A/N- Hello lovies! I've had this one sitting in my queue for awhile now, but have finally fiddled with it enough that I'm going to start re-posting. This was written for the 2016 LJ SSHG Prompt Fest for the wonderful AdelaideArcher; I will provide the prompt at the end as to not spoil things. It's complete in four chapters, and pretty much a PWP with a flangsty coating. As always, any comments and criticisms are gladly accepted.

Mercifully, it wasn't an enchanted mirror.

Had the antique looking glass hanging above the fireplace mantel been spelt to speak, Hermione rather thought that the pointed commentary would have included descriptors such as 'strumpet' or 'hussy.' Still, as she gazed into the shadowed depths she couldn't help but wish for a bit of well-meaning advice- even if it was to tell her to brush her mutinous mass of hair or button her blouse back up to where decorum dictated it ought to be.

The woman staring back at her was a wholly unfamiliar one. Cheeks flushed becomingly and lips wantonly plump, she looked more than a little impassioned; the shifting ochre hues of the dying fire seemed to only emphasise the rise and fall of her half-bared breasts.

I do believe that this would qualify as having a heaving bosom, Hermione thought wryly, fighting the urge to tug her blouse up. And all I need to complete the fantasy is a certain tall and dark man standing behind me... For just a moment, she let herself fall into the illusion: the lean, saturnine figure of Severus coming up behind her, those marvellously dexterous fingers settling on her hips and pulling her hard against him. A hot, nibbling kiss starting at the nape of her neck…

Standing in the silent splendour of his sitting room, she felt her body begin a slow burn. I really, really, need to get shagged, she thought a tad desperately, her nipples hardening into sensitive points as the fantasy spun out in her mind. Because if I have to endure much more of this, I'm likely to do my own impression of a phoenix on a burning day!

The loud pop of a settling log startled her back into the present, and she took another deep breath. Right. Priorities, Granger... first, stop acting like a hormonally obsessed youth; you are nearer to thirty than twenty. Second, stop acting like a ninny. Just bloody well ask him if he fancies you!

Hermione had awoken ten minutes earlier on the sofa in Severus' private sitting room, wrapped in a soft wool blanket that smelled of juniper and the man himself. A dinner for two had been laid out neatly on the small table by the bookcases, but there was no trace of her dining companion. Upon seeing the meal, she had barely restrained the urge to cackle like the witch that she was; she knew that the Great Hall had dined on a supper of pork chops, applesauce, and roasted red potatoes… not the delicious-looking cottage pie that was currently being held hot with the aid of a stasis charm.

He must have specifically ordered the dish. Granted, Severus was the Head of Hogwarts: he could have demanded a prime cut of Wagyu beef with white-truffle infused foie gras and the House-Elves would have elatedly combed the four corners of the earth to comply. By contrast, the humble cottage pie sitting on the table wasn't complicated, but it was her favourite meal.

It has to mean something, she reasoned doggedly, warmth filling her that had nothing to do with the fire in the grate. It simply must… why else would he go to the trouble of ordering something different?

The cagey bastard had left her in knots since the first day that she had begun teaching Muggle Studies at the start of the autumn term. Her first day lecturing had been a nauseating blend of nerves and excitement; it wasn't until the final student had left the classroom at the end of the day that she had given into the luxury of sagging against the podium with relief… and then nearly jumped clean out of her skin when a velvety and rich voice had intoned, "Well done, Professor Granger. I am impressed."

She'd whirled, wand at the ready, startled to see the Headmaster Disillusion himself and stride out from the corner, smirking at her reaction.

"How long have you been standing there?" Hermione had demanded, feeling as though her heart was making a credible attempt at pounding out of her chest.

Severus, for his part, had merely given her a polite, if somewhat mocking bow. "Long enough. I make sure that my newest Professors are properly supported in their roles, and that means observing them teach." His dark gaze turned measuring. "From here on out I shall give you plenty of notice when I intend to observe, but as I said, you did well today…"

It was the first compliment that she had ever received from the man, and it had made her redden like a first year. However, it wasn't the last time he praised her; Severus was an involved and dedicated Headmaster, and not at all in the overbearing, amoral fashion that Albus Dumbledore had been.

Moreover, Severus was also nothing like the glowering, condescending, bitter man of her youth. He had proven to be a surprisingly good mentor, and their arguments were always enjoyably spirited. Oh, he was still gleefully sarcastic and dearly loved to skewer fools, but the harsh edge of anger had given way to a dry sense of humour and snarky charisma that she found enormously attractive. A wonderfully fit body and a bum one could bounce sickles off of doesn't hurt, either…

The realisation that she had noticed Severus Snape's bum- and the corresponding level of fitness- had clued her into the fact that her feelings of respect and friendship had changed. At first, Hermione had reckoned that her infatuation was nothing more than a passing fancy. But as the months rolled by, the sentiment had solidified into emotions altogether more substantial; she was now horribly afraid to give a name to what she felt.

Naturally, his feelings on the subject- if there were any- remained maddeningly opaque. There were times she was sure that he was flirting with her, but he never once overstepped the boundaries of a proper friendship. Whilst Hermione wasn't normally one to hesitate, Severus was first and foremost her boss. It would be horribly awkward if all her frustrating fantasies were just that: the made-up musings of a woman who hadn't gotten a leg over in positively ages.

She'd nearly given it all up as a lost cause when he had invited her to dine privately with him. Ostensibly, the meal was to discuss Hermione's technology proposal, but there had been something else lurking in his gaze when he asked.

Hermione had dithered for three straight days trying to decipher that look.

Unfortunately, Severus had been called away almost immediately upon her arrival to deal a student issue, telling her to feel free to peruse his collection of books as he had left. Several tense hours had passed, and she had eventually fallen into the drowsy depths of a doze on the sofa.

But now? The small signs of his concern- the blanket that had been tucked around her and the fire, as well as the specially ordered meal- gave her the courage to hope that she wasn't reading the situation all wrong; while he had never made any overt, grandiose gestures of attraction, the multitude of little kind deeds did add up to quite a mountain of evidence in her favour.

I am done being a spineless wimp. The man was a ruddy spy for twenty years; he cannot be completely blind to my feelings. He must reciprocate them to some degree, or he'd never have invited me here in the first place. So… time to act like a Gryffindor and be bold about what I want. And I want him!

Glancing back to the mirror, she took stock of her tousled appearance again. I can do this… Swiftly, Hermione loosened the third button on her blouse; any lower and her bra would be plainly visible. If this doesn't make my intent clear, nothing short of letting him discover me naked on the hearthrug will...

She found him sitting at the formal dining table, entirely absorbed in a large notebook spread out in front of him. A few more quiet steps forward revealed what had so captured his attention: he was rapidly sketching.

That ability to create art was yet another unknown facet of his character, and Hermione was overcome with a ferocious, possessive desire to know Severus more fully. Please, she begged any deities that might be listening, please, please let him feel the way I do!

Opening her mouth to speak, she hesitated, not wanting to disturb such a private moment. In all the years Hermione had known him, she had never seen his expression so relaxed and unashamedly happy; the pleasure that he took in the activity was plain to behold. Hands deftly moving over the page, he tilted his head to peer at the image, fingers darting out to smudge a line before picking up his pencil once more.

Leaning back to examine the drawing again, Severus smiled, emotions both tender and reverential playing across his face. Her heart did a slow somersault at the unfamiliar sight, and she longed to wipe the streak of errant charcoal from his cheek.

Then, for the first time, Hermione was able to the see the page. She nearly gasped out loud. Even in black and white, the image was striking. Familiar eyes stared outward, full of zest and humour… How many times had she seen that particular expression?

They were Harry's eyes.

No, she thought dumbly, a cold sort of horror creeping in. Not Harry. His Mum… The drawing had caught her in mid-speech; she was impossibly lovely. It registered then that what she saw in Severus' face was love, all-consuming and all-encompassing.

I have been such a fool.

Somehow, Hermione got out of the room without attracting his attention. Standing at the back of the sofa, she clutched the knobby fabric for support, trying her damnedest not to cry.

The behaviour that not five minutes earlier had seemed so indicative of romantic intent transformed in the space of a heartbeat, carrying an entirely different meaning; of course he had acted so considerately that evening- it was an implicit apology for keeping her waiting so long.

Remnants of a long-ago conversation floated back to her: the faculty lounge in late summer, just before the term started. Hermione had been tucked anxiously in the corner, waiting for her first meeting to start. Minerva and Severus had been standing at the window closest to her chair, softly speaking as the rest of the teachers trickled in.

"I understand you created quite the ruckus at the Three Broomsticks last night." Her former Head of House had sounded amused.

The Headmaster snorted dryly. "And precisely how long did it take Rosemerta to floo you with that little bit of choice gossip?"

"You hadn't even made it back to the Castle yet." When Minerva spoke again, it was in tones far more conciliatory then smug. "What happened? She was vague on the details."

"Enid MacMillan made a rather bold bid for my attention."

"An unwelcome one, I take it?"

"Very. She's a nice enough girl, but Christ Almighty, she was my student not all that long ago. Why she even thought her sentiments would be welcome…."

"Bold bids for attention seem to be quite the trend this year."

Annoyed, he responded, "I wasn't intending to lead her on by offering to help her with research, just as I didn't mean to lead Samantha Jones or Morgana Bones on before that. You know how careful I am, Minerva." His next words dripped with disdain. "You've seen me when I'm besotted. I am many things, but subtle is not one of them."

"Oh, stop trying to put words in my mouth, you big grump. I know how circumspect you are; I just hope that that someday you do find some lovely witch's attentions flattering rather than embarrassing."

"Fat bloody chance of that, woman."

Severus' words seemed to echo about in her head with a terrible finality. "You've seen me when I'm besotted. I am many things, but subtle is not one of them."

There had been no grand gestures. Severus wasn't besotted with her.

And if that was the case, he certainly wasn't in love with her or anything of the like. She had fallen for a man that was utterly unavailable to her.

A single tear, fat and hot with mortification rolled down her cheek.

I need to get out of here!

With that imperative thought thrumming through her, she fled.

Severus was finished.

Lily's lovely face stared up at him, caught forever in the brilliant bloom her youth. For a moment, Severus let himself recall the sound of her infectious laughter, the silken, tensile texture of her sun-warmed hair as it ran through his fingers, and the moments of happiness found in her company.

She had been his first friend and for the longest time the only other person he had loved besides his mother. But sometime over the last year, those feelings had finally released their tenacious hold over him; after all, Lily Evans Potter had been dead for longer than she had been alive. More importantly, she had never been his to love, and never accepted the depth of his feelings.

Still, it had hit him like a stunner when he had realised that he couldn't summon her face without considerable effort. The woman now haunting his dreams was a Muggle-born Gryffindor, true, but she didn't have red hair or green eyes.

Hermione…

It had been another shock to acknowledge that he was interested in the woman. When he'd hired her- or rather, after Minerva had badgered him into offering a contract- he had only been mildly interested in getting to know his newest Professor. It had been Hermione's irrepressible curiosity that had eventually drawn him in; that, and the fact that she was entirely too much fun to wind up.

She was utterly magnificent with the light of battle animating her amber eyes and seemed to take as much pleasure in their ferocious debates as he did. In mid-October, he comprehended that he was in considerable danger of developing quite the tendré for his Muggle Studies Professor; by the Christmas hols, he had given up any internal pretence of not fancying her.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to break down that last wall between them. Yes, Hermione gave every appearance of enjoying his company- even seeking him out several times a week- but the doubts nagged at him endlessly. Ignoring all the messy personal history of their early acquaintance, she was younger than him by a good twenty years, and he her superior to boot. It also didn't help that he was crap at relationships, and with women in general. The situation was Complicated, warranting a capital 'C' and all.

It was, oddly enough, the good-natured banter of Neville Longbottom that finally spurred him into action. The Herbology Professor hadn't been teasing him, of course- Severus could still make him quake in his boots if he so desired- but the man had jokingly asked Hermione at breakfast if she was going to snatch the visiting Viktor Krum up again from the hordes of witches stalking him.

Outwardly, Severus showed no reaction to that bit of nonsense, but inwardly, his mind was bellowing, 'Not a bloody chance in hell!' He'd lost one woman to a Quidditch-crazed buffoon; he was damned if he'd let the same happen to Hermione without at least giving it a go.

That very morning, he'd intercepted Hermione and casually asked her out to dinner to discuss her technology project. Blushing delightfully, she agreed, and Severus was left with the minor tasking of planning a quasi, almost-date. Easy-peasy, he reasoned…

Naturally, he'd spent the following two days in a state of panic.

Thankfully, a flurry of not-so-subtly pleading letters to Narcissa sorted matters out nicely, or so he'd thought. Apparently, Fate, that most fickle and meddling bitch, had other notions on the subject.

Severus had barely gotten Hermione in the door when the frantic summoning had pulled him back into the bowels of the Castle. He returned three hours later, wet, cranky, and tired to find her likewise dead to the world on his sofa. She was curled into a tight ball and clutching his battered copy of 'Jurassic Park' to her chest like it was something precious.

And just like that, all his resentment vanished with nary a whimper; the wonderfully domestic novelty of having someone waiting for him- having Hermione waiting for him- shook him to his core. She was utterly perfect, from the tips of her pink painted toes to the riotous curls devouring his couch like devil's snare.

He'd panicked. Again.

Hastily, Severus had covered her with a blanket, lit the fire and fled the room. Making a strategic retreat all the way to the shower, he'd slowly regrouped. It wasn't like he had to confess his undying devotion to her that very night; he only had to determine if her feelings complimented his.

Finally calming down enough to order supper- her favourite dish, which Narcissa had promised would score him points- he returned to the sitting room. Hermione looked more comfortable with the additions of blanket and fire, but still utterly knackered, even in sleep. Deciding to let her nap until the food arrived, he had wandered aimlessly about his rooms, his sketchpad finally catching his attention.

It had been donkey's years since he'd last drawn anything. Flipping the tablet open, he contemplated what to put to paper. The recollection of Hermione asleep on his sofa sprang to mind first, but he dismissed it. Should she catch him at it, the choice would not only be on the creepy side but forever mark him as a pathetic, sorry sod.

Drawing Lily had been a natural compromise. Besides which, it had been a way to say goodbye, to conjure her one last time before consigning her to his past for good.

The memory Severus had pulled from was the last pleasant day they'd spent together before it had all gone to shit. It had been a rare sunny spring day in Fifth Year, and they had gone down to the lake to study. She had been so astoundingly beautiful- brimming with promise and passion- that it had nearly rendered him mute. He'd sketched her mid-conversation, extolling the virtues of some medieval medicinal potion, the golden recollection of that long-gone day seemingly pouring out of him and onto the page.

And now he was finished. Finished with the drawing, and finished with Lily…

Leaning back in the hard chair, Severus winced, hearing several of his vertebrae protest audibly. What bloody time is it? he wondered, and cast a quick tempus charm.

Half-past three? Christ, I've been drawing for almost four hours!

Rising stiffly, he rubbed a hand over his face and then grimaced as he felt the lead now decorating his expression like an abstract tattoo.

Hermione!

Hastily, he skidded into the dark sitting room. The fire had entirely died out, and it took a few seconds of blinking to determine that Hermione was no longer sleeping on the sofa. Lighting a lamp, he gazed around. The blanket had been neatly folded, but the food was untouched.

"Oh, bollocks," he muttered, walking towards his bedroom with no little confusion. Hermione must have returned to her rooms; given the time, he didn't blame her one iota. But why didn't she come and fetch me? he mused, feeling the days persistent troubles and tensions settled over him like a misbegotten cloak.

I'll explain and apologise tomorrow… or rather, later today…

But Severus didn't have the chance; an outbreak of wizarding influenza struck the Castle, and he was forced to spend the next three days brewing a variety of healing draughts. He didn't see her the following two days after that, either; if he didn't know better, he would have thought that she was avoiding him.

He had finally tracked her down at the end of one of her classes, and Severus couldn't help but notice that she looked wretched. Concern flooded him, and his question came out more gruffly then intended.

"Have you been ill?"

"I've been unwell, yes." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, and something about the flicker of guilty embarrassment that passed over her expression raised his hackles.

Why is she lying to me?

"I wanted to apologise for the other evening," he said, watching her intently for further clues. "It was not my intent to keep you waiting the better part of the night."

"Think nothing of it. Your role doesn't exactly lend itself to off time." Hermione cleared her throat and jerkily reached into her bag. "I, uh, wrote out the proposal that we were set to discuss. I thought it more efficient than trying to set up another meeting. This close to midterm exams, I'm positively swamped, and it can't be any better for you…"

It took him a full ten seconds to muster up an answer, frozen as he was in disbelief at her sudden and unexpected rejection. "As you wish." Mechanically, he reached forward and took the papers from her hand, noting that her hands were shaking slightly.

Then, like being at ground zero of a horrifying collapse, realisations began to pummel him. Severus had seen that same guilty, discomfited, shifty-eyed look before: Lily had worn it when he tried to confess his love for her.

And now Hermione had that same expression. The woman was practically leaping out of her skin to get away, all tight-lipped tension and twitchy posture. There could only be one explanation- she had divined his feelings and manifestly did not return them.

How could I have misjudged the situation this badly?

The recollection of seeing her curled asleep in his rooms abruptly surfaced, the soft, sentimental feelings transforming into cruel and taloned things that ripped at his metaphorical underbelly.

Surely, a weak voice protested, surely I am simply reading this situation wrong…there must be something else going on here… The Slytherin side of him demanded absolute proof of her perfidy, and he gave Hermione a final chance.

"There is still the matter of dinner, however."

Complete silence. Hermione did not leap upon the offer.

Her smile was more of a grimace when she finally demurred. "Nonsense. If anything, I owe you for considering this proposal." For a brief flash, her amber eyes met his, a wild and trapped look racing through them.

So… that's it, then. The royal brush-off and a half-arsed plea for a favour as if I were nothing but a foolish idiot to be led around by false promises. Severus felt like the worst sort of a sucker for making the same mistake twice, the pain churning within swiftly being replaced by raw fury.

"I will inform you when I have reached a decision." A portion of his rage must have emerged because she took a halting step back, face leached of all colour. Not trusting himself to speak further, he billowed off to his rooms and proceeded to get appallingly pissed, not caring the least that it was only half eleven.