Okay, well, this is just a little thing that I came up with whilst my internet wasn't working over Christmas. You could consider it a Christmas gift but I don't do Christmas so HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE!

Hermione rubbed her eyes with her sleeve before staring at the glass of whisky in front of her. She had never liked whisky, but the burn that accompanied it down told her that she was still alive and kicking.

Well, she was still alive.

She had come home earlier that evening in an attempt to surprise Ron with a spontaneous dinner (Chinese from the local Muggle takeaway down the road) and then a bout of love-making that would last until the early hours of the morning.

What she had not expected was to walk in and see Ron's perfectly formed ass (thank you, Chudley Cannons, for hiring him out of school) flexing and releasing as he pumped into some blonde busty bimbo on their sofa. The wet sounds of the food hitting the floor had alerted him to her presence, and he paused for a moment to look at her.

"You said that you didn't mind," he shot at her, before smiling back down at the blonde who was looking wide-eyed at them both and then continuing his movements.

As Hermione felt the sorrow and self-pity seep into her bones, she was pitifully aware that she had agreed to Ron's little endeavours, especially after she decided that she didn't find him attractive any more. To be honest, she wasn't sure if she ever loved him, because her heart always belonged to someone else. A dead man. A man who died a traitor but who was a hero.

She had apparated to the nearest pub, a Muggle one, and had promptly ordered the whisky and had sat at the bar for the last hour, downing shots one after the other. As her head began to spin, she realised that she had had too many, but she had no one to contact to take her home.

Home.

That was a funny word. She wasn't even sure if she had a home. She had lived in that house with Ron for the last five years of her life, moving into it straight out of school with Harry and Ginny, until the Potters had got married, fallen pregnant and decided they needed their own space. But she had never really considered it to be a home. She was always constantly on edge when it came to Ron being in the house. He was always a lovely person and never violent, but sometimes his teasing remarks were catty and hurt her deeply. She had tried to change for him but he had never done so for her, making her fall out of lust with him. Their relationship had been one of convenience, formed out of a mutual attraction, and kept because it was what was expected. Everyone had expected them to get together and live their lives happily ever after, but those sorts of things never worked out.

She felt the moisture building up behind her eyes and she blinked it away viciously, determined not to cry in front of all these men. If she had been in her right mind, she supposed that she should have been weary of being in a pub with just men, but she just didn't care.

"Are you actually going to drink that?" A friendly voice asked.

"I don't know," Hermione sighed, looking up at the bartender, a young man with a beautiful smile. "I just don't know."

"Had a rough night?" He enquired, taking a break to talk to the lonely woman.

"You could say that," she picked up her glass, poured the liquid into her mouth and tilted her head back, feeling it slid down her throat, leaving that burning trail behind that she craved. "I walked in on my boyfriend with another woman."

"Oh, my dear, that's terrible," he said sympathetically. "First time he's done it?"

"Nope, I told him he could do it whenever," Hermione saw the look of confusion on the bartender's face. "I don't love him; we're together because we're expected to be together. I had hoped to try and change things tonight between us, to try and make things work, but seeing him with that woman made me realise just how pathetic my life truly is."

"Sweetheart, you should only ever be with someone because you love them, not because you have to be," he replied, pouring her a glass of water. "Stop drinking so you can sober up before you go home. Call a taxi or something, there's been a gentleman over in the corner who had been watching you most of the time you've been here."

Hermione smiled sweetly at him before turning her head as if she were just casually looking around the room, before her eyes settled on that man in the corner. Her heart stopped beating, her face drained pale and she gasped out loud.

"Oh my fucking god," she uttered a rare swear word as she placed her hand over her heart. "Does he come here often?"

"Yeah, this is his usual haunt," the bartender said. "Do you know him?"

"What's his name?" Hermione asked.

"Tobias, Tobias Prince," He answered. "Love, are you okay?"

"Yeah, sorry, I haven't seen him in years," Hermione managed a brief smile. "It's a shock, that's all. Please, excuse me."

She hopped off the bar stool, quickly drank the glass of water before wandering through the throng of men staring at the football match on the television screen to stop before the table in the corner. The man looked at her coldly, reminiscent of previous times, when his black eyes scolded her as his velvet voice did and his dark hair swung forwards to conceal the frown lines in his face.

"Tobias Prince?" She scoffed. "You could have come up with something better than that."

"You expect me to bother to find a better name when everyone believes me to be dead?" His voice was just as she remembered, and she was shocked to realise that it still made her knees weak to hear him speak.

"But you died," Hermione stuttered, as he fixed his gaze upon her, causing her to become extremely nervous. "Nagini…"

"Honestly, foolish girl, do you truly believe that I would be thwarted by some snake-like imbecile and his familiar?" He hissed at her. "I stayed long enough to do what I had to and then when you all left me there to die, I vanished."

"You had stopped breathing; there was no pulse!" Hermione cried out, desperate to defend what had occurred.

"I thought you were supposed to be intelligent, girl! Your Gryffindorish stupidity certainly shined through in that moment, surely you must know that there is a potion that delivers the same symptoms as death when administered?"

"Professor, please," Hermione felt the tell-tale prickle of tears at his harsh words.

"I have not been a professor for six years now, Miss Granger," his voice was hard but truthful. "Do not call me that."

"What do you expect me to call you then?" She asked, fighting back the tears.

"I expect you to leave me alone, fuck off out of that door and never talk to me again," he sneered.

That was it, she couldn't hold back any longer. It had been a terrible night, and now he was being unnecessarily cruel to her and she simply couldn't take it. She began to cry, softly at first but then full out sobs that forced her to take the chair opposite him before she fell to her knees.

"Oh, for goodness sake," she heard him mutter before a material was pressed into her hand.

She realised it was a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes with it, blowing her nose on it also as she calmed herself down. When she looked at him he was staring at her intently, and she ducked her head in embarrassment.

"Miss Granger, I…." he hesitated for a moment then.

"Sir, please don't," Hermione put her hand up in defeat. "I can't take any more of your cruelty tonight, I have suffered enough."

"You mean with Mr 'dunderhead' Weasley," his tone seemed ever so slightly softer, although she wouldn't have sworn it on her life.

"You eavesdropped," she blurted out, watching mild amusement play out across his face.

"Of course I did," he raised an eyebrow. "One of my former pupils, the constant thorn in my side walks into the pub I frequent and then attempts to drown herself in alcohol. Of course I eavesdropped. Although, I must say, yours and Weasley's relationship was doomed from the beginning."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"You are far more intelligent than he is, all he wants is a sexual partner and a broodmare. You wanted companionship, an intellectual equal and, above all, a friend," Snape said simply. "You always were better than him. Smarter, prettier, braver, more loyal."

"Sir, are you complimenting me?" Hermione fought back a giggle.

"No, I was merely stating facts," he said standoffishly.

"You said I was pretty," Hermione shot back.

"I said you were prettier than Weasley; that is hardly difficult," He growled.

"Oh, please, you think I'm pretty," Hermione grinned when he refused to answer. "Oh, you do!"

"You left me to die, I hardly think you deserve an answer," he said harshly, seeing the smile fall from her face.

"Do you want to know something? You are a right bastard!" Hermione stood up and threw the handkerchief at him. "I knelt beside you, covered in your fucking blood, desperately trying to heal you, to save you, and you were going to live all along. I suffered from nightmares for years because of that moment, because I couldn't save you! And you dare say that I left you! Fuck you!"

She turned on her heels and fled, her tears renewed in her pain as she flew out of the door and onto the empty street. It was now one o'clock in the morning, and she felt the slight chill in the air without her coat, dressed only in her simple wrap-around dress from work. She wrapped her arms around herself and began to walk down the street, unable to apparate because of her state of mind but determined to reach her house in order to kick her ex out of their shared bed and tell him to find his own bed to sleep in.

A few moments after she began walking, she heard a footstep behind her. When she turned around, there was no one there. She put it down to paranoia after the war and had begun to walk again when she heard another footstep, this one much closer. She paused, reaching up her leg to where her wand was holstered on her upper thigh but by the time she turned around, he had already caught up with her.

"If that were anyone else, girl, you'd be dead or being dragged down the nearest alley," Snape said angrily at her, his hand grasping her wand wrist to stop her cursing him.

"If it were anyone else, Professor, they would not be walking," she hissed back at him, and in that instant he felt slight pressure on the crotch of his trousers and, looking down, was surprised to see a six-inch blade pointing at his jewels.

"Clever," he nodded his approval as he released her wrist. "I see you have grown up."

"You knew I was capable anyway," Hermione snarled at him at she retracted the blade of the knife and holstered it once more, revealing much of her thigh as she did so. "After the war…"

"During the war, you were absolutely terrible, relying on luck to see you through rather than actual skill," Snape said.

"I am aware of this," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "However, after the war, I was attacked by Voldemort supporters and put in hospital. During my time in there, I realised that I was weak and needed to learn how to defend myself so I took lessons from various aurors and Muggle martial arts classes."

"Good idea," Snape nodded his approval as he looked her up and down. "You've changed."

"I grew up," Hermione began to walk again. "I had to grow up. My parents weren't around, a lot of my surrogate family were killed in the Battle of Hogwarts and I lost the man I loved."

"The man you loved?" Snape had caught up with her and whirled her around. "Who was that?"

"Oh, you would laugh at me if you knew," Hermione sighed. "He was unsuitable."

"Unsuitable?" Snape thought for a moment. "One of the Weasley brothers?"

"No."

"Potter."

"God, no! He was someone older."

"Lupin."

"Gross!"

He tugged her closer to him, tilted her head up to maintain eye contact and then whispered the last name he could think of.

"Me."

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes first glistened with tears before steeling themselves and she began to fight to get free of him.

"You loved me," Snape tried to get his head around the notion of the young, pretty Gryffindor loving him, but he simply couldn't. "Why?"

"How could I not?" She stopped struggling. "First day of school, you enchanted me with your passion for potions, showing you to be an intelligent being. You rebuked me on many occasions, but most of the time it made me realise that the path I was taking was wrong. You were a Death Eater, but you fought valiantly for the light, showing both heroism and bravery. But most of all, it was your voice."

"My voice?" he was taken-abavk.

"Oh yes, your voice," she said dreamily, fully aware that if she weren't inebriated she wouldn't be saying any of this. "I would sit in your class during your lectures, writing down notes but secretly getting turned on by your voice, your sexy, sexy voice."

Snape gulped at her words and at the seductive tone she was taking on.

"Miss Granger, it is not funny to take the piss out of me," He shook her slightly.

"I'm not taking the piss," she answered. "Take me to yours and I'll prove it."

As tempting as that sounded (poor Snape had not had any action for about three years, and even that was unsatisfactory sex with a hooker), he knew that she was too drunk and would regret this in the morning. However, it wasn't wise for her to head home in this state. Knowing her and her long list of known spells, she would put Ron in hospital and herself in Askaban with the way she was at the moment. So he grabbed hold of her and apparated them both to his home, a rather picturesque cottage on the top of a hill in the middle of nowhere.

"Oh I didn't think you'd agreed," Hermione gasped, pressing herself against him.

He found himself involuntarily responding to her young, firm body, and when her hands slid down his back and reached her bottom, he pointed his wand at her and sent her to sleep. He looked down at the now sleeping girl in his arms and sighed.

Stupid Gryffindors.

He picked her up and carried her into the guest bedroom, taking off her shoes before, in one swift flick, divesting her of her clothes and instantly dressing her in an old shirt of his. He pulled a blanket over her before retreating to his own room, flicking his own clothes off until he was just left in his boxers and then collapsing onto the bed, falling asleep instantly.

The next morning he awoke to the smell of coffee and bacon. The previous night's events all came rushing back to him and he groaned, knowing that it was that insolent girl (woman, his brain supplied unhelpfully) who was still in his house cooking breakfast. He pulled on his dressing gown and then traipsed down to the kitchen, encountering Hermione dressing in his shirt, her hair loose down her back, dancing around to a song that was playing out of the Muggle radio.

"Good morning, sir," She greeted him cheerfully, handing him a plate with bacon and eggs on. "I hope you don't mind, I cooked breakfast as repayment for last night."

"Miss Granger…"

"Hermione, please," she turned her beautiful brown eyes on him.

"Hermione, fine," he mumbled. "Look, what do you want to do?"

"What do you propose we do?" She asked.

"You declared that you loved me last night," He said.

"I know," she sat down opposite him with just a cup of black coffee.

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

"What do you want to do about it?"

"Stop answering my questions with a question!" He yelled. Much to his annoyance, she barely batted an eyelid at his raised voice, choosing instead to sip her coffee, looking at him over the edge of the mug. "I can't do much for you about this. I am a dead man to the world, not rich, not attractive, not anything much. You would be better off searching for someone else."

"Been there, done that, didn't work," she said dismissively. "Spent the whole time thinking of you."

"What makes you think I return the feelings?" Snape asked, aware that he was clutching at loose ends.

"I don't think you do," Hermione placed the mug on the table. "I have no romantic notion that you will ever care for me as I do for you, but I would like to experience you once."

"What do you mean?" Snape felt his heart paused briefly.

"I propose that we have sex," Hermione said. "Neither of us have nothing to lose. I would like to feel what real sex is like, not the mundane crap that I was subjected to with Ron, and I'm sure you're gagging for a lay."

"Crude language from an apparent lady," Snape observed, unsure of what to make of this.

"Oh will you be serious for once!" She stood up, her hands flat on the table as she leaned over to him. "I want you, you want sex, why not just go with it?"

"I don't cuddle," Snape said obstinately.

"I never liked cuddling in bed," Hermione answered.

"I'm not gentle."

"Hate being gentle, too boring."

"I like spanking…"

At this Hermione's eyes just lit up and he couldn't take it anymore. He shoved the table out of the way and grabbed hold of the insolent chit, kissing her hard, feeling her both relax and tense under the kiss.

"Get over my knee," he ordered, breaking the kiss and sitting down.

She instantly laid across his lap, her legs spread slightly so he could see her lacy black knickers underneath.

"How often do you wear sexy underwear, Hermione?" He asked, tracing the edge of them around her buttocks.

"I don't own a set of unsexy underwear," she breathed back.

As he removed hers, taking them down her lovely long legs, he found himself wondering if that was true. There was an overwhelming urge to stay around and test that theory with lots more sex but he pushed that thought away as he lifted up her (his) shirt to reveal a perfect bottom. He then began to spank her with his hand, watching red marks flare up on her cheeks as she writhed under his hand. He knew he wasn't hurting her much, for the musky scent of her arousal was clear on the air, and he couldn't take it.

He slipped his hand between her folds and began to play, causing Hermione to cry out and try to shift to get a better position, but he stopped her. When he slid a finger up inside her, he felt just how wet she was and he groaned, his erection now begging for him to take her.

"Get on your hands and knees," he said, and she stood up, her breasts heaving as she took off the shirt first, revealing the matching bra which quickly joined the growing pile of clothes on the floor.

For the first time, Snape could see her body, and it was obviously perfect. It would be – she was a Gryffindor and too good for him. He faltered a moment until she assumed the position he had asked of her and had her ass up in the air, waiting for him to take her.

He slipped off the dressing gown and removed his boxers, taking his sizeable penis in hand, before getting on his knees behind her.

"Brace yourself," he warned, before he entered her in one fell swoop, not taking the time to allow her to adjust before pulling out and diving back in, hitting her hard and fast once he had found the perfect rhythm. She was crying out now, especially as he grabbed her shoulder with one hand and wrapped her hair around his other hand and pulled, jerking her head back up and gaining more leverage to fuck her harder.

He slammed into her and felt her come around him. He rode through the tightness as she screamed her orgasm, and felt his impending fall. Knowing that the end was near he rode her with renewed vigour, almost hurting her with his fierceness, but she came once more, pushing him over the edge with her fluttering walls.

He quickly pulled out of her and sat back in the chair whilst she collapsed on the floor, exhausted.

When he looked at her he felt an acute pain in his chest, and he suddenly felt overwhelming tired. Hermione Granger, insufferable know-it-all, had given him her body because she loved him, and he had taken advantage of her feelings. For years she had mourned him because she believed he was dead, and when she had been drunk he had forced her feelings out of her.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"What for?" She raised her head off the ground.

"For taking advantage of you like I did," Snape closed his eyes in self-hatred.

"I took advantage of you," She sat up now, staring at him disbelievingly.

"This will never happen again," he declared, and her face crumpled in front of him. He oculdn't stand seeing women cry, but it was for the best. "It was a bad idea and you're just going to get hurt."

"I'm already hurting," She whimpered slightly.

"You told me it would be a one-off thing," he said.

"I wanted it to be more," Hermione bit her lip. "I was hoping we could do this regularly."

"Not a good idea," he answered her, avoiding her eyes. "You should go."

She looked up at him from the floor, not understanding his constant change in behaviour. One moment he was horrible, then kind, then cruel. He stood up, yanked her onto her feet and then pulled her along so she was on his doorstep. He quickly summoned all of her clothes and threw them at her, unable to look at her. If he were to look at the sadness on the compassionate and caring woman's face, he wouldn't be able to turn her away.

It was for her own good.

As he slammed the door on her, he heard a faint sentence from her.

"I'm sorry I'm not Lily."

He slid down the door, resting his head against the cool wood, unaware that a crying Hermione was doing the same on the other side.

Face it, numbskull, you'd only corrupt her….

Snape could never argue against his conscience, especially when he knew it was right.

Hermione was pure, and she deserved someone much better, even if during a single drunken night, she had managed to worm her way under his mask and latch onto his soul, binding her to his thoughts for all eternity.

The next week at work, a determined Hermione focused on the task at hand, ignoring her broken heart which throbbed whenever she thought of that morning. She had come to the conclusion that she had simply sprung her feelings on him too quickly, and hadn't even bothered to get to know him first.

If only she hadn't been drinking.

She sighed and sat back on her chair, unable to concentrate. Just in that moment, an owl came flying in through her open window and deposited a letter in front of her. She recognised the scrawl and her heart thumped.

Hermione,

I want to apologise profusely for how I behaved the other day. It was rude of me. I'm not the person I used to be – I like to think I am much fairer and not so much of an ass, but I wasn't very fair to you. I took advantage of your feelings and when you wished to discuss the situation with me, I threw you out (naked, as well, what sort of person am I?) However, I have come to realise that I enjoyed your company, if only for a few short hours, and if you could forgive a cruel man his dastardly deeds, I would be delighted to take you out for dinner, where we will discuss the future together.

Yes, if you accept, it will be a date, and yes, dress smartly.

A truly idiotic man,

Severus Snape

She couldn't help but smile at the letter, and she wrote a short reply to him before attaching it to the owl and sending it off.

In the kitchen of the cottage sat atop the hill, the dark haired man received the response and allowed a rare smile to grace his face.

Severus,

Yes, absolutely yes.

Okay, this is supposed to be a one-shot but if enough people ask me I may continue it :)

review guys!

Becky