Two more weeks passed. Hermione wasn't any closer to finding out what was going on with the professor, and as partners, they didn't seem much closer to developing a working potion.
Hermione was so wrapped up in the potion she had almost let her schoolwork fall by the wayside and so she sat, late Saturday night after her session with Professor Snape, finishing up a huge chunk of her work.
One of the many upsides of being Head Girl was she had her own room, which meant lots of quiet time to study and do her homework, only interrupted by the all too eager house elves, who always knew she was up and constantly barraged her with offers to bring her food or drink.
She finally told them she would call if she needed anything and they left her alone. She suspected they were trying to get ahead in the running to be test elves.
But even after the house elves left her alone, she was still distracted. Her mind kept going back to Professor Snape. His behavior continued to get stranger and he hardly ever attended their nightly sessions. When he was actually in attendance, he was either irritable or extremely distant, and always seemed to be favoring different parts of his body.
However, Hermione could no sooner ask him what was wrong than she could ask him to give her an A for the year and exempt her from final exams.
Frowning, Hermione crossed out a sentence on her Defense Against the Dark Arts essay, having already written it once, and wrote the correct sentence.
She set her quill down and glanced up at the clock. Just past two a.m.
Standing and stretching, Hermione figured the rest of the essay could wait until morning and she went to bed, still wondering about the professor.
She worked on the rest of her homework most of Sunday, eating lunch in her room, but finished before dinner. Ron and Harry feigned surprise when she sat with them in the Great Hall, and she just rolled her eyes.
"Where were you all day?" Harry asked, pouring pumpkin juice into their glasses.
"In my room, doing homework," Hermione answered, smiling her thanks as she took her glass from Harry.
"You're not falling behind, are you?" Harry looked worried, but Hermione waved him away.
"It's fine. Don't worry." Hermione looked down at her plate and blinked, startled, at the newspaper clipping.
"What's this?" she asked, looking up at Ron.
"Mum sent it. She and Dad get the local Muggle newspapers now, to keep up with any mysterious goings-on." He pointed to the article and Hermione looked at it again.
"'Factory closes after disappearances'," Hermione read aloud. "'The Sticky Fingers Glue Factory' closed officially Monday after the unexplained disappearances of the owner and general manager.
"One day, they were just gone," said Tom Burnett, a foreman whose job has been with the factory for 25 years, and the factory's most senior employee. "We tried to keep it running, if only to fill the remaining orders, but then Monday morning, a man with hair so blonde it was white, and a walking stick, came in and told us to shut the machines off and go home. He said the factory was closed." Burnett did not get the man's name, but he admits he was more worried about his job. "I worked there for 25 years. I'm an old man now, who'll hire me?"'"
"Lucius Malfoy," Hermione murmured, setting the clipping down again.
"We got that much," Ron said, pointing at the picture of the factory. "D'ya think You-Know-Who's using it?"
"Probably. It looks rather isolated, plus no one will be by, as it's closed. I also have no doubt that Voldemort was behind the disappearances." Hermione handed the article back to Ron and began to load her plate with food.
"What do you think it means?" Harry asked, doing the same. "Of all the buildings, why a factory?"
Hermione paused, her hand on the spoon handle for the peas; she looked slightly uneasy now.
"I don't know, but it won't be good." She glanced over at Ron. "What does your dad say about it?"
Ron shrugged, moving his food around on his plate. "Dunno. He's so busy lately, now that he's been promoted to head of Magical Law Enforcement. There's been so many tips and leads; Mum says he's hardly ever home anymore."
"Oh," Hermione said softly. She liked to see Mr. and Mrs. Weasley together, and hoped the relationship would withstand this war.
She glanced at Ron and could tell he was thinking the same thing.
Later that night, as Hermione was reviving a house elf after he'd collapsed from drinking the latest sample potion, she wondered if Professor Snape knew anything about the factory.
He didn't seem any different, though, as he regarded the fallen elf.
"Well, we're on the right part of the body, at least," he muttered as the elf reached up and felt the small horns protruding from his forehead. His eyes widened, something Hermione wouldn't have thought possible for the already large eyed elf, and he looked fearfully at Professor Snape. The professor made the elf drink a clear blue liquid and sent him away, telling him the horns would be gone by morning.
"What is that stuff anyway?" Hermione asked, labeling their recent sample with the effects it had caused.
"Something of my own invention. Reverses the effect of almost any potion."
"Why haven't you told anyone at the convention about it?"
A derisive grunt was the response and Hermione scowled as the professor took the freshly labeled vial and carried it to a cabinet on the far wall that was already stocked full of their other sample potions, all neatly labeled with Hermione's handwriting, with effects ranging from crossed eyes and color changes, to new appendages, such as the horns. Some of them had affected memory, but the side effects were too severe. And they couldn't dare test on humans yet. The risk was still too great.
Hermione and the professor rarely talked on these nights together. At least nothing related to anything other than the potion. Hermione kind of wished they would talk, especially when there was nothing to do but wait for a potion to simmer, but Professor Snape always seemed preoccupied and couldn't have seemed less interested in talking to anyone, let alone Hermione.
And so they sat, for nights on end, the silence deafening, Hermione feeling as though she might explode at any moment.
That Saturday, Hermione say neither hide nor hair of Professor Snape at any of the meals and so spent much of the day with Harry and Ron, catching up on her schoolwork.
The three of them could be found an hour before dinner, Harry ad Ron playing Wizard Chess and Hermione watching, as she usually preferred.
"You going to work with Snape tonight?" Ron asked, concentrating on the chess board.
"Every night, Ron. We've established this," Hermione answered, also staring at the board. Harry smirked and prodded one of his pieces forward, eliciting a deeper frown from Ron.
"Do you like working with him?" Ron asked, moving one of his own pieces forward and nodding, pleased, as it pummeled one of Harry's.
Hermione pondered the question a moment.
"Yeah, I suppose I do. Why does it matter anyway?"
Ron scowled as he looked at Hermione. "It's the principle of the thing. Snape is not our friend."
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Ron, grow up!" Hermione snapped, pushing herself to her feet and storming from the common room; a group of first years parted to let her pass, watching warily as she climbed through the portrait hole.
Harry, having also watched Hermione's exit, turned to look at Ron, who, feeling Harry's eyes on him, looked up.
"What?"
"She's got a point, Ron," Harry said, making a move.
"Whose side are you on?" Ron muttered, making his own move, strategy lost.
"Last I checked, we were all on the same side. You know, friends?" Harry made another move. "Check."
Ron's scowl deepened as he gazed intently at the board, avoiding Harry's eyes.
"Ron, she's not your girlfriend and she's not your sister. You have zero say in what she does and with whom she does it. I suggest you learn to deal with it. Checkmate."
Ron grunted, crossing his arms over his chest. Harry sighed, rolling his eyes.
As Hermione and Severus worked that night, Hermione noticed the professor seemed very distracted, more so than usual, clenching his left forearm with his right hand.
It was a little after 8:00 when his left hand twitched convulsively and Hermione heard him gasp almost inaudibly.
"Miss Granger, why don't we call it a night?" he said, taking a jar from Hermione.
"But, we have an hour still, sir," she said, not quite comprehending the connection between his concentration on his arm and his desire to end the session early.
"I'll finish the potion, Miss Granger. You may go."
"But, sir," Hermione began, unwilling to just leave her work unfinished.
"Please, Miss Granger," Severus said shortly, closing his eyes briefly and pointing up the stairs.
"O-okay," Hermione murmured, walking to the wall and picking up her bag. It wasn't until she was all the way back in the professor's office that she realized why his arm was paining him and she stared at the door to the lab for a moment before she finally left.
All was forgotten the next day as Hermione sat in her room, finishing her homework to turn in the next day.
She was in the middle of a particularly difficult rune translation when she heard the portrait that guarded her room calling to her.
"Yes?" she called back.
"Your red-headed friend is here, dear."
"Male or female?" Hermione stopped writing a moment, frowning.
"Female, dear."
"Let her in." Hermione sighed, relieved, and finished her sentence as Ginny Weasley entered the room.
"I hear you and my dear, sweet, tactless brother got into it again."
"Hi to you, too," Hermione said, laughing slightly as Ginny plopped down onto the couch.
"Hi," Ginny said brightly, waggling her fingers. Hermione laughed and turned back to her work.
"So, what'd he do this time?"
"Oh, the usual. Professor Snape's a git and I shouldn't enjoy working with him."
"Do you enjoy working with him?"
"Well, sure," Hermione answered, shrugging.
"Can I have some of this?"
Hermione glanced over at Ginny, who was standing in front of a small snack tray a house elf had brought in an hour ago.
"Yeah, sure."
Ginny made herself a small plate and pulled a chair up next to Hermione.
"So, you like working with everyone's favorite potions professor."
"Yes, I do. Is there a problem with that?" Hermione said irritably.
"No," Ginny said, shrugging as she bit into a piece of cheese. Hermione sighed, setting down her quill and pushing her hair back.
"Is it wrong to worry about it?" she asked, looking up at Ginny, who frowned slightly.
"Who, Professor Snape?"
Hermione nodded and Ginny tucked her leg beneath her.
"Why are you worried about him?"
"Voldemort."
"Oh yes, the whole double agent spy deal." Ginny nodded and picked the leaves off the top of a strawberry.
"Yes, oh wise one?" Hermione grinned slightly, watching Ginny ponder the berry.
"I was just thinking... why are you worried exactly? It's not like he's never done this before."
Hermione shrugged and set about finishing her rune translation.
"Even though we hardly ever talk, I can't help but care about him. You spend so much time with someone on a project like this, you develop a connection. I've seen him when he comes back from Voldemort's summons and he's always in pain and I just... I feel like I should know what goes on when he goes there." Hermione looked up at Ginny, who nodded.
"I understand. I do. Have you tried asking him?"
Hermione snorted. "Yeah, he either ignores me or tells me off."
"Interesting relationship you two have."
"Isn't it though?"
Ginny smiled and bit into a cracker.
"What happened last night?" Hermione asked later, at the session.
"Sorry?" Severus said, frowning slightly as he turned to look at Hermione.
"Last night. Why did you end the session early?"
"I don't believe that's relevant to the task at hand, Miss Granger."
"Isn't relevant?" Hermione stared at the professor, refusing to back down this time. "I'm sorry, sir, but you are gone so often, and as much as I enjoy working on this project, I can't do it alone all the time. All I want to know is why you're gone all the time, especially recently." Hermione sighed, staring up at the professor.
"Miss Granger, you are my student and my assistant. Our relationship goes no further than that, and you are not, therefore, entitled to know anything about my personal time."
Professor Snape said this without yelling, but anger simmered beneath the falsely calm exterior.
"Fine." Hermione set the jar she was holding down on the table with a loud thud and stormed over to the wall, picking up her bag and starting up the stairs.
"Where are you going?"
"Seeing as how this isn't all that important, I've got homework to finish. I'll see you tomorrow."
Severus stared after Hermione as she left, frowning as she slammed the door behind her.
Frustrated, he slammed the jar in his hand against the floor and stormed into his chambers.
The girl was right, he supposed, but he couldn't very well tell her that Voldemort liked to torture him every time he was summoned.
He didn't doubt she knew what he was doing, what was going on, but actually coming out and saying it was another story.
He wouldn't tell her, because she had no reason to really know. And come January first, she'd have no reason to even worry about anything anymore.
But when Voldemort summoned him the following Thursday night, he suddenly realized that Hermione had every reason to worry.
All of Friday he watched her, at meals and during class, wondering if he should tell her before calling off the project. He knew she'd be angry with him and demand to know why, but he reserved every right not to tell her, if for her own safety.
For reasons he couldn't explain even to himself, he didn't end the project Friday night but rather waited until Saturday night. A voice in his head told him that he didn't want to end these nights with Hermione, but he dismissed the thought rather quickly.
He waited in the lab on Saturday night, busying himself with reorganizing and straightening up the ingredient cabinet, even though it didn't need it, until he heard the lab door open and close and Hermione's familiar footsteps on the stairs.
"Miss Granger, I'm afraid I have some bad news," Severus began.
"Oh?" Hermione said, pausing on the third step from the bottom.
"I'm canceling our place at the convention. It's off."
Hermione stared at him a moment, her hand growing tighter on the banister.
"What do you mean?" she asked finally, descending the final steps and dropping her bag to the floor.
"We're not going anymore," Severus responded coolly.
"Why?" Hermione asked disbelievingly.
"That's not any of your concern."
"Like hell it isn't!" Hermione cried. "I have spent every night down here for the past month, working myself almost to exhaustion sometimes, and you're telling me it was for nothing?"
"I must ask you to calm down, Miss Granger," Severus said, his arms falling to his sides.
"I will not. You can't just cancel something this time consuming without telling me why!" Hermione stared at Severus a moment. "I have not spent my weekends up to my ears in homework just to get to this point and quit."
"I understand you're upset, Miss Granger, but the matter is closed." Severus began to move to his chambers, hoping to signal to Hermione that the conversation was over.
Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't that ready to give up yet.
"No, it's not. I will not leave until you tell my why I apparently just wasted almost two months of my life planning and working on this project. I can stay here all night, so I suggest you tell me now."
Severus just shook his head and continued on to his chambers.
"Damn it!" Hermione exclaimed, stepping in the professor's path. He stopped short and stared down at her, his eyes glittering in a way that would have told most students to back off. Unfortunately for Severus, Hermione was not like other students.
"Is it Voldemort?" she asked bluntly, so much so that he almost flinched. "I know where you've been all these nights, when you come down here hurt. So is it him? Is it Voldemort?"
"You shouldn't use his name so freely," Severus said quietly.
"What is he, Beetlejuice?" Hermione scoffed. "Voldemort, Voldemort, Voldemort."
"Do you really want to know why, Miss Granger?" Severus finally said, his voice rising slightly.
"I'm not hounding you for my health," Hermione answered, her confidence shaken only slightly.
"It is... Voldemort. But it's got nothing to do with me and everything to do with you, and, as always, Potter."
"What do you mean?" Hermione didn't realize until this moment that Severus had backed her up against the wall and she actually felt a little intimidated.
"He knows you're working with me. That we're relatively close, and he knows that you're Potter's friend. It's too great an opportunity for him to hurt you and in turn hurt Potter."
"It's nice that you're concerned, but I really don't see the harm in just finishing the potion," Hermione said, moving away from the wall. Severus put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her back into the wall.
"It's not just my concern, Miss Granger. It's... a number of things."
"How will Voldemort get me here? Unless you hand me over to him or something."
Severus remained silent and Hermione stared at him a moment, realization dawning. She opened her mouth to express her outrage but the words died in her throat almost as suddenly as if Severus had hit her. But he hadn't. It was much different than that.
He had kissed her, pressing her to the wall. It lingered, more so by Severus's volition than Hermione's and when he pulled away, he immediately stepped back, releasing Hermione's shoulders.
"I'm... uh..." Even though he knew it was wrong, he was feeling such a strong physical, moreover a strong sexual, attraction to Hermione that he had to take another step back.
She stared at him, her expression completely unreadable, her emotion revealed only by the heaving of her chest.
"Sorry," Severus finally said, and to his great confusion, Hermione shook her head.
"No," she whispered, stepping forward and pulling Severus down to her by the front of his robes, pressing her lips to his this time, the kiss deep and searing and reciprocated by both.
Severus pushed Hermione into the wall again, his body pressing against hers, their kisses becoming quicker and hungrier. They both knew what they wanted, something Hermione had never had and something Severus hadn't had in a very long time, and they were both eager to get it.
Hermione pushed Severus's robes from his shoulders, feeling a slight chill on her legs as it hit the floor and blew the cool air out.
They stopped kissing long enough for Severus to get the door to his chambers open and they stumbled over the threshold, his hands working on the buttons of her shirt. She helped him slide it from her torso, her lips quickly finding his again.
Hermione never would've thought she could've wanted anything so badly in her life, especially something she'd never experienced before, but as she felt Severus's hands moving to her skirt, she knew that anything she'd ever felt excited about before paled in comparison to this moment, this feeling.
Severus's hands moved past the waistband of Hermione's skirt as she set about unbuttoning his shirt.
She gasped, pausing momentarily, as his fingers brushed the tops of her thighs. He paused too, noticing the hitch in Hermione's breath.
"Don't stop," she whispered, startled by how low her voice sounded. She glanced up and was again surprised, this time by what she saw in Severus's eyes. Not his usual glittering malevolence, but something very uncharacteristic, something Hermione had never seen in anyone's eyes before, so she didn't have a name for it, but she knew it was good and she knew she liked it.
"Don't stop," she said again, untucking his shirt and pushing it off him.
She felt his fingers hook over the waistband of her underwear, felt him begin to pull them down. Her breath became shallow, her pulse quickening, and she dug her fingernails into his shoulders, the tingling in her stomach intensifying.
Severus came back up and their lips met again in a deep kiss. Hermione realized she was moving backward now, towards the bed, and then they were on it, together, and time seemed to speed up. Remaining clothes were shed and he was over her and on her and in her.
It started slow and deliberate, but before long it was fast and angry and almost rough, as though, unconsciously, they knew it was wrong and blamed one another for what was happening, but not daring to stop.
Emotions took over and even though it hurt, Hermione never said no, never slowed down, never cried out, but absorbed every feeling and every sensation, deriving not so much pleasure from the experience, but just the sheer thrill.
And then, all too soon, it was over and Severus had disappeared into the bathroom and Hermione was gathering her clothes and dressing, wincing slightly with every step she took.
After she dressed, she stood in the middle of the room, feeling slightly lost.
Finally she decided to just leave through the lab, stepping over Severus's discarded robes and picking up her bag. She walked slowly up the stairs, trying to ignore the dull soreness in the lower half of her body, specifically between her legs.
The castle was dark; Hermione didn't even know what time it was and she didn't care. Her feet carried her to her room, as though she were on autopilot, and she mumbled the password, dropping her bag to the floor and heading for the bathroom.
She took a bath, sitting in the water, lost inside her head, until the water turned cold. She wished her thoughts had someplace to actually go, but her mind was suddenly blank, as though she could no longer think of anything at all. Feeling utterly wasted and drained, Hermione stood up from the tub and dried off, dressing for bed. But she realized she couldn't sleep. She was tired, but wide awake, her mind forming not coherent thoughts, but questions, as she sat on the couch, pulling her legs to her chest and staring at the pattern in the carpet.
Why wasn't she crying? There was no reason. Why wasn't she angry? Who should she be angry with? Why didn't she feel anything? Well, she didn't know the answer to that. And then the big question loomed in her head. Why had she let it happen? Why hadn't she said no, or told him to stop, or even told herself to stop? What did that say about her?
Hermione reached over and took a pillow in her hands, hugging it tightly to her chest as she stared at the floor, wishing it could answer her questions.