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In The Restricted Section	By : MissLibrarian Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 29928 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the films or books. I make no money from this story. It's all good fun!

Chapter List
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A/N: Very sorry for the gap in my uploading - I went on a spontaneous girly holiday and I didn't even know I was going myself until the day! So sorry for not warning you or putting this chappie up before I left. I think now we can reveal the final point on the challenge chart:

1) There must be a scene in the Library at Hogwarts.

2) Hermione must be in a relationship with Ron at the start of the fiction.

3) Ron must be in the fiction somewhere.

4) Each chapter must be less than 10 pages.

5) Must contain the usual God-Damneries

Oohoo the plot thickens (I hope!) :D I hope you enjoy and please leave me a review if you feel like it I really greatly appreciate them.

I'm very sorry but I've had to take down the review replies in some of my chapters to to Author's Note length limitations :( It's sad that, since you have all been so wonderful leaving me messages, I don't have space to thank you all personally. I hope everyone saw their replies before I had to delete them. Sorry again and thank you all so much for your reviews!

Chapter Four – Complications

Hermione’s mind was a maelstrom of quick-thinking, emotions and logic smashing together like ships colliding in the storm, she could hardly follow her own thoughts, they were advancing at such a pace. Her body hummed still with resonant euphoria from the wild copulation that had passed between them, and it was easy enough to let the warm blanket of feeling comfort and protect her from her own swirling mind, while she lay curled against his body beneath the blanket. But as soon as he had slipped away, his body leaving a draughty and empty space beside her, her tumultuous emotions had come crashing in full-swing.

The most obvious was the crippling guilt. It almost threatened to consume her. The memory of Ron, notably absent from her mind until now, brought such sickening and awful guilty sensations she wasn’t sure she could stand it. She had cheated on him. God, she had cheated on him! It was something she swore she would never do. Something she swore she would never be. A cheater. But she had become one without even thinking about it. She had just cheated on Ron, and with… Severus.

Even now she couldn’t keep her eyes from following his thin body as he padded across the room, bending to pull on his trousers, the tangle of scars on his back pale in the firelight as he shrugged into his shirt. She swallowed, her mouth was suddenly dry. Severus Snape. Her teacher, no less, and so much more. His scars were a stark enough reminder – not that she needed any – of the life he had lived, and that she had witnessed him living. A seedy life, and a dark one. There was nothing about him to suggest that he was anything but a dark and seedy person. She knew absolutely nothing about him.

Other than the fact that he could make her bones shudder to dust, anyway.

God, what was she doing? Of all of the people in the world to conduct an illicit affair with she couldn’t have possibly chosen anyone with more potential to cause havock, as many complications, who would have such an affect on Ron – except possibly Harry. This was a very, very, big mistake. But his words had been so kind, his touch so intoxicating, and he hadn’t made her do anything that she didn’t want to do herself. Very much.

It would be easy to pretend that he had seduced her against her will. Her word would probably win over his, the weight her reputation could ruin him with the merest suggestion, but she was a moral person and she was ashamed, really, that she was even thinking about such a thing.

He had been kind to her, and nothing but kind. It was as simple as that. And there was the very real fact that she couldn’t keep her eyes off him. Her teeth bit down into her bottom lip as her gaze lingered on his back and bum, he was standing turned away to button up his shirt. It occurred to her that he was probably giving her some privacy to get dressed again, but she didn’t even have the energy to look away from him, let alone stand up and start dressing. Her limbs were heavy with satiated feeling, her blood still fizzing with the last of her intense desire, though it had only been minutes since they parted she already wanted him again. He had made her feel in a way that nobody else had ever done before, and it was a feeling that she didn’t want to give up, now that she had it. But what was she going to do?

He turned and looked down at her, his dark eyes staring, burning into hers. She clasped the blanket round herself more tightly. He stepped towards her, his strides long and his feet bare, one hand stretched out palm-upwards.

“Come on,” he said, but he was kind rather than severe. Courteous. Confusing.

She took hold of his hand and he pulled her to her feet, her free hand struggling to keep the blanket of his robes wrapped round her. He took out his wand and flicked it as he muttered a spell, and suddenly she was no longer naked, but fully clothed. Another spell and his robes were merely robes again, piled on the floor in a small heap, and to her relief he did not put them on but instead draped them over his arm to carry them.

“Have you got everything?” He asked quietly as she picked up her wand from the desk, and she nodded, glancing around quickly to make sure. “Let’s go,” he murmured, dimming the lamps. “It’s late.”

He lead her to the door and opened it quietly, pausing to listen out into the library, which was dark now and silent. He turned back to her and nodded once, then stepped cautiously out into the main room, pulling her behind him as she gently closed the door. They shuffled quickly between the tables, making their way towards the doors out to the main corridor, and were nearly past the issuing desk when a movement between the shelves caught her eye.

Severus tugged impatiently on her arm, but she shook her head quickly, and pressed a finger to her lips. Their white school shirts were like ghosts in the dim light, but as her eyes adjusted she could see the two bodies clearly in the night, all clinging arms and hushed moans. Pale, small hands running through blonde, foppish hair. She smiled in the darkness and turned back to Severus, intent once more on being quiet as they left, but Sam McNabb and Vilette Auldhorn were too lost in their kiss to ever notice them passing by.

When they emerged into the cold air of the corridor he turned towards the main hall as she thought he might do, and she shook her head again and spoke.

“This way.”

“You’re not staying in the Gryffindor tower?” He asked curiously, one eyebrow raised.

“Nope,” she replied, dragging him along the corridor in the opposite direction. “I have my own rooms in the east cloisters, near the courtyard.”

“That’s quite out of the way, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet but still echoed in the stone hallway. “They’ve not used the courtyard much since the war.”

“I like the quiet, it suits me.” She smiled as they walked along together. “And there is another plus.”

“What’s that?” He asked, pausing his long strides and turning his body towards her.

“We can cut through Oscar’s Folly,” she replied with a laugh, and she pushed him through the large mirror behind him.

“Really?” He asked, in a tired tone that could have been either disbelief or exasperation as he stumbled through the frame.

In a second however, she had followed him, and they chuckled breathlessly side by side as they ran down what must surely have been the most bizarre and eccentric corridor of the castle. Hogwarts: A History claimed that it was built by the late ‘Crazy Headmaster’ Oscar Shamzammer, who had had defence in mind at the time, but since it ran along the very middle of the castle it did little good as a deterrent other than causing wary students to avoid straying inside. Hermione loved it though, it was such an ingenious yet harmless collection of spells, which made the corridor tumble and turn around confusingly as you stumbled along. When you knew the pattern of the spells, however, it was possible to run straight through without tripping or falling, the magic in the room speeded you along rather than hindered.

As she skipped through the weaving spells now she was surprised and happy to see him keeping up with her, able to keep on his toes, he was obviously as familiar with it as she was. She threw her head back and laughed as she raced along the last few yards. With a woosh of air and little else they were dumped unceremoniously at the other end of the Folly, in a cold and draughty corridor, at the end of which the far-eastern cloisters of the castle could be glimpsed.

“You’ve done that before,” she smiled up at him, breathlessly.

“I have lived here most of my life,” he reminded her, laughter in his voice. She grinned up at him like a fool, but he seemed so different when he laughed, she couldn’t help but stare. His smile slipped a little then.

“We should be careful,” he said, stepping nearer so that he didn’t need to speak loudly. “It could be more busy here,” he added.

She looked up at him in confusion, and then followed his gaze to where her hand was still clasped with his, and had been apparently ever since he had helped her to her feet in Pince’s office.

She pulled away at once, embarrassed, and muttered, “Yes, of course.”

They glanced at each other uncertainly for a moment or two, and then she moved off along the corridor again, at a rather dawdling pace which he matched beside her. She found suddenly that she didn’t want to get to her door quite yet, there were things that needed to be said.

“I – “ she started, aware that he was looking down at her. She stared straight ahead along the corridor. “I want to thank you. You were very kind today.” She felt herself going pink and glanced up at him quickly. “It surprised me.”

“Really?” He asked, and he seemed surprised himself to hear it.

“Of course,” she said again. “You’d try to deny the image of unpleasantness that you work so hard to maintain?” She smiled up at him and he gave a single, breathy laugh.

“I don’t know about denying that,” he said with amusement. “But I’d like the opportunity to discuss my various other winning attributes with you, sometime.” He cleared his throat, glancing down at her quickly, then away again. “If you wanted.”

“I would like that,” she admitted, smiling shyly.

But inside she felt the swooping guilt and anger for flirting – was it flirting? – Cheater, she thought to herself, cruelly. Dirty cheater. But she was remembering Severus’ lips on her too, and his hands, and his fingers. It had felt so good. Too good.

“What’s all this?’ He spoke again, interrupting her thoughts.

She could see instantly what he was commenting on. Ahead of them there was a collection of students, getting larger even as they watched, crowding a section of the corridor until it was almost impossible to get past the loud and bellowing crowd. They all reached out beneath the archway of the cloisters and into the open courtyard beyond, and there someone stood reaching back, shaking hand and taking quills. It was late, and long past curfew. The somebody was causing quite a stir. She saw the bright colour of his kit and broom, she saw his flaming hair in the moonlight, her head began to spin. For a moment she couldn’t think of anything, at all.

“Ron,” she called, but she hardly made a sound. “Ron!” She tried again, and this time her voice echoed along the corridor, making several of the students turn to face her as she ran along the hallway towards them.

“Ron!” She called again, reaching out to him while around her a sea of students did the same, most of them girls but some boys too. She elbowed for room and pushed her way to the very front, but it was still hard to climb over the low wall into the courtyard with people crowding her on both sides, and she resisted the urge to blast some of them with a hex. Another sharp jab of her elbow, and she was free of the crowd long enough the scramble over the wall, and run towards her boyfriend.

“Ron,” she babbled, throwing her arms around his neck, hardly believing that he could be real. He started in surprise and turned from the autograph he was signing, looking down at her in confusion. Then recognition lit his face.

“Mione,” he smiled, and bent down to kiss her on the cheek, very romantically. “They told me your rooms were near here and I thought I might as well fly in rather than traipse through the corridors, and here I am. I didn’t mean to cause such a scene,” he added, and he gestured to where tens if not hundreds of students still clamoured, waving photos and newspapers for him to sign. It was a daunting sight, especially when she wasn’t used to it herself, they looked like animals clawing to get to him.

“I think some of them saw me through the dormitory windows,” he whispered.

“Let’s get out of here,” she whispered back, part of her mind thinking about just how far away all of the house dormitories were, and he nodded but rather reluctantly.

As they dashed for the door to her rooms she had another sudden thought.

Severus.

Though she craned round to look back at the crowd of students, she couldn’t see any hint of his tall frame amongst them, or anywhere along the long corridor.

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“Bloody brilliant!” Ron exclaimed, when they stepped into her small sitting room to see the coffee table laden with platters of sandwiches and cakes. “McGonagall said she’d have some grub sent over. She’s a fab ol’ bird.” And he slumped into the armchair and stuffed two or three cucumber sandwiches into his mouth at once.

Hermione swallowed a few times, her mouth was still uncomfortably dry, and her stomach was swirling sickly. Luckily Minerva had had the presence of mind to send a tea-tray as well, so she sat on the edge of the sofa and poured herself a cup, taking a sip cautiously with shaking hands. She looked across to Ron, who had managed to polish off half a platter already, and she blinked a few times as if he might disappear. This was becoming as surreal as a dream.

It had been nearly three months since she had last seen him. He had gone away to the continent for a match a week before she left for Hogwarts, and she hadn’t seen him since, at least not anywhere but in the Prophet. She had written to him and he always replied, but his answers were often scrawled and hurried, and he never wrote to her of his own accord. He had been the ghost of a boyfriend, a pale memory, an idea. Now he was here! Unannounced, and today of all days!

If he had only come to her a day earlier. If only he had told her he was coming! As it was she had done – what she had done – and Ron had probably been in the castle at the very same time! She felt shame wash over her like a dirty wave of mud, soiling her, and making her angry.

“What are you doing here, Ron?” She asked, and she sounded bitter though she knew it was unfair. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

He looked at her with wide blue eyes and swallowed his mouthful of food.

“I wanted to surprise you. Coach Litz gave us a free weekend and I didn’t think about anything but flying to you.” He ginned at her, and it was still dazzling. “I missed you, ‘Mione.”

She felt happy and safe and horrid and mean at the same time. She was touched by his consideration, and she shouldn’t have been angry with him at all, but the guilt was sharp and unsettling inside her. Her body throbbed a little still with the knowing feeling that followed good sex, and she was afraid it would show on her face somehow. She could feel bruises from the bookshelves on her back, aching, like deep marks of self-flagellation.

“That was sweet of you, Ron,” she smiled through the bile sticking in her throat. “I needed to see a friendly face today.”

“Did you see the pictures from yesterday’s match?” He asked excitedly, reaching for another sandwich.

“Er – yes,” she replied, trying to recall the smudged orange streaks she had glanced at briefly that morning.

“The Prophet’s was a bit fuzzy,” he admitted. “But the Inquisitor had a half-page picture of my amazing second deflection. You should have seen it, babe.”

He spent a few minutes recounting the play to her, but though she had tried to gain an interest in quiddich for his sake, she still found the terminology difficult to picture. Her eyebrows were pinched together at her forehead, her stomach still twisted with horrible sensations.

“Anyway, big-shot Denny Creed is on the scout for international players again, and he’s meeting his junior associates in Hogsmeade tomorrow. Coach Litz tipped me off and said I should get my arse up here, so here I am.” Her frown became a little deeper. “Of course, the main reason was to see you, sweetie,” he added, with another shining grin.

Hermione was astounded by the power of the human mind. If a computer had been trying to operate at the level that her brain was currently speeding along, it would probably have exploded. He had a business meeting in Hogsmeade. That was the real reason he had come. Would he have come to see her anyway, with his free weekend, if international quidditch scout Denny Creed hadn’t been staying in the village down the road? She wanted to believe that he would’ve – but she realised at that moment that she couldn’t believe such a thing. It simply wasn’t true. She suddenly knew she couldn’t believe anything he said.

“Why do you need to see Denny Creed, anyway?” She asked, trying to sound light, but her guilt and anger were still visibly simmering on the surface. “You’re playing for the Cannons now, it’s what you wanted. I thought you said you weren’t interested in playing for England. You said you would retire soon, last time we properly spoke.”

“Well, I’ll probably be taken out by an injury soon enough anyway,” he said, his big hands waving in a dismissive gesture. “And I said I wasn’t interested in England because I never dreamt I’d make the team. But now – can you imagine, Mione?” His face took on a dreamy wistfulness. “Six-month tours, premier broomstick sponsors, and even if I don’t make England I might still be bought by Portugal or Switzerland. Can’t you just picture it? You sunning yourself on a private beach?”

“Or in a chalet,” she said dryly. “And six-month tours – away from me.”

“I’ve never stopped you from coming on tour with me. Lots of the boys do you know – “

“You know I wouldn’t ever want to go on tour,” she interrupted angrily. “You know it’s safe to ask me to come with you, because I’ll say no.”

“Safe to ask you?” Ron sputtered out. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’d love it if you came on tour with me.”

“I don’t want to go on tour!” She huffed out in reply, her hands thumping down on the sofa either side of her once, in frustration. Why didn’t he listen?

“There’s no problem then. I’ll be able to apparate back to see you,” he assured her half-heartedly, but even as he did so she was thinking the very same thing – and also that he had never apparated back to see her once in the last year, even when he had been able to. She sighed.

“Don’t be like this, baby,” he moaned, his tone childish. “Think – think about the money. There’ll be so much money. International galleons – enough to get us anything. Everything. Then I’ll retire. Promise.”

“You shouldn’t make promises you won’t keep, Ron,” she scowled.

He threw himself back into the armchair with a huff as his eyes narrowed at her dangerously. His grin slipped down his face into a scowl to match her own, and she saw his fingers stab into the arms of the chair, his knuckles turning white.

“I’m sorry,” she said instantly, afraid of making him angry. She knew she was pushing him. “I’m sorry,” she said again, kneeling down on the floor next to his chair and looking up into his face. “You’re right – the money will be just what we need. We can get a house – I can build a lab – and then you’ll retire.” His eyes flicked down to her face, his scowl deepened. “If you want to!” She added quickly. “I don’t mind you playing, as long as you still want to fly.”

His dangerous scowl vanished like smoke on the wind, replaced instantly with another of his wide and cheeky grins, and he brought a hand up to cup her face.

“I know,” he said quietly. His thumb brushed against her cheek. “You are good to me, ‘Mione.”

She smiled at his praise and reached up for him. He pulled away.

“No, don’t hug me,” he said quickly. “I’ve just flown four hundred miles. I need a shower.”

Ron stood up in a rush of easy movements and disappeared into the bedroom. After a few moments she heard the clatter of water falling in the shower of her en-suite. She pulled herself back onto the sofa and sighed deeply, her head in her hands.

It had been weeks and weeks since she had last seen him, and yet he still hadn’t given her anything more than a smile and peck on the cheek, like Harry might have done. She didn’t know whether to be annoyed – or relieved.

With a blush she remembered Severus’ kiss, the taste of his mouth, the feel of his lips and tongue. She rubbed the heels of her hands into her eyes and sighed again, quickly, and she swallowed.

How could she kiss a man like that – be kissed by a man like that – and then want or be expected to kiss another man in the same day? In the same hour?

She put her head in her hands again, and held her breath, trying not to cry.

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Hermione tried to read in bed. It might have been a distraction for her mind. But she found that even as she read the words in front of her, images of the day kept replaying themselves in her head, over and over again. She felt insanity creeping down onto her. She would lose her mind if things kept going this way. She shook her head for the hundredth time, trying to dislodge her thoughts, and failing.

The shower had stopped some time ago but Ron still loitered in the bathroom, doing goodness-knew-what. Her stomach rolled again, she had so many horrible emotions bubbling around inside that it was impossible to know which was which. Part of her wished he would stay in the bathroom all night. The tub could be surprisingly comfy, with a warm blanket.

It really wasn’t fair that it had turned out this way. She shouldn’t have to confront it all at once like this. If only she had considered everything more. If only she had waited a little while. If only... If only. If only her actions could be undone as easily as they were in her mind. But her experience with the time-turner had taught her nothing if not that actions were permanent, however much magic you used to try and undo them, or change them. She couldn’t undo the evening she’d spent with Severus in the library.

And she was beginning to realise that, even if she could have done, she didn’t want to.

Ron cheated on her. She knew it. She knew it deep down in her heart as certainly as she knew the sun kept rising. The sports pages of the newspapers were full of it, girls she met in town sometimes bragged about it to her, Ginny had even caught him one time and told her everything. But when he grinned at her in that way of his, when he was clumsy for her affection it charmed her, and she had still found it so hard not to believe his lies.

But now she felt as if she had seen the light. She had been content with clumsy, mumbled words, before she had been seduced with eloquence. She had been content to satisfy him and herself, had even thought it was all she could expect from life, until she had been willed into mutual sexual euphoria.

‘I want to touch you.’ His deep voice echoed in her memory. ‘I still want to touch you.’

She bit her lip and trailed one of her cool fingertips across her jawline, then down her neck and across her chest, remembering his long fingers and lingering touch. His intent, knowing touch. She had read about touches like his in books. She hadn’t expected them to actually exist.

Ron came into the bedroom and she snapped her hand down to the bedcovers quickly, in a guilty gesture which must have been more obvious than if she had just kept still, she knew. She was fidgety and felt awkward. Very unlike herself.

“Good shower?” She asked quickly.

“Mmm, yeah,” he replied, rubbing his damp hair roughly with a hand-towel. “I feel a bit more human now.” He tossed the towel aside and flung himself onto the bed, stretching out on his side next to her, another small towel round his waist the only thing protecting his modesty.

“A lot more human, actually,” he murmured, then he lunged forward and started kissing her neck roughly.

“Oh, Ron!” She cried out, but it was a shout of frustration, and she flinched and wriggled away from him.

“‘Mione?” He asked quietly, his eyes and voice full of concern, making her guilt bubble a little more. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing – “ she replied, far too quickly and nervously. “Nothing! You just surprised me.”

“Good,” he said. “You had me worried for a minute there.” And then he grabbed her, pulling her arm roughly, kissing her neck clumsily again.

“Oh, no! Ron!” She pulled away from him and stood at the side of the bed, looking down at him. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this right now.”

“What you mean?” His face slipped into an angry scowl almost immediately. “Don’t be like this, baby,” he said again, but it was more of a warning than a plea. “I’ve not seen you for ages. It’s been weeks since I last – y’know.”

“Months,” she muttered under her breath, knowing exactly what he meant.

“What?” He muttered, guesting to his ear for her to repeat herself.

“I said it’s been months. It’s been months, Ron, since I last slept with you.”

“I know!” He said angrily, his voice rising a little, his hands spread out in an exasperated gesture. “So what are you waiting for?”

She hesitated, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, trying to buy some time while the fireworks of thought still exploded in her head. She felt hurt and horrified at Ron’s behaviour, he couldn’t just grab her like a flapjack after months apart, nor expect her to make love to him without even a single kiss on the lips. But then, when she thought about it, he hadn’t ever treated her differently. Even when they had been living together before he made the Cannons. It was only now, today, that she knew of the seduction of soft kisses and a gentle touch.

And Ron hadn’t been the one to show it to her.

“A little kindness, perhaps?” She told him. “Even just a hug, before you expect me to just lie back and spread my legs.” She heard the bitterness in her own voice.

“Bloody hell, ‘Mione,” he muttered, running a freckled hand through his fiery red hair. “You want me to write a poem next time too?” She tutted in annoyance and rolled her eyes. “I have been out flying for the last five hours,” he reminded her. “And you’ve been my girlfriend for nearly three years – “

“Three years, eight months,” she spoke through gritted teeth.

“ – You’re supposed to be, well, happy to see me.” The anger seemed to go out of him then, leaving him looking deflated and meek, and really quite sweet.

“Oh, Ron,” she said kindly, reaching a hand forward to touch his cheek. But it felt so smooth, and rounded, and she couldn’t help comparing it to… And there was the guilt again. Sharp and vivid. “I am happy to see you.” She stepped forward, and then knelt onto the bed, and he leant forward to kiss her. She didn’t mean to, but she jerked away from him again, all the same.

“What is it, Herm’?” His eyes were narrowed, but she couldn’t tell whether it was with concern or not. “You’ve been acting strange since I got here.”

“I was just surprised to see you,” she said, but in her mind it sounded like a feeble excuse without the full explanation. But why couldn’t she just tell him what had happened?

She knew why. If he knew she had cheated on him – and with Snape, a cruel part of her own mind reminded herself – he would leave her. And then she would be alone. Absolutely alone.

“Perhaps it would be better if you slept on the sofa tonight, Ron,” she said hesitantly. “I’ve not been feeling well at all, now you mention it. I’ve got such a headache, you wouldn’t believe.”

“I’m sorry you’ve got a headache, sweetie, and we don’t need to do anything if you don’t want to.” He patted her on the shoulder, a little awkwardly. “I can tell you’re not feeling right. But there’s no fucking way I’m sleeping on that sofa.”

She blinked in surprise at his language, and felt a twinge of anger that was enough to cover her guilt, if only for a moment. liquor

“Fine, then.” She grabbed the softest pillows and a blanket from the bed, dragging it from under him. “I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Suit yourself,” he muttered, and crawled under the duvet. He turned away from her. She banged the door closed angrily behind her.

And Hermione knew, then, that she couldn’t love Ron anymore. She didn’t love him anymore.

She knew because she didn’t mind that he wouldn’t be coming in to speak to her, to whisper kind words and reassure her, and try to coax her back into bed. He would be asleep already. And, this time, she didn’t mind at all.

She stretched herself out on the couch and snuggled up into her blanket, the fire warm and comforting beside her, and she felt far more at ease than she had done in the bedroom. She couldn’t go on living in this relationship with Ron. She simply couldn’t. There was a time – not too long ago – when she would have been happy to stick with Ron forever. She wanted to be married. She wanted to have children. But she didn’t want Ron now, not when he was so different. Not when he took her entirely for granted.

But she was so afraid of being alone. She knew she wasn’t really pretty, she didn’t really know how to flirt, and if she didn’t stick with Ron then there wouldn’t be a hint of anyone else. But that’s not true, part of her thought, deep down. There was someone else.

There was Severus.

What was it that he was offering, exactly? She didn’t know at all. It was possible – probable, even – that he wasn’t interested in anything further than simply what had happened today. As far as he was aware she was attached, and unavailable – in a manner of speaking, anyway. And there was no denying that the idea of having a relationship with Snape, well, it was laughable. Wasn’t it?

She let her mind wander for a moment or two, and then a moment more and a bit longer after that, daydreaming as she imagined going to sleep next to him and waking up with him. Living a life and working with him. It should have been amusing but, surprisingly, it suddenly didn’t seem funny in the slightest.

She punched the pillow, and threw her head down onto it. The third lesson tomorrow was Seventh Year Potions.

And with any luck she’d learn a thing or two.

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A/N: Thanks for reading, I would love to hear what you think :)
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