Nothing had changed, or so it seemed. The Black Bat of the dungeons prowled around the Potions classroom, mocking and harassing students on his way. Even though the Dark Lord had fallen, Snape acted like he had never existed to begin with.

Of course the halls of Hogwarts told a different story. The absolute destruction of its structure had taken the whole summer—and lots of willing witches and wizards wielding their wands—to set to rights again. They didn’t know if the school would be able to open its doors in time for the start of term in September. But the desire for “normalcy” was so strong in the community that the absolute essentials were seen to and the Hogwarts Express rolled into Hogsmeade on schedule, as it had done for more than the last century.

Snape, of course, had not partaken in the restoration of the castle. He was confined to the infirmary, unable to open his eyes for the first month and barely able to speak for another month after that. He was aware of his surroundings, but would drift in and out of consciousness with no ability to control his body for weeks. The mere fact that he had been able to survive Nagini’s attack was a miracle. The long road to recovery was no surprise, but as soon as he could stand on his own power he had started brewing his own medicinal potions to speed his return to health.

And now, only about six months from when he should have met his death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, he was pacing around his classroom as if he had never been struck down at all.

As the class came to an end, and students packed up their supplies to speedily leave the Potion Master’s presence, one student remained behind. Snape rolled his eyes when he saw her intentional dallying at the desk.

“Miss Granger,” he drawled. “Why are you still here? One might think that you are intentionally seeking out my company.” The last word was emphasized with such a venom that one might think the professor carried traces of Nagini’s bite even still.

“Professor, I know that you told me not to be alone in your presence, but I had to talk to you.” Hermione’s voice was almost breathless. “I need….”

“I know what you need, Granger. That is exactly why you must leave at once.”

“But sir, please, just a few moments….”

Snape looked like he was growing more impatient with the student, and stalked towards her until only a scant few inches separated them. He was going to intimidate her, scare her into submission if it was the last thing he ever did.

But as she looked up at his dark frame towering above her, fear was the furthest thing from her mind. Her eyes dilated, her cheeks blushed warmly, and her mouth opened so slightly as if in a pleased way.

“Thank you, Severus.”

Hearing his name uttered in such an appreciative, almost worshipful manner stopped him cold. He looked down at the small witch and wanted desperately to touch her porcelain skin, but he wouldn’t.

“Don’t thank me yet. You’re not going to get what you want.”

“Graduation is so far away. I can’t wait…”

“Do you think it is any easier for me, witch? Seeing you sitting in my classroom, wondering what color your bra and knickers are everyday? All I want to do right now is carry you to my bed and have my way with you. The fact that I know you would put up absolutely no resistance is the only thing keeping my hands firmly OFF your body.”

“Severus…” she moaned. “Just let me kiss you. Would that be so bad?”

“’Bad’ is not the first word that comes to mind,” he admitted, cocking his head and allowing his hand to caress her cheek. When she closed her eyes and turned into his open palm, the warmth of her skin and the exhaled breath she didn’t even know she was holding told him just how desperate she was for his affection.

As he watched her open her eyes, the little devious chit reached her hands down to the bottom hem of her shirt. “You don’t have to wonder about my bra today. I’m not wearing one,” she muttered as she slowly pulled up the garment. Within just a minute, her pert breasts were exposed to the cold dungeon air, and her nipples immediately started to tighten in response. Severus’ eyes fixated on the pink buds and he wanted nothing more to take one of them into his mouth and dutifully suck until she was writhing in pleasure. Hermione’s look, almost drunk with desire, was clearly begging him to do nothing less.

“Hermione, why do you torment me? I won’t touch you until you are no longer my student!”

“Severus, I’m of age. I fought in a war, for God’s sake. I don’t see how whether I sit in your classroom during the day should have any impact on what I do during the night.”

“Damn it, Hermione! Can’t you see that it DOES matter? How many people would assume that I somehow bewitched you, confounded you into wanting to be with me? Used my power and influence as your professor to pressure you into something wrong….”

“I see how people might think that, but we know the truth. That’s all that matters. I will never let anyone speak against you!” The fiery look in her eyes reminded him of just how she had been able to survive the war unscathed.

His tone softened, and his eyes expressed an appreciation that calmed her temper. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Recognizing near-capitulation, Hermione lowered one hand to her breast and started to pinch and twist her nipple. Severus’ eyes remained fixated on the sight, and Hermione closed her eyes and started to breathe just a little more deeply. She opened her mouth and the tiniest of moans escaped.

“This is what I do at night, Severus, while you are in your room with your damned ethics. I lay on my bed and touch my breasts, and try to imagine that it is actually your hand. I run my fingers down between my legs and pretend that it is actually your fingers giving me pleasure. I come to the sound of your name being chanted by my lips. Is that so wrong?”

Severus’ glassy eyes shifted to her face once he realized she asked him a question. “Wrong? The only thing wrong with what you do at night is your impression that that is all the pleasure you will receive. I promise you, Hermione, that once I take you into my bed you will know pleasure beyond anything you could ever imagine.”

The tone of his voice, the absolute desperation with which he uttered the last line, brought Hermione’s hand to a stop. “Yes, sir,” was all she was able to utter as her own eyes glazed over with longing.

Severus had had enough. This dance that had begun when he was on what should have been his deathbed was going to kill him. For those two months he languished in the hospital wing, Hermione had been a constant source, first of annoyance, then of friendship, and finally of adoration. The first four weeks when he laid there without opening his eyes, he could feel her holding his hand and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. He wanted to rage at her—to tell her to leave him to his suffering in peace—but he couldn’t. And after a time, he no longer wanted to. He relished in the warm feel of her hands encased in his. He enjoyed the soft touch of her fingers when she would smooth his hair out of his face, or gently caress his cheek. She didn’t know that she was single-handedly breaking down a wall of isolation and fear that he had carefully constructed over a lifetime of pain.

Once he had finally opened his eyes and started to speak, Hermione became even more insistent in his care. Madame Pomfrey clearly approved, or she would have never gotten within five feet of his hospital bed. She would see to his medicine, massage the healing ointments into his atrophied muscles, read to him from the paper and other texts that she thought he might enjoy. At first Severus told himself that he was too weak physically to send her from his side, but it wasn’t long before he admitted to himself that his physical state had nothing to do with it. He was too weak emotionally. Here was someone offering him solace and consideration, two things that had been woefully lacking in his life. He knew that it was just a matter of time before she would turn on him too, just as everyone else had always done, but decided to accept it while it lasted.

But it just goes to show how little he understood Hermione’s feelings at first if he thought she was going to disappear. Once Pomfrey let him leave the hospital wing and return to his chambers, it was in the company of Hermione. She kept treating him just like she did in the infirmary, and he had no desire to stop it. She coddled and fed and read and massaged. As time went on, she would stay later and later in his rooms, only leaving when she could find no excuse to stay. She would blush, wish him goodnight, and spirit away, only to return early the next morning to ensure that he had a good breakfast. He couldn’t help but smile to himself about her honest concern.

Then, one evening as they sat on his couch reading together, something changed. Hermione dozed to the dulcet tones of Severus voice, and her head slowly drifted over to land on his shoulder. He sat there dazed—what was he supposed to do with a sleeping Hermione? He had never had the experience of someone so comfortable in his presence that they were willing to drop their guard and SLEEP! He sat there frozen for what seemed an interminable period, while Hermione started to shift in her slumber and wrapped an arm around his waist, mumbling something about him as she did.

He looked over at her bushy hair and smooth skin and realized something shocking—she was beautiful. There was no denying it. This little witch had wormed her way into his heart, and he didn’t know whether he should praise or curse the God that allowed it. His shock must have manifested in his body tensing, because almost immediately thereafter, she jolted awake, realizing what must have happened instantaneously.

“Severus, I’m so sorry! I can’t believe I was manhandling you like that!” She blushed furiously and tried to stand up. To her surprise, Snape reached out to stop her.

“No, Hermione. Please don’t.” Hermione had never actually heard him say please in her life. His stillness and quiet demeanor stopped her intended escape, and she looked at him questioningly.

A million words were running through her head, but she remained silent. Severus, too, seemed to be fighting through a jumble of emotions and thoughts. But instead of indulging any of them too closely, he instead leaned forward and chastely brought his lips to Hermione’s.

She felt his lips gently pushing against hers, and she sighed in pleasure. He started to move against her and she opened her mouth to deepen the sensations. Severus didn’t expect that, but he also didn’t hesitate. It was like a starving man feasting at a banquet.

And now here she was, panting and desperate in his classroom. The intervening months between his recovery and this moment had been spent in much the same way—getting to know each other and indulging in increasingly passionate sessions on his couch. But he refused to do anything more than kiss. He said he would not do her the dishonor of going too far while she was still a student.

“Hermione, I promise you that come graduation I will satisfy all your desires. You will never want for sexual satisfaction again. I will make you my wife and we will celebrate in the most… arousing… way possible. Please, just know that I love you and will do you honor, whether you want it or not!”

The emphatic tone of his voice brought Hermione to her right mind. “I know, Severus. I am just so impatient.”

“Cherish your virginity while you still have it, my dear. Now leave while I still have the power to turn you away.”

Hermione smiled sweetly at him, righted her clothing, and collected her belongings. “I will see you later, then,” she murmured.

“Until then.” And he graced her with one of the rare smiles that he so seldom displayed. Her eyes started to go glassy again, prompting Severus to push her out of the door and lock it behind her.

“I will never understand why she saved my life this summer only to become the death of me now,” he thought half-heartedly.