My eyes watched as the dark man in front of me quickly added a bright blue liquid to the simmering cauldron before him. I studied the motions of his sure and steady hand as he stirred twice counter-clockwise and added eye of newt with a deft flick of the wrist. I was enthralled.

I, Hermione Jane Granger, top of my graduating class, graduate of Oxford Academy of Sorcery and Witchcraft, and Arithmancy Professor at my former school, am besotted. Like a bloody gossip-magazine reading teenager, I am besotted with this man.

My fascination had begun at the end of my sixth year when the war had really hit full force. That damned book; the one that had tortured and laughed at me all year. That damned book. Damned half-blood Prince. I had been on edge for months, being constantly outshone by Harry and that stupid, worn pile of mouldy parchment. Upon discovering the identity of the half-blood Prince, I became obsessed. I had helped Harry track him across Europe, aiding in his search for the remaining Horcruxes, but I found that my drive wasn‘t led by the desire for right to prevail over wrong. It was an insane obsession with the one person who had belittled me. Not belittled, per se; I had had more than enough teasing and rude name-calling in my time. No, he had surpassed me.

Insufferable, that.

So after almost a year of jaunting here and there, staying in questionable inns and more questionable caves, we had found him. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, as the old expression goes. Snape was posing as a Muggle, and some fellow Death Eaters had got drunk one night and caused a ruckus, leaving him to clean up after them. It also caused him to activate a rather powerful magical tracing charm Harry, Ron, and I had performed, which he had evaded for months on end. Within seconds of his memory modification upon a particularly haggard looking old Muggle woman, he was restrained, knocked unconscious, and Apparated to the Ministry where Harry and Ron dumped him unceremoniously on the front steps, and I, politely but firmly, requested the presence of the Minister.

Really, with an entrance like that, how could they refuse?

You might be wondering why I was watching a convicted criminal add ingredients to a Pepper-up Potion in the dark dungeons of Hogwarts on a Tuesday afternoon. The answer is simple, of course.

I freed him.

Well, not freed I suppose. You see, after a thorough questioning, and even more thorough search, Severus Aurellan Snape was imprisoned in a Ministry cell, complete with ancient locking charms and a full guard of three Aurors at all times. Azkaban was too risky for a criminal such as this. With the Dementors on the dark side, he could very easily have arranged for an escape. No, he had to be kept under constant surveillance.

Only high-ranking Ministry personnel, Harry, Ron, and myself, were allowed in this most secure, and yet dangerous area of the Ministry. Not that anyone else really came to visit after the main part of the inquiry was completed. Harry and Ron were never aware of my frequent visits. I’m sure the Aurors were suspicious, but no one dared question the brightest mind of her generation or the best friend of Harry Potter.

And so I visited Severus Snape, almost daily, for about two months. At first he was bitter, rude, and sometimes even violent. After a few attempts at murder, for which he was quickly jinxed and incapacitated, he sat through an entire visit without incident. Without even speech. After I had given a cheery farewell and was halfway out the door, I heard a single, raspy word.

His voice was full of ill-restrained anger, disgust, and blatant curiosity. It was hard to tell which emotion was winning out over the others.

“Why?”

Without turning, I answered, “Because I’m onto you.” And left.

I decided to forgo my evening cell visit, instead opting to attend one of Harry and Ron’s Quidditch practices. They had both been taken on by the Chudley Cannons after my urging at an attempt for a normal life. During Snape’s imprisonment, Harry had been accosted by a large group of Death Eaters as he was returning from a night at the Burrow. Stunned from behind, he was taken to their hideout and faced Voldemort alone. Needless to say, our dear hero did it again.

While I had always been torn two ways when it concerned Snape’s loyalty, it was a visit from all three of us that cemented my suspicions. As Ron gloatingly informed Snape that his Lord had finally been defeated, and Harry stood behind in silence, I saw a brief expression cross the haggard man’s face before the usual disinterested sneer returned.

Relief.

I returned to Snape the following evening, surprised to find him already seated at the small interview table that was conjured daily upon my arrival. He had been waiting for me.

“Miss Granger.” He nodded politely as I entered.

I was shocked, but I do believe I hid it well, despite the fact that he claims otherwise today. “Professor,” I responded.

He snorted derisively and raised an eyebrow. “You still address me as such? I am hardly your superior at the moment, Miss Granger.”

“You held a position of respect for six years of my life. Old habits die hard, sir,” I answered cautiously, not sure of the direction in which this little banter would travel.

“Respect?” he sneered doubtfully. “At what point in your schooling did you or your two dunderheaded friends ever respect me?”

“I have always respected you and viewed you as a person of great intellect. My friends’ opinions, though not as high, are no fault of mine.”

He nodded silently, as if considering my statement.

“Miss Granger, why do you continue to torture me with your mere existence day after day?” He smirked as I flushed.

“Back to sarcasm?” I asked. “Noted, sir. I visit because I believe I can help you – if you’ll allow it.”

“How could you ever possibly assist me, Miss Granger?”

“I believe, if given the opportunity, I could present your case to the Wizengamot and have you acquitted of all charges, sir.”

He raised his eyebrows in disbelief and said nothing. Instead, he seemed to study me for an eternity – his dark emotionless eyes flickering over my face, awaiting me to either burst out laughing or point a wand at vital pieces of his anatomy.

“Miss Granger… I would prefer you elaborate.”

So here we are, colleagues. After a lengthy appeal process, Snape was released and restored to his position as Defence teacher at Hogwarts. He still haunted the dungeons of course; as I had said, old habits die hard.

It had been near seven years since that night in his cell.

At that one fleeting moment when he had been pronounced innocent of all charges, and an expression of happiness lit his face as he swung me around in pure glee, I had glimpsed the real Severus Snape. I had been madly in love ever since.

“Miss Granger, why are you staring at me?”

I jumped slightly, jerked out of my solitary reverie. “Miss Granger, eh?”

“Old habits die hard.” He smirked. It had become an ongoing joke with us.

“Minerva is literally insisting on a Halloween Ball this year,” I casually mentioned.

“And this has prompted your staring?” he asked sarcastically.

“She is also insisting that we attend… accompanied.” I’m really grasping at straws here.

“It was my understanding that we were to patrol in pairs, yes.” He looked to me curiously now, dropping all pretence.

“Leather wings.” I nodded toward the cauldron, and he rolled his eyes as he added the flaky pieces.

“Well, would you perhaps …”

“Miss Granger, are you asking to … patrol with me at this horrid event?” His tone was bland, but the twinkle in his eye suggested he was offering me an easy cop out. I took it. Gladly.

“Yes. Trelawney will not corner me again.” I nodded emphatically.

He let out a short bark of laughter then, and the silence of the dungeon was restored. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to him laughing. I hope I don’t. It’s such a pleasant surprise every time.

I am still surprised by the way he reluctantly tolerates my presence as he brews. I suppose it’s his way of showing thanks for my help with his appeal. He often shoots me withering glances and makes scathing remarks, but I’ve learned to identify the twinkle in his eye as he does so, or the slight upturning of his lips. He thinks he’s unreadable, but when you spend so much of your time studying the man, you are bound to pick up on some of his idiosyncrasies.

“Well, Miss Granger, this potion is complete.” He bottled the brew quickly but efficiently. “I shall see you on Friday night, I’m sure.”

“Right.” I jumped off the desk beside his workbench. He always eyes the way I perch on his notes, legs kicking a steady childish rhythm, but he never comments.

“I’ll meet you at your rooms at seven.” And with that, he was gone.”

Three days later, I could be found frantically pacing my room as Ginny Weasley followed, muttering charms and cursing my ever-frizzy mass of curls. I was damn near about to hex the lot of it off myself. Finally, I hear a gasp of glee.

“Oh, Hermione,” she utters softly.

I turn slowly to face my full-length dressing mirror. What greets me is a definite surprise. Soft, tamed curls flow down my back, and a tight black Muggle dress adorns my frame. Not overly impressive, but for me it’s a pretty big improvement. Ginny was bemoaning my choice of shoes, but I insisted that if my heels were one inch higher, I would never even make it to the Great Hall in one piece.

Ginny herself looked gorgeous as usual, wearing an extremely short silver dress with matching iridescent robes. Harry would definitely be happy. I tossed my long black dress robes around my shoulders just as the soft rat-tat echoed through the apartments. I glance at the clock, which was just hitting seven o’clock. Always exact, he is.

Ginny hurriedly opened the door as I grabbed a small evening bag; there really was no room for a wand in that dress. I hear his muttered greeting and see the top of his head as he dips into an extremely formal bow. Ginny giggles, and his mouth twitches indulgently. His hair is tied back with a thin black cord, and he is dressed in the usual frock coat, this one slightly fancier, with a jet black shirt underneath. A single green handkerchief in his lapel was the only hint of colour on his person.

“Hermione.” He nodded. “Shall we?”

I took his offered arm, and we headed down to the Great Hall. Ginny stayed behind to await Harry, who was late as usual.

Several boring speeches later, the tables had been magically vanished and the light in the Great Hall dimmed.

“And now, the Professors' Dance!” The voice of Minerva McGonagall echoed throughout the Hall.

Severus and I shared equal looks of repugnant shock as the students submitted to bored but polite applause. Minerva merely twinkled. She really was channelling Albus more and more.

“Well?” She looked to us expectantly, as we were the only two remaining staff members. Minerva was quickly swept into a waltz by Flitwick, and we stared anxiously at each other once more. Finally, Severus offered his hand, and we moved onto the almost empty floor.

He was muttering something about “mockery in front of the students,” when I suddenly felt the Gryffindor bravery, or perhaps foolhardiness, come to life inside me. I slowly rested my head against his chest, as he was considerably taller than my short 5’3" frame, and I could not reach his shoulder. I felt his muscles stiffen momentarily, then relax. His arms moved to my lower back and held me slightly closer.

Ah.

So this is heaven.

Minerva and Flitwick swung by. She winked saucily as she passed. Meddling old witch. Severus was pulling away slowly, and I felt disappointed that our short-lived closeness was ending. He said not a word but looked into my eyes for a mere second before taking my hand and leading me out into the gardens.

He blasted rosebushes as we strolled, still not speaking but not releasing his gentle grasp of my hand either. Finally, we came to the end of the path, and I looked back to see more than half of Pomona’s carefully cultivated bushes littered along the walkway. I giggled softly as Severus pulled me down to sit on a stone bench. The laughter stopped abruptly as he cupped my face gently and pressed his lips against mine.

I lied.

This is most definitely heavenly.

After several moments that could potentially scar our students for life, we pull away. His eyes held that familiar glint of amusement.

“I have wanted to do that for a very long time,” he admitted grudgingly.

“What, this?” I grinned as I lean in once more. “So have I.”