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Cat People Make the Best Lovers	By : Ravensblood Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 4155 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Cat People Make the Best Lovers
- 2-The Promise of Petting
- 1
- 2
A/N: So I have this thing... you know, bangin around in my head and I was thinking... Just how much can I play with my favorite professor and my favorite student? I honestly have NO IDEA where I am going with this.
There will probably be some Trelawny bashing later on.
Dumbledore is dead, but Draco killed him. Harry killed Lucius and badly wounded Draco... yeah, I know I love the Slytherin boy, but he only serves to make my muse stutter whenever he's around. So he won't be.

Let me know what you think so far and let me know if you have anything specific in mind to happen. I'll see what I can do to accomodate you. But you gotta review if you want anything from me.

Allright enough of my babbling here ya go:
A very concerned head girl was standing in the threshold of a very confused Potion's Master. From the looks of her, she had been sleeping until just recently, and startled awake by some sort of commotion... Snape assumed that it had been he who had been his waking screams that had brought her to his door. It was far too late- or too early- for his normally gruff manner. A drowsy Severus was an almost approachable Severus- vulnerable and kitten like in demeanor. It was a very well-kept secret that he was an unregistered animagus- a cat, in fact. It was an even better-kept secret that Severus Snape liked nothing more than to be stroked just as a cat might. He could even purr given the right set of circumstances. No one at headquarters presently knew of his other form or of the peculiarities in his character because of it, but precisely the person who knew best how his cat liked to be stroked, (a long-time cat person, herself) had turned up just as he needed comforting the most.
Once she had gleaned that he was hale, whole, and in no present danger, a scowl graced her grouchy face worthy of one of his own from school. "Miss Granger, do please come in," he opened the door so any outburst from her would not wake Mrs Black, and consequently the entire household. The place was bursting at the seams as it was, before the most recent Death Eater attacks, but now a sizeable portion of the Weasleys, a few Lovegoods, Hermione's sole surviving aunt and cousins, and the regular complement were enough to give any one a case of cabin fever and/or claustrophobia no matter their proclivities. The tension was going to be just about enough to blow the roof off the place at any given moment and Severus found it best to err on the side of caution. Even though having a- just what was she wearing under that robe?- scantily clad, nubile young female with the caresses of an angel alone with him in his room was not especially decorous, it was preferable to making a scene right in the hall. He only hoped his screams did not wake any one else, but it was unlikely, since the Weasleys snored like freight trains (As was the way of every redhead he had ever met) and all of the light sleepers were in the other wing of the house, with the exception of Miss Granger, whose rooms abutted his own.
She flounced right into his sitting room and with a very audible huff, threw her body into one of the wing-backed chairs in front of the fire. "You know, when I found out that the only other living being I would be close to when I slept in this house was you, I was relieved. I thought ANYTHING would be better than having to share a hall with the snoring family of redheads. I thought you of all people would be silent as the grave. I should have known you'd be the type to have horrendous nightmares," she said it with an air of being greatly put-apon, but there was a glint of something in her eyes, perhaps understanding, and the slightest amused lift of the corner of her mouth.
"My sincerest apologies. Would you care for something to drink?" He queried, already pouring himself a glass of port.
"Sherry, if you have it, please." She thanked him moments later with just a smile as he gently handed off the little crystal glass.
He took the chair directly opposite hers and stared for long moments into the fire with her. A silence much like the comfortable ones he'd shared with her in her own rooms in his smaller and cuter form settled over them as they allowed their thoughts their ways.
Before long, she let out an amused "Hmf!"
"Sickle for your thoughts?"
"You're quite bearable when I'm sleep-deprived," she groused, looking him in the eye for the first time in a half an hour. The amused tilt was back in the corner of her mouth and Snape was faced with a sudden urge to kiss her just there... He did a mental backpedal and stayed the HELL away from there.
"In actuality, the less sleep I get, the more pathetic and... nice," the word seemed sour to him as he spit it out, "I become. I have not slept soundly in quite some time. I forgot to put up a silencing spell this evening. I do sincerely apologize."
She waved off the apology like an unwanted mongrel. "At least you think to PUT one up most nights. Honestly! You would think everyone else grew up a muggle, like me! I still have to stop and think before doing everything by hand."
"It takes years of practice, for some, and for others, it comes as simply as common sense," he nodded magnanimously. "Just like everything else, I am sure."
She only nodded succinctly and rose to go. "Thank you for your hospitality. And your alcohol. I might just be able to salvage my sleep schedule, yet." As she reached the door, she paused and looked back at him, an inscrutable expression on her features. She turned right back around and strode quickly to stand before him, bare feet diminuitively planted between his own. He fell back in his chair from where he had half-risen, not quite able to believe she was just so suddenly... there. Her hand confidently reached out and smoothed over the crown of his head and his breathing instantly slowed, eyes slid closed and his body stilled in only the way she could evoke in his other half. He felt- or thought he felt, it was so light, so brief as to not even truly be there, the brush of her lips on his and she whispered, "Sleep well, Professor."
Just like that, she was gone, the click of the door the only evidence of her passing. That was how he knew as he just sat there as she left him, head slightly tilted back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted. How long he remained like that, he could never tell. All he knew was he slept the most soundly he ever had since taking that damned dark mark.
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Cat People Make the Best Lovers