That night, as Hermione lay awake in bed, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling, two thoughts were battling for attention at the front of her mind. One of them obviously revolved around the events of that afternoon: The Occlumency lessons. Her violent confession. The kiss. Her other thoughts, however, were focused on Sirius — and where he could possibly be. They had received an owl earlier that evening informing them that "Snuffles" would be delayed for a few days, but, in the event that the owl might be intercepted, no other details had been disclosed.

He had been "delayed" — what did that mean exactly? She knew the informant had to be someone friendly to Sirius, or else they never would have known to call him Snuffles. Yet, something did not sit quite right with Hermione. Something was going on...

Then an image of a rain-drenched Snape flashed into her mind, and all of Hermione's thoughts turned back to that afternoon. He had kissed her. Severus Snape had voluntarily kissed her, and it had been a gooood kiss — the kind with extra o's. The moment it had happened, his arm around her body, crushing her against him, she had thought for certain that it meant he returned her feelings. He must. After all, there was no way he could be in any doubt over how she felt about him (she was pretty sure she had made that painfully clear). But then he had pushed her away. He had sent her back inside with a furious and — dare she say it — disgusted look on his face.

Hermione had promptly returned to the library, sopping wet, nearly in tears, and sat in a chair by the fire for the rest of the day, reading, thinking, waiting for him to come to her and explain himself. She believed in confrontation for the most part, and any other time, she would have been the one to seek out resolution - but this was his responsibility. He had taken impulsive action. He was the one making fools out of both of them and it was his job to fix it. But he never did. He only popped his head in once to toss the letter about Sirius on the floor, and then exited the room without saying a word or so much as meeting her eyes. What did all of that mean? She didn't understand! Nothing about this man made any sense at all. Delusional, righteous, self-important bastard.

At last, knowing that she was never going to fall asleep with this many emotions roiling around inside her, Hermione got up and shuffled down to the kitchen for a glass of water. She passed by the sitting room and noticed that the light was on — was he still up? Taking a deep breath, swallowing hard, Hermione opened the door and went inside.

Just as she had expected, Snape was there. He sat on a sofa by the fire, reading a book and drinking a cup of tea. As usual.

After a pause, Hermione spoke. "Don't you ever sleep?" she asked quietly from the doorway.

Snape looked up, his expression blank. "Seeing as you are up and about at three in the morning, perhaps I should ask you the same question."

"I was thirsty," she replied.

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, and, watching carefully for any signs of a reaction — any reaction at all — Hermione slowly approached the sofa.

Snape watched her out of the corner of his eye, but said nothing.

She cleared her throat. "May I?" she asked, motioning to the vacant seat at his side.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Assuming that no matter what I say, you will be joining me anyway — please, Miss Granger, by all means."

Hermione sat. The silence was deafening.

"I wanted…" she started hesitantly. "I wanted to talk to you about… about this afternoon."

He glanced at his watch. "Yesterday afternoon," he corrected, his gaze once more turning to the pages in front of him.

"Fine, yesterday, whatever. I just… Well, I don't… I mean, obviously—It all happened so fast… I—"

Snape closed his book with a snap and heaved a long, troubled sigh, rubbing his temples tiredly. "Listen, Miss Granger," he began in what sounded like a depressingly formal tone (though admittedly strained). "I suppose I ought to first — apologize — for… for my actions yesterday. They were grossly inappropriate and… unethical, I suppose, is the best way to put it. Such misconduct will never happen again, I assure you."

Hermione opened her mouth to interject, but Snape held up a hand.

"I am very decidedly the adult in this house, which means... subsequently, that means that all responsibility lies upon my shoulders to... I should not have — I mean to say, Ishould have… I should have put a stop to it."

Hermione couldn't help herself. "But you did put a stop to it."

Snape's eyes narrowed and he threw her an irritated look. "Yes, I did," he quipped. "I suppose what I really mean, is that I should not have initiated it in the first place. This is my fault, and I own to that entirely. The last thing I want is for you to get the wrong idea."

Hermione frowned. "And what idea would that be?"

Snape shook his head and turned away from her, waving his hand in dismissal. "Just retrieve your water and return to bed, Granger. This discussion is over."

"No, it's not over," Hermione said firmly. "I want to finish talking about this."

Snape scoffed. "You — wanting to talk? What a staggering revelation."

With a familiar anger welling up inside her, Hermione drew back feeling stung. "I'm just trying to work things out, you don't have to be nasty about it."

Hermione jumped as Snape turned suddenly to face her, throwing his book down on the coffee table with a loud thud as he did so.

"Yes, I do," he spat. "Of course I do! How can you be so obstinately deranged. That's the way I am. No smokes and mirrors — this is me, Granger, and you've bloody well been my student long enough to comprehend all that that entails. I am not going to change my very nature simply because we've been holed up together in some sodding cottage for a month." His lips drew back in an angry sneer. "Just because I had a… momentary lapse in judgment… that does not mean that I am suddenly going to be spouting sonnets." He gave her a hard look. "I am not a nice man, Granger. The sooner you manage to get this idea through that thick head of yours, the better."

Hermione closed her eyes and took a calming breath. "No. You are not a nice man," she agreed quietly. "But you are a good man."

Snape did not seem to be able to process her reply for several seconds; his face was curiously slack. Then he snapped back to attention, and his features once again contorted with rage. "You don't know the first thing about me, you foolish girl," he hissed.

"I would, if you would tell me," she countered boldly.

"I have absolutely no intention, nor obligation, to do any such thing. If you knew even half the things I'd done, if you knew the person I was. You couldn't possibly imagine–"

"You've done, you were — all of those things are in the past." Hermione squared her shoulders and looked at him with a steady gaze that dared him to oppose her. "You're a different person now."

Snape scoffed again. "You are nauseatingly naïve, Granger — I'm no different. I am exactly the same person I was and always have been. You seem to think this is some sort of fairy tale. You've conjured up this foolish fantasy in your head — as though I am, of all things, a poor lost soul who simply needs your purity, your guidance and love to steer me in the right direction.
"Well, wake up!" he barked. "This isn't a game, and you don't know what you're playing at."

The entire house was quiet save for the crackling flames. Hermione sat there on the couch, her mind running around in circles, searching furiously, blindly, to find a way to convince this man in front of her that what she was saying meant something. That what he had done meant something.

"Why did you kiss me?" she asked.

"No. No more. I don't want to talk about this anymore. Go away."

"Why did you kiss me?" she repeated.

Snape's nostrils flared and his eyes widened in anger. "I tell you this conversation is over!" he roared. "Now get out."

Hermione's mind came to a split-second decision and right then and there she decided to take her stand. "No," she said defiantly, and was proud of the way that Snape's jaw fell open in surprise. "I'm not frightened, Professor," she continued. "We are not at school, I am not a naughty student out of bed, and you can't give me detention or take away House points. I want to have my say, I've earned it, and I will have it whether you decide to listen or not."

Snape seemed to have a moment of indecision then as well — as though he were trying to figure out in his mind the best way to throttle the life out of her. The look on his face was murderous.

But Hermione did not waver, even for an instant. She knew that this was probably the only chance she would have, and she wanted to take full advantage.

"I don't have to sit here for this," Snape finally spat, and stood.

Hermione leapt up, her heart blazing with fury, her voice shrill. "Honestly, you're acting like such a child!"

Snape gaped at her, looking aghast. "A—a ch—"

"Yes — a child." Hermione resisted the impulse to stamp her foot. "For whatever reason, Professor, this afternoon — yesterday afternoon — whenever it bloody fucking was — you kissed me. You, knowing full well what my feelings are towards you — having seen and felt them yourself — grabbed me, kissed me, and then pushed me away without a single explanation. Now here I am and it's time for you to take responsibility for what you've done. Ordering me out of your sight will do nothing but provoke this situation further — I'm not just going to go away — and I refuse to be ignored any longer. I am a human being, one whom you have sorely abused, and the least I deserve from you is your blasted attention!"

Snape had been silent throughout her brief tirade, and continued to remain so for a long time afterwards, staring at her with an unfathomable expression.

Oh, how Hermione wished she could know what was going on inside that tightly guarded mind of his.

Finally, Snape spoke. "You are... uncharacteristically correct, in this regard, Miss Granger," he said in a slow, even voice, his jaw clenching and unclenching like mad. "You deserve an answer. Unfortunately, I do not have an answer to give."

Hermione was briefly thrown off by the sincerity of his reaction, but she kept her gaze trained and steady, wanting to preserve whatever effect her words seemed to have had upon him. "Try," she replied softly.

The lines on his face hardened. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know why I did it."

"Did what?"

"You know perfectly well what!" he snapped viciously.

"Yes, but I want to hear you say it."

Snape's mouth twitched, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his face in addition to setting the golden lock of hair at his temple aglow. "I don't know why I kissed you," he hissed at last. "And anyway, if I remember correctly, you didn't seem to have many answers yourself — so why then should I be the only one under such scrutiny?"

Hermione's lips thinned. "I did not act on my feelings, Professor. You did."

"You haven't the first idea what I acted on, foolish girl," he snapped, clearly provoked by the implication that what he had done was out of the feelings he presumably had for her.

"Neither do you, apparently."

At that, the furious spark of anger and indignation seemed to fade from Snape's eyes and he sank back down onto the sofa, deflated, almost defeated. "What do you want from me?" he asked faintly.

Hermione tentatively resumed her seat at his side. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Why?" Snape growled, his elbows on his knees, hands cradling his head. His eyes were closed as though even the dim light of the fire was too bright. "Why do you want…"

"Yes, Professor. You. You, Goddamn it all, I want you."

There, Hermione thought. All of her cards were officially on the table. The question was — what was Snape going to do?

In reply, Snape simply gave a deep, impatient sigh. "As proven countless times in recent past, you are far too young, far too reckless and stupid — you don't have the first idea what—"

Hermione nearly leapt up from her seat again in indignation. "Don't you dare pull that on me again," she interrupted shrilly. "I know what I want. I'm young, so what! I know what I want, and I'm quite certain I know what you want — even if you are too stubborn and insecure to admit it."

"Excuse me?" Snape made no effort to hide the appalled and thunderstruck look on his face.

"Admit it," she continued more boldly than she felt. "Even if you don't consciously acknowledge it yourself, some part of you must know… must want…" Hermione took a deep breath. "I'm not going to ask you to 'look me in the eye and tell me that you don't feel something for me,' because I know you would just lie…"

Snape opened his mouth to interrupt, but Hermione threw out her hand and grasped his knee in a tight, demanding grip. The shock of sudden contact seemed to instantly silence him.

Hermione looked Snape squarely in the eyes and willed her voice to remain steady. "But I do ask you to believe me when I say that my feelings for you are genuine. I am nottoo young to realize when I care for someone in a certain way." She gave Snape a pointed look. "Clearly, there is no age limitation on that particular grain of ignorance."

Even as the words left her mouth, Hermione could not believe what she was saying. She had never seen this side of herself before and it scared her a bit. Her entire body was trembling with anxiety and apprehension — absolutely quivering at the thought of what must be going on behind those cold clever eyes that were now staring directly into hers.

Then Snape looked away, shaking his head. "This is ludicrous," he finally said.

Hermione felt her heart plummet. "Is that really all you can say?"

"Yes, at the moment!" Snape snapped back. "What did you expect? It's a rather complicated situation, isn't it? And why don't we put you under the wandlight for a moment, shall we! You still have your fair share of explaining to do and responsibility to claim. As I remember, you did your fair share of… of it too."

"What — kissing?" Hermione wound a lock of hair through her fingers in an attempt to give her trembling hands something to do. "I suppose you're right, but you can hardly blame me. After all, I thought that you… that you felt—"

"Well, you thought wrong, didn't you?"

Hermione caught Snape's eyes again and gave him a long hard look, searching furiously for a sign of what she knew was in there. "Did I?" she asked breathlessly, hardly daring to hope…

For once, Snape opened his mouth and seemed to falter. He paused for a significant amount of time, his eyes every second or so, flicking down to where her hand still rested on his knee.

Hermione's apprehension was so great that she felt as though the very world had stopped. Her ears were ringing with the oppressive, almost tangible silence, and she found herself holding her breath.

"No," Snape replied at last. "No, you were not… entirely mistaken."

A floodgate opened and Hermione felt an enormous smile burst out upon her face. Her sudden rush of relief and giddiness swept every feeling of spite or betrayal she had ever felt for this man from her mind. She forgave him for everything, every hurt he had ever caused her — just as long as he didn't deny her the one thing that she had for so long thought unattainable. At last! There it was, Snape all but confessed that he felt something for her too, and who would have ever thought? She never in her wildest dreams—

But Snape was not returning her smile.

Before Hermione could say a word, Snape wrenched his knee out of her grasp.

"I meant what I said before, Miss Granger," he stated, his voice once again toneless and tightly controlled. "I do not intend for what transpired yesterday to ever happen again."

Hermione's face fell. The waves of happiness that had just previously been crashing through her body died out, disappearing just as suddenly as they had come.

"What you and I, what you… feel—" Snape spat the word as though disgusted by the taste of it "—is neither here nor there. Despite your juvenile, albeit avid, argument that you are 'not too young' to dupe yourself into believing that what is undoubtedly nothing more than a brief savior-induced infatuation, is a real and true, noteworthy attraction… those feelings are irrelevant."

"Irrelevant?" Hermione all but shrieked, a very different sort of feeling now ringing in her ears.

"Lest you forget," Snape continued, as though he had not been interrupted, "I am still your Professor, and you are still my student. I refuse to cross that line, Miss Granger. I respect the Headmaster far too much to disregard his authority on such a level—on any level, for that matter."

In the past, Hermione had tried to avoid thinking about this particular obstacle, always loathe to break the rules — and especially ones of such a serious nature. She had not been prepared for this one to be so suddenly flung in her face like that.

Yet, as she considered it, there was a silver lining… Was he implying that this was the only obstacle holding him back? Was this silly little rule the only reason Snape denied her? Hermione's flare of anger began to fade again in the face of this realization. She took a moment to look around the golden, fire-lit cottage, pausing for a long time at the sight of the mountain peaks glinting palely in the distance outside the enormous window. "You know," she said at last, slowly. "I'm pretty certain that being in Switzerland might render those sorts of rules rather superfluous, don't you think? Honestly, as long as you can't take points and give detentions, what's the benefit of being a Professor anyway?"

Hermione was more than a little surprised by her spontaneous light-hearted tone — as, it was clear, was Snape.

"I…" He cleared his throat, thrown a bit out of sorts. "Even if that were so… there are a plethora of additional reasons why… well, that could not happen."

Hermione crossed her arms. "Oh," she said. "Really? And what, pray tell, are the reasons why that cannot happen?"

Snape made an irritated noise and shook his head as though trying to dislodge a particularly persistent thought. "I can't bloody believe this is happening," he muttered bitterly, and Hermione could see that she was losing him. Her chance was slipping away again.

Snape ran a hand through his shaggy dark hair. "I never should have done that. This is insane. This is—"

"If you say this is ludicrous one more time…"

Snape turned to look at her again, his sneer once more in place. "You'll what? Hex me? Not likely — even if you were allowed to use a wand—"

"STOP IT," Hermione cut him off, her voice hard as steel. "Stop acting like you don't care about what I'm saying — about what you're saying."

Snape's dark eyes were wide and round and he looked sufficiently startled by her unprecedented aggression.

Hermione clenched her fists in an attempt to restrain herself from reaching out and giving him yet another hard slap across the face. "You said — that I was right about you. About the reason why you kissed me." She took a shuddering breath and made sure that she had his full attention before speaking again. "And now you cannot take it back."

The contours of Snape's face eased. His sneer disappeared, his eyebrows fell out of their harsh furrow, and for a split second, Hermione swore she saw a flash of warmth in his normally cold eyes. Once again there was a pregnant pause. Then he spoke. "I do not wish… to take it back," Snape said quietly, the hesitation in his voice making him sound as though he had only just now come to this realization himself.

Hermione felt her expression soften as well. Her heart burst with hope and with pleasure once again at the sound of those words, and for some strange reason she felt the overwhelming impulse to cry (perhaps the constant emotional rollercoaster was beginning to take its toll). However, she did not think tears would be best at that particular moment, so she forced them back and swallowed the lump in her throat — though it made her head spin a little. "So," she said, her voice breaking. She cleared her throat. "So, if you meant what you said. If you do want, you know, that, and I want that, then why can't we have… that?"

Snape turned his gaze to the fire — or what used to be a fire. It was only a mound of brightly glowing coals now. "It would be obscenely inappropriate," he replied again, his voice notably rough. "Bloody hell, the age difference alone…"

"Oh, what does that matter." Throwing caution to the wind, Hermione reached out and grasped one of Snape's large hands in both of her own.

He looked at her, a bit startled, but did not pull away.

"Just let it happen," she said.

As soon as the words left Hermione's lips, an amazing thing happened. A great pressure within her was lessened. She felt relieved — amazingly relieved. "Just let it happen," she said again, this time with a bit of a smile, knowing that she had finally found an answer.

Snape's dark eyebrows raised significantly. "Pardon me?"

"I said, let it happen!" Hermione repeated, her smile widening. "This thing between us, whatever it is, how it happened to me, how it happened to you — I can't explain it, youcan't explain it. This isn't science, it isn't potions, its life! And we can't control it. So what's the point? You know what I mean? Embrace it, take what you get — cross the bridges when you come to them, I guess. That's all I'm trying to say. Just give it a chance. Just let it happen."

Snape rolled his eyes. "I suppose that's you're new slogan then," he growled. "You're not going to make badges are you?"

Oblivious to Snape's sarcasm in the face of her rather loopy, Luna-worthy speech, Hermione found that this new enlightenment was making her head spin, her heart flutter, the corners of her mouth ache from the width of her smile. Without any doubt or hesitation in her mind, she began to move towards the dark, surly man who sat on the edge of the couch.

"Abnormally dim though you are, you do realize, certainly, that I am twice your age," Snape continued to argue, watching warily as Hermione inched closer.

"Barely. So what?" she replied.

Their knees were nearly touching now. Where is this coming from? Hermione wondered hazily. An uncontrollable force seemed to have come over her, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. It was a wonderful, lighter-than-air feeling, like being drunk on firewhiskey but without nausea or a lazy tongue.

"So your argument is not valid," Snape replied, a brief twitch of his mouth offering the only proof that he was beginning to get nervous. "I think that's quite a significant 'bridge' right there. I'm old enough to be your father!"

Hermione kept her gaze trained on his as she raised his hand to her mouth and left a soft, light kiss on the back of it. "But you're not," she said.

A sheen of sweat began to form across Snape's forehead. His face was all lines and angles; his eyes narrowed, his teeth clenched, his brows furrowed. "I'm a Death Eater — anex-Death Eater, as you well know, and the Dark Lord is after me — both of us. You have no business being with me — you don't even know the first thing about me, Granger, and—"

Hermione did not falter. "I know about that." She pointed to the golden hair at his temple. "And I know about that." She trailed her fingers over the spot on his forearm where the Dark Mark lay just beneath his sleeve. "And I know about this." Hermione pressed the palm of her small hand against his chest and felt the heartbeat beneath it — one that was currently racing furiously. This heartbeat was Snape's immediate undoing. This heartbeat was something that Snape had no control over, and Hermione knew it.

"No! You — you don't know what—" he stammered, wrenching Hermione's hand away from his chest. "You can't possibly imagine what — what you are asking—"

Hermione's other hand still gripped his in a tight, unrelenting hold. "Oh, no," she said, "I know exactly what I'm asking."

Snape tried to wriggle away from her (as she had now leaned so far over that she was practically on top of him) — but his attempts were feeble at best. Despite himself, Snape was beginning to lose himself in the heady haze of happiness and confidence that now seemed to pour from Hermione Granger's very skin. "This is — this is inappropriate," he continued to stammer forcefully, only half-aware of the words that were actually coming out of his mouth. "And I don't understand why you want this — and — and—"

As easy as that, as easy as though she had done it a thousand times before, Hermione slid neatly onto Snape's lap, her knees straddling his hips and her right hand — the one that still bore a tapered line across the palm — returned to its former place, pressed against his chest. His skin felt pleasantly warm through his shirt, his muscles firm and thrillingly unyielding. "And you," she said with a sly smile, "are out of excuses."

Snape opened and closed his mouth several times, grasping desperately for a reply. "You can't want this, Granger, think what you're doing," he said again, his eyes flicking back and forth as he searched her face for a hint of doubt. "Of all the people in the world… I — I have nothing to offer you. I have nothing that you could possibly want…"

"But you do."

"And what is that? Wait — no, don't answer that."

"You know what I want."

"Yes… No… Maybe. At least, I know what you think you want. In any case, it doesn't matter, because even if I did know I certainly don't have any obligation to give it to you—"

"Yes, you do." Hermione raised her eyebrows in a mischievous sort of way. "Carte blanche, Professor. You owe me — whatever I ask, whenever I ask. And I think I'll be cashing that blank check, oh, right now."

"What?"

Hermione tilted her head slightly as she restrained a giggle at Snape's bug-eyed expression. "That's right," she said. "I'm naming my price."

"But — but you can't just—" he sputtered. "What you're asking for is nowhere near within the realms of—"

Hermione tried to contrive a look of the purest innocence. "All I want is a kiss," she said, cutting him off with a forced lightness in her voice. "Just one. That's all the check is good for, I suppose."

Snape's eyebrows drew together and he surveyed her warily. "You… what? That's it? That's all you want?"

"Of course that's not all I want, but I can hardly force you to do much more, can I?"

"Well, no, but—"

"If we are going to have a relationship that works, it obviously can't be in the form of payment now, can it? That's not very romantic."

"A relationship? But I never—"

"And, to be perfectly honest, I'm convinced that once you've kissed me again, you'll have a much better idea of what your true feelings are."

"My what? I really think this is getting out of—"

"Just let it happen, remember! Don't think about it, just let yourself go!"

"—OUT OF CONTROL! AND I TRULY THINK THAT THIS IS—"

Hermione suddenly reached out and grasped both sides of Snape's head, giving him a blazing, passionate look and a rough shake. "Would you just shut up and kiss me already, you stupid fool!"

And a split-second later, he did just that.

Their first kiss, on that rainy afternoon past, had nothing on this one. That one had been passionate and unexpected, but also cautious, unreal, and very short-lived; this one was hungry, raw, deep and desperate. It never seemed to end — mostly because neither of them wanted it to end.

One of Snape's hands grasped Hermione's thigh, while the other buried itself in her hair, caressing the back of her neck, both tender and possessive in the same moment. Hermione could hardly comprehend the feel of him beneath her; so strange, yet perfectly right, wonderful; his strong chest heaving under her hand and his tongue against her own. She gave a little moan as Snape dragged her bottom lip through his teeth.

"To be fair," she gasped between kisses. "I technically — only obligated you — to one kiss."

Snape moved the hand on her thigh, kneading into her muscle, battling the tightness of it as she flexed, moaned, wanting more. "Do you ever shut up?" he growled against her mouth, as he then slid that hand all the way up her leg and around to the base of her spine, setting her whole body aflame with desire in doing so.

"Sorry," she managed to breathe. "I just—" She let out a squeak as Snape wrapped his arm fully around her, lifted her up, and then placed her down on her back against the sofa cushions, his entire body now squarely on top of hers. His weight against her felt so deliciously good. She wrapped her legs around his, pulling their bodies closer.

Snape's mouth moved along her jaw and all the way down her neck, leaving a white-hot trail of kisses behind. He once again sought the skin just above her knee with his hand, and was slowly making his way upwards — the roughness of his palm causing her to give a great, big shiver of anticipation as he went higher, and higher.

But, just as he reached the edge of her nightgown (which had ridden up a significant distance now), he stopped, returned his mouth to hers to give her one last, rough kiss, and then pulled away entirely.

"Wh — what's wrong?" she asked breathlessly. The pit of her stomach still smoldered like molten lava at the feel of his hand against her bare skin.

Snape had to wait a moment before answering — his eyes were alight with what Hermione could only assume was desire (desire for her no less! How odd, how blinding and wonderful!), and his breathing was notably labored. He struggled to compose himself. "It is time for you to go to bed," he said at last in an even voice, with no detectable hint of icy detachment behind his words.

Hermione swallowed, and sat up slowly, careful not to dislodge the light grip he still retained on her knee. "Why?" she said. "I still want to… er… talk… some more."

Snape roared with laughter and Hermione's heart leapt at the sight of it. His smile, so rarely used, seemed to take decades off him. He had the hint of a dimple on his right cheek that Hermione had never seen before and his eyes crinkled in such a delightful way that she felt herself wishing he would keep smiling forever. Such a change had come over him. And so sudden. How could she have lived so long without knowing this laugh?

"I'm sure you do," Snape said, still with a chuckle. Then he took a deep breath and straightened his face once again (though he could not hide the new spark of warmth that was simply blazing now from behind his dark eyes). "I believe there have been enough words said tonight. We will finish this discussion in the morning."

He stood then, and Hermione mourned the loss of his closeness.

"What does that mean, exactly?" she asked, getting to her feet as well.

There was no indication of laughter anymore in Snape's face, and Hermione felt a sharp stab of fear at the ease in which he once again pulled on his expressionless mask.

"It means I have a lot to think about," he replied. "As do you."

Hermione nodded warily. "I guess so…"

Snape's face softened slightly again, and Hermione felt her fear lessen. "I do not make rash decisions, Miss Granger. Surely you have gathered as much. There is a great deal I must take into account. Now, for the love of Merlin, girl, go to bed."

"You could call me Hermione, you know," Hermione said over her shoulder as she grudgingly made her way towards the door. She knew she would be pushing her luck to argue with him any further. Her carte blanche was no longer useful, and she had no more tricks up her sleeve.

"I will add that to the list of things I need to consider," he replied, as Hermione took one last look at the man of her dreams—quite literally, as of late—and then closed the study door with a quiet but resounding click.