State of Attraction

1. Say My Name

A drop of wax fell from the candle on her desk. It landed on the journal, mingled with black ink, settled there to obscure the words she was writing. She flicked the gooey mass away with her finger and continued.

Severus Snape still insists that it was he who played the instrumental role in the downfall of Voldemort. No matter that the rest of us were there, that Harry was the one whose wand inflicted that final blow... no, to listen to him tell it, it was a one man show from the beginning - probably with lots of drum rolls and dancing girls and women and children chanting "Snape! Snape!" from the stands of a coliseum. I have no doubt that he sleeps with the Order of Merlin medal under his pillow at night, snuggled under that great hook of a nose of his.

Of course, his huge nose, along with the rest of him, is still gainfully employed as the potions master at Hogwarts. So it may as well be said that he's not too happy about the fact that Dumbledore has asked me to come on as a professor and teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. Though now that Voldemort's gone, I'd have to say that the most disagreeable person in the wizarding world is him. I may have to teach the students to charm shampoo bottles to chase him 'round the corridors.

A swift knock sounded on the door to her chambers. "Come in!" she called, quickly closing the journal and laying the quill down on the desk.

The door creaked open and Ginny Weasley stepped inside. "Nice place you've got here," she said wistfully, looking around the room. "But not that much of a step up from the head girl quarters, I suppose."

"Ah, still bitter about the choice of a Slytherin this year?" Hermione asked playfully.

"Well, there weren't any Slytherins at that final battle," Ginny said sourly. "Unless you count Snape. And when does anyone ever count Snape?" Her tone made it quite clear that she barely registered him as a person. She flopped onto the bed. "You must be the youngest professor ever."

Hermione laughed. "Quite possibly. But it's really only temporary, probably just this term. There's rather a shortage of people who want the job, for various reasons. So Professor Dumbledore is still looking and in the meantime I had to move just down the hall after graduation, which was rather nice. And this way I can take my time deciding on a career path."

"Not going to be an Auror like Ron and Harry?"

"You know, that would seem like the logical choice, wouldn't it? But quite frankly... I'm a bit sick of being one third of a trio. I need to be a separate person for a while."

"Well put," Ginny agreed. "Besides, Ron's a nosey git and Harry's a commitment-phobic prat." Hermione gave her a skeptical look and she added, "A commitment-phobic prat who saved the world. Happy?"

"Ginny - "

"He barely even talks to me anymore, Hermione. And even when we're together - every other word is 'uh huh.' 'yeah'. 'okay.' He's certainly got his space if that's what he wanted."

"Give him some time, Ginny. He just graduated. It's hard to have a girlfriend who's still in school when you're out in the real world."

"Easy for you to say. When's the last time you got laid?"

Hermione blushed furiously. "What does that..."

"Not since sixth year when you were dating Ron, eh? That's what I thought. See, it's been so long you probably don't even miss it anymore. I, on the other hand, am short one boyfriend and feeling the effects quite painfully."

"No offense, Ginny, but I really don't want to think about you and Harry having sex."

"Like I really want to think about my brother having sex?" Ginny wrinkled her nose. "Ewwww. I mean, it's not really all that pleasant to think about other people having sex at all, is it? Those faces we make." She scrunched up her eyes and started chanting, "Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Hermione laughed. "Okay, okay..."

"I mean, oh god..." Suddenly Ginny collapsed into a fit of giggles. "Can you imagine Snape having sex?"

She stood up and pressed her lips into a thin, angry line, and then began in a deep monotone voice. "That's right, Miss Granger. Do it to me harder next time or you'll receive a detention. Now name the rudimentary herbs contained in a sleeping draught. Oh, that's right! Right! Right there! Oh! Oh! Oh! Ooooh... Ten points to Gryffindor."

"That, Ginny," Hermione said, managing to keep a straight face, "Is wrong on so many levels. So very, very wrong."

Ginny giggled, bounded to the door. "Okay, I'm going, I'll be out of your hair. Good luck with your first classes tomorrow!"

Hermione smiled weakly. "Thanks. I'll need it, I think."

*****

She felt a bit like an outsider at the staff table in the Great Hall for breakfast the next morning. This wasn't helped by the fact that Sibyll Trelawney kept forgetting that she was no longer a student and asking her to return to the Gryffindor table (this happened no less than four times in a span of about a half hour). Not to mention that every time she looked at Snape all she could see was Ginny saying, "Do it to me harder or you'll receive a detention. Oh! Oh! Oooh..."

"Miss Granger."

"What? What?" No sir, I was not just imagining you having an orgasm. What a completely ridiculous idea. "Yes, Professor Snape?"

He frowned. Well, his frown deepened anyway. "I'm sorry, did I interrupt something important going on in your head?"

"No. Not at all. Please, continue."

At that point, the headmaster interrupted them. "You may remember, Severus, Hermione, that the two of you are not longer teacher and student, but colleagues. Therefore, it is no longer necessary to address each other in such a formal manner." Glancing at Snape, he added, "Of course, whatever makes you the most comfortable."

What on earth am I supposed to call him? Hermione wondered. She just couldn't imagine referring to him as "Severus." It was so... familiar. So normal, whereas she felt about as close to him as house elf to a high rise. Mr. Snape. Mr. Severus. Professor Severus. Professor Severus Snape, Esq., Order of Merlin 1st Class, Proud Winner of Witch Weekly's Annual Most Frightening Frown Contest. Sev. Sevvie-poo. Little ickle Sevvie-kins.

"Miss Granger."

"What? What?" Oh god, not again. "Yes, Professor Snape?" She glanced quickly at Dumbledore, who was chuckling to himself.

"If you can manage to get your head out of the clouds for one moment," he said, his voice clearly indicating that he felt as though he were addressing a small insect, "I am going to be teaching a very difficult pair of potions to the seventh-years this afternoon. It will require two sets of hands. And since the class is formed primarily of Gryffindors -" He snorted. "I'm afraid I don't trust any of them to assist me. I imagine they will blow things up brilliantly, but I would rather it not be during my demonstration."

"Professor, as you may remember, I was a Gryffindor," Hermione pointed out, bristling slightly.

"Yes well, no one's perfect, but you did score reasonably well on your potions NEWT."

Best score out of all the houses and you know it, you slimy little...

"Well then?" he said impatiently. "Are you going to assist me or not?"

"Of course I will," she said, smiling politely. And then I'm going to impale you with my stirring rod and boil you in your very own caldron. "I'd be delighted."