That Each May Fill The Circle Mark'd by Heaven

Chapter One: Present

By rhitmcshanm

The holiday crowds pressing in around her did nothing to distract the woman from her melancholy thoughts. Exactly sixty years before, Hermione Granger lost her moral virginity, her carefree sense of humor, and one of her best friends. But other than that, it was a hell of a holiday. There was probably someone in the world who had has a worse day, she supposed, as she thought back on that day all those years ago; and to be fair, she vaguely remembered that there had been moments of that day that hadn’t been completely awful. It was just that the memories of the bad parts, even with the distance of time, stung. She was knocked out of her silent self-absorption as a man was pushed into her by the seething crowd that teemed the Diagon Alley streets.

“Oh, pardon me,” the gentleman said as he reached out a hand to steady her.

“Oh, no,” she said, bending over to pick up the books the collision had scattered across the cobblestones. “It was entirely my fault. I wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.”

The man knelt to help her gather up her books and said, handing them to her, “I really am terribly sorry.”

“Think nothing of it sir…Professor Snape!” Hermione peered up at him, eyes widening as she recognized him. The hair was iron gray instead of black; pulled back instead of hanging limply around his face, but nothing could ever change that nose or those penetrating dark eyes. It was definitely the much-feared potions professor from her youth.

Severus Snape stood up, helping her to her feet and looked down at her. Her face was familiar, but he couldn’t place her at all.

She looked up at him and blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Good lord, man, have you grown another foot taller?” She blushed bright red as soon as the words were out of her mouth and looked away, embarrassed. One would think that after six decades she would learn how to curb her tongue…

A remark like that could only come from a former Gryffindor. He studied her—curly, bushy hair, streaked gray, slight figure clutching a multitude of books—and finally it clicked into place. “Miss Granger…?” he asked.

She opened her mouth to correct him, but changed her mind and nodded instead. “It’s good to see you again, sir,” she said smiling up at him. He snorted in disbelief. “No, really,” she confirmed. “It’s been far too long since I’ve talked to the surviving members of the Order.”

“I certainly didn’t expect you to keep up with your most disliked professor—no matter how much Gryffindor loyalty you were feeling…” Snape said.

“Hardly the most disliked professor; Professor. That fraud Trelawney had that honor. And, though I perhaps didn’t display it at the time…I really was grateful for your instruction.” He smirked when she said the part about the displaying it at the time, and her lips quirked up in a larger smile.

“Miss Granger,” he said, with the smallest hint of laughter in his voice, “I am nearly a hundred years old, but if you think it has been long enough that I have gone fully senile and don’t remember how much you and your fellow Gryffindor’s loathed my classes…”

She smiled, taking the rest of the books from him. “I guess it hasn’t been quite that long. Though, I hear you aren’t teaching anymore. You’re Hogwart’s Headmaster right?”

“That is correct,” he said in a voice tinged with regret. Hermione quirked her brow at him, and he elaborated, “Contrary to your initial impressions, I actually did enjoy teaching…when the students truly wanted to learn. But my joints were quite glad to leave that damp and moldy dungeon behind—and it was still moldy even after all of the after-battle “improvements”.”

Hermione smiled at the memory—once terrifying, now just amusing—of her first day in Potions class. It was comforting to know that sixty years could blunt at least some memories. The crowds continued to push around the two stationary former members of the Order of the Phoenix. One particularly hard push had Hermione stumbling into Snape. The offending witch muttered apology and continued on her way.

Hermione made a quick decision. “Profess—Headmaster, I was just about to head off for lunch. Would you consider joining me?”

He opened his mouth to politely decline her request when his stomach betrayed him by rumbling at the thought of food.

“My treat,” she added, to sweeten the deal. “And I promise not to discuss the “joyous holiday” if you prefer not to.”

After another long moment of consideration, he finally nodded. It would get them out of the pushing crowds, and he was surprised to find that he was actually curious to find out what she had been doing in the sixty years since their last meeting. That and the idea of having lunch with a person—former student even—who wasn’t mortally terrified of him had some appeal. There might even be interesting conversation that did not revolve around Hogwarts students, upcoming Quidditch matches, or the anniversary of the defeat of Voldemort. If he were wished “Happy Defeat Day” one more time…he might actually scream in public. And wouldn’t that be a sight to see.

Hermione smiled to herself as Snape agreed to her hastily proffered invitation to lunch. Severus Snape had clearly changed much in the intervening years—though she could still seen hints of the calculating former Head of Slytherin just under the surface. With Voldemort defeated, his name cleared, and the constant threat of death removed, he had loosened up considerably—Hermione had this information from first hand sources and was not above taking advantage of his current affability. “This way, then, I know a nice little place here on Diagon.” She didn’t quite have the temerity to grasp his arm, but they managed to walk along in companionable silence until she came to one of the many doorways on the alley. Pushing open the door, they walked into a small restaurant half filled with diners. The maitre’d approached and smiled at Hermione.

“Your usual table, ma’am?” he asked with a slight bow.

“Yes, that would be lovely,” she replied. The wizard led them to a table by the window. The window overlooked a courtyard in the back of the alley. Severus pulled out Hermione’s chair and helped her sit. She smiled up in thanks and placed her packages on the floor next to her.

The waiter appeared and asked, “Menus, Mrs. Weasley?”

“I don’t need one,” Hermione replied, “but I think the Headmaster will want one.”

The waiter produced the menu from thin air and murmured that he would be back in a few minutes.

Hermione nodded and turned back to Snape who was regarding her with a strange look in his eyes. “What?” she asked, confused.

“Mrs. Weasley?” he asked. “Please don’t tell me you married Ro—Percy Weasley!” Snape caught himself, but not in time. Hermione’s eyes grew clouded at the near reference to her dead friend. Sixty years was enough to blunt almost all of the pain, but every once in a while, it would all come rushing back—and today was the anniversary of that day, after all.

With a shake of her head, she dispelled the memories, laughed, and said, “Certainly not! Percy may have improved significantly over the years, and I consider him a friend, but as husband material for me? Hardly.”

“Then…?” Severus prompted.

“I married Charlie Weasley,” she answered after a long pause.

“Congratulations, Mrs. Weasley,” Snape said, though his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She laughed. “It’s a little late, Headmaster. That was over forty years ago. And…” she trailed off a sad look in her eyes.

“Yes?”

“You don’t want to hear the whole sordid tale,” Hermione said, unfolding her napkin and placing it on her lap.

Snape twisted his lips in a smile. “Actually,” he said, “Now that you have piqued my interest…” His smile grew fractionally when he noticed the disbelief in her eyes. “Miss…Mrs. Weasley. You can hardly think I am the same man I was sixty years ago. People…the world…everything changes over time. Even one as set in his ways as myself.”

Hermione nodded, accepting the truth of his statement, but added, “Well, this new…lighter Severus Snape is something that will take a little time to get used to. Intellectually, I know you are sixty years wiser—sixty years different, but emotionally, the little girl in me still remembers that frightening first potions lesson. And it is difficult for me to picture you anywhere other than the Hogwarts dungeon—it was one of the few things at Hogwarts a student could count on. Dumbledore would have sweets, Peeves would be a pain in the arse, and Snape would be sweeping around the dungeons.” She smiled and added, “It doesn’t help that you hardly look a day older.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mrs. Weasley,” he said. “As for the cornerstones of Hogwarts…” Snape quirked his lips up in agreement with that statement. “Nearly thirty years of ‘sweeping’ about could possibly create that impression.” The memory seemed to please him, but he resolutely shook it from his mind and turned his attention back to his lunch partner. “But you were saying…?” he prompted.

“Well, you’ll have to promise to tell me your life story once I am done.”

“I make no promises.”

“Of course not,” Hermione smiled at the hints of the old Professor Snape peeking through again. She had no problems with sharing a story that was, after all, fairly common knowledge and so acquiesced. After all, talking about anything would be a far sight better than staring at each other uncomfortably for the entire meal. The beginning of the story was interrupted by the return of the waiter. The two hastily gave their orders for light fare and were once again left alone. “All right. Where to begin…”

“The beginning?”

“Well I was born…”

“Mrs. Weasley, your humor has clearly degenerated,” Snape interrupted.

“Just joking. Hm…Voldemort was defeated…I trust you recall that day? Well, I graduated—I am sure you remember that one too. “

“Finally got rid of Harry Bloody Potter.”

“Mm,” Hermione replied noncommittally. “Well, I took a job with the Ministry. Brewing potions of all things. I worked on this and that for a year or two when Remus Lupin stopped by. He was wondering if I could maybe have a look at the wolfsbane potion and see if I could do something to improve it.”

Snape choked on the tea the server had unobtrusively poured.

“Yes, I know you had been working on it off and on for twenty years.” Hermione’s voice never lost it’s equanimity as she continued. “And he knew that you had perfected it as far as it could. He was hoping my different background would give me an insight into the problem. So we started working on it. It took me nearly two years of all my free time to figure out how to solve the problem. I think my experiences my second year at Hogwarts ended up helping me see the correct angle.” She took a sip of her tea before continuing. “Professionally, my career was rising. Personally…well, when you are working in close contact and under a lot of stress…things happen that normally wouldn’t. Remus and I grew close. We got married as soon as we verified that the potion worked and that Remus was cured.”

“You! You are H. Lurpin!” Snape choked. His tea was not having much luck staying out of his windpipe.

“H. Lupin. There was a regretful error in the spelling of the name of the potion’s creator.”

“The bloody Ministry wouldn’t even send me the formula!” Snape exclaimed. “Not even all of Albus’ cajoling could get it out of them.”

“Well, that’s because I asked them not to release it to anyone other than werewolves who needed curing. And I made those receiving the cure sign a magical contract prohibiting discussion of it. I didn’t—don’t—want anyone to have the formula if I can prevent it. The potion could be used for some very evil purposes. However…if you ask very nicely I might tell you how I did it…”

He growled and glared at her. Professor Snape quickly subsumed the more affable Headmaster Snape personality. She decided to take pity on him—after all he had had four decades of stewing over the fact that someone had succeeded where he had failed.

“All right, actually what I did was take the Polyjuice potion and strengthened it, using a few muggle methods. I also added some other helpful ingredients including mandrake. What ended up happening was by taking a piece of Remus’s human hair and adding it to the new potion, I was able to transform him for up to a year. And since he was transforming into himself…the werewolf transformation couldn’t compete with the altered Polyjuice. So, Remus no longer becomes a werewolf—as long as he remembers to take his potion once a year.” The waiter reappeared and placed their orders in front of them and disappeared once again. Hermione took a bite of the sandwich and watched as Snape tentatively bit into his. She was glad to see that he was pleasantly surprised at the taste. Most places couldn’t compete with Hogwarts elves for cooking, but the small restaurant was one of the best around. “Actually,” she said, taking another bite, “he always comes by to take it on the anniversary of our divorce.”

“If it’s not prying, why did it end?”

“It is prying, but I’ll tell you anyway. He wanted children and I didn’t. That, and our personalities are too different. He is just too nice. The relationship was formed under stressful, and unusual, circumstances and didn’t stand a chance of surviving the banality of daily life.” She smiled and took a sip of her own tea. “For a while,” she continued, “I thought he came to get the potion on the anniversary of the divorce just to annoy me—and he had every right to do so…though that would discount my theory of him being too nice…”

“Every right?” Snape knew he was prying—completely overstepping the bounds of their very recently renewed acquaintance, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

“I got married to Charlie Weasley less than a three months after Remus and I split.”

“And you are still married?”

He really had mellowed. The Snape she remembered would have confined his responses to grunts or single syllables. This new, bantering and interested Snape was certainly a change. “No,” she shook her head sadly, answering his question. “At first I was convinced that my marriage to Charlie was a rebound thing—and that it wouldn’t last more than a month. But, over the years, he proved to me that we were meant to be together. He was a godsend.” She smiled wryly at Snape as her eyes clouded a bit. “Here I go—getting all worked up. He had lived the life of poverty and didn’t want children.” She smiled thinking back. “He was adventuresome and daring and completely Gryffindor. Willing to argue, not repressed by decades of being told he was inferior…he was exactly what I needed.” Her smile faded as she continued, “He was killed seventeen years ago in an accident with a Peruvian vipertooth.”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Snape said. The years since Charlie’s death hadn’t seemed to diminish the affection she had held for him. He knew it was trite, but it was the only thing he could think of to say.

“I am too. He was an amazing man.” With a sigh she shook her head and pasted a smile on. The silence stretched out as they each became lost in their own thoughts. Snape finally broke it by speaking.

“And now?”

“Getting a little personal aren’t we?” Hermione asked coolly.

Snape cocked his brow at her change in tone. Apparently all his prying had awakened more emotions than she had thought it would. “Hasn’t this whole conversation been personal?” he asked, trying to jolly her back into a more positive mood.

Her equilibrium seemed to return. “Too right,” she agreed. Hermione decided a change of subject was called for. “How are things at the school, Headmaster?” she asked.

“Please. Call me Severus—I’d say at this point in the conversation we are allowed to be on a first name basis. Besides, when you call me Headmaster, I want to look around to see if Albus is here.”

Hermione nodded in understanding. “Then it’s only fair that you call me Hermione.” There was a companionable silence before Hermione prompted again, “You were saying about the school…”

“Yes. The school. Well, surprisingly my DADA teacher never mentioned that he was once married to Hermione Granger…” Severus replied, thinking back to all the conversations he had had with Remus Lupin over the years. Never once did the subject of his former wife come up. And every time, Snape had asked him about the lycanthrope cure, he had been politely rebuffed.

“Ha ha,” Hermione replied.

Snape smiled charmingly back. Which was almost more frightening than his trademark sneer. He thought about the school, trying to think of something that would interest her. “Hm…what else…” he said, thinking about his job. “Oh, yes. There are at least seventeen Weasley’s at the school. I have actually lost track—they seem to increase exponentially every year.”

“All in Gryffindor?”

“No, mostly in Gryffindor, but there are one or two in Ravenclaw, a couple in Hufflepuff, and there is even one that was sorted into Slytherin…much to the disgrace of her brothers and sisters and cousins and nieces and whatever relationship they all have. And they all have red hair. Every single one. Looking out over the tables at mealtimes resembles looking at a third year with spots. They’re everywhere.” He peered around the restaurant—which had become more crowded with the lunch hour customers—as though searching for Weasleys to pour out of the walls. This paranoid check elicited a laugh from his companion.  “And I am sure you’ll be thrilled to know that Slytherin has won the House Cup four years in a row…” She snorted in reply. “Then of course, there is a new head of Slytherin. Dr—“

“Finite Incantem.” The charm missed whatever the child at the next table over was pointing at and hit Hermione in the shoulder. She blinked for a moment before fumbling for her wand. Thinking she was going to curse the child or some other outlandish thing, Snape grabbed her arm before she could raise the wand completely.

“Would you mind letting go of my arm?” she asked as she turned her head, eyes looking blindly toward him.

Snape blinked in surprise. Her brown eyes which had been so full of emotion moments earlier were now lifeless and dull. He let go of her arm in shock.

Hermione muttered a quick charm and pointed her wand at her temple while Snape looked on. Moments later, her eyes were alive again, and she smirked at him.

Snape smirked back and put on his best Headmaster face. He got up and stalked to the table where the spell had come from. Placing his hand heavily on the child’s shoulder, he glared down at the young wizard. The child turned his scared, watery blue eyes up at Snape.

“Young man,” Snape said in his most intimidating Headmaster-ly voice—complete with haughty glare and pursed lips. “Perhaps you haven’t heard,” and his tone indicated that one with such a small brain would hardly be able to understand even if he had heard, “but there are restrictions on use of under-age magic while not at school.” His eyes turned to the cringing parents of the fat little monster. “You would do well to discipline your child better, Sir, Madame. Be warned, if he attends my school in the future, he will certainly be under much more…intense…scrutiny.” With that final warning, Snape swept away, leaving the parents and child gaping at the space where he had stood.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Hermione said, struggling to control her laughter. If possible, the Headmaster-in-a-snit Snape was far worse than the potions master Snape.

Snape snorted as he reclaimed his seat. He pursed his lips together before asking, slowly, “What happened to your eyesight?” It showed clearly on his face that he was trying to keep his assumptions under control.

She smiled a bit at his obvious concern and replied, “Hereditary degenerative disease,” she replied with apparent unconcern. “There is nothing in the Wizarding or Muggle worlds—even with their advanced technology—that can permanently cure it yet. So…magic solves the problem. It started going about five years ago, and I’ve been completely blind for nearly a year.” She looked at Snape and scowled when she saw his expression. “Don’t you dare pity me, Severus Snape,” she said forcefully

Snape cleared the expression he hadn’t even known he had displayed. He nodded apologetically at her. “Nothing?” he queried. “No potions, or transfiguration of new corneas…nothing?”

“Nothing I want to do to my own body on an experiment—call it a foible. I just don’t want to mess around with it unless I am sure. I’ve finally gotten cautious in my old age,” she replied, smiling at his disbelief of truth of that statement. “Besides, I am lucky that my eyesight can be replaced with magic—Muggles don’t have that option. And my disfigurement is fixable—nothing can treat that nose of yours.”

His had automatically started to go to his nose when he realized how she had baited him. He smirked at her and said, “You had better not admit your new-found caution to your Gryffindor friends; I think it goes against everything the house stands for.”

She smiled back at him and acknowledged the truth behind that cliché.

After that, they concentrated on eating the delicious meal that had appeared in front of them while they had been talking. Comments were infrequent and centered only on the quality of the food, a newly published book, or the continued incompetence of the Ministry of Magic. When their appetites had been sated and another cup of tea consumed, they reluctantly stood to end the luncheon.

“Severus…” Hermione said as she stood, “if you would like to see my notes on the lycanthropy cure, I have a copy back at my apartment.”

The Headmaster looked at her strangely, and she hurriedly continued, “No, no, no,” she said, misinterpreting his look. “I do know all the Muggle innuendos associated with a woman inviting a man back to her apartment, and I assure you that is not the case here.” She gathered up her books and other purchases and looked at him expectantly.

Snape was surprised to feel the tiniest bit of disappointment at her vehement denial. Aloud all he said was, “The thought never even crossed my mind. And I would like to see your notes—they might be extremely useful in the potion I am working on currently.” He stepped back and allowed her to lead the way out of the restaurant.

They walked into the slightly less crowded street, and she directed them in the direction of her apartment.

After a moment of companionable silence, Hermione said, “I must say, Severus, you truly are a credit to your house.”

Snape looked at her, checking to see if she were being sarcastic. Seeing that she wasn’t, he said, “Excuse me?”

“I mean,” she clarified, “you managed to extract rather a lot of information about me—information I was willing to share of course—while at the same time revealing very little about yourself. Very deft.”

Snape smirked down at the shorter witch. “It’s not a trait solely found in the Slytherin House—it’s a skill developed from years of dealing with children.”

“Are you comparing me to the students at Hogwarts?” There was an indignant note in her voice.

“No,” Snape assured her. “But of course,” he continued, in a light, teasing manner, “there is much similarity in dealing with children and dealing with women.” He continued over her gurgled protest, “It’s one of the first things a boy learns in Slytherin. Let a woman talk about herself, and she’ll be yours.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped in shock, and she smacked the Headmaster on the arm—causing her packages to teeter precariously. “What a horrible sentiment,” she continued as Snape deftly plucked the items from her arms and continued walking down the street.

He shifted the packages to a more comfortable position and raised an eyebrow at her offended attitude, saying, “Am I wrong?”

Her innate honesty compelled her to answer, “No. Not in many cases—most cases. But you still shouldn’t say that!”

Severus Snape laughed—actually laughed—at her outrage. “Miss—Hermione. You are of course right about certain cases, but I guarantee it works on many of the students in the school. Or have you forgotten some of the girls of your own year? What were their names…Lavender and Pavarati?”

“Lavender and Parvati,” Hermione grudgingly replied. “And no, you aren’t wrong. Their chief requirement in male companionship was that they should look good riding a broom and be able listen to hours of meaningless prattle.”

“Seems to be the criteria of almost all teenagers.”

The conversation was—luckily—interrupted by their arrival at Flourish and Blotts. “I live above the bookstore,” Hermione said as she steered Snape through the door.

Snape looked perplexed, “Then why were you purchasing books elsewhere? Surely you could order anything you need…”

“Habit,” was the reply as they stepped into the store. “And of course, I like to keep an eye on what my competitors are carrying—they return the compliment naturally.”

They began to thread their way to the back when a voice stopped them. “Ms. Weasley!” One of the clerks came up to them. “Ms. Weasley, the newest Lockhart Heartthrob Thriller books have arrived.”

Hermione smiled at the girl and said, “Put them in the front window so those poor women who have been salivating for its release don’t kill the rest of our customers in a stampede to be the first to own it. Oh, and if you have time, see if you can get Mr. Lockhart to make an appearance for a book signing.” She turned to Snape and said in an aside, “Though he never fully recovered from his accident with obliviation, he still manages to smile charmingly and scribble his name. That’s all those hormone crazed women want anyway.”

Snape snorted.

“Of course, I’ll floo St. Mungos right away,” the girl. She was nodding politely at Snape when she recognized him. Her eyes widened and she gave a little gasp. Her bow was somewhat truncated, and she hurried off shooting apprehensive glances over her shoulder.

“Another of your former students?” Hermione asked, laughing.

“Apparently.”

She led him through the aisles of books a back room where there was a staircase. They climbed the stairs to her apartment, and she directed him to set the books down on one of the few empty spaces. It seemed at first as though there were more books in the apartment than there were in the store downstairs.

“Ms—Hermione,” Snape said, “I honestly cannot think of a better career for one who spent as much time in the library as you did.”

“Well…Hogwarts Librarian would be better—more access to some of the rarer, older books. And of course the ones forbidden to law-abiding citizens that just happen to be in Hogwarts’ Restricted Section,” Hermione admitted as she swept some books off one of an antique sofa to make room for Snape to sit. “Here, take a seat while I look.” She began to rummage around in the piles of papers that threatened to consume a large desk. “Being a bookseller is nice and all, but once I let someone buy them, they are gone forever—I’ll never know if they read them, or if they are going to use them as firewood the next winter. As a librarian, you get them back, can ask the students how they liked them, and yell at those who abuse them.” She had continued rooting around while she spoke. She smirked at him as she finally found the parchment she was looking for. “Rather like you did with your precious potions ingredients,” she said, as she handed him the slightly flattened roll of parchment. She sat down next to him on the sofa, ready to answer any question he might have.

Snape unrolled the parchment and glanced over the notes written carefully upon it. A quick perusal told him that her methods would be fairly easy to replicate and might in fact be beneficial in some of his own projects.

“Well, Hermione,” he said as he continued to read, “I see that you did at least learn a bit from my classes.”

She put her hand on his arm causing him to stop in his reading. She looked him straight in the eyes saying, “I meant what I said on the street earlier today when we met. I did enjoy—well not enjoy, but appreciate—the classes—when I was old enough to get past my emotional reactions to them and focus on the learning I achieved.” She bit her lip—an old habit and one that she had never quite been able to break—before continuing, “Though it pains the Gryffindor in me to say it now, you really were one of the best teachers in the school; at least one of the best in imparting knowledge. Binns bored us silly, Flitwick was so excitable, Trelawney—worthless. We may not have expressed it at the time…” She smiled ruefully at him.

He maintained eye contact as he replied, “Remember what I said about flattery, Miss Granger?”

“Hermione.”

“Hermione.”

She leaned back against the sofa as he turned his attention back to the scroll.

“It’s strange,” she said after several long minutes of silence.

“What’s strange?” Snape queried.

She shifted on the couch. “That it’s been sixty years. It just…I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to discuss it.”

“Hm,” Snape murmured noncommittally. “I’ll admit that I did leave the school for the sole purpose of avoiding this discussion with the teachers there, but if you really want to talk about it…”

“I don’t actually,” she replied with a quick smile. “It was just more a way to break the silence. Are you sure you didn’t have any questions about the cure?”

“No, Miss Granger,” he said, “Your work, as ever, is quite clear and logical.”

“Hermione,” she corrected him again, turning to glare at him.

What she had failed to consider was the nearness of their bodies on the sofa. She had been subtly aware of the heat from his body, but hadn’t realized how very close they actually were. Her eyes locked into his and the chemistry that had been quietly simmering throughout lunch suddenly burst into a roiling boil. She bit her lip at the intensity of his gaze, and his eyes flicked down to where her small teeth worried the delicately pink skin of her lip. They returned to her eyes after only a moment but now instead of simply intense regard, there was a flare of desire too. Desire she was sure was echoed in her own eyes. As is often the case after the fact, neither could remember who had made the first move. Perhaps they had moved at the same time. The final effect was the same, nonetheless.

Their lips met in an initially tentative kiss. His lips brushed hers ever so lightly, and she instinctively shifted closer to deepen the kiss. Hermione’s senses were nearly overwhelmed by his presence. His scent—spicy, warm, masculine. Definitely not “old man” smell. The heat radiating off his body. The touch of his clothing as it brushed against her arm. The lips, which she remembered vividly from her childhood always pressed into a thin line of disapproval, moved with determination as he thoroughly kissed her.

The scroll, the initial excuse—and not really excuse for she certainly hadn’t planned on dallying with Severus Snape—fell to the floor unheeded. Snape’s hands came up to lightly grasp her waist. He drew slightly away from her, his eyes questioning. Somewhen in that kiss, her body had ordered her heart to triple-time it. She was sure he could hear the racing of her heart as she returned his gaze with one that echoed desire. She wanted this. She had never been the type of woman to have causal lovers—her first experience with sex had been…well, an aberration. Her second experience had been on her wedding night, she had been “celibate” from her divorce until her second marriage, and hadn’t taken a lover in all the years since her second husband’s death. She had never found anyone else truly worthy of even a casual shag. But all that was forgotten. She wanted Severus Snape. She hadn’t started out with the plan to seduce him, but now that the seduction had started, she didn’t want it to end.

He answered her silent plea to continue by kissing her again—this time with more intensity. As their lips met again, a vague memory flashed through her mind and the air sizzled with magic. She ignored it, but the strange feeling returned, intensified.

She gasped and pulled away. She looked at Snape and found him watching her with an expression she was sure was echoed on her own face.

“What was that?” she managed to choke out, still mesmerised by the look in his eyes and distracted by the haze of desire his kisses had awakened.

“I don’t know,” Snape replied. He swallowed and said slowly, “But I think…I remember something…this is all familiar somehow.”

Hermione’s pulled her eyes from his face and looked off distantly. “Familiar…” she repeated. “As if, we’ve been here before. But not here, because I certainly don’t remember…” She frowned as she concentrated on trying to trap the recalcitrant feeling. It defied capture but continued to make her feel uneasy. Like a sore tooth, the more she poked at it, the more it demanded attention. It seemed like the easy feelings that had sprung up between them were going to be disturbed by this…whatever…until they figured out exactly what it was.

She sighed and looked at him seriously. “I think you had better use Legilimency,” she said in a resigned voice, “We have to know what is going on here.”

TBC...