Under the Mistletoe

Potions master Severus Snape stood alone in the Great Hall, his dark eyes resting on the huge unadorned Christmas tree. This was the first Christmas without Albus Dumbledore, and for his entire term of service, Albus selfishly handled the decorating the tree himself.

Minerva wanted to keep the tradition going, but decided to include the staff as well, thus sharing the opportunity to show their individual creativity to the wizarding world. The Hogwarts tree was famous, and each year the Daily Prophet took pictures and posted them in the newspaper for the world to see.

.The staff drew straws to choose would handle the decorating of the tree and of course, it fell on snarky Severus Snape, the newly returned Potions master. He had been the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for a short while, but on his return to Hogwarts, switched places with Horace Slughorn who had taken over the Potions class.

The staff initially clamored for a redraw, but Minerva disagreed.

"Severus has been chosen and the choice stands," Minerva declared.

Then there was an argument as to how the tree should be decorated by everyone.

Minerva scowled at the staff.

"Before Severus was chosen, each of you was excited about possibly being the one to decorate Hogwarts' main tree. You thought it an honor to continue Albus' solo tradition," she hissed.

"But—Minerva, really. Severus?" Flitwick asked her, his tiny eyes flicking toward the silent Potions master, who stood with his arms folded. He didn't look very enthusiastic about his role in all this "tradition." He'd rather be getting plastered off Firewhiskey in the dungeons and listening to Vivaldi on his Wizarding Wireless.

"Yes. He'll probably put little bats on the tree," Divination teacher Sybill Trelawney sniffed, her bug eyes staring through her huge glasses at the lank-haired wizard. "And toads. It's Christmas—not Hallows Eve."

The stout Herbology teacher Pomona Sprout piped in, the Potions master's dark eyes shifting toward her.

"You have to admit, Minerva, that Severus isn't the epitome of the Christmas spirit," Pomona added, scowling at the dark wizard.

Firenze and Hagrid stood by silently, just observing. As far as they were concerned Snape had been chosen fair and square.

Minerva was about to respond when Severus billowed forward. Gaunt and pale, he looked around at his fellow staff members, disdain clearly on his face.

"If you are all finished talking about me as if I wasn't present, I would like to say something," he said in his soft, silken voice. His eyes were narrowed and his large nose wrinkled with distaste.

Everyone looked at him. Snape was a wizard of few words and always had been. Albus was the one he spoke with the most. He only interacted with his fellow staff members when he had to do it. This was one of those times.

"Go ahead, Severus," Minerva urged him.

"Thank you, Headmistress. At first, I was going to pass on this 'tradition' but since you have all shown such faith in my abilities," he purred sarcastically, "I have decided to decorate the tree. And you can count on the absence of those bloody cherubs Albus consistently deluged us with year after year. Now, good evening."

And he strode from the staff room.

"This Christmas is going to be a fiasco," Flitwick said, shaking his head as they all looked after him.

It was after curfew. The students at Hogwarts were all in their houses, preparing for tomorrow's Christmas party and the unveiling of the tree. Only Harry Potter and Hermione were about, patrolling the castle. It was part of their duties as Head boy and girl. Harry took the top floors and Hermione patrolled the dungeons, main and first and second floors.

She saw professor Snape entering the Great Hall as she walked up from the dungeon area and furrowed her brow.

"What's he about?" she wondered to herself curiously.

She carefully walked up to the double doors and hesitated. Professor Snape was a very secretive wizard and didn't like to be snooped on. Unfortunately, Hermione was a very snoopy witch, and couldn't help snooping as a result. So, what happened was bound to happen.

She slowly cracked one of the doors and looked inside the Great Hall. There was an enormous tree at the very front, unadorned, and professor Snape was looking up at it thoughtfully. Hermione's eyebrows rose. She knew this was the night the tree would be decorated, one day before the Christmas Ball. It was always clandestine, and the Headmaster had done it every year that she was at Hogwarts. Snape being here could only mean one thing.

He would be decorating the tree.

"Are they insane?" Hermione thought to herself as she studied the back of the wizard. "He'll put bats on it or something."

Snape subtly flicked his wand and a little house elf appeared next to him. Hermione couldn't hear what he said to the creature, but it nodded, very enthusiastically and winked out.

Snape stood there, still looking up at the tree, Hermione watching him.

"Stop standing in the doorway and either come in or get out, Miss Granger," the wizard suddenly said, not turning around.

Hermione's eyes widened. He knew she was there. Did he have eyes in the back of his head?

"I could smell jasmine, Miss Granger. You're the only witch in Hogwarts that wears it," the dark wizard informed her, turning now to face her.

Obviously his large nose served a greater purpose than taking over his face. Hermione entered the Great Hall, letting the doors close behind her, then walked up the aisle to stand beside the wizard, looking up at the huge tree.

"You're going to decorate the tree this year, professor?" she asked him.

Snape nodded.

"Yes. With full staff support," he said witheringly, his mouth quirking unpleasantly.

Hermione blinked at this. Professor Snape wasn't nearly as nasty to her as he was the rest of the students. The fact that she was the one who saved him when she returned to the Shrieking Shack might have had a bit to do with it. He was almost dead from blood loss when Hermione swiftly attended him. She had a little medi-pack with her because of the battle that she had used to help others fallen on the field. When she discovered Snape was still breathing, she quickly cauterized his wounds, fed him blood replenishing potion and stabilized him enough to get him to St. Mungo's for treatment. So, he owed her one. A big one.

"You have big boots to fill. The Headmaster always decorated the tree so—lavishly," she said softly.

"If by lavishly you mean gaudily and tastelessly, then I agree," Snape responded.

"Are you going to add cherubs?" Hermione asked him.

"No," Snape snapped. "No blasted cherubs. They're like golden mosquitoes, flitting about everywhere. Annoying little buggers. I plan to be more—traditional. At least as traditional as a pagan observance can be. We can thank Queen Victoria and her German prince for this 'tradition.' They made this—fashionable."

Hermione had to mentally sift through her plethora of little known facts to understand what Snape was referring to. Christmas trees weren't always popular, and until the Queen had been photographed next to one, not many people indulged. But of course, what was popular in the Queen's court became popular everywhere. More than likely Prince Albert had a lot to do with it. Germans had been decorating trees for ages.

Snape turned to look at Hermione.

"Would you care to assist me, Miss Granger? I would like to get this done as quickly as possible," he told her as a slew of house elves winked in with boxes. Hermione smelled something absolutely wonderful. They placed them all around Snape and Hermione, then winked out.

"Sure," Hermione replied, rather elated as she looked at all the closed boxes. Even with Snape, decorating the tree would be fun.

"Good. Open those boxes over there," Snape ordered, pointing his finger imperiously at several boxes on the right, then attending to the ones on their left. There were about twenty boxes.

Hermione hurried over to one and opened it. She looked down at it, surprised. Then she opened the next and the next until she had them all open. She turned to look at Snape, who was studying a small ornament.

"The tree has never been decorated with things like this, professor," she told him. "It's always been more—more –"

Snape arched an eyebrow at her.

"Commercial?" he asked, turning back toward the tree.

"Yes," Hermione said softly. "This is going to be brilliant. Just brilliant."

Snape warded the doors to the Great Hall in case Harry tried to enter. One Gryffindor was enough. At least he could take Hermione's company. Harry still made him feel nauseous, especially the way he was now after discovering Snape's protective role over the years. It was like being around an overly amorous puppy. He wished the boy still hated him. It was much more comfortable dealing with Potter's ire than with his admiration.

Now, Hermione—she was a Gryffindor of another color. Not only had she saved his life, but she was brilliant—except in one area, and that was her choice of beau. Ronald Bilius Weasley.

Actually, Snape didn't think Ron a terrible fellow in his own right. He had proven his worth during the dark times adequately. He had courage and heart for the most part, although he did abandon the trio for a short time. At least his actions were honest, if un-Gryffindor-like. He just wasn't right for Hermione. She deserved a wizard of intelligence and experience, someone who could guide her on the proper path—help her achieve greatness. Someone who appreciated her mind as well as her physical attributes.

Snape found he appreciated both—but she was so young and not the least bit interested in him. She'd probably think him a lecher if he approached her in any way other than academically.

Which, incidentally, he had decided to do, which was why he invited her into the Great Hall in the first place. He was going to offer her an apprenticeship. There were no universities in the wizarding world yet, but there was talk of establishing a few in the future. But that was still talk. Snape believed Hermione was the type of witch who would gladly further her education any way she could. She was very good at both Charms and Potions, but as far as he knew, Flitwick had already offered an apprenticeship to one of his Ravenclaws, practicing a bit of house nepotism.

"Oh, it's—it's beautiful, professor," Hermione gushed as he finished adding the candles. They were illusions, of course, otherwise the tree would present a fire hazard.

Snape looked up at their handiwork.

"You believe so, Miss Granger?" he asked her.

"Oh yes. The most beautiful tree I've seen since coming to Hogwarts. Everyone is going to be so surprised when they find out it was you who decorated it," she said, smiling at the wizard.

"I did have a bit of help," the Potions master said softly, his dark eyes resting on her.

Hermione suddenly blushed, although she didn't understand why.

"Yes, I helped, but you chose what would be on the tree. I just helped to add them," she responded.

"Still, you will receive credit as well," the wizard stated firmly.

"But—but won't that be going against tradition? Decorating Hogwarts' main tree is an honor, professor. I don't want to infringe on it."

Snape snorted.

"I've enough meaningless honors heaped upon me already, Miss Granger. You'll just help soften the blow and take some of the heat off of me."

Hermione studied him.

"You think your honors are meaningless, professor? They aren't, you know. You sacrificed so much for the wizarding world."

It was Snape's turn to study her.

"Do you think it was pleasant for me to be paraded all over the wizarding world like a showpiece when all my life I've been denigrated and despised by the majority of those now applauding me? Do you think it meant anything to me to have a medal draped around a neck that only months before the Ministry would have gladly cleaved in half? Miss Granger, I am simply the man I've always been. It is the world's perception of me that has changed, and the world is fickle. Tonight was a perfect example of that. When I was chosen to decorate this tree, most of the staff members protested the choice and wanted a redraw. Despite my hero status, I am still perceived as dark and evil by most."

"I don't think you're dark and evil," Hermione said, then blushed again.

"Perhaps not now, Miss Granger, that you know what you know about me. But be honest, it wasn't always that way, was it?"

Hermione drew in a breath.

"It wasn't until you killed Dumbledore that I believed the worst about you. I always saw you as someone caught in the middle of a difficult and unpleasant situation. Of course you'd act the way you did. Who wouldn't when they had so much to deal with? I was relieved to find out that you weren't a traitor. Really, I was. And I am so happy I was able to help you survive Nagini's bite. If you had died, professor—it would have been a true tragedy."

Snape stared at her for a moment, seeing the sincerity in those brown eyes. Then he did something he never imagined himself doing. He flicked his wand up toward the ceiling above Hermione and cast a spell wordlessly.

"What did you do?" the witch inquired as the pale wizard looked down at her, then flicked his wand at one of the windows. The pane in it disappeared.

Across the grounds, in the Herbology classroom, a plant bough shuddered, then detached itself and soared through the night sky towards the castle. It flew through the paneless window and attached itself to the joist above Hermione's head. Snape replaced the pane of glass as Hermione stared up at the hanging bough.

"Mistletoe," she breathed, then looked at Snape, who nodded.

"Yes. One of Albus' traditions that I've decided to follow," he said softly, taking a step toward the witch. "May I?"

Hermione felt her heart speed up as she looked at him incredulously.

"You—you want to kiss me, professor Snape?" she asked him in a shaky voice.

His normally harsh expression softened a bit.

"It is tradition, Miss Granger," he said. "All in the spirit of the season. Unless you find me too unattractive to indulge me, in which case would be fine."

Hermione blinked at him. He was so severe looking, but she found his wanting to kiss her—him—professor Snape—alluring for some reason. Maybe because he was perceived as being so cold.

"Well—" she said hesitatingly, "it would be tradition after all. All right, professor."

Hermione thought her heart would pound right out of her chest as the professor closed the distance between them, taking her gently in his arms. He looked down at her, their eyes locking before he turned his head slightly, lowered his face and pressed his lips to hers. They were so gentle. Nothing like Hermione would ever have imagined. It was a very nice kiss that made her feel warm all over. Snape drew away from her mouth, his black eyes glittering slightly. He didn't release her.

"Happy Christmas, Miss Granger," he said softly, the harsh lines of his face noticeably softened as he looked down at her.

"Happy Christmas, professor," she replied hypnotically, then reflexively drew him back down into another kiss because the first one was so nice. She moved into him closer.

Snape let her kiss him for about five seconds, then broke the kiss, noticing the smoky look in the young witch's eyes. For a quick moment, he thought about taking this further, but that would hardly be fair, or proper.

"That was not 'tradition' Miss Granger. I believe there is a one kiss limit under the mistletoe," he said to her softly.

"I've never read that anyplace," Hermione replied dreamily. Kissing the professor was very, very nice. She wondered what it would be like to French kiss him. Snape seemed to sense her thoughts and quickly released her.

"I'm sure it's written down somewhere in a Christmas etiquette handbook," he replied, stepping back from her and flicking his wand at the huge tarp on the floor and covering the tree with it. It would remain covered throughout meals tomorrow and be revealed at the Christmas Ball.

Hermione continued to stare at him, completely smitten by the two kisses. Wow. She never dreamed the Potions master could inspire anything other than respect. He looked at her.

"Miss Granger, what are your plans after graduation?" he asked her.

Hermione blinked a few times before she realized he'd asked her a question.

"Oh, I don't know. I was thinking of applying at the Ministry," she responded. "Maybe working in the Department of Magical Law."

The effects of the kisses were beginning to wear off now.

Snape nodded.

"Your marks are good enough to land a position in that department," he said. "But I imagine if you had a choice, you'd like to continue your magical education."

Now Hermione looked a bit sad.

"Yes, I would. But there's no place that offers higher learning," she responded. "There aren't any universities in the wizarding world. It's a pity, really."

"Yes, it is. Particularly since you are such an exemplary student. Have you ever thought about entering the field of Potions?" he asked her.

"I'd have to get an apprenti—"

Suddenly Hermione stopped speaking, her brown eyes becoming filled with excitement as she looked at the dour wizard, who cocked his head at her in amusement.

"Professor, are you—are you interested in me becoming your apprentice? I've heard you've never taken on an apprentice before," she said incredulously.

"That's because I never found anyone with the potential to become an exemplary Potions master. As you know, the abilities of the apprentice are a direct reflection on the master. I refuse to teach anyone who doesn't have the gift for the subtle art that is Potions. However, you have been brewing potions that you shouldn't have throughout your years at Hogwarts, and doing it successfully. I believe you would become an excellent Potions mistress with proper instruction."

Hermione stared at him. Professor Snape was well-respected and a bit feared for his brewing abilities. She could learn so much from him.

"I—I don't know what to say," she stammered.

"Then, just think about it, Miss Granger. You have until the end of the year to make up your mind," the wizard told her. "I will keep the offer open until then."

"All right. Thank you, professor," she said softly, although inwardly she was reeling from his offer, and maybe a bit from his kiss.

"Thank me when you accept," he responded, then gestured toward the doors.

"It is time to say good night, Miss Granger. Thank you for your assistance tonight. I'll clean up here," he told her, dismissing her.

Hermione hesitated. She really didn't feel like leaving. Her eyes flicked up at the mistletoe before resting on him again.

"I could help you clean up," she suggested.

But Snape had seen her little look up. It was better that she leave.

"No, Miss Granger. You've helped enough. Good night," he said firmly.

Hermione stood there for a moment, then said good night and left the Great Hall.

As she headed up the marble staircase that led to the first floor corridor, then the narrow stairwell that led to the second floor and the shifting stairwell, she couldn't help thinking what a night this had been.

She helped decorate the most famous Christmas tree in the wizarding world, had been offered an apprenticeship by professor Snape, and what's more—she had kissed him.

Twice.

And had really liked it. He was much gentler than he appeared to be, at least while kissing. She had never thought he had a gentle side, just a less snarky one. It was much different than kissing Ron. Ron had a tendency of crushing her too close and kissing her too hard. That's probably why they hadn't shagged yet, though Ron had been putting on the pressure for months, saying they both deserved a reward for surviving the final battle.

But if Ron couldn't kiss her properly, she doubted he'd shag her properly either. He'd probably be just as rough, if not more so, and Hermione didn't like rough.

The professor said he wanted to kiss her because it was tradition. Occasionally, staff and students did give each other pecks under the mistletoe during the balls, usually to a lot of good-natured oohs and aahs by those around them. They were innocent enough and in the spirit of the season. But, there were always others present when that occurred. It had only been her and professor Snape tonight.

Hermione couldn't help thinking she wouldn't have minded an outright snogging session with the dark wizard. His kisses were just that nice. His looks didn't even seem to matter, because his eyes were so beautiful when they weren't narrowed. She felt as if she could have fallen right into them.

"I'm being silly," she told herself as she walked down the hall toward the Fat Lady's portrait. "If the professor was interested in me, he would have kept snogging me. After all, I kissed him again and if that wasn't an invitation to keep going, I don't know what is."

Hermione went to bed, feeling very conflicted about the Potions master.

Those two simple kisses under the mistletoe weren't something she'd easily forget.

The next night everyone was in attendance at the Christmas ball and gathered around the covered tree. Snape and Hermione stood to the right of it as professor McGonagall addressed the crowd. Photographers from the Daily Prophet and other periodicals all stood about adjusting their cameras, ready to take photos.

"Welcome to the tree unveiling. In honor of Albus' Dumbledore's tradition of solely decorating the Hogwarts tree year after year, all the staff drew straws to decide who would continue his custom. The duty fell upon Professor Severus Snape."

"Bloody hell," Ron whispered to Harry as sounds of shock and dismay rose from the crowd. "He probably put bats on it or something."

The photographers eagerly moved forward now. The dark wizard Severus Snape had decorated the tree this year? Oh, this was going to be good. For the first time in Hogwarts history, the annual Christmas tree was going to be a disaster.

Sybill and Flitwick stood side by side, shaking their heads.

"This is going to be awful," Sybill predicted in her spooky seer voice.

Minerva looked at Snape.

"Before we unveil the tree, professor Snape, is there anything you'd like to say?"

Snape's dark eyes washed over the crowd.

"Hermione Granger assisted me," he said shortly.

Everyone looked at Hermione, scowling.

"I—I didn't do that much. Professor Snape picked out all the decorations," she said weakly.

This statement was met with even more groans. Even Minerva looked a bit apprehensive now. She hoped the tree would at least look halfway decent with Hermione's assistance, but with Severus choosing all the decorations—

"Now, the unveiling," the Headmistress said, flicking her wand at the tree, the tarp flying off and folding itself up neatly and landing on the floor beside the tree.

Everyone in the Great Hall fell silent. Even the photographers were frozen for several seconds before they began snapping pictures, flashbulbs popping. Then slowly, cheers and applause rose from those in attendance as they took in the tree.

Snape had indeed gone traditional. In addition to the candles, all manner of sweets, fruits and gingerbread adorned the tree. There were tiny musical instruments, miniature furniture, small wooden toys and dolls of all types. Silver tinsel hung from a few boughs, just a bit. When Albus decorated, one could barely even see the tree. This way, it was simple and lovely.

Snape stepped forward and held up his hands, quieting the crowd.

"It is my hope that tomorrow, after everyone has departed Hogwarts, the Headmistress will allow me to bring in children from several orphanages to help 'remove' these decorations, and take them with them," the dark wizard said softly. "I know it is tradition to leave the tree up until New Year's, but no one will be here after all."

Everyone let out a gasp. What a kind sentiment! In all the history of Hogwarts the school had never opened its doors to orphans in this manner. The amount of orphans had increased because of the final battle.

"Of—of course, Severus," Minerva said, her eyes glistening as everyone continued to applaud and whistle. Hermione was staring at the Potions master. What a wonderful thing to do, provide sweets and toys for orphans. She stepped closer to him.

"Professor, I believe you may have started a new Hogwarts tradition," she said to him softly.

Snape looked down at her soberly before his eyes flicked up and resting on the approaching Weasley.

"Anything to cut down on the blasted commercialism, Miss Granger," he replied as Ron walked up.

The redhead looked at professor Snape, then offered his hand to Hermione.

"Come on, Hermione," he said to her. "I'll take you to get some punch."

Hermione hesitated, but went with Ron because he was her date after all.

"Bye, professor," she called softly to the Potions master as Ron led her away.

Snape watched her go, then was descended upon by reporters, staff and students. Despite Hermione's help decorating the tree, he still had to deal with the aftermath alone.

Snape finally managed to drive off his admirers and well-wishers and spent the rest of the night quietly watching Hermione while keeping an eye on the other students. She danced with Ron, Harry, Neville and several other wizards. There were waltzes, but also the wild dances of the young. He arched an eyebrow at her as she twisted her body sensuously, wriggling her breasts and bum in time with the music.

Good Grindelows. That shouldn't be allowed in public.

As the evening wound down, the waltzes returned. Ron, Harry, Hermione and several Gryffindors sat at the table, preparing to leave. A few staff members were on the floor waltzing, but no students. After the first few obligatory waltzes, they preferred more modern dance.

"Well, they're playing the lullabies," Ron said, yawning. "Let's go, Hermione."

Hermione started to stand when she became aware of a shadow falling over her. She looked up to see professor Snape.

"I wonder if I may have this dance, Miss Granger?" the dark wizard said, as everyone looked at him incredulously. Snape asking Hermione to dance? Hell, Snape dancing period was weird enough.

He held out one pale hand to Hermione soberly. She looked at it, then, without even glancing at Ron or her other housemates, she gently caught hold of his fingers, and Snape helped her up, leading her to the dance floor, twirling her deftly before catching her waist and beginning to waltz, gliding across the floor in perfect time with the music.

"I'll be hexed," Ron breathed, watching the wizard and Hermione dance.

In fact, everyone was watching them, and a few photos were snapped. But Snape and Hermione seemed not to notice as they danced, looking at each other. Hermione was clearly smitten by his dancing abilities, and Snape led her smoothly, whirling her until she burst into delighted laughter.

"Wow," Ginny breathed, then looked at Ron. "You'd better brush up on your waltzing Ron."

"Shut up," Ron said scowling, rising from his seat.

The moment the music ended, he was on the dance floor retrieving Hermione.

"Good night, professor," Hermione called, looking back at the wizard dreamily as Ron stalked away with her angrily.

Snape quirked an eyebrow at her, then gave a slight bow in response.

By the end of the year, Hermione had made up her mind to become professor Snape's apprentice, hoping that she might become more. Although they had returned to their normal teacher/student relationship and the wizard had not done anything to encourage her other than give her proper grades, Hermione had become completely infatuated with him.

Ron was aware of this since the night of the Christmas ball, and it was a matter of contention between them. Add to this the fact that Hermione didn't want to go any further with him sexually and there was a real problem between them.

"I had a crush on Lockhart and you didn't care," Hermione said to him one night as they walked around the grounds together, arguing as usual.

"I didn't go out with you then, and besides, you were too young to actually do anything, unless Lockhart was a pedophile," he spat back at her. "You're old enough to give Snape a shag!"

"So what if I am?"

Ron turned completely red, his face almost the same color as his hair.

"What do you mean 'what if you are?' You're supposed to say you wouldn't shag him, Hermione, and you didn't. He's skinny as a Bowtruckle, greasy as chips and as ugly as a dragon's backside! I don't even see what there is about him to crush on!"

"That's because you only see the surface of anything, Ron. You don't bother to look to see what's inside a person. Not even me," Hermione told him angrily.

"You won't let me get close enough to find out what's inside of you," he hissed back at her.

Hermione turned red now.

"See what I mean? All you think about is sex, sex, sex!"

"I'm seventeen, Hermione! What else am I supposed to think about?"

Ron tried to get Harry involved, but the boy who survived wouldn't interfere except to tell him that if he kept acting so jealous, he was going to lose Hermione.

"You should start doing nice things for her, Ron, and not focus on the professor so much. You keep him in her mind that way," Harry advised him. "It'll pass, believe me."

Harry didn't know about the mistletoe incident though. This wasn't something that would pass easily. Perhaps if there hadn't been physical contact, it could have been a passing crush, but there had been.

Ron couldn't help his growing jealousy and frustration. One night, in a fit of passion and anger, he went too far with Hermione, refusing to let up when they were snogging, the wizard taking her down to the ground and trying to get her robes off of her forcibly. That ended very badly, with Ron found petrified and covered in Bat Bogies on the grounds of Hogwarts the next morning by Hagrid.

He was lucky Hermione hadn't reported his attempted rape, because when you got right down to it, that's exactly what it was. There was nothing Ron could say to the witch to make her take him back. He had attacked her, and that was as unforgivable as the Cruciatus curse as far as Hermione was concerned. He and Harry nearly came to blows over it when Harry found out.

After graduation as everyone was milling around congratulating each other, Hermione detached herself from the other students and approached professor Snape, who was standing alone by the punch table, drinking a glass of punch.

"Um, professor?" she said to the wizard softly.

"Congratulations, Miss Granger. You collected quite a few honors. More than I've seen in many a year at this school," Snape said with a slight nod of approval.

"Yes, well—thank you," she replied, flushing a little. "But I wanted to tell you, I accept your offer for apprenticeship."

Snape studied her.

"You realize if I accept you, it will be as if you've given a wizard's oath. You'll be bound to live and work with me for the next four years unless I release you. That means, you can't quit, Miss Granger. Being an apprentice can be thankless work, particularly the first two years. There will be times you want to walk away, I assure you."

"I've—I've read up on it," Hermione said. "I know it's labor-intensive, but I don't mind hard work as long as there are results."

"You've discussed this with your parents?" Snape asked her, his black eyes flicking over to Mr. and Mrs. Granger, who were chatting with Arthur and Molly Weasley. Ron was standing arm in arm with Lavender Brown, his new girlfriend, talking with Harry and Ginny. She was a lot more cooperative than Hermione had been.

Hermione nodded.

"Mum said it sounded like indentured servitude and dad wasn't thrilled about the living arrangements, but when it came down to it, it was my decision," she told him.

Snape's dark eyes rested on her.

"You're quite an independent young witch, Miss Granger," he said softly.

"Yes, I am. Particularly when I know what it is I want," she replied. Then she blushed furiously.

Snape arched an eyebrow at her. He was well aware of her infatuation with him. In fact, he was a bit infatuated himself. This could work out quite well.

"I see," he purred. "Very well, Miss Granger. You are my apprentice for the next four years."

Magic swirled about them and Hermione felt a small tightening and jerk inside her, pulling her toward the Potions master a bit. She stared up at him.

"I felt it, professor" she said in a near whisper.

Snape gave her a small smirk.

"That's 'master,' not professor, apprentice," he replied, his dark eyes glittering down at her possessively. "Master. That is how you will address me for the next four years. Do you understand?"

Hermione's belly flip-flopped as she looked up at him.

"Yes, master," she breathed, her heart fluttering in her chest.

THE END

A/N: I had wanted to get this short out by Christmas, but couldn't manage it. No lemons, but eh, it was fluffy enough for a short. Thanks for reading and I hope everyone had a happy holiday.