Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

WARNINGS: Hermione is a Fifth year. BUT, Rosemerta is not ;P

Also, fyi, I picture my Rosemerta looking a lot like Nancy from the musical Oliver! so that should give you an idea about her wardrobe.

...*~*J*~*...

"We believe Voldemort may be after something… Something he didn't have last time."

But what on earth could it be? They had been racking their brains for weeks, but it just wouldn't do. Clearly, this was an answer they would have to be given. Unfortunately, no one was handing out answers.

All summer, they had attempted to listen in on the Order meetings, but the few bits and pieces they had managed to overhear had been almost entirely useless. What they needed was someone on the inside who would be willing to share that information with them. Of course, if Sirius Black wasn't willing, it wasn't likely anyone else ever would be. And time was running out. With one week left before their return to Hogwarts, and therefore probably one last Order meeting (which would probably revolve more around their return to the castle than whatever 'weapon' Voldemort was supposed to be seeking), it was about time to come up with Plan B.

The idea was formed around the assumption that the information itself was not Top Secret, but that they were not to be told on account of their age. That was a flimsy base for a plan, to be sure, but at present it was all they had. After all, they knew that some otherwise confidential information had been shared with the witch. She was something of a confidant, if not an actual Order member (which they also could not rule out, to be fair).

In short, they were desperate. So desperate, in fact, that they were returning to a plan they had formulated as second years, for Merlin's sake! Well, in her defence, the boys' transformation into Crabbe and Goyle in order to spy on Malfoy had not been an entirely fruitless venture. And, on the bright side, after that fiasco with Barty Crouch Jr. last year, Professor Snape was getting pretty accustomed to having Polyjuice ingredients stolen from him. In fact, in combination with the Draught of Dreamless Sleep and the secret passageway right into the woman's basement, the plan should go off without a hitch.

Of course, all of that would be for nothing if they didn't answer her questions, but that only meant time wasted, as opposed to any actual repercussions. Not that Hermione Granger did not value her time; she certainly did, but homework had to play second-string in a world where Voldemort was at large. She had had to sort out her priorities.

Madame Rosemerta was not an unfamiliar character to the Trio. They had watched her interacting with her customers for years. Alright, so it was only two years… about once a month, briefly stopping by while they were out, when they weren't just paying attention to each other… Well, at least Ronald had been studying the woman.

And hadn't it been on Harry's very first trip to Hogsmeade that he'd overheard a conversation between their professors and the witch that had given away another secret no one had wanted Harry to know? Ever since then, Hermione had noticed that the woman tended to speak with their professors quite a lot, but it was still a great risk to imagine it would happen during their first Hogsmeade outing of the year. Of course, in theory, they could always repeat the experiment if it was not fruitful. But then, Madame Rosemerta might begin to grow suspicious if she kept waking up passed out in her basement and unable to recall the day before. For now, that concern would have to fall under the 'Potential Repercussions' bullet, and they would deal with it after the fact.

Deciding it was worth a shot, the Golden Trio dedicated weeks to preparation for their first Hogsmeade visit of the year. The Polyjuice Potion had to brew for a month, of course, but they were able to acquire all the necessary ingredients in time to do just that. The first trip to the local town was scheduled for the first week of October, so it would be ready in the nick of time. In the meanwhile, Hermione practiced clothing Transfiguration, so that she would not have to remove articles from the unconscious woman, the mere prospect of which made her crinkle her nose in disgust. It was difficult at first, but she very quickly caught on to the technique. Nevertheless, she continued to practice, constantly challenging herself lest the woman's clothes be particularly difficult. Oh, what was she kidding? That wasn't the part that made her nervous.

In their second year, she had not been able to accompany the boys to the dungeons to complete their quest. She had no experience to draw from, save the recounted recollections of Harry and Ron. And that had been Slytherin students, not adult professors, they were attempting to fool. And they had known plenty about the two thugs to play the roles, but Hermione knew next to nothing about Rosemerta.

It became a sort of obsession; gathering pieces of information about the witch she was to impersonate. And very quickly she learned that no one really knew anything about her. So, without proper insight into character, Hermione delved into the intricacies of her role. She studied alcohol. Thankfully, Fred and George knew quite a bit about the different drinks and prices and gave Hermione an idea of the job she would have to perform. After all, the Draught of Dreamless Sleep (which they all agreed was vital) would keep the barmaid quite unconscious for the rest of the night. Could they give her a smaller dose and allow the real woman to return to her duties without garnering suspicion? Absolutely not. It was better that she woke the next day and began anew. Perhaps they would even find a way to move her sleeping body to the apartments they believed must be nearby. That would come later, of course. Much of the information they needed would not be available until she was there, herself. And that irked Hermione more than she was willing to say.

The first major threat to their big plans was the overstepping-Ministry-official-masquerading-as-a-Defense-Instructor, Dolores Umbridge. She was a piece of the equation that they never could have calculated prior to her introduction. Apparently, the Ministry was spying on Hogwarts and possibly—probably—attempting to control it. Umbridge patrolled the castle with an iron hand and a passion that made Snape look apathetic. And worse, she had the authority of the Ministry. Hermione was terrified the woman would find them brewing illegally in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, once again. Miraculously, that was not the case.

The fourth of October was a chilly, oppressive sort of day. The sky was white, the air was windy, and the cold seemed to seep into her bones. But all of that was nothing compared to the anxiety gnawing at the pit of her stomach and squeezing her fragile fifth year heart. It was time.

They could only hope that this escapade would not end in utter failure due to the myriad of variables they could not calculate before the fact. What was she to say to regulars? What if she had to pour a drink she did not know? Naturally, her plan involved the frequent and inconspicuous use of a Confundus Charm.

Their classmates were lining up in front of Filch when Harry, Ron, and Hermione slipped away with the Invisibility Cloak. They had grown too tall to fit the three of them beneath it and manage to walk at the same time, but it would be necessary when they reached their destination.

"Are you ready?" Harry asked her. His concern only made her stomach flip with nerves. Not wanting to trust her voice, she merely nodded as they slipped into the tunnel. They were standing beneath the trap door that led to the cellar of "The Three Broomsticks" when Hermione felt her first stab of uncertainty. Was this secret really worth all of this? She had been hopelessly naïve to imagine that failure would be merely a waste of time. Failure could, in any number of ways, be completely disastrous. Oh, she felt like a fool as they pulled themselves up into the darkness of the tiny room. There was no way to be certain that they were covered by the Cloak as they lay in wait, crouching in a corner. Hopefully, they wouldn't have to wait for long.

It seemed an eternity before the cellar door opened and the Trio took a collective breath as Madame Rosemerta appeared. She had hardly made it down the stairs before Ron leapt up with a shouted "Stupefy!" and the witch promptly crumpled to the floor.

"Brilliant, Ron!" Hermione hissed, throwing the cloak off as she hurried to close the door.

"Someone had to do it!" he protested.

"You didn't need to shout!"

"Relax," Harry cut in with a stern expression, "I don't think anybody heard us, or they'd have come down here by now."

Hermione huffed anxiously. "I hope you're right."

The three hesitated for a moment, simply staring down at the unconscious witch. "Suppose we ought to move her," Ron suggested.

"We need to administer the Dreamless Sleep," Hermione reminded him. "And get the hairs."

Harry cut in impatiently at that. "We also need to hurry up. They'll be suspicious if she's ten minutes in the cellar."

"Good point," said Hermione.

"Right," added Ron.

Pouring a potion into the witch's mouth turned out to be more of a challenge than Hermione had imagined, and she managed to spill some of it down the side of the woman's face. But there was nothing for it. And anyway, they had given the witch a dose to last until morning, so it ought to be just fine. She massaged the woman's throat until she swallowed, then pulled some hairs and set about preparing a flask to carry with her while the boys levitated the body behind a bunch of crates. It was morbidly unsettling to leave the woman here, like this. But… it was for the Greater Good, wasn't it?

"R-right," Hermione stammered, brushing out her skirts and fiddling with the other woman's hair. "How do I look," she asked the boys, for want of any mirror.

"Blimey!" said Ron, openmouthed and staring at her newfound figure. Hermione fought the urge to snap at him and found herself blushing at the same time. Certainly this body was more curvaceous than her own, but Hermione had not thought anything of it until she saw that look on Ronald's face. It made her feel self-conscious and supremely uncomfortable.

But there was no time to dwell on those feelings. "Right," she said again, turning to the door. "I'll see you later, then."

"Right." The boys both echoed, slipping back under the cloak to follow her upstairs.

She was about to open the door when Harry grabbed her shoulder. "Wait," he whispered, "should we come back here? Or do you think you can manage from here on out?"

Hermione hadn't thought about that and was not sure she knew the best response, but she didn't have the luxury of time right now. "No. I should be fine," she told him, at last. She could levitate the body on her own… not that she knew where she would be taking it. But that was a plan for later. Oh gods.

Light and the noise of a boisterous crowd assaulted her as the door swung open, at last. She held it open long enough to be sure the boys had passed and closed it with a gut-wrenching surge of doubt. She only took a moment to breathe before stepping behind the counter and setting about her plan. First, she made a round to recover empty glasses to make herself look busy and give herself a feel of the establishment. The dishes were put beside the sink where a sponge was Charmed to scrub them clean and she found the money box exactly where the twins said it would be—and how they knew that, she really didn't want to know. That was when the first lash of terror swept down her spine. How was she to open the thing? She was so relieved when a mere touch of her fingertips unlocked the contraption that she had to sigh aloud.

That was when the next challenge could be delayed no more: the customers. Treat everyone like a regular, she told herself, smiling at an older man as he sipped on Fire Whiskey. She was startled to see him blush. In fact, as she moved about the bar, Hermione noticed that the eyes of most of the men in the pub were following her. It was unsettling, to say the least.

Hermione Granger had never been that girl. Though she was far from ugly, she was never the one who drew the eye. Of course, she also never flaunted herself the way Madame Rosemerta apparently did. With gathered skirts and a corseted bodice cut quite low she was the image of a Victorian barmaid. Hermione marvelled at the way this image garnered attention. Had she simply never realized how important appearance was to most people? How… depressing.

Before she knew it, Hermione was suppressing scowls at her customers. How dare they disrespect her in this way? But it was not her. It was Rosemerta they were ogling, and Rosemerta was not shy. She needed to hide her scorn behind the guise of a confident—albeit sexualised—female.

Only an hour into her confident facade, Hermione was exhausted and disgusted and bitter. This was the world that she lived in, whether she liked it or not. Of course, that was hardly the purpose of the exercise, but she hadn't yet seen any sign of Professor McGonagall. They had decided that she would be the most likely to include the other witch, as she had been the one to enlighten her last time. Unfortunately, only Professors Flitwick, Hooch, and Trelawney had made an appearance thus far.

It was later in the afternoon when the dark figure of Professor Snape swept through the door. Hermione lit up with hope. Snape was an Order member. Maybe he would tell her. But that hope was just as quickly squashed when she remembered that Severus Snape was a reclusive, secretive, friendless spy.

The Head of Slytherin House acknowledged very few as he approached the bar. He nodded stiffly to a table of Slytherin seventh years and to two unfamiliar gentlemen sitting in the corner. And then his eyes fell on her and Hermione had to fight the instinctive fear. His scowl was firmly set and his eyes were patronizing as he claimed one of the stools at the bar. This sent a strange flutter of nervousness through Hermione, as she would not be able to avoid the man. And he was a skilled Legilimens. What if he saw through their charade?

"How can I help you, Professor?" she asked, leaning against the bar in what she hoped was a casual manner. He lifted an eyebrow, and a pang of doubt squeezed her chest. Was it her behaviour or her address that was unusual? Should I call him 'Severus'? The prospect was unthinkable.

"Scotch," he told her, simply.

Hermione hesitated. Part of what had made this act unchallenging was the fact that nearly everyone ordered Butterbeer or Fire Whiskey. Damn him for being difficult. "On-on the rocks?" she heard herself asking as she reached for a tumbler.

At that, one side of his mouth turned up in a wicked grin. Hermione very nearly dropped the glass. She had never had that particular expression directed at herself before. "Indeed," he told her in a voice like a charcoal sea, and before she had a chance to turn away, his eyes raked down her front before connecting with her own. It was the subtlest of all the glances of the day, but its deliberate nature made her heart begin to hammer and her cheeks begin to heat. She turned away before he could see how flustered she'd become and reached for the first bottle of Scotch she could find. Handing him the tumbler, she swept off to busy herself elsewhere before the professor could find her out.

She was being paranoid. There was no other explanation. How else could she feel his eyes on her as she moved about the room, only to find him intent on his drink whenever she chanced a glance his way? Was she afraid he would discover her secret? Or was she unnerved by the reaction he had inspired with those eyes? Hermione had never considered her professor a sexual man. That is, to her, he had always been... a professor. Well, that was nonsense. Of course she had always known he was a man... but perhaps she had never thought of him as... that sort of a man. Oh, as what sort, Hermione? A heterosexual? He's a man! It's not at all unexpected that he should... what? Lust? Merlin. The very idea sent a tingle down her spine. It was ridiculous, of course. Professor Snape was a man in his prime. Naturally, all of the evidence pointed toward him feeling these sorts of things, but to have it directed at her... Not me! Madame Rosemerta.

Eventually, she had to drift his way, again. He would be needing another drink. And anyway, she certainly didn't want to rouse his suspicion by avoiding him. One long finger tapped the edge of his empty glass and Hermione immediately bent to refill it. "Long day ahead?" she heard herself ask him. Immediately, she felt the need to smack herself in the face. Severus Snape did not make idle chitchat.

"Hardly," he scoffed, catching her eyes as he took a sip of the golden liquid. "Though I imagine you do."

Hermione sighed. "You have no idea."

His eyes gleamed at that, though the humour never made it to his lips. "Don't I?"

Not knowing how to respond, Hermione changed the subject. "So... what's it like outside my little establishment, today?" This remark seemed so natural that she had to praise herself.

"Dreary," the grouchy professor admitted. "And cold. I wouldn't have braved the unleashing of the hellions if I didn't have business in town." He met her eyes. "My personal stores of Potions ingredients are dwindling, once again."

Hermione was immediately on her guard. "Is that so?"

"Naturally. My supply is often low toward the beginning of term as I tend to spend the summer months experimenting."

"Really?"

There was that lifted eyebrow, again. Realising that she was breaking character, Hermione turned away and busied herself with refilling another man's glass. Professor Snape experiments with Potions?! It shouldn't have been surprising, but it certainly was impressive. She made another circuit of the pub, taking the opportunity to dose herself with Polyjuice. The crowd was dwindling. Her heart sank. The longer the day went on without a glimpse of McGonagall, the more likely this would all be one big failure. Would they risk doing it again? Would it be too suspicious? Would there be repercussions tomorrow, anyway? She shook her head, deciding that it was no use dwelling on it just now. And anyway, the Potions Master was telling a story.

She returned to her professor and refilled his glass, once more. "So..." she began again, hopefully, "what sorts of experiments were you doing?"

He grinned at her and leaned forward conspiratorially. Hermione found herself leaning anxiously against the bar, straining to hear his answer. "The secret sort."

Her instinct was to laugh, but then she had to marvel at the fact that Severus Snape was joking around with her. Hell, he was practically... Oh gods. Her stomach twisted anxiously. Professor Snape was flirting with her. Oh gods. What if she gave him the wrong idea? No, but... didn't Madame Rosemerta flirt with everyone? It was probably harmless. Still, she should try not to lead him on.

And then... there was something so strange about flirting with the austere professor. Before today, she never in her wildest dreams would have imagined that he was capable of such. Yet, here he was, smirking at her with an intelligent, confident glint in his coal black eyes. It brought home the fact that she didn't know her professor on a personal basis at all. She only knew him as regarded the role he played as their teacher. To imagine him outside of class, behaving in a social manner, flirting with the barmaid, for Merlin's sake... it blew her mind. And then, oh gods, he was clearly practised. She never would have expected the grouchy professor to be so smooth. If anything, she would have imagined him failing hopelessly in his dealings with the opposite sex. But, clearly, she had underestimated him. Clearly, the dark professor was much more experienced than she ever would have guessed. That thought brought a blush to her cheeks as she found herself inexplicably imagining Snape having sex. It was something she'd never considered before, but of course she didn't fancy him a virgin. At least, not now that she had seen the way mischief glinted so naturally in his eyes. Brushing the unbidden images from her mind, Hermione made another round of the pub to clear her head.

The dark professor left shortly after that, apparently planning to spend a few hours in the bookstore, which made Hermione supremely jealous. He paid with a stack of coins and slipped out of the pub, leaving her with the dwindling crowd of oglers as the sun began to set. Somehow, having had him there, she felt unsafe now that he was gone. She was a vulnerable, single witch in a bar of drunken old wizards and it would be night soon. McGonagall hadn't come. What had she been thinking?

Hermione had considered the afternoon crowd 'busy,' but it was nothing compared to the night. Thankfully, there were other women present, as well, but she still felt uncertain of her position. Hour by hour, she punished herself for getting into this fix. How could she have been so arrogant to think that the answers would simply fall into her lap? Now, she was left dealing with rowdy drunkards as penance for her sins.

This is humanity, she marvelled, watching as the women present threw themselves at the men; watching as the men paid over and over again for drinks for different women as their chances and interests fluctuated. Several of them offered one to her.

By the end of the night, Hermione's facade of cheerfulness and hospitality had been worn down until it was all but discarded altogether. She grew blunt, no longer caring what the customers thought of her. If they knew Rosemerta well enough, they would know she was behaving strangely, and probably think she was in a mood. And she was, in fact. She was tired and sore and disappointed, and she just wanted this all to be over.

It was quite late before the crowd began to thin. Hermione had no idea what time the pub usually closed, and certainly didn't know how to go about doing that. Instead, she merely played her role and drank her potion and waited until the last couple slipped out giggling and the last drunk old man was pulling coins from a small pouch and putting them in her hand. It was then that Severus Snape re-entered the establishment. Hermione was so surprised that she must have gaped at him, but he merely sneered and waited until the drunkard made it out the door. Then, he warded the door with a swish of his wand and walked slowly toward her.

A hundred thoughts ripped through her mind all at once. Had he found her out? Was he here to punish her? Was he here to hurt her? Did he mean to make a move on her? And then... were they involved?

"You've been in a strange mood, today," he told her, stepping toward her until her bum bumped the stools at the bar. He was a foot away, encroaching on her personal space, when he stopped. "Are you alright?"

"F-fine," she whispered, unsure how Rosemerta would react.

"Because," at this, he stepped closer, leaning toward her until his breath puffed in her hair and she leaned back against the bar, unconsciously, "I've been thinking about you all day." One of his hands wrapped around her waist and the other tangled in her hair and Hermione gasped in shock. "Yes, you little tease," he growled, lowering his head until his mouth brushed against her neck. Her breath hitched, but that was not fear pounding in her veins. Suddenly, her body was being pulled tight against his and his teeth were nipping at her neck. "How I wanted to grab you, pull you down to me. But, you do enjoy tormenting me, don't you?"

"No—I..." his mouth met hers and Hermione felt like wilting. This was her professor! She'd hardly ever touched him in her life, and now his hot breath was pouring across her face. She could scarcely believe what was happening. His mouth was on hers! And it was so soft... and sweet... and, unrelenting. He pulled her closer to him, one hand dipping down to grope her bum as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Hermione inadvertently moaned as he pulled one thigh up and pushed her against the bar. She should stop this. She should really stop this. But, then, what could she say? He couldn't know the truth. She wasn't even sure how much he was allowed to know about it all.

Suddenly, he pulled away from her, panting into the cool night air. "We should relocate," he told her. Hermione knew that this was the moment she had to decide. Her professor was already heading around toward the back, where the door to the cellar was hidden. She knew a moment's panic and hurried to his side before he reached for a different door, opening it and standing aside to let her pass. This was it. No going back. She stepped through and began her ascent up a flight of stairs.

Rosemerta's apartment above "The Three Broomsticks" was small, but organized and tasteful. Hermione felt more like an intruder than she had all day. Then, her professor was behind her, pulling her body up against his own and pressing his nose against her hair. One hand wrapped around, sliding up to where her breasts spilled out of the burgundy bodice. The very tips of his fingers caressed her bare skin before sliding down along the laces with a magical touch that opened the bodice before her very eyes—a move that could only have come from long practise. Hermione shivered at the thought. Her classmates wouldn't make half so many jokes about the man if they only knew how suave he was. Ginny, in particular, would have a fit if she knew that their grouchy Potions Master made Dean's persuasive seduction tactics look like the clumsy fumbling of a schoolboy.

Beneath the bodice, she was naked, and she moaned as her professor's hands came up to claim those heavy breasts. He squeezed her hard, groaning into her ear—a sound which made Hermione's knees go weak as a hot tightness formed between her legs. Then, he was stepping away and pulling her toward the bed.

She was naked and on her back in half a minute, gazing up as her professor removed his robes. She felt terribly embarrassed, despite the fact that this body was not her own, but the lust in his gaze was like fire and Hermione could feel it. This was not his paramour. She could see that, now. There was no emotional attachment here. This arrangement they clearly had was nothing more than sex. She shivered. The very idea of her professor having casual sex seemed foreign. Unwittingly becoming his partner? She could scarcely comprehend it all at once.

When Snape's coat and shoes had been removed, he climbed onto the bed and covered her body with his own. Their mouths met and Hermione allowed the sensation to overtake her. If this was going to happen, she needed to stay in character. Snape moaned into her mouth as he squeezed her breasts, pinching Rosemerta's dusky nipples. He rubbed his groin against the juncture between her legs and Hermione gasped at the feel of his hard erection.

"Gods, you feel so good," he growled, slipping down her body to press his face between her breasts. His mouth was everywhere at once, biting and licking and nuzzling the tender flesh. She couldn't help but moan. And when he took one of those dark nipples into his mouth, she whimpered with pleasure and latched onto his hair, pulling him tighter against herself. "There you are," he said in a dangerous voice, "About time you came around." Then his hand was sliding between her legs and Hermione tensed instinctively, but kept herself from pushing him away. "Mmmm you're so wet, you little tease. Gods I've missed fucking you." His mouth was on hers in an instant and she could feel him fumbling with his trousers. Then, he was pushing her legs wide apart and probing her entrance with his cock. When he pushed inside, Hermione gasped in shock and then moaned with pleasure. She had never felt anything like it.

He was rocking frantically against her, breaking his mouth away from her lips to stare down at her as he moved. Those fathomless black eyes met hers and the reality of the situation fell over Hermione. Her professor was fucking her. His jaw was slack and his expression one of concentration. Then his eyes swept down to watch her breasts bounce and he moaned, hammering urgently against her.

Abruptly, he pulled out of her, grunting as he watched hot liquid spill across her skin. Hermione was at once amazed and horrified. Most of the hot, white liquid was spread across her breasts, as if on purpose. Then, with a wave of his hand, it was gone. Well, that wasn't so bad, she thought to herself, although she did have to admit to being a bit disappointed. It had felt so good and then it had just ended.

But then her professor was crawling backwards on the mattress and settling himself between her legs. His mouth landed gently against her aching flesh and Hermione moaned. He laughed. "Is that what you want? Why are you being so coy, tonight?"

"S-sorry," Hermione breathed, gasping as his open mouth reconnected with her flesh. "L-long day." His tongue was sending a mixture of sparks and surges of wet heat through her core. She writhed beneath his touch, her legs restless with desire.

"Do you like that?" he asked her, eliciting incoherent moans from the witch. "I'm going to make you come, and then I'm going to fuck you again. Does that sound agreeable?"

"Y-yes," she heard herself confess. Yes, that did sound agreeable. A little jolt of excitement raced through her body at the prospect. Soon, they would be doing it again. Yes, she did want that. "Oh Merlin." And he wanted it too. "Ohhh." She was arching off of the bed, trying to follow the source of the pleasure and picturing the fire in his eyes as he had come. "Oh, yes," she murmured. "Are you enjoying this?"

He merely hummed against her flesh. "Mmmmmm." It was that deep voice that sparked her peak; Professor Snape's voice growling with arousal. She looked up in time to see his dark hair bobbing between her legs and something burst apart inside of her, causing her to cry out into the darkness of the room as she writhed in ecstasy. When her body began to calm, she noticed her professor stripping out of the rest of his clothes. His body was wiry and paler than she could have realized, with spatterings of thin, dark hair. That was all she was able to discern before his flesh connected with hers, once more.

Pausing to nuzzle her breasts again, the Potions Master flipped Hermione over and pulled her up onto her knees before pushing inside of her once more. The sensation was blinding, and his passion was fierce as he pounded into her. Before she knew what was happening, she was convulsing beneath him, once again. This time, he did not come quickly, but hammered into her for several agonizingly pleasurable minutes before pulling her hard against him and freezing above her with a growl of release.

In the aftermath, Hermione panted into the pillow, crushing Rosemerta's large breasts into the mattress as her professor slowly redressed. Before she knew it, he was sitting on the bed beside her, lacing his dragonhide boots, and she had a sudden urge to cry. It hadn't meant anything to him. That is, she wasn't entirely sure what it had meant to her, either... but he was sated and ready to leave. He had gotten what he'd come for. What more use was she to him? It made her feel hollow inside, as she never had before. Even Professor Snape, whom she admired and respected more—she suddenly realised—than any other grown man she knew, was just a creature of the flesh like all the other men she'd met that day.

He met her eyes, suddenly. "Something wrong?" he asked. She only shook her head. "Was it good for you?" he persisted.

"Yes," she answered automatically. It wasn't a lie. At the time, it had been rather satisfying. But now that they were no longer rapt in the throes of passion, she wasn't sure it had been worth it. Of course, she'd hardly had a choice at the time. If she had, she never would have allowed it to go so far. Nevertheless, she couldn't help but wonder if she would have enjoyed it half as much if she could have foreseen this cold, impersonal farewell.

"Good," was all he said, standing to leave before leaning over to place a kiss upon her temple. The action would have seemed sweet if he hadn't also stuffed a hand beneath her chest to grope her one more time before finally turning away. "Next week, then," he murmured by way of 'goodbye,' and slipped from the room. Hermione listened to the sound of his boots in the hall and down the stairs until she heard the distant sound of a door slamming shut. She let out a breath, but could not bring herself to rise from her position on the bed. It wasn't until she had shrunk back into her regular form, and her toes had grown cold, and her tears had come and gone, that Hermione finally lifted herself from Madame Rosemerta's bed. She pulled on her clothes, feeling numb and disappointed, and made her way down to the cellar.

When Rosemerta was safely tucked into her own bed, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and laid a hand on the other witch's forehead. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. The young Gryffindor made an effort to clean up the establishment and lock the doors before heading down to the trapdoor and back to Hogwarts Castle. Well, it may have been a total failure, but one thing was certain: Hermione Granger would never be the same again.

...*~*J*~*...

I hope you enjoyed it! I would love to hear your thoughts! Just a moment of your time brings a smile to my face, as I hope I've brought one to yours. So, Please Review!

:} llorolalluvia