A/N: I finally present you with Volume II, which officially completes this little Muggle AU tale of mine. I hope you'll like what I've done with the second half...

A special shout out must go to theoutglouriousbasterds on Tumblr, who's sweet message of encouragement really lit a fire under my arse to get this second half completed sooner than it ever would have come together otherwise! You have her to thank for the update!

As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny, for betaing this in the nick of time, and to ALL who've followed, faved, and/or reviewed this story so far! It's been a pleasure to write and share it with you, and I hope you'll leave me your thoughts on its conclusion...

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun. Artwork is credited to Bodler.

Volume II

Severus had been settled on the hard floor of his sitting room for too many hours, long legs draped awkwardly before a low-burning fireplace. His arse was more than a touch sore by now, thanks to the feeble padded cushioning that the bottom of his couch provided, which didn't necessarily help his lower back pain. He'd also been craning his neck and squinting just as long, and a headache was forming in his pounding temples, but he'd mostly ignored its intrusion, persevering long enough to sit through a whopping sixth reading of Hermione Granger's tardily-written essay before lunch.

And that was just during this particular sitting. There had also been several read-throughs the night before, though those became less coherent by the time Severus downed his third or fourth glass of wine.

Of course, by now Severus nearly had every line of Hermione's essay committed to memory. Such memorisation skills hadn't evolved over night. He'd once been a highly diligent student himself, after all. A loner, mostly—substantially isolated to the point that studying wasn't so much for pleasure but a means to occupy his often company-deprived mind.

From the outskirts, Hermione Granger didn't appear to be all that different. Severus had pondered a few of the similarities they shared more than a handful of times. And we both know you've devoted entirely too much time to thinking on that, mind you. But then, how could Severus not? Hermione Granger had been on his mind for more than the past twenty-four hours, and were their similarities really so trite? Of course not. Well, not to you anyhow.

Severus paused to sip the welcoming cup of hot tea in his hand. It was a far more suitable alternative to the ghastly amount of wine he'd consumed the previous evening.

What was the use in playing the part of Denial with his own ruddy conscience, for that matter, regardless of how warped his thoughts had been of late? For whatever reasons that continued to confound him, Severus Snape could not get the damnable subject that was Miss Hermione Granger out of his head. He'd had smart, capable students before, naturally, but when it came to her peculiarities—those tousled, windswept curls that she never bothered to tame, that captivating smile often hidden behind the shelter of her books, that fiercely competitive streak that shone itself brightly and proudly, despite her many insecurities, and that gutsy intellect she possessed that had the ability to challenge his own—well, the combination of such impressive characteristics wound up consuming the professor's every waking attention; the past twenty-four hours more so than ever before.

At first, Severus had avoided peering over the girl's—young lady's—intimidating, long-winded essay, as if it was one of his badly contaminated phials, tainted and wrought with pollutants that should make its' tangibility unfathomable.

That had lasted all of roughly twenty minutes, give or take a few.

After stewing and warring with himself in the confines of his office, Severus quietly claimed defeat. In an abrupt move, he shut down his computer, tossed the essay into his satchel and tore out of his department building two steps at a time, scrambling for his keys the entire way to the staff parking lot.

Damn that girl! he'd cursed her the whole way home; or was he damning himself for his easily piqued curiosity that was now veering on the point of madness? Damn her either way!

Hermione had been so calm the way she'd strolled into his office, placed the essay gently on top of his desk, took his snarky comments in stride, and calmly informed him at the end of their unassigned meeting that she was dropping his class. She'd left as unemotionally as she'd come, and Severus had been stunned into silence for several moments following her departure—a rarity in itself.

Thirty minutes later, an intrigued and equally aggravated Severus was back in the comforts of his dark but relatively cosy flat, with Hermione's essay in hand. After pouring himself a glass of red wine and adjusting his glasses, he'd plopped himself down on his sofa, squeaking the springs to life, pressed a plush pillow behind his head and began to read, all but ignoring the black Chantilly feline perched on the opposite end of the couch. Its tail swished back and forth against Severus's sprawled bare feet, its glowing yellow eyes staring at its master with neither curiosity for whatever had him so intensely engaged nor nonchalantly about not being at the centre of his sphere.

An hour or so later, and well on his way to getting pissed, Severus was about to start on a second reading of the twenty-two page essay the 'blasted girl' had so thoroughly written to impressive effect when his cat sauntered over top of him and perched herself squarely on his chest. Evidently, he was doing that audible growling and snarling act again, and talking to nothing but thin air, so the cat meowed and swiped at Severus's face, earning an unwelcoming sneer.

"It was good," he moped to the cat as he took another large swig of wine. "It was brilliant, in fact; the bloody do-gooder! She knows exactly what she's doing, Sammie." He pointed to himself; the feline reacted not. "She's trying to guilt-trip me, the conniving little chit!"

Sammie couldn't understand why her master was so bent out of shape, but he wasn't stroking her behind her ears, and she always received such proper pampering when her master came home. She meowed more emphatically, but Severus took her mewling as some sort of encouraging poke to keep griping on and on and on.

"She wants me to come crawling to her to apologise," he hissed between his teeth, "or, perhaps, to apologise to her in an e-mail. She misses class and hands in her essay late and she expects me to apologise to her?"

One glass of wine turned into four, and two more readings of Hermione's essay later were intermittently disrupted by an aggravated comment or curse, rolling of the eyes, or snipping like that of a threatened snake. Eventually, Severus wound up passed out on the couch, an empty wine glass on the floor and Hermione's wrinkled essay tightly clutched to his chest. Sammie had given up on the treatment she so readily deserved and settled down by her master's feet, her beauty rest occasionally broken by Severus's heavy bouts of snoring.

Now, Severus found himself worse for the wear, nursing an excruciating headache and reading Hermione's essay yet again, several times over. The swotty know-it-all had composed a superlative analysis that touched on Severus's own professional research into the comparative genomics of plant pathogens. Somehow, either by way of reading into his mind frame via his previously published works, or through another unknown avenue, Hermione had expanded upon a selection of hypothesis Severus was presently gathering research on his own. To his unnerving amazement, the smart young woman hadn't just been blowing smoke up his arse when she'd told him that he may find her essay 'insightful'.

She meant every bloody word of it. Damn her!

Severus issued a long, suffering groan. He couldn't ignore the pounding plaguing his temples any longer nor could he remain seated on the cold, hard surface of his floor another moment.

Damn. It. All.

After gingerly rising to his feet, Severus crossed, barefooted, to his kitchen to conjure his usual remedy for combating persistent headaches: a batch of dried feverfew flowers steeped in hot water. He stretched and yawned several times whilst waiting for the water in the pot to come to a boil, but he wasn't alone with his thoughts for long. A soft meow and a leap onto the counter a moment later and Sammie had joined him near the working stove, intent on being patted and stroked at long last.

"I hope this makes up for last night?" Severus intoned hopefully to the purring black feline, who seemed to answer his question by lightly licking his knuckles; she then turned around and waltzed to the other end of the counter to lay down before a bit of sunshine seeping through Severus's kitchen window.

Severus adjusted his glasses and finished making his solution, steeping the feverfew flowers in the boiling hot water for about ten minutes before sampling its results to ensure its strong potency. Satisfied, he steadily drank the contents until, eventually, his headache started to subside, allowing him to focus his precious efforts on more important matters at hand, such as stamping a final grade on Hermione's essay.

Severus frowned as he took a seat at the kitchen table, the girl's crinkled, thoroughly read-through paper in front of him. In the heat of a handful of aggravating moments between yesterday's and today's musings, he'd penned quite a few heavy-handed notes himself in whatever empty margins of Hermione's paper he could find. Nearly the entire essay was now covered in red ink splotches and scribbles, some violent, some collected and calm. He knew he should probably be feeling badly about offering so much unfriendly commentary on Hermione's hard work, but, in a pitiful way, seeing so much red ink made Severus feel absurdly vindicated.

Guilt-tripping, my arse, he reflected sorely and reached forward—red pen in hand—to finalise Hermione's grade.

Suddenly, Sammie's furry paw was swiping at his writing hand, and, in the next instant, she was sitting on top of where he was about to pen her grade, yellow eyes staring up at him critically, if cats could do such a thing.

"What?" Severus challenged as though he expected the cat to start rowing with him. "She's getting what she deserves. A 75% should suffice."

Sammie meowed and twitched her pink nose, prompting Severus to raise a curious eyebrow. Another deeply lined frown sharpened along his mouth.

"I'm not failing her, Sammie. Considering she didn't hand in her paper on time—"

Another strong-willed meow interrupted his argument.

"Well, she can't ace an essay she turned in a week late, no matter how good it is! It wouldn't be fair to her peers who did the work on time."

An angry-sounding hiss responded to Severus's stubborn stance, however.

"Since when have you suddenly gone all soft on these wretched kids?"

A quieter meow met that inquiry. Severus sighed and slumped back in his wooden chair.

"So, what do you propose, dare I ask?"

At once, Sammie's ears perked up and she studied the essay she was sitting on a long moment, tail mindlessly flapping back and forth. Then she reached out a paw to pat at the bottom of the page number, just above Hermione's last name.

Severus growled and narrowed his eyes at his familiar, seemingly understanding cat language. "I had a feeling you'd suggest that."

Sammie didn't vocally respond, though, only gazed up at him, somehow all-knowingly. It was enough to make the professor throw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine then! Have it your way," he grumbled and snatched the essay from underneath Sammie's paws.

The cat took little offence and merely resituated herself on her stomach, watching rather lazily as Severus's pen drew towards the top of the paper, paused hesitantly, and then scribbled a resigned 88% in vibrant red ink. It seemed to have taken all of his willpower to use his writing hand, but Severus quickly tossed his pen aside, threw Hermione's graded essay into his satchel that was draped over his chair, and ran a hand through his salt and pepper tresses, looking thoroughly dissatisfied, either with himself, Sammie, or the grade he'd just finalised. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

It took Severus a while to finally move out of the sanctuary of his kitchen, but, in the midst of his prolonged silence, he'd quietly determined to shower, shave, and head back to university. He'd called off work earlier that morning, using his headache as an excuse for staying in for the day, but, now, the usual comforts of his tiny flat wouldn't suffice. If he didn't get out, he might crawl out of his skin.

That didn't mean he intended to go back to work, though. If Severus was lucky, he contemplated as he made his way to campus by car, he might spot a certain curly-haired aggravator somewhere close to university—perhaps even at that café they'd happened across each other last. Then again, if he was lucky, he might not bump into Hermione Granger at all...

And, thus, not be forced to shovel out the apology you bloody well owe her.

As fortune would have it, luck was or wasn't on Severus's side, depending on how one looked at it.

Despite dropping by the café close to university where he and Hermione had crossed paths before, and for some two days in a row, Severus and his former student never encountered one another. He'd repeatedly shoved himself into a corner and played around on his laptop for a while in the hopes that she might miraculously appear. Each time she didn't show, though, Severus wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

Relief, Severus. Go with relief. Perhaps you'll finally get this bloody infatuation of yours out of your system and move on.

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be the case. On the third day, Severus found himself at the same café, only this time he opted to show his face before the usual student rush that bombarded the popular establishment around seven forty-five in the morning. Perhaps he'd missed her before by showing up later in the morning. He seated himself at the window to have a better lookout for any young female customers heading in for a cup of coffee or a hot breakfast sandwich.

For God's sake, Severus, what are you now? Some middle-aged, lecherous sycophant?

Alas, as before, Hermione Granger never showed. As kismet would have it, though, someone else did.

"Ah, Severus! You're looking well. Feeling better, are we?"

"Lupin," Severus muttered as quietly as could be, attempting to keep his severe dislike of said person out of his voice; he purposely kept his eyes on his laptop, however, not wishing to allure the professor into taking a seat and making himself comfortable.

Fuck, he cursed inwardly when Lupin proceeded to do precisely that, slipping into the chair opposite him with a cup of coffee swaddled in one gloved hand. He unraveled his burgundy-coloured scarf that had been coiled around his flushed face and shivered.

"Ye gods, it's nippy out there this morning. Winter's come early this year, I reckon."

Severus only grunted, refusing to look up from his laptop. Maybe if he made no eye contact the hairy cad would bugger off and leave him in peace.

"I was sorry to hear you'll be missing our little work-related get-together next week," Lupin rambled on, much to Severus's chagrin. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

Not unless Hell freezes over.

"No," Severus answered matter-of-factly, providing no wiggle room for negotiation.

"You missed our last get-together, too, you know."

Severus's pale face didn't so much as break for reaction. "Did I?"

"Yes," Lupin seemingly forced a chuckle. The professor was either oblivious to the obvious conveyance from Severus that he wasn't wanted or was wilfully choosing to ignore his repeated brush-offs. "It's too bad, really..."

"Is it?" Severus offered, again, without emotion.

Lupin's smile lessened a fraction. He'd been eying Severus with interest, but his surly colleague's focus remained adamantly elsewhere, though Lupin noted that Severus's eyes weren't much roving over whatever was on his computer screen.

"Yes, I think so. We'd love for you to join us sometime, Severus, if you're up to it. You were invited because we want you there—"

"Then I'm sorry to have disappointed you," Severus interrupted, that deep register oozing with underlying ridicule.

Finally, Lupin's sunny disposition fell flat, his smile dissipating into a concerned frown, though Severus still hadn't met his gaze. He dropped what Severus surmised to be nothing but rubbish pretence and spoke frankly, raising his elbows onto the table.

"I stopped by your office the other day but was told you were out sick. I'd wanted to discuss another matter with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he paused and gritted his teeth, "provided you'd be so kind as to look at me, considering what I'm about to tell you is a matter of urgency."

At last, Severus and Lupin locked eyes, but Severus took a pregnant pause to do so. He slowly peered up from this laptop screen, his countenance unruffled or affected.

"Go on," he proposed.

The tension on the sandy blond professor's face eased somewhat, but he continued to eye Severus seriously. He leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat.

"It's about... Well, to get directly to the point, Severus, it's about a mutual student of ours: a Miss Hermione Granger."

Despite wishing to keep his disposition of indifference intact, Severus's hard expression dissolved—slightly—into one of surprise. Of all the names Lupin could have dropped on him, Severus would never have guessed Hermione would be one of them. He angled his head as casually as possible, feigning disinterest.

"I trust you're familiar with her? She is—erm, was—in your Plant Sciences course until fairly recently, wasn't she?"

At once, Severus's defences went up. How did Lupin know she'd dropped his class? His dark eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

"She recently dropped my course, yes," he replied without giving hint to the suspicions he now carried.

Lupin nodded and shot Severus a sullen look. "I must ask you, Severus, though I don't mean to pry—"

"Then be sure that you don't, Lupin."

Lupin's thoughtful eyes squinted from across the table, but he quickly pressed on, "I'm only inquiring out of concern for Miss Granger. How is it," he barrelled on before Severus could get a word in, "that one of the most brilliant, most dedicated students this university has had in decades—"

"That's a tad overstated, Lupin, wouldn't you say?"

"—was found sitting on the floor outside my office three days ago sobbing her eyes out, blabbering on and on for some twenty minutes or so before I could get her to calm down enough to tell me what was the matter about how she could never please you and needed to drop your class?"

Severus was brought up short by this information but recovered from it just as swiftly. "Come again?" he challenged Lupin through a sneer that his colleague matched by way of an accusatory glare of his own.

"She was in complete hysterics, Severus—sobbing, inconsolable—and rattled to me for over an hour about how greatly she's been struggling in your class to get ahead. She thinks you have a personal vendetta against her!"

"And, pray tell, Lupin, why do you feel a student's whine fest regarding how unbearably unfair she finds academic life to be warrants anyone's pity, least of all my own?"

Lupin's squinting eyes lessened into slits, and the next question he fired off shook Severus much deeper inside than he let slip. "What exactly do you have against Miss Granger?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you finally so hell-bent and determined to see a most capable student destroyed that nothing will sway you to behave with more kindness?"

"What the hell are you—"

"It wasn't enough that your ill treatment of Mr Potter last term—"

"How dare you," Severus snarled and bore his teeth; he slammed his laptop shut, and the sound was loud enough to garner other nervous customers' attentions.

"—bordered on unprofessional; you just had to, no matter what the emotional cost to an innocent, bring his good friend, Miss Granger, down due to your own prejudices, isn't that right?"

"What you're accusing me of," Severus only just managed to get out in a calculated manner; he could feel an infuriated heat radiating from his cheeks and trickling down to his neck, "I won't stand for it. Leave, Lupin. This instant; or shall I make you."

Lupin didn't budge, however. "I can't, in good conscience, believe for one second that Miss Granger has actually been performing as poorly in your class as her grades from you reflect."

"Then that is your inconsequential belief, Lupin. Nothing more. I won't ask you again—"

"Which begs the question you have yet to answer: what do you have against Miss Granger that has you so riled you'll risk your professional career by tampering with the girl's emotions and her grades in order to ensure that she sinks?"

In a split second, Severus was on his feet and hovering over the table, one hand grasping either side. Lupin reared back an inch or two but mostly held his ground, even as Severus's black eyes threatened to tear him apart.

"I will not sit here and tolerate any more of your ridiculous allegations. You wish to challenge my academic integrity? You can do so via the proper channels, Lupin, if you so dare!"

"Severus, I'm asking you off the record because I want to get to the bottom of this—"

"No. You wish to report me. You've been looking for the opportunity for God knows how long!" Severus ploughed over him, as if the man hadn't spoken. "You go right ahead, Lupin, but I warn you: this is a matter of my word and my good standing with this university against a meagre, petulant student."

"Severus, really! I just want to—"

"Good day, Lupin."

With that brisk dismissal, Severus snatched up his sable coat, green scarf, and leather satchel and took off at full speed, swinging one of the café doors so hard on his way out that several customers, who were waiting in a long queue for their orders, gasped and darted sideways to avoid being struck.

Severus was half-way down the block, satchel loosely flung over one shoulder, when he became aware that Lupin was following him. He had nearly reached the end of the street when the sound of fast-moving boots came up behind him and he was forced to take off two strides to Lupin's one.

"For God's sake, man!" Lupin huffed after him, wheezing to keep pace. "All I'm asking is that you do the right thing!"

"Leave how I conduct myself in my own classroom to me, Lupin, or I warn you!" Severus growled over his shoulder, refusing to slow down.

"I'm just trying to get you to see reason, Severus! I know Miss Granger! I've had her in two classes before! She's a bright, eager young woman of the highest integrity and intentions and—"

At last, Severus halted, whipped himself around and nearly collided with Lupin, who was quite grateful to take a moment to rest his legs and catch his breath, not to mention bundle up against the menacing chill in the air. Severus, on the other hand, ignored the wintry wind rippling through his hair and piercing his skin, reserving only angry eyes for Lupin.

"She chose to drop my course, Lupin. I didn't force Miss Granger to do anything, do you understand me? I didn't suggest that she quit; I didn't suggest that she wasn't capable or good enough or anything of the sort. She came to that conclusion on her own and it's now hers to reckon with!"

"Severus, surely, she deserves a second chance?"

"What on earth makes you think you can just show up on my free time and demand that I do anything where Miss Granger is concerned—"

"Because Miss Granger didn't want to drop your course, Severus!" Lupin exclaimed, taking the opportunity to throw half of his scarf over his shoulder to further protect himself from the brittle cold. "She felt pushed to drop your class in order to leave her academic integrity in good standing. Perhaps she was wrong to assume you had it out for her, but—"

"Perhaps?" Severus snarled through clenched teeth.

"—she had been working ridiculously hard to earn her keep, Severus! Don't think I haven't seen how overwrought she's looked in my own classroom these past two months. You've been breaking her spirit."

Severus could no longer maintain self-control. He threw back his head and hissed, "Oh, for fuck's sake!" but Lupin pushed on.

"I can't idly standby and watch you seek to destroy a perfectly capable and incredibly smart student's academic honours, Severus. I just can't."

"What on—"

"No matter how greatly you despise her best friend!"

Then, the preposterousness of Lupin's illogical claims came to a head, and Severus jolted where he stood, frozen at the end of the block, with nothing to protect him from oncoming winter's frost-ridden grip. He narrowed his eyes, his face contorting in fury.

"I knew nothing of Miss Granger's relations with the infamous Mr Potter."

Lupin visibly rattled at that. "Oh! I... You didn't?" he questioned in surprise, though he retained some suspicion in his brown eyes.

"Not until this bloody moment I didn't, no!"

"Oh... Well, I... Blimey, I - I'd assumed..."

Severus squared his jaw and stepped closer, hawklike face filled with rage as Lupin's suddenly deflated. "Get your fucking facts straight first, Lupin, before you ever accuse me of academic wrongdoing."

"That's what I've been trying to get to the bottom of!" Lupin feebly tried to argue.

"No," Severus insisted in a soft but chilling tone, nostrils flaring, though he miraculously kept his cool. "Since you are so persistent in meddling where it isn't warranted, I'll have you know, Lupin, that I'd been waiting around that bloody café the past several mornings in a row in the hopes of encountering Miss Granger."

Lupin's shock at this revelation was Severus's fuel for revenge. His eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline.

"Oh! You were?"

"Yes, you bloody ingrate."

"Now see here, Severus, there's no need to—"

"And I assumed Miss Granger wouldn't take kindly to an impersonal e-mail; I'd preferred to meet with her face to face regarding her decision to drop my class."

"Really?" Lupin's eyes immediately brightened like a beacon of hope at this glimpse into Severus's plan. "Then you'll speak to her? About giving her a second chance?"

"That is none of your ruddy business, Lupin," Severus came down on him harshly, and earned a sheepish blush from his colleague. "I'd had it sorted until you decided to fucking start prodding your head into matters that don't concern you."

To make matters better—or worse—Lupin reacted to Severus's verbal spat with a smile. "Dully noted." Severus glared him down, forcing Lupin to awkwardly adjust his coat and cough. "So, erm, you will meet with Miss Granger then?"

"That's what I just said, didn't I?"

"And will encourage her to continue?" Lupin pressed for clarity, ignoring Severus's overt distemper.

"Enough, Lupin. Leave well enough alone, would you? Like I said, I have it sorted."

With that, Severus briskly turned on his heel and took off again, not chancing a glance back. Whether Lupin followed him another several paces or not, he hadn't a clue, but he didn't ruddy well care. He needed to get back to his office; he was freezing his bits off and would have to try catching Hermione another day.

"Give her another chance, Severus!" he vaguely heard Lupin call after him, though he determinedly pushed ahead in the direction of the entrance to university. "Miss Granger deserves it!"

Don't I already fucking know it! Severus thought to himself, biting down hard on his tongue to prevent the words from escaping his lips.

Hermione sat idly by the window of the café she'd stopped at for her usual egg and cheese sandwich, only now it was noon, and she intended on enjoying not breakfast but a hot hazelnut latte by her lonesome.

Ron had phoned earlier about meeting him and Harry for lunch, but Hermione was disinclined to be around anyone—not even the boys—and feigned not feeling well as her pardon to be excused. Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity to see her best mates, even for a spare hour or two, but that hadn't been the case for the past several days in a row. She could tell by the fickleness in Ron's voice on the phone that he was worried; Harry, too. All Hermione desired lately was to be alone with her thoughts, though. So far, neither of her friends had pressed her for an explanation, and she hoped that would at least last through the weekend.

Hermione lazily sipped her latte. Professor Lupin had suggested they meet here today around this time to go over her proposed studies now that she was dropping Snape's class, so she'd moseyed to the window, passing the time while she waited for Lupin by people watching, and trying to enjoy her own company.

How's that working out for you?

Hermione sighed, dropped her chin into the palm of her hand, and stared out the window. It had been sunny when she'd entered forty-five minutes ago. Now, the sky was overcast and the nip in the air had apparently picked up. Students and all manner of people were scrambling to and from university, hats pulled down and scarves fastened to their faces as they braved the powerful November gust en route to whatever destination they had in mind.

Hermione cradled her warm styrofoam cup, grateful to be indoors, out of the cold, and comfortable, though she wished she'd brought other reading material with her. In haste, and in a rare feat of being unprepared for class this morning, she'd left her flat without the correct books in hand. Instead of the textbooks she needed for her eight o'clock class, she'd opened her duffel bag to find Professor Snape's published works strewn in amongst her belongings. She would have screamed and cursed (and perhaps even thrown them against the wall) if she hadn't been in a public lecture hall at the time.

Hermione scowled at the stack of familiar books on the table. She needed to make a trip to the library to hand them in, and fast.

So why the hell haven't you? that inconsiderate voice in her head decided to chime in.

Because I haven't had time!

Oh. Right. As you sit here twirling your thumbs and sipping that latte that has far too much milk and sugar in it.

Oh, do be quiet, please.

Fat chance. When will you turn those in?

I intend to!

When?

Soon...

Mmmhmm.

What's that obnoxious 'mmmhmm' supposed to imply?

Nothing you don't already know.

Oh, for goodness' sake!

Hermione wasn't aware of huffing loud enough to be overheard, or that she was no longer free of an audience.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked and noticed a pair of scaly-skinned boots, charcoal-coloured trousers, a grey tweed jacket with matching vest, and a dark green tie standing beside her and sent her chair screeching backward. Her scanning eyes slowly, lastly, reached the individual's face and her heart, which was already pumping a mile a minute, catapulted into her throat, causing her to stammer and nearly choke on her tongue.

Oh...shite.

Sure enough, blinking didn't make him disappear. It was Professor Snape in the flesh, standing handsomely before her empty table and staring down his fine, hooked nose at her in that inscrutable manner that both enticed and galled her to no foreseeable end. Hermione could only blush under the severity of those intense onyx eyes; her mouth had gone too dry to speak.

"Miss Granger," Snape repeated with emphasis; he wasn't smiling but he also didn't look like he wanted to take her out over the curb and smack her across the behind either.

Blimey, Hermione! Where did that visual come from?

"Am I interrupting something?" he pressed softly for a reply, which Hermione finally granted.

"Oh!" She started and squirmed in her chair. "Erm, no... Not at all."

Snape gave an apathetic nod towards the empty chair opposite her. "Then may I?" he suggested, startling her further, though she tried to disguise her discomfort.

"All - All right."

Snape swiftly took a seat and tossed his satchel over the chair, that singular silver strand of hair escaping from behind his ear and falling beautifully into his face. Hermione chewed her bottom lip, the sudden urge to touch it nearly overpowering her ability to stay put. She writhed in her chair a bit, catching Snape's curious eye.

"Are you sure it's all right if I sit?" he asked with a strange concern in his voice that affected Hermione more than she anticipated.

"Yes! I mean, erm, it's fine, really. I..." She paused to draw breath. "I'm surprised to see you here is all."

Snape actually smirked, leaving Hermione more tongue tied than ever; that half-cocked smile wasn't seemingly obligatory but genuine.

"Actually, I've been here the past several days in a row."

Hermione's couldn't have disguised her surprise had she wanted to. "Oh?"

"Mmm," Snape replied with a minuscule nod. "I'd been hoping to catch you, as a matter of fact."

"M - Me?" Hermione stammered, her confusion mounting; she crinkled her nose and arched an eyebrow.

"Yes. You."

Evidently, Hermione hadn't misheard the professor, and she sucked in another sharp breath, the nerves fluttering in the pit of her stomach increasing. She decided now was a good time as any to ask what had been weighing heavily on her mind the past few days.

"Have you... Well, have you had a chance to read my essay?" She could only determine that was the reason for Snape's attempts at hunting her down; why else would he have approached her? Surely, he wanted to present her with her final grade.

And have the last word, no doubt, unlike he'd had in his office.

"Indeed, I have," said Snape.

Hermione waited across the table with baited breath as Snape turned sideways and reached into his satchel to retrieve a stapled series of papers, which were, as it turned out, horribly wrinkled and even stained in a few spots—at least, from what Hermione could surmise at a glimpse.

Is that...a wine stain? Coffee, perhaps?

Hermione gave a censorious frown that Snape easily unscrambled. His jaw was set taught on his angular face as he handed her paper back.

"Forgive the state of things, if you would," he offered simply; Hermione quietly took her essay in hand, though not without trembling fingers unintentionally brushing his. She thought she caught his eyes flicker in response, but that could have been her imagination. "I have a tendency to drink heavy amounts of caffeine when I grade and am prone to clumsiness."

Hermione's frown deepened. Somehow, she couldn't visualise the always agile professor tripping over his own feet or spilling hot drinks on himself like her dearly inept Ronald Weasley was prone to doing on a regular basis. No, Professor Snape was much more put together than that; or so she had convinced herself.

Hermione glanced down at the essay she'd worked her arse off and then some to fulfil, her heart pummelling faster at the various ink markings, notes, and scribbles that covered the first page. Had she been horribly mistaken in thinking she might have actually managed to impress the impossible man this time? Judging by the state of the first page of her essay, and, subsequently, the many thereafter, one would surmise otherwise.

"You're dissatisfied?" Snape's low register barely reached her ears; she could sense them turning bright red, along with the rest of her shame-filled face.

Hermione forced herself to meet Snape's eyes. The look he bore was a mixture of careful study and perplexity. What was he expecting her to say? 'Thank you for thinking my hard work to be complete rubbish'?

"I..."

Any appropriate remarks were lost on her tongue. She was suddenly wrestling overwhelming feelings of dread, hurt, infuriation, and bafflement all at once.

"Miss Granger," Snape started to respond, slowly raising one pale hand in the air whilst inching forward in his chair simultaneously, "I must tell you, you did...remarkably well, especially when compared to your less than adequate peers."

Hermione was stumped. The man was complimenting her? The funny look she bore mirrored her uncertain response.

"Sir?"

"Even considering the untimeliness that you turned it in," Snape continued in an unusual carefree tone, "and unlike anyone else's I was forced to sift through and grade, your essay was well worth waiting for. I was...impressed, Miss Granger. Very much so."

The puzzled frown Hermione maintained caused Snape to finally slink back, sigh weightily, and signal to the paper in front of her with those enigmatic eyes of his. "Perhaps you ought to take a look at your grade, Miss Granger," he proposed quietly, maintaining his patience, "before rushing to any morbid conclusions my many scribbles might otherwise imply."

Although highly disinclined to chance a peek—more out of fear of failure than anything else; Snape's red ink pen had worked itself overtime on her essay and she had yet to read through his many comments—Hermione forced herself to glance down at the first page of her essay, holding in her breath in the process. The 88% she discovered circled in bright red sent an immense wave of relief washing over her contorted features, the indication of reassurance surfacing at long last. Having expected a far worse grade from the seemingly intolerant professor, Hermione couldn't have been happier with the score granted, and, following the alleviation that melted her angst-ridden aversions, she jerked forward in her chair and let out a small squeal of excitement that didn't bypass her one-time instructor.

"Are you still dissatisfied?" Snape benevolently cut into her elated musings a moment or so later.

Hermione, who had been gathering her thoughts together, beamed from ear to ear as their eyes met. Unknowingly, the hope-filled smile she wore sent a comforting warmth seeping through Snape's bloodstream, like the gentle ripples that expand through uncharted waters.

"No, sir," she answered, pleased and unable to contain her joy. "Not at all! I— I mean— Erm, thank you! Thank you so much!"

"You needn't thank me, Miss Granger—"

"Oh, but I should!"

"No," Snape protested with feeling, making Hermione rear back and close her mouth, her smile diminishing. "In fact, it is I, Miss Granger, who owe you something; something not akin to gratitude but..." He swallowed thickly before continuing, "An apology."

Hermione's eyes widened in amazement. She was half tempted to pinch herself to be sure this dialogue was actually taking place between them: her, the capable and eager-to-please student and Snape, the snide professor with impossible standards. First, there was that greeting of his that one might actually deem 'friendly', despite Snape's hard-ridden features and inability to smile much; second, she'd received a much better grade than originally anticipated, as well as unexpected high praises from the man himself—someone who never dished out compliments as Hermione had quickly unearthed at the beginning of term; and, now, he was about to offer her an apology?

Has the world gone mad? Will I wake up from this unattainable dream in a minute?

"I assure you, Miss Granger, this is not a whim," Snape abruptly broke into her preoccupied thoughts, as though he was capable of reading her mind at that moment; of course, that was complete nonsense, not to mention impossible, but his perfectly timed words still shocked her. "It's something I've given considerable thought to lately. I owe it to you."

Hermione remained silent and still, awaiting the professor's words with her heartbeat pounding against her chest. Her hands felt clammy and sweaty all of a sudden. Why on earth was she nervous when she wasn't the one doing the talking?

"I know I've been...difficult...this term," Snape began, evidently choosing his words carefully as he scrutinised her meditatively from where he sat. "I have ridiculously high standards, I know, which my colleagues, at times, have sought to remind me of. I don't believe the calibre I set is impossible for anyone to achieve, but I do expect a great deal from my students. I don't coddle anyone; I never have. You're all considered young adults by now and will be expected to perform to the greatest ability you are capable of once you leave the comforts of university life behind."

Snape paused to rake his long fingers through his hair, silver strands catching the fragments of light seeping in through the window, particularly the lightest one at the front. Hermione found the visual spellbinding and was unable to keep from staring. Snape didn't appear to have noticed his former student's unabashed ogling, however, and continued with his thoughts.

"If you felt I was singling you out amongst your peers the past few months, then you would be entirely correct. I don't pick on students for the sake of derision or to embarrass them, though I am harsh—harsher than most—but if you felt mistreated by my teaching methods than, I assure you, it was unintentional injury on my part. I tend to be hardest on the students whom I feel are the most capable in my classes; the smartest of the lot; those who will take what I have to offer and impress me with it. You proved yourself up to the task of being challenged time and time again, Miss Granger. That is why I was so tough on you: because you were—and are—the most likely to go exceptionally far once you've completed your studies, not just in my own classroom but at university level itself."

Issuing another cumbersome sigh, Snape adjusted his glasses that were slinking down the bridge of his nose and stared intensely into Hermione's eyes. His stare caused her to blush to the roots of her hair. She couldn't look away, though, no matter how fervent the professor's eye contact was proving.

"I apologise that my methods of challenging you made you feel worse. I apologise for the hard-hearted manner with which I often addressed you in the classroom. It wasn't to belittle you but to provoke you to work harder; I realise, however, that that was not how my directions were often perceived, and I don't blame you for, in the end, choosing to drop my class."

"Oh, no, sir, I don't—"

"Furthermore," Snape carried on, ignoring Hermione's sudden attempt to cut in, "I can assure you, you'll be dropping my class in good standing. It won't affect your honours as they stand, and I'm sure that's something you've been worried about since coming to this decision. You won't have any further qualms or issues from my standpoint, and you'll receive the grade you've worked hard to earn. I give you my word."

Then Snape went quiet. Hermione, who had been hanging on every word the man was uttering, leaned further into the table, adamant to get her own thoughts out.

"Sir, I... Thank you for your apology, and for explaining your teaching methods more clearly to me." Although somewhat stumbling with how to reply, Hermione rushed through with what she felt compelled to get out. "I... I wasn't sure for a while whether you did harbour ill feelings towards me for whatever reason, or if I was just being overly sensitive. In any case, I... I felt stretched so thin that I couldn't cope with the pressures any longer. I gave up, and I regret that. I didn't want to drop your class, I swear, but, well..." Hermione paused, intelligent brown eyes surveying Snape's with less passion than moments ago. "I felt that there was just no pleasing you, sir. I... I'm sorry if I let you down."

Hermione's mouth then slumped, as did the rest of her face. Snape blinked back his surprise and marginally shook his head, eyebrows meshing together in a grave fashion.

"You didn't let me down, Miss Granger. You never have. Ultimately, it is I who failed you."

At this, Hermione peered over at Snape again. Her astonishment at his compelling confession notwithstanding, she projected a thoughtful, small smile to him.

"I suppose we'll both have to agree to disagree somewhere along the line...sir."

Snape's thin mouth shifted into a small smile as well, raven eyes contemplative and a touch bewitching. "Perhaps we must," he concurred softly, and those eyes slowly drifted from Hermione to her essay and back again.

"Well," he piped up after clearing his throat, bringing their obliging exchange to a terse end, "I shan't keep you any longer than I already have, Miss Granger."

"Oh...!"

Before Hermione could object to the man's curt departure, Snape was suddenly on his feet and throwing his satchel over his shoulder. Stray hairs were hanging over his spectacles, and Hermione had a sudden incentive to weave them between her fingers. What would they feel like?

Steady on, Hermione!

"Take care, Miss Granger," Snape said in closing before bowing his head and taking his leave, though he stopped short a few paces from the door; Hermione would have called after him if he hadn't whipped his body around first, tweed jacket swishing with elegant flair. "Oh, and just for the record, I hadn't a clue you were at all acquainted with Mr Potter during the duration you were in my classroom; I was only made aware of the fact after you'd dropped out."

A befuddled expression crossed Hermione's face—one Snape didn't quite understand—but he pressed on anyway. "Just in case you held any suspicions that I might have used your friendship with Potter against you."

"Oh! I... No, sir, I hadn't thought that at all—"

Unfortunately, Hermione got no further in explaining herself. She had never made such a connection, or thought that one even existed between how Snape treated her in class and her personal friendship with Harry. How Snape might have made that link and thought she had, too, was beyond her ability to comprehend, but she wasn't provided an opportunity to relay any of that to him.

Whether he heard the beginning of her reply or pretended not to, the professor swiftly turned on his heel and was out the door in the next second, striding down the street and disappearing into a crowd of passersby before Hermione could so much as make sense of the tail end to their conversation.

So... That's it? she reflected, saddened, as the ponderous weight of hers and Snape's discussion hit her hard in the chest. Snape was gone, and now?

And now...

You should've told him you weren't going to drop his course after all.

I tried to! But...

You should've tried harder, Hermione.

There's still time.

What on earth do you mean? Snape's gone; you have no idea where he went.

Not today, perhaps, but...

Ahhh, I see. A short pause later, Still intending to turn those books in then?

Yes, as a matter of fact...

Really? Why?

Hermione downed the remainder of her latte with a cringe since most of it was now cold, seized her belongings, and bolted towards the exit, her wild mane crackling with electricity against the cold wind that rippled through it as she made her way down the street.

Because I'd prefer my own copies to peruse from now on, and I have an essay to look over before the next class.

As expected, Snape was seated at the desk at the front of the lecture hall when Hermione came creeping in thirty minutes before class. She had barely made it to her usual spot when Snape spoke up in that low, silky drawl of his, "You could've spared yourself so much fidgeting the past several minutes in the hallway, Miss Granger. Simply coming in would've sufficed."

Snape's attention was directed towards a pile of books scattered in front of him, but Hermione was staring at him with astonishment nonetheless, one hand slipping its way onto her hip. "I'm beginning to think you have eyes in the back of your head, sir."

Snape didn't look up, but she could have sworn his eyes were smiling. "Perhaps I do," he replied plainly.

"And can read minds," Hermione added with a teasing smirk of her own.

Still, Snape didn't peer up, scraggly hair dangling attractively in his face. "That's a new one I haven't heard."

"Really? Maybe it's just me then."

"Maybe it is," came his pleasant response.

Hermione's smile broadened. She quickly busied herself with getting her belongings in order, grateful to have a distraction from the otherwise obvious blush that was presently lighting up her cheeks. She had just sat down in her chair, second cup of coffee in hand, when Snape unexpectedly spoke again. This time, Hermione's eyes locked with his, satisfied to find he was now meeting her gaze.

"I'm glad to see you've changed your mind," he murmured so gently Hermione thought she'd melt into her chair.

Once she'd recovered, she impishly brushed a few curls behind her ears and tried to keep from chewing her bottom lip. "I tried to tell you that the other day but..."

"But?" Snape pressed as considerately as before.

"You walked out the door before I could tell you."

A substantial pause followed that revelation. Snape eventually replied with an, "I see," that seemingly implied more than he was letting on.

Still smiling, Hermione was disappointed when Snape awkwardly turned away to resume whatever he was reading, though he muttered rather too hastily under his breath, "Perhaps you'd care to join me at the end of class."

Hermione tried to suppress the eagerness that was suddenly fluttering in her chest. "Sir?" she asked outright, afraid she may have misheard him.

Again, Snape peered up from his stack of books, his expression strange and unreadable but not unpleasant. "Coffee?" he suggested quietly. "At the usual spot?"

"Oh! I... Sure!" Hermione reacted at once, feeling somewhat foolish for responding so hurriedly; she probably sounded terribly desperate, but she was excited nevertheless.

A sliver of a smile upturned the corners of Snape's mouth, relieving some of Hermione's nerves. His eyes darted back to his work.

"Very well."

Hermione was a bundle of nerves as she and the professor strolled the pathway towards the front gates at a measured, leisurely gait. They hadn't conversed much at all since Hermione had waited for Snape to gather his things together after class, lead her down the stairs and out the door.

Now, they were walking side by side, the occasional silence between them broken not by either party but by crisp falling leaves, the sound of the wind blowing through their hair, or students passing by and conversing merrily with one another. It wasn't uncomfortable, but Hermione thought she should probably fill the silence with...something. Evidently, her professor didn't think the same.

'At the usual spot.'

Hermione had barely been able to focus for most of class, the utterance of those four words Snape had said earlier delighting and consuming her mind for most of the next ninety minutes, despite the professor's repeated sneers and gripes and general disenchantment with her classmates' participation. For once, Hermione didn't actually mind his harsh mood or distemper. Then again, perhaps that was because she'd been mostly left alone.

McLaggen had made a spectacle of Hermione's return when he'd showed up with only minutes to spare, and went into a tirade of harassing her for answers about why she'd been absent of late. Hermione adamantly refused to provide him with an answer, though, and turned him down yet again when he tried to insist they meet up before the next class.

McLaggen was probably the only drawback to continuing Snape's course, and Hermione could only surmise that it showed on her face following class, for the professor suddenly state with a mostly concealed smirk, "Your classmate behind you seems quite thrilled to have you back."

Hermione studied him sidelong, determining that Snape was poking fun at her expense. "The feeling isn't mutual."

"No?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I am happy to be back, sir. Just not particularly thrilled to have him bugging me to no end."

Snape nodded, continuing to look ahead rather than at her. "If he's giving you any trouble, Miss Granger, I can have him relocated to another part of the room."

Taken aback by that suggestion, Hermione chuckled and gathered the sling of her bag. "Oh, no, sir, thank you, but it's fine. I can handle him."

"I daresay you could," Snape left Hermione even more flummoxed by conveying with ease. "And you needn't call me 'sir'."

"Sorry... Professor."

"In the classroom, of course, that's mandatory. Over coffee, it only makes the conversation stuffy."

Hermione frowned, bemused. "Then what should I call you?"

Finally, Snape turned to her, evidence of an arresting smile etched across his lips that momentarily made Hermione's heart freeze. "Severus will do just fine," he asserted, and, the utterance of his first name, along with the way his mouth moved, left Hermione momentarily paralysed.

Severus... Yes... That will do.

Coffee, or lunch as it turned into, with Snape—no, Severus—was much more enjoyable than Hermione could have bargained on. Not that she expected less, but her nerves dissipated the longer the professor engaged her in what was mostly light-hearted banter, much to her pleasant surprise.

Their conversation started off with professional intentions on Severus's part and mostly centred around Hermione's well-written essay. He requested her thoughts on the comments he'd left, which were followed immediately by Hermione's desire for an elaboration from him on his musings regarding its relations to his research. There was some lively debating that quickly developed on that score, with both intellectual parties finding fault, as well as validation, to each other's individual stances. It never got heated, though; a mutual respect for one another was moulding and flourishing over the course of those precious hours spent in each other's company, with both quietly aware of its emotional impact.

It became clear closer to one o'clock that mere coffee—or tea, in Severus's case—wouldn't be adequate to keep their highly engaging conversations going. Not without proper nutrients. Thus, Hermione and Severus remained at the café and ordered lunch, resuming their 'spot' by the window and carrying on into the late afternoon, blissfully unaware of the time or other mundane engagements.

Hermione would later, upon giddy reflection, find herself marvelled by how easy it had been to communicate with the professor. After so many frustrating miscommunications over the past several months in the classroom, talking with Severus Snape outside of a university setting passed as easily as breathing, a feat that didn't happen very often in Hermione's case or, as it turned out, in his.

Severus was remarkably different outside of class, an enlightening observance Hermione felt blessed to be treated to. Instead of sneering and scowling, he was cordial (if not prone to forthrightness), attractively genteel, and even smiled on occasion. And, when he wasn't smiling, Hermione become acutely aware during the course of their lunch together that he tended to grin with his eyes. Those colourless irises twinkled, a series of fetching wrinkles stretching at the corners of his eyes; it left Hermione utterly bewitched, and a little tongue tied on occasion.

He was relaxed but focused, engaging and, at times, intense when it came to a topic he was passionate about, such as his latest research project, or, oddly enough, rugby, another quirky surprise Hermione unraveled about the man. He was an adamant football fan as well, and teased Hermione rather mirthlessly for a while about her disinterest in anything sports-related.

As for Severus, his observance of his pupil was much the same: intrigue and an increasing captivation with her fervour and spunk. Hermione, he discovered, was affable and sweetly innocent in many regards, yet fiery when it came to her academic studies. She had big plans for her future—aims that went well beyond what he had expected to ascertain. She wanted to be a professor herself and stay in the academic arena, which didn't shock him, but Severus made a point of stating that Hermione might wish to consider 'a life beyond the academic sphere.'

Normally, Severus scoffed at student's high-aiming objectives, for many who desired to make something of themselves were either too lazy to see it through or, as he often read from their behaviour within his first few classes or advising sessions, they intended to get to the top by riding other far smarter students' coattails. Of course, Hermione Granger was neither, and she was as fearless in her determination to make something of herself as she was naive about the real world beyond university life.

Severus found that he quite admired that about her: her naivety as much as her nerve. He had no idea how they'd managed to pass so many hours in the café without scruple, prattling on and on like friends rather than the student and mentor relations that were actually at play; but, in any case, neither felt their time had been wasted and even agreed to meet again the following week after class.

Instead, their next get-together would turn out to be the following day. When Hermione popped into the café the next morning for her usual breakfast sandwich, she was secretly ecstatic to find Severus present, seated in the far corner near the window and typing on his laptop, looking the epitome of casual sexual frustration.

Good grief, Hermione. Get a grip, would you? He's your professor.

Then again, when the bloody hell did that ever matter to you?

It wasn't entirely a 'happy coincidence' to Hermione to discover Severus there. She had purposely sought out the café, forcing herself out of bed at seven fifteen in the morning (even though she had nowhere to be at that hour) and sprucing herself up a bit, all in the hopes of possibly running into him. She had barely slept the night before—too frivolous with how great their meeting had gone to shut her elated brain off—and couldn't wait to chance running into the man again.

Severus never dropped a hint that him being at the café that morning had been a strategic plan of his own, but he did look ridiculously handsome, wearing a crisp white business shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Two buttons below the neckline were unclasped and open, offering a tormenting view of his rather strong jugular notch that Hermione found wickedly attractive. On his left wrist was an antique-looking watch that Hermione would inquire about (it had once belonged to his grandfather), and his hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail—a beautifully simple visual Hermione had never seen him wear before—though a few strands had escaped, including that singular silver strand Hermione was so fond of.

"Are you following me, Miss Granger?" he seemingly toyed as she approached his table; Hermione wasn't certain, at first, if he was joking, until she saw that smile in his eyes, which were staring insistently at his laptop screen.

"I believe we've both established ownership of this place," she jabbed back, inviting herself to sit opposite him.

"Hmm, this is true. That could prove a problem."

"Could it?" Hermione inquired innocently, and her question was received with the gaze of Severus's eye on hers.

"Not unless you feel it is? For myself, I don't mind."

Hermione readily smiled. "Then I don't either."

"Good." Just as Hermione settled in, bringing her coffee to her lips, Severus added, "Perhaps you would do me the honours of helping me finish the latest level I'm on?"

Hermione's smile deepened behind her cup. "I told you, I'm not much of a gamer."

"That doesn't matter. I'll teach you."

With a welcoming light toss of his head towards his side of the table, Hermione flushed red. However, she scooted her chair around so that it was directly beside him, and Severus turned his laptop sideways so that they could both see the screen properly.

As Severus began relating the rules of the game to her, Hermione found herself too easily distracted by the enticing whiff of cologne she smelt emitting from his personal space to focus. It was mixed was something else, too—something Hermione loved—like old, weathered books or the feel of soft, luxurious leather.

Hermione was embarrassed to have to have the rules repeated to her a few minutes later, but Severus evidently didn't mind and chuckled at her expense. For the next forty or so minutes, the unlikely pairing engaged in the professor's love of Space Quest, every so often bumping elbows or touching thighs beneath the table, causing them both to blush profusely and apologise. Hermione eased into playing the game with surprising proficiency and even earned herself another compliment when they ceased playing so that Severus could refill his cup of coffee and grab a muffin to eat before heading to his office for the day.

With reluctance, Hermione bustled her chair back to the opposite side of the table, bummed that their breakfast time would soon be coming to a close. When Severus returned to rejoin her, Hermione wasn't certain if she'd caught a dissatisfied flash in his eyes or if that had been her woeful imagination.

Your woeful imagination, more like, her conscience secretly berated.

They conversed effortlessly for another twenty minutes before Severus had to leave to prep for a class later that morning. They said their goodbyes, though Hermione could have sworn the professor appeared as hesitant and disappointed in ending their impromptu meeting as she felt, and agreed to still meet up next week after Plant Sciences. However, for the next two days in a row, their encounters would be much the same: more 'happy coincidences' over coffee, breakfast, and another level of Space Quest.

It was Saturday morning, and, for the first time in a long while, Hermione wasn't sure what the hell to do with herself. She didn't want to hole up in her flat and read all day—an oddity in itself, really—and her homework assignments had all been completed for the following week, giving her little academia to resort to.

Unintentionally, she'd woken up at seven on the dot and had started to jump out of bed when the day of the week grimly hit her overly eager mind, deflating her excitement as she slunk back down on her mattress.

Would Professor Sn—Severus—venture to the café on the weekend? Did he even live relatively close to the university that, if she chose to go walking around campus, she might chance running into him?

If you actually get up and go seek him out again, Hermione, then you're officially desperate and should seek help immediately.

Thanks for that!

Hermione huffed and shot up from her bed, scratching and scrunching at her bedheaded curls as she padded her way to the loo. "Ugh," she groaned aloud at the tedious reflection that stared back at her in the mirror once she turned on the light. Her hair was a full-blown catastrophe this morning, and she knew from heavy-handed experience that she could either spend the better part of her morning untangling the various knots and padding her curls down into a semi-presentable state for the public or forego the damn process altogether and spend her time more productively.

To hell with it.

Hermione absolved herself by quickly washing her face, brushing her teeth, and getting dressed. She was hungry but didn't want to make breakfast in her flat. Her roommate was thankfully still in bed, but, as soon as she was up, Hermione would be cursing herself for not exiting the place sooner.

Bollocks. You're just hoping you'll run into Snape.

Severus, she argued with a small, lovesick smile.

Like I said...

With a dismissive sigh, Hermione hiked on a pair of worn boots, grabbed her winter coat from the front hall, and left her flat just before seven thirty. It wasn't so strange to be up this early, well before the rest of university folk her age came to life, only to be out in the open was certainly a new experience. Normally, Hermione remained cooped up in her flat, with hot tea or coffee and a book till at least eight thirty or nine. The street on her block, as well as the block ahead, was virtually deserted at this time of day, and Hermione's footsteps echoed loudly as she trudged towards university a short walking distance away.

Hermione crossed the street a block before reaching the café, an extra skip of anticipation in her gait the closer she drew. She could barely contain her smile as she threw open the door, half prepared to find a certain lanky, dark-haired gentleman with spectacles in the corner or right by the window to her right.

Blast...

There was no sign of Severus Snape anywhere. Hermione checked her watch and her disappointment increased. He seemed like as much a morning person as her, so, if he'd wanted breakfast or to chance meeting up with her, he'd have surely been there by now. She could wait around a bit to see if he might show up, but, a sinking feeling of foolishness overcame Hermione's reasoning for staying. She quietly turned on her heel and slipped out of the café as noiselessly as possible and chose to keep walking down the street in the direction of the university's front gates. She didn't necessarily have a destination in mind but...

There's always the library, she considered with a rare unenthusiastic sigh.

All of a sudden, she heard a commotion coming from behind and cautiously turned her head sideways into the sun. A sleek, white Lotus Elise was roaring towards her, slowing to a halt as it reached her part of the sidewalk. Hermione ceased walking and tried to peer into the glare of the darkened driver's window but was unable to make out a face until the window rolled down, sending her teeth on edge at the individual stationed behind the wheel.

Oh, bugger.

"Hey, lass!" Cormac greeted with that infuriating, cocky grin of his.

Half tempted to tell him to go scratch, Hermione reeled in her composure, offered a curt 'hello', and resumed a faster-paced walk. Unfortunately, Cormac's car rumbled to life and followed her down the block.

"Hey!" he called out to her, whistling to her once or twice. "C'mon, lassie, don't be like that!"

Growing increasingly agitated, Hermione came to a full stop and whipped her head towards him, the heat in her chest rising. "What do you want?" she demanded not too kindly.

Cormac's cocksure grin broadened. "You're just the person I wanted to see!" He parked his car on the street, opened the driver's side door, and approached her. Hermione stumbled backward, taken aback by his aggression; she hadn't expected him to get out of his car.

"You can't just park there—" she started to reprimand him, but he immediately cut her off.

"No one will bother us, Granger, trust me." Cormac removed his shades and Hermione could see the red rims around his eyes, as well as smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. "I've been hoping to run into you for a while now."

Hermione shot him an unflattering glare. "Why?"

"'Cause I was hoping I might finally get you to have that cup of coffee with me."

Hermione stammered. The wanker really couldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"I'm sorry, no," she stated as firmly as possible; then she turned away to resume walking.

"Hey! Wait a minute!"

In the next instant, Hermione was unexpectedly grabbed by the elbow and pulled towards Cormac with force. She gasped and, at once, tried to step away.

"You're playing hard to get is getting a little old," he snorted to her, but Hermione shoved him away.

"Don't touch me!"

Cormac's smile suddenly flipped like a switch, and his eyebrows came together in anger. "Listen, I'm trying to be nice here—"

"Not by not taking 'no' for an answer, you're not," Hermione fired back; as she took another step backward, Cormac was suddenly in her personal space, both hands snatching her painfully by the wrists.

"I thought that was your idea of flirting."

"Well, it wasn't!" Hermione exclaimed and wiggled against his grasp. "Let go of me!"

"You shouldn't play around with guy's emotions like that, lass," he threatened with his reek-ridden, drink-induced mouth breathing on her face.

"I wasn't—"

"You're gonna make it up to me."

Hermione stopped writhing and stared up at him, this time imploringly. The street was basically deserted, she was only a short distance from the front gates, but Cormac had her so strongly by the wrists that she couldn't break free. Every time she fought against him, he tugged harder.

"Wha - What?"

"You heard me," he hissed, bearing his teeth. "Now, get in the car."

Hermione started as he pulled her aggressively towards the edge of the sidewalk. "What? No!"

"Get in the fucking car, bitch!" he scoffed louder.

Hermione struggled wildly against him, but Cormac threw an arm around her waist and hastened them both forward, despite her attempts to withdraw. By now, Hermione was near hysterical, screaming and clawing at Cormac's shirt, hair, face—whatever she could—to get away. Cormac tore at her hair and yanked her violently around the front bender, tore open the passenger side door with his other hand, and tried to shove her in.

Oh my God! No! Hermione panicked, barely able to think straight. No, no, no!

Suddenly, and out of nowhere, Cormac lost his grip. Hermione toppled backward onto the street, catching her fall before she hit the ground. When she whirled her head around to see what had happened, Cormac was in an usual position: face-planted against the front of his car with his hands flailing helplessly behind him, his body shoved and manhandled to the point that he couldn't move.

"Se - Severus?" she half questioned, half cried out, astounded to find the professor in question hovering over Cormac's form, pale face personified with rage unlike anything Hermione had ever witnessed.

"Germoff!" Cormac was screaming—muffling—powerlessly. "Germoff me!"

"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're trying to pull, McLaggen?" Severus growled at his back, digging into Cormac's shoulders.

"N - Nothing—"

"SHUT YOUR TRAP!" Severus boomed, and Hermione rattled at the sheer force his voice carried; he lowered his face to Cormac's ear. "Now, you listen to me, you little fucking piece of shite, you're going to get back in your car and you're going to drive away, and if I see any part of you within ten feet of Miss Granger again, I can assure you that my face will be the last sore sight you ever see in this lifetime, do you understand?"

Cormac issued a series of curse words and was promptly jerked by the back of his head. Within seconds, he was whipped around and propelled backward, back shoved hard against the passenger side of his car, with one of Severus's hands coiled tightly around his neck. With his elbows, Severus had Cormac's arms locked and unable to fight back.

"As of this morning, McLaggen, consider yourself expelled from university."

"What?" Cormac choked out, eyes widening as large as saucers.

"You heard me, you bloody delinquent! You try to step one fucking toe onto this campus again and I'll have security up your backside. Don't make this worse for yourself than it already is, boy."

Cormac floundered to try and free himself, his face slowly turning purple the longer Severus held him by the throat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Severus released his life-threatening grip, seized Cormac by his coat, and flung him sideways onto the quiet, deserted street. Hermione watched with a mixture of fear and amazement as Cormac staggered to stand, eyed Severus in horror, and dashed to the opposite side of his car, scurrying into the driver's side like a frightened animal with his tail between his legs.

Hermione was too numbed with shock to gather herself fast enough. Thankfully, Severus was thinking clearly, for he heaved her onto the curb in a flash, as though she weighed nothing at all, just as Cormac's car screeched to life and took off at full speed, leaving tire marks in the pavement.

It took Hermione a few reeling moments to realise that Severus had not only just rescued her from a potentially very bad situation but also saved her from getting run over by Cormac's car. She was quaking from head to toe—tears forming in her eyes—when the terrible shrieking of Cormac's tires died away as her grasp of the dire situation heightened.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione startled and peered up into Severus's worried countenance. His brow was furrowed in concern, his eyes boring intensely into hers. She blinked back her tears and attempted to collect herself on the sidewalk.

"I... I - I think so."

"Here," he insisted ever so gently, "let me help you up."

Hermione was painlessly tugged underneath her arms and back on her feet within seconds, shaky and ungrounded as they were. She was forced to grab ahold of Severus's arms to keep herself steady, her heart still beating relentlessly against her chest.

"We need to get to university security. McLaggen needs to be reported at once."

"N - No, please," Hermione found herself opposing, and one of Severus's eyebrow arched, prepared to challenge her stance.

"Miss Granger, that sort of behaviour is not to be tolerated. He attacked you and tried to force you into his car."

"I know. C - Can we just...phone in a report?" she beseeched, not trusting the sound of her own voice. "I just... I need to sit down. Please..."

Severus sighed, the signs of Hermione's distress clearly evident. She desired to clear her head and was trembling in front of him. Refusing her felt entirely wrong-footed, so he conceded with a soft purr.

"Very well. Do you think you can walk to our café on the next block?"

Café... Our café... Our spot...

"Yes, I - I think so...if you'll help me?"

The gentle, reassuring smile Hermione received was precisely what she needed to keep from bursting into tears. "Of course," Severus agreed with ease, and, for the first time in minutes, Hermione felt like she could breathe again, and that everything was going to be all right. Severus slowly wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, allowing her to lean on him for support.

"I've got you, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," she replied halfway down the block; Severus turned to glance down at her but said nothing. "Please, Severus, outside of the classroom...call me Hermione?"

The next several weeks passed in a blur of activity. Between her classes, friendly gatherings with old friends in between spots of intense studying or homework, and examinations, the Christmas holidays fast approached like the dense storm of falling snow that coated the university grounds by the end of November.

Cormac McLaggen was expelled following harassment charges, and Hermione's name was kept out of the papers whilst the high-profile McLaggen family's was dragged through the mud. Harry and Ron were practically foaming at the mouth seeing the 'twisted bastard' ridiculed and humiliated day after day in the press but without being able to offer any choice words themselves. Hermione, meanwhile, couldn't wait for it to all be over and behind her. She hadn't informed the boys about Professor Snape's involvement in rescuing her from McLaggen's clutches, but they found out anyway when details of the incident were somehow leaked to the press the following month. The boys were dumbfounded, and questioned Hermione more than once about the extent of Severus Snape's participation.

"Yes, Harry, he really did stop him," Hermione grumbled over dinner late one evening in the university cafeteria. "If he hadn't been anywhere nearby, I'm fairly certain McLaggen would've gotten me into his car."

Harry and Ron appeared as if they were either going to be physically ill or throw their trays across the room. Luckily, the boys did neither, but they remained in disbelief over the good deed the one-time louse of a professor had done on their friend's behalf.

"I'm so glad he was there, 'Mione," Ron expressed to her another snowy afternoon as they trudged home to the warmth of their flats. "I hate thinking what might have happened to you otherwise..."

"Well, don't," Hermione urged him, patting Ron's shoulder. "I'm all right, really."

In fact, aside from having to recount the incident at an upcoming court date set for January, things couldn't have been more all right in Hermione's private world. She and Severus were getting considerably closer to one another, especially in light of what had happened that ruinous Saturday morning in mid-November. They'd discussed the incident often enough, both immensely grateful that Severus had happened to be at university that morning when he normally wouldn't have been, choosing to visit the library to check out a book for his research before chancing a trip to the café on his way out.

It was during their first few encounters following McLaggen's attack, when Hermione was at her most fragile, that Severus first wrapped a wiry arm around her and hugged her close, refusing to let go until she told him that she was all right. By their third meeting, Severus had reached across the table and squeezed Hermione's hand. Hermione was surprised and he'd hastily pulled away a moment later, apologising multiple times for making her at all uncomfortable—seemingly thinking the comfort he'd attempted to provide had been in error—but Hermione responded not as the professor expected. She extended her empty hand across the table, silently insisting for Severus's in return. Slowly, delicately, he'd granted what she'd wanted, and they both sat in silence for some time after that, holding tight to each other's hands without conveying a word, though there was no mistaking the sparks that ignited when their fingers touched and intertwined.

Hermione was fairly certain she was falling for him. What was less certain, to her, were Severus's intentions; or if he at all felt the same stirring emotions and excitement as she'd felt for him for such a long time.

How did one even ask in such an unusual circumstance as this, when she was the student and he her professor? Why doesn't this feel wrong? she often questioned when she was alone, but the answer always failed her.

They were seeing each other often enough outside of the classroom that Hermione was certain that, sooner or later, Harry and Ron were going to start inquiring as to why she never picked up her phone when she should be otherwise available to meet with them. Someone was bound to find out, but, as Hermione reminded herself, He's only my professor till December.

Yeah, so?

So...

You actually think he'd date a former student of his? You?

Why not? I... I think he likes me, too...

You only think that; it doesn't mean it's necessarily true. For him.

Fine then! I'll ask him!

Good luck with that.

Huff!

You'll just ruin the friendship you now have, Hermione. Do you really want to jeopardise that?

Hermione felt wedged between a rock and a hard place, but it was becoming increasingly trying to deny her feelings. Any brush of a hand, a warm embrace when they greeted each other or said their farewells, or the intense eye contact they shared wrought Hermione's ability to keep matters strictly friendly. Severus showed little evidence of the same emotional struggles, which only left Hermione second-guessing his sentiments.

It was the third week of December when Hermione's control finally skid out of whack. She had just had her last Plant Sciences lecture with the professor, which had been a bittersweet one for her alone (evidently, very few others claimed that they would miss Professor Snape's 'intense, arse-kicking' class). They were en route to the café for an early lunch together, when Hermione could no longer maintain the pretence that all was well and innocent between them.

Severus had been unusually quiet after class ended and had been silently packing up his belongings when Hermione approached his desk, a sour pout emerging on her face when it became painfully obvious that he had no intention of saying anything to her lest she do so first. He was taking far too long placing his things in his satchel, all the while refusing to meet her eyes.

"Severus?" she chanced asking, speaking ever so softly. "Would you like to join me for lunch?"

Severus made a strange sort of sigh, gave her an impenetrable look, and nodded in agreement. He said nothing as he led the way out onto the frigid walkway, and seemed more uptight and withdrawn than she'd experienced in what felt like ages.

"Is something wrong?" she'd inquired after a few awkward minutes passed in silence; Severus didn't talk, only slightly shook his head. "You seem...upset." He shook his head more emphatically, absentmindedly fiddled with his spectacles, and carried on.

By the time they'd reached the front gates, Hermione was gnawing at the bit. This is stupid! she told herself. Just tell him and get it over with! If he rejects you then you'll know how he feels.

"Severus, stop."

Severus was a foot ahead of her and turned around, that inscrutable expression of his infuriatingly intact. Hermione swallowed, stepped closer, and put on a brave face. It was now or forever hold her tongue, and what then?

You'll always regret not saying something...

"I have something I want to say, but I don't want you to say anything till I'm done, all right?"

Severus made a near suspicious raise of one eyebrow but his dark eyes conveyed that he would listen, and not breathe a word. Hermione sucked in a breath, shivering against the winter chill, though she wasn't sure if it was the weather entirely that had her suddenly so fidgety and shivery.

"I... I'm so glad I've gotten to know you the past few months. I never thought you and I would have that much in common—or anything to talk about, really—but you've surprised me...a lot. You're a good and honourable man, Severus; you're smart and funny when you let your guard down. I've learned so much and I don't know how I'll ever repay you for that. It's been truly...lovely...hanging out with you.

"I... I hope it's been the same for you and not a burden or obligation to hang out with me."

"Hermione—"

"You said you'd let me finish," she chuckled, and Severus's thin lips merged together; she could sense the glimpse of a smile penetrating his eyes and that instilled her with some much needed confidence to continue. "I confess, and I have no experience in this department, so forgive me if I'm terribly out of line, but, if I don't tell you I'll... I'll spend way more than just the Christmas hols regretting not expressing how I feel."

Hermione inhaled sharply and gazed up into Severus's alabaster face, her heart lodged in her throat. "I... I've fallen for you, Severus. I know it isn't right," she added in haste, looking away so as not to catch sight of his impending rejection, "and I know you probably think I'm far too young for you and out of your league and, yes, I was your student for a couple months, but, now, I'm not, so I..." She chanced searching his features again, though afraid of what she would find. "I'm in love with you, Severus, and I... I'm sorry if I've just completely ruined the nice friendship we've had."

Hermione didn't peer long enough into Severus's eyes to ascertain whatever he might be thinking. She frowned and cast her sight towards the snowy ground, not really noting that Severus had taken a noiseless step closer to her, his square-toed boots almost touching hers. Unexpectedly, graceful fingers cradled her jaw and pushed her head upward. Hermione didn't fight Severus's wishes to look at him and locked sad eyes with his, stunned out of her bleak misgivings when she found the man was...smiling? No, just those black eyes. He was actually smiling—suggestively—down at her, those curvaceous lips of his in want of tasting.

"Hermione," her ears barely registered that velvety, deep purr that spoke so close to her face; she shivered excitedly, "you have no idea how long I've waited for the possibility of doing this..."

Hermione couldn't have foreseen what was coming, and she would expel a great deal of effort trying to figure out the signs later on, which, apparently, had all been there on his part that she'd somehow missed. Severus's face came down to hers, and, at long last, she and her once intolerable professor, now the former, shared an unanticipated but gratifyingly slow, tenderly rendered kiss in the snow.

Hermione's insides fluttered, her mouth felt consumed with heat and passion, and she instantly closed her eyes to better commit the divine texture and taste of Severus's lips to memory. Without knowing, she moaned, leaned into him for more, and was silently wrapped within his tenacious, wholly accepting embrace, soft snowflakes gracing their eyelashes and noses as they shared their first snog outside the university's front gates.

Gradually, Hermione opened her eyes; her lips were suddenly cold and in desperate need of Severus's warmth. She slinked her arms around his back and craned her neck, breathless, as she peered up at him, this time with hope.

"Since when?" she murmured, smiling as he bent lower to nuzzle their noses together.

"Since I thought I'd lost you and that brilliant mind of yours that day in my office."

"Really?"

"Indeed."

Hermione giggled and nudged her nose against his. "Does this... Does this mean I haven't managed to botch things up between us?"

"If you have, than it is I who only took matters from bad to full-blown fuckery." After Hermione was through laughing, Severus studied her seriously, sending Hermione's heart rate aflutter. "I'm much too old for you, Hermione..."

"I know."

"I'm stubborn and set in my ways."

"I know."

"I still have a sharp tongue at times, and will probably use it on you unintentionally."

"And I'll throw it right back in your face."

Severus's frown strengthened. "I'm a difficult man to love."

Hermione's good humour disappeared, replaced by an inexplainable determination and a much fiercer regard than before. "Oh, I agree, you aren't an easy fellow to fall in love with; or I wouldn't be standing here, would I?"

Hermione could see Severus's shrewd mind working overtime, wanting to trump her somehow. "I'm rubbish at relationships."

"I probably am, too."

"I don't have much experience."

"I have none."

Finally, Severus's shoulders caved. As Hermione reached up to stroke his cheek, Severus mumbled defeatedly, "We're destined to be a disaster."

Hermione broke into laughter once more, and Severus's smile reappeared. "Probably! But, we'll be a mess together."

"Very well," he consented with a heavy sigh; he stepped back and tucked Hermione's hand into his. "To lunch then?"

"To lunch," Hermione consented happily.

And to who knows where else...

11 Months Later

It was a rather brutal Sunday morning in the middle of November as Hermione rubbed her mittened hands together, hoping for a bit of added warmth. At her side, a tall, brooding-like gentleman wrapped his long, raven-coloured coat around her back and bundled her close. Hermione smiled and leaned into his chest, smiling with giddy anticipation.

She remembered the thrill and excitement that surrounded her on this day well from when she had been a little girl. It was a spectacle of wonderment, and she'd never forgotten it since. From the elaborate floats that paraded down the streets, the brass bands barrelling Christmas carols, the cycling clowns who waved to the crowds, and the Piets—"elves," as her father had explained to her curious six-year old self years before—who tossed sweets to the children filling the sidewalks, Hermione had been enthralled from start to finish. Her dad had picked her up and put her on his shoulders so that she could get the best view of the parade in town, followed by the arrival and speech from Sinterklaas on the balcony of the Stadsschouwburg later that afternoon.

Hermione was enlivened to be sharing this experience once again after a lapse of so many years, only this time she was doing so with her boyfriend of nearly a year, Severus. He'd surprised her earlier that week with a planned trip to Amsterdam, and the two gladly stole away from university life for their first excursion as a couple.

They'd spent the majority of their visit to the beautifully old city travelling around on foot, eating Dutch food and stopping at random cafés, and even had dinner with Severus's long-time colleague, Minerva McGonagall, an austere but friendly old woman who was highly impressed with Hermione's credentials, so much so that she suggested that Hermione apply for a position at the University of Amsterdam come the end of her undergraduate studies in the coming spring.

All in all, their weekend getaway could not have gone better, and solidified both of their beliefs that they were meant to be. Not that there had been any doubts.

Lastly, Severus and Hermione were taking in the traditional Arrival of Sinterklaas in the heart of the city before heading back to university. Severus had been considerably quiet throughout the parade, mostly holding tight to Hermione whilst she cheered and waved enthusiastically with the rest of the lively crowd of spectators surrounding them.

Now swathed in Severus's coat and pleasant body heat, Hermione glanced up at him, an all-knowing smile stretched across her blushing cheeks. Severus wasn't frowning, merely observing the scene, undoubtedly drawing his own conclusions about the madness in process.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the chiming bells and roar of the crowds.

Severus blinked, stared down at her, and hissed into her ear, "I was thinking about the maddening things I endure for your sake."

Hermione swatted his chest and snaked her arms around him. "Rubbish! This is fun, isn't it?"

"It would be more appealing if I could hear my own bloody thoughts."

Hermione smirked. "Are you ready to go then?"

"Nonsense," Severus quipped, surprising Hermione; she reared back to see him better. "Sinterklaas hasn't yet arrived."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" she teased, which earned her a playful glare.

"Don't get cheeky, minx. There is only one thing I'm certain of, and we shall leave it at that."

Hermione pressed her hands against his back. "What's that, Severus?"

Severus, who had been glancing out at the parade, turned his head, that silver hair falling gracefully against his spectacles as he inched closer. "You," he confessed into her ear.

Hermione was lost for words but grateful for the adamant peck to her forehead she received the next moment. She cuddled into Severus's warmth and peered out at the parade from her secure, comfortable perch in his arms. As much as she was enjoying this energetic ritual, she was far more content in the knowledge that she wouldn't be leaving this wondrous city alone. She had Severus now, and he would be with her, at her side, for whatever lay ahead.

A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.