed her. “You can’t help us being in a bit of a shock over this! Just give us some time to come to grips with it. You just blurted it out, and it went off in our hands like an overcharged pack of Exploding Snap! Of course we’re going to sound irrational about it, while our fingers are still smarting. There’s no need to yell at us for a perfectly natural reaction. Or even an overreaction!”

Sitting down, Hermione sighed. She ran her hands over her hair, smoothing it back from her face for a moment. “Sorry for yelling. I’m just… It’s just that… This is who I love, guys. I didn’t exactly plan it, but it happened anyway. You’re just going to have to accept that fact, and deal with it.”

Silence reigned for a little while. Harry sighed and rumpled his hair, glancing at the two Weasleys with them. “…Fine. We’ll make you a deal, ‘Mione. You don’t talk about it for a few days, and…and we’ll come to grips with it.”

“--But you’ve got to promise that you’ll think long and hard about whether or not you really want that grea…uh, whether or not you want someone like Professor Snape in your life,” Ron amended, blushing a little at his verbal near-gaff. It didn’t hurt that his sister elbowed him in the ribs for it.

“Believe me, that’s all I’ve been doing, since the tests ended,” Hermione muttered, leaning her head against the compartment window. “I don’t even care what my N.E.W.T. scores are going to be, right at this moment.”

Ron blinked at her, looking as if she’d suddenly grown an extra head, or maybe some squid tentacles. “Wow. You’ve really got it bad.”

Strangely enough, that made her laugh.


…


Three weeks later, Hermione stepped back from the wall she had been painting, rubbing at her nose with the back of her hand. Clad in sloppy old clothes coloured with smears of white and splotches of green, she admired her handiwork. Having briefly visited her parents, she’d come out to 12 Grimmauld Place to help Harry transform the grim old house into something filled with a lot more light and laughter than it had seen in far too many years. Her Dissolving Draught had turned out to not only be useful in removing all those dreadful stuffed heads and the horridly ill-mannered paintings in the hallways, but a good portion of ugly wallpaper in the various rooms, too. She’d ended up spending a good six days brewing a big cauldron full of the stuff just to tackle the previous layers of Black family decor.

Hermione had then taken over this room as her own special project, the upstairs reading room. All the books and furnishings had been removed, all the shelves stripped to their bare casings, and spell-sanded to remove the oppresive, dark stain. She knew it would make an antiques dealer cringe at the removal of the ‘natural patina’, but frankly the shelves had gone a bit sticky with the dust of ages, and reading rooms needed lots of light, not headache-inducing darkness.

The shelves and woodwork had turned out to be a nice reddish cherry-wood, once their natural beauty had been allowed to shine through. The cracks in the ceiling had been replastered and painted with white, and the trimwork mouldings done in an attractive shade of forest green. Exchanging her paintbrush for her wand, she flicked the lot with a drying charm, then headed out the door to get the rolls of green-and-white wallpaper, printed in vertical ivy garlands alternating with narrow stripes.

The carpet would be installed after that, a nice mint green that would pick out the lighter highlights in the wallpaper, and then she could begin reassembling the shelves and furnishings for Harry. She’d never tell him, but she’d picked white and green for the reading room in honor of the most intelligent man she knew. Hermione had been tempted in the past couple of weeks to contact him, but she had also wanted to make sure he knew she had given the question of being in a relationship with him sufficient consideration. Of course, she was impatient to contact him, since she’d made up her mind after giving the matter quite a lot of thought, but she had five more days to go. She was determined to do this right.

Eyeing the half-finished room, Hermione wondered briefly if the loveseat--spell-reupholstered in an ivy-on-white pattern and waiting in one of the furniture-crowded spare bedrooms--would be large enough to live up to its sobriquet…

But she had to get the wallpaper. An estimate of how long it would take her to complete the reading room put her finishing at the end of her carefully imposed month of consideration. The sooner she finished the redecoration…well, maybe she’d fudge a little on how long a ‘month’ was. She’d already fudged on how many hours there were in a day, after all, back in her third year.

Tripping down the stairs, she rounded the corner and smacked into something tall, black-wooled, and familiar. Catching each other by the arms, they stared at each other. For a moment, Hermione saw a glimmer of warmth for her in his dark eyes. Then his usual cold, stiff demeanor returned. He set her back from him a little, but didn’t quite release her elbows. “Miss Granger.”

That quirked her brows at him. “--‘Miss Granger’? That’s a bit formal, isn’t it?”

“For two people who haven’t communicated in over a month, I think not.” Stepping back, he released her, and detoured around her, heading towards the front door.

That was rather cold. Hermione stared at his retreating back; his hand was on the doorknob when she realized what he meant. “--Severus! You said,” she stressed as he paused and turned his head slightly, not quite glancing back over his shoulder, “that I should wait until I was out of school. And that I should take a month to consider everything carefully. It hasn’t been a full month since I left Hogwarts.”

Some of the tension melted from his frame, releasing some of the cold, distant stiffness in his posture. “…Then I shall wait for your owl.”

Footsteps thumped down the stairs. A paint-speckled Harry came into view, leaping a trio of steps to the turn in the landing. He caught himself on the newel-post before he could leap the last few stairs and collide with Hermione. Curiosity made him lean out past the wall when she didn’t move, looking for the source of her attention. A frown pinched his brow, and his mouth tightened for a moment, but only for a moment. His green eyes flicked between the two of them. Apparently he thought it best to be polite in front of his friend, for he managed a cordial, if grudging, “…Hello, Professor Snape.”

“Potter.”

Hermione had to break the uncomfortable moment. She looked up at her friend, knowing the Potions Master was listening. “Hey, Harry, can I borrow Hedwig? I need to send a message.”

“Uh…sure. I was going to send a letter to Hagrid down in France, but it can wait.”

“Oh, this won’t take long. It’s just a one-word note, anyway,” she added, glancing at the older wizard standing by the door, one hand on the knob. The tension came back, in a mixture of dread and hope as he stared back at her, his body stiff and his expresson shuttered. It was a subtle display of emotion at best on those lean, saturnine features, but she knew he’d caught the significance in her request. She smiled at her ex-teacher. “Just a simple ‘yes’…unless you don’t think a letter will be necessary, Professor?”

“A ‘yes’ delivered in person is always preferrable to sending one via an owl.”

“Then I definitely say ‘yes’.” Abandoning the foot of the stairs, she drew her wand as she walked up to him, Transfigured her paint-smeared teeshirt and jeans into a nice, soft green summer dress and sheer tights, her battered old trainers into sandals, and tucked her hands around his arm. Dazed, he crooked it for her. Glancing back over her shoulder, Hermione tossed her wincing friend a smile. “I’ll have to wallpaper the reading room another time, Harry. I have the sudden urge to go for a nice, long walk. If you have the time, that is,” she added, looking up at her former teacher.

His gaze flicked to his other ex-student, then back to her face. “For you, I will make an exception,” he murmured. Drawing his wand, he tapped her on the nose. “Cutimundic. Your nose and cheeks were speckled in white and green.”

“Oh. Thanks. I was painting, upstairs,” Hermione explained. “I could use a break in some decent company, so your timing was impeccable.”

His mouth twitched upward slightly, hinting at a trace of smugness. “Shall we take that walk, then?”

“Hey!” Harry fixed them both with an awkward look, part discomfort and part bravado. “You, uh…you treat her properly. Like a lady. Or I’ll deal with you like I dealt with Lord Voldemort.”

To Hermione’s relief, Severus merely arched a skeptical brow at him. “I think my fiance might object to you hexing me into oblivion, Potter.”

“--Fiance?” Hermione interjected before Harry could. Then again, her friend was still visibly gobsmacked, gaping at the pair of them. “If I recall correctly, the question was merely whether or not I wanted you in my life. You didn’t specify a particular role. If you want me to say ‘yes’ to that particular question, you’re going to have to actually ask it. No short-cuts in courting me.”

His mouth twisted, quirking wryly. “Contrary to popular belief, I am an honorable man. Miss Granger, my intent is to court and marry you. What do you say to that?”

“…You may court me. You’ll have to get down on one knee and ask me properly, or whatever the wizarding custom is, if you want an answer as to whether or not I’ll marry you.”

“Oh, good god--can’t I hex him, Hermione?” Harry begged her as Severus lifted her hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles. “…Just a little?”

Hermione smirked at her friend over her shoulder. “Sorry, Harry. Of course, he’s not allowed to hex you, either.”

“…Regrettably, it seems you are safe from me, Potter. For now. She has a strange fondness for you that is even more bizarre than her love for me,” Severus murmured. “Though not greater than her love for me.”

Harry winced at the mere thought. Hermione bit back a grin. Severus smirked--the greasy git had more or less won the girl, and wasn’t above letting the younger wizard know it.

“…Good-day, Potter. Don’t wait up for either of us. She is an adult, after all.”

Hermione thwapped him on the arm, but let him lead her out into the sunshine.

---

P.S. Thanks to JustJeanette for some of her suggestions on 'fixing' certain aspects. The Harvey-plot-bunny got drunk and wandered off a couple of times while I was trying to write this one out, and she helped me sober 'im up and stuff him back into a better plot-bunny shape.