Disclaimer: Anyone and anything you recognise belongs to J K Rowling; the story, however, is ours

This fic is also to be found at the DarkSarcasm Yahoo group - if you want e mail notification of updates, this is the best way to get them. The group can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/darksarcasm. New episodes of this fic will be posted late every Saturday night UK time. Please do not ask for more frequent updates. The authors have lives and other fics to write :)

MetroVampire & Rhosymedre

Part 13 - Afternoon Delights

Time passed, astonishing as that concept was.

She had completed two full weeks as Snape, and she was beginning to settle into an uneasy routine. Overall, classes had gone well, or at least there had been no more major incidents. The seventh-year classes with Snape and Neville in were the most nerve-racking, but even Snape had seemed to content himself with simply watching her like a hawk, rather than interrupting every few minutes to make "suggestions". Staff meetings passed in a combination of tea and monosyllables, interspersed with the occasional sarcastic remark. No one questioned, no one commented; even Dumbledore did little more than throw a few encouraging smiles in her direction.

Was that because she was more like Snape than she thought? Or was it because Snape was more of a persona than an actual person? And no one ever saw further than the persona.

She looked out of the window wondering if her introspection was due to the body she was in or the weather she was watching. It was a Saturday morning, it was the middle of October and it was Scotland. Therefore, it followed logically that it was raining. Not a pleasant autumnal drizzle, but a sheeting downpour that cascaded down the windows, flooded the gutters and overwhelmed the gargoyles. Puddles collected in the uneven paving slabs of the castle walkways, soaking the shoes and robes of the unwary, and the rest of the grounds were little better than grass covered water. Worst of all, the afternoon's Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch match had had to be cancelled. Madam Hooch had reluctantly made the announcement after it was clear that the players would be hard pressed to see the Quaffle through the water, let alone the Snitch.

Hermione didn't need Snape to spell out the meaning of this; other than the few hardy souls who were prepared to brave the storm, and splash their way into Hogsmeade, the castle would be full of cooped up, bored teenagers, denied a legitimate outlet for their traditional house rivalries. Compensation would be sought in the corridors, by way of glaring, taunting and surreptitious hexing.

So much for any ideas of homework, or further research on The Cure.

She had watched Snape fairly carefully over the last week, but he seemed to be back to normal after his first encounter with one of the unique aspects of feminine physiology. Even making allowances for the fact that she knew how her own hormones reacted, it was disconcerting to see him so uncharacteristically lethargic and compliant. When she had first realised the problem, she had expected cold fury and scathing remarks, not mere token resistance. When he had then meekly followed her order to have a hot bath and go to bed, she had been more worried that she liked to admit. So, it had been something of a relief on the Monday when he had bitten her head off over an unthinkingly sympathetic remark about one of the fourth year Hufflepuffs who was struggling with the syllabus.

Not that it wouldn't do him a great deal of good to experience first hand what women went through, she thought with a certain satisfaction. It would make a nice change from Harry's careful sympathy, as if it was some kind of chronic illness, or Ron's blissful lack of awareness. She snorted, imagining Snape's face when he realised what the Muggle alternative to potions actually involved. He had been conspicuously silent on the matter so she assumed that he had found the Tampax and worked out how to use it.

Thinking about it made her look instinctively at her hands - his hands. Large, strong capable hands. But she had used them enough over the last fortnight to be aware of how deft they could be when dealing with the finer aspects of the art of potions making. How sensitive to the texture and detail of the ingredients. How responsive to the ebb and flow of the liquids so precisely under his control. She wondered if they could also....

No.

She didn't wonder anything of the sort.

She wondered, instead, whether or not Harry and Ron would try and go to Hogsmeade that afternoon via the tunnel that came up under Honeydukes. She had distinctly mixed feelings about the idea. On the one hand, there would be the inevitable consequence that Snape would come into possession of Classified Information - namely the exact location and access details of a particularly useful hidden exit. On the other hand, it would get them both out of the castle for the afternoon, and therefore avoiding inevitable trouble with the Slytherins; she knew her two best friends too well to expect anything else.

The clock chimed eleven and she sighed. Where would Snape be on a day like this? Making sure that he was directly behind any Gryffindors that were up to mischief, of course. And all she really wanted to do was curl up by the fire with a book and read. Scowling at her half-reflection in the window, she pulled her robes around her. Time to get on with it. She would just avoid the corridor where the Honeydukes tunnel started, and hope that Harry and Ron had had the sense to go out.

She almost got away with it.

A couple of hours of prowling, lurking and stalking were followed by lunch. No wonder he ate so much, she thought inconsequentially, as she sliced into a piece of chicken at the High Table at lunch. She must have walked about three miles already. She had no idea he got quite so much exercise. Then came the afternoon, with more prowling and restraining of boisterous children. The fact that she dearly wished to be doing something else put her in a faintly resentful mood which made her feel less guilty about deducting house points from her schoolmates than she otherwise might have done.

Just as she was beginning to hope that the day would ultimately be uneventful, the sound of raised voices came filtering out of one of the less used corridors. Familiar raised voices. Cursing under her breath, she detoured towards the noise. She arrived at the source of it in enough time to hear a familiar Scottish accent.

"Enough! Now what exactly has been going on here? Mr Malfoy? Mr Potter?"

Hermione's heart sank. Harry and Draco Malfoy and Professor McGonagall. She didn't know which of the three she least wanted to deal with. Without stopping to analyse, she pulled the Snape persona around her like an invisibility cloak.

"An excellent question. And one to which I should like an answer as well," she chimed in smoothly, although it was completely obvious. Draco's pale face was covered in boils, whilst Harry was trying to look dignified with his legs fastened together by the Leg-Locker curse.

At her appearance Harry looked horrified, Draco looked smug and McGonagall's lips pursed in a thin line.

"Good afternoon, Professor Snape. How fortuitous that you should be passing as well."

"Indeed," she returned, infusing her voice with sneer.

She looked quickly around. Malfoy's inevitable sidekicks were lurking off to one side, wands out. Ron was hovering in the background just behind Harry. Of Snape there was no sign.

"And where is the inestimable Miss Granger?" she asked. "Shouldn't she be here to complete the set?"

"She's in the library, working on your extra-credit project," said Harry with a hint of insolence.

"Yeah," added Ron. "When would she have time to get into trouble?"

She didn't know whether to be glad that she didn't have to deal with Snape as well, or annoyed that he hadn't made more effort to keep Harry and Ron under control. Not for the first time she wished that the boys could keep their mouths shut in these sorts of circumstances. She was about to respond to Harry but McGonagall got there first.

"That will do, Mr Potter." She waved her wand and muttered Finite Incantatem under her breath. Harry's legs began to function independently again. Draco glared sideways from between erupting pustules.

"Duelling in the corridors is strictly forbidden," she continued icily. "I wouldn't have thought that I needed to remind Prefects of that fact."

There was silence and Hermione wondered if she should add anything. She glared at the little group of friends and enemies, and the visible shifting suggested that a look was enough. There was a ragged, sub-vocal chorus of "No, Professor McGonagall"s. She was forcibly reminded of sheepdogs which could hold sheep in an open pen by the sheer fact of their presence. Snape clearly operated on much the same premise.

"Professor Snape." McGonagall was addressing her now. "As Mr Potter is in my house, I shall deal with him for this, as I trust that you will deal with Mr Malfoy."

There was an edge to her voice that suggested that she expected nothing of the sort. The Gryffindor part of Hermione was instantly affronted at the implication that Draco would not be punished properly. And there was a tiny, tiny part of her that was equally irritated at the idea that she would shirk her duty as a Head of House.

Head of House? She realised with a jolt that she was beginning to respond as the Head of Slytherin. GODS.

"I assure you, Professor McGonagall, Mr Malfoy will be dealt with, just as you intend to deal with Mr Potter."

Irritation had given more of an edge to her voice than she intended and McGonagall's face darkened. She nodded once briefly, and then swept off, gesturing to Harry and Ron to follow her. Which just left Hermione facing three rather smug Slytherins, one with a face like pepperoni pizza. She wondered how Snape dealt with his house when they were alone. Somehow, she rather doubted that he was the fatherly type. They stared back at her, obviously waiting for her to say something.

"Well," she said sharply. "What are you staring for. Mr Crabbe, Mr Goyle, kindly take Mr Malfoy to Madam Pomfrey to have those excrescences removed from his face. After that, Mr Malfoy, you will come to see me in my office. Immediately after that," she added for good measure.

"Yes, Professor," they said together, and headed off.

Which gave her maybe three quarters of an hour to get back to her office and decide what sort of punishment was appropriately Slytherin. For a moment she was tempted to head for the library to find Snape and ask his advice, but decided it was too dangerous. There were too many people about who could see her or hear her. One question in the wrong place and they were both in trouble. No, she was on her own for this one.

Back in her office, pacing and staring at the cold hearth, she reviewed her options. She considered avoiding the issue altogether and simply sending Draco to the Headmaster. Unfortunately, Professor McGonagall's decision to deal with the matter at Head of House level - not to mention her own acquiescence - rather prevented that. Of all the Slytherins, Draco Malfoy was the one that she least wished to have to deal with like this. Not that she had any qualms about punishing him; indeed not. Left to her own devices she would cheerfully expel him for walking on the cracks in the flagstones. The problem was simple. Lucius Malfoy was a Death Eater. Draco Malfoy was Snape's apparently favoured pupil. Draco would not only be one of the first to notice anything amiss, but also the first to report back to his father, and hence to Voldemort. Which meant that Draco Malfoy currently posed a serious threat to both of their personal safeties. She wished again that she had some way of getting Snape's advice. She was treading a fine line by anybody's standards.

She pinched the bridge of her nose in thought. It had to be detention and loss of house points. The house points were not the issue; Harry and Ron had had sufficient taken away from them by Snape for her to have an idea of the upper end of the sentencing range, and then to scale down accordingly. But what about detention? With her would be too obvious. Snape would be unlikely to send Draco to serve detention with Hagrid. Filch then? Maybe. What was it that Snape had said about supporting him...? She began to turn the idea over in her mind, and finally came up with a solution that she rather liked. Just as she was beginning to expect Draco back from the Infirmary there was a pop from the fireplace and a note landed on the floor. She picked it up and unfolded it.

Severus,

I would be grateful if you could be good enough to meet with me in my office to discuss this afternoon's incident. Four o'clock would be convenient for me.

Minerva McGonagall.

She fought the urge to groan aloud. Just for once she did not want to meet with her Head of House. She wondered if McGonagall wanted to discuss Harry and Draco, or their own rather acid exchange. Before she could speculate any further there was a knock at the door, which resurrected the more immediate problem. She folded the note up again and tried to push the thought to the back of her mind. It occurred to her that the back of her mind was getting distinctly crowded.

"Come in," she called.

Draco Malfoy entered sans loyal retainers. Also sans facial blemishes.

Here we go.

"Ah, Mr Malfoy, do come in. I see that your trip to Madam Pomfrey was successful." Slight sneer, slight hint of sarcasm, shading in more charm. A slightly more overt version of his behaviour to Malfoy in class. The Slytherin boy began to smile in a faintly knowing way. It was not attractive. She moved back, wanting to put the desk between them, and not just for the sake of her authority.

"About your conduct this afternoon."

"Yes, Professor Snape. I would like to apologise for that." Distinct lack of sincerity in his voice.

She swallowed. This was make or break.

"Mr Malfoy, please do not think that I do not sympathise with your perfectly understandable desire to hex Mr Potter and Mr Weasley off the face of the Earth. However." She paused deliberately. "Engaging in clumsy scuffles in corridors is not a way to bring credit to this House. It simply results in loss of points for Slytherin, and walking through the school with your face covered in boils hardly suggests that you were the victor." Draco was looking less smug. Hermione was warming to this. "I will not tolerate crude behaviour which draws unwelcome attention to yourself and which is barely more subtle than a fist fight. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," the boy said, sounding distinctly chastened. But not surprised or resentful. More thoughtful. Gods, she hoped she hadn't made him worse.

"Now," she continued, "you will understand that twenty points will be deducted from Slytherin for your actions, and you will serve detention." Draco nodded. She stood. "I have no intention of supervising that detention myself. Come with me."

She moved out from behind the desk and swept towards the door, without looking behind. Footsteps told her that Draco was following her. In silence they left the office and headed for Filch's domain. The unsavoury caretaker opened the door at the first knock.

"What is it?" he snarled, and then did a double take at seeing her and Draco standing there. "Oh it's you, Professor Snape and young Mr Malfoy," he said in considerably more civil tones. "What can I do for you?"

Hermione felt a little nauseous at what she was about to do.

"Mr Malfoy had been awarded detention for duelling in the corridors with the Potter boy," she said as dismissively as she could.

"Oh dearie me," murmured Filch, with wholly unconvincing concern. "How awful."

"Indeed," she said repressively. "He will serve his detention with you. I trust that you will find some appropriate activity for him." She laid a faint stress on the word appropriate.

Filch's eyes lit up, and his face took on an unwholesome air of complicity.

"Oh yes, Professor Snape, I'm sure I can find something appropriate for the lad to do."

She couldn't bring herself to say anything. She simply nodded curtly and stalked off, leaving Draco and Flich behind, and feeling unclean. So that just left Professor McGonagall.

At exactly ten minutes past four she knocked on the door to the office of the Head of Gryffindor House. After considerable thought she had decided that Snape would resent the rather peremptory summons; not enough to ignore it completely, but enough to turn up late, just to make the point. Think Snape, she told herself again.

From Minerva McGonagall's displeased look and lack of comment, she must have been near to the mark. She seated herself without being invited, and received another glare and a stony silence. She wondered if she had done anything wrong; although Snape had told her that he and McGonagall were not on particularly friendly terms.

She toyed with the idea of simply saying "Well?" and then decided on the fractionally more conciliatory "You wanted to discuss something with me?"

"I did indeed," replied the Scotswoman. She picked up a mug from her desk and sipped it. Whatever was in it, she was clearly not going to offer any to Snape. "The situation with Malfoy and young Harry Potter."

Hermione shrugged, trying to convey an air of unconcern.

"I have spoken to him about the... incident. Twenty points have been deducted from Slytherin and he will serve detention with Argus Filch. If you have done something similar to Potter, I would have thought that that closes the matter."

McGonagall sighed.

"Until the next time. And detention with Filch is hardly going to be a chore for Malfoy." The tone of her voice suggested that she had not forgotten the remarks made following the Mrs Norris episode. "This has to stop, Severus."

Hermione looked up at the ceiling, absently noting the cherubs painted there. Silently she asked one - any - of them for inspiration.

"Detentions with Filch, Minerva?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Surely you aren't suggesting that Hogwarts should be deprived of that highly useful source of student discipline and surveillance?"

The woman looked even more annoyed, if that were possible.

"I do wish you wouldn't be flippant about these things," she said impatiently. "I realise that you believe in survival of the fittest, water finding its own level and all that, but I have no desire to see a student maimed or killed in the name of establishing the pecking order."

That seemed a bit extreme, even to Hermione, and she said so.

"Is it?" queried the other teacher. "You know as well as I do who Draco Malfoy's father is. Can you tell me he's not getting encouragement at home?"

McGonangall's tone was serious and Hermione was at a loss as to how to judge Snape's response.

"What exactly do you suggest, Minerva?" she said carefully. "It wasn't my idea to pair Slytherin with Gryffindor for every combined lesson." She devoutly hoped that that was the case. It didn't seem like a very Snape-ish idea to her.

To her suprise McGonagall sighed regretfully.

"Nor mine. I always suspected that Albus' idea that the boys might learn to be friends was admirable in theory but doomed to failure in practice."

Absolutely.

Hermione felt uncomfortably out of her depth. The only thing that sounded within her experience was calling the parents in for a meeting. Except that Lucius Malfoy would undoubtedly support Draco. And so would the Dursleys if what Harry had to say about them was any indication.

"I'll keep an eye on Malfoy," she offered, conscious that it sounded very weak. It seemed to satisfy McGonagall.

"And I'll keep an eye on Harry. I suppose that's the best that can be done." She fixed Hermione with a piercing glare. "I know you don't like the boy, Severus, but even you must see the need to keep him alive."

Hermione was struck with an odd defensiveness on Snape's behalf. He had, after all, tried to save Harry's life at least once.

"I'm perfectly aware of the need, thank you Minerva," she replied surprised at how acid she sounded. "Just because I don't worship the ground that Potter walks on doesn't mean that I actively wish him harm."

McGonagall looked a little surprised at the vehemence of the response. Oops, she thought. That sounded too much like me.

"Calm down," she said irritably, "there's no need to be quite so unpleasant about it. All I ask is that you encourage some discretion in your house that's all."

"Gladly, Minerva," she replied with a sense of irony. After all, hadn't she counselled discretion in Draco just an hour or so earlier? Mind you, even she had to admit that neither Harry nor Ron were ones to back away from a fight.... "As long as I can count on you to encourage restraint in yours."

Minerva McGonagall glared again.

"You certainly may," she said curtly, giving the clear impression that she was currently exercising that very restraint and not without difficulty. Hermione decided it was time to get out before Gryffindor/Slytherin relations soured even more. She stood smoothly, now fully accustomed to the longer legs and greater height.

"If there's nothing more...?" She let the question hang. A brusque hand was waved in her direction. Hermione took that as a dismissal. Not entirely certain how Snape would phrase this sort of departure, she settled for a simple nod, and left without a word.

Only the insistent demands of her stomach, and the conviction that her absence would only lead to another acrimonious exchange, got her through dinner. Snape, she noted, was studiously not looking at the top table. Draco Malfoy was looking smug again. Ron, was shooting foul looks in his direction, and also in hers whenever he thought that she wouldn't notice. Gratefully escaping back to the dungeons, she collapsed ungracefully into a chair and waited for Snape to arrive.

He was as punctual as ever, knocking and then letting himself in. He stood for a moment, appraising her.

Oh Gods, now what?

She returned his look levelly, too worn to bother about politeness. To her astonishment, his lips twitched in a slight smile.

"I gather that there was an incident this afternoon between our houses."

"How...?" she began, and then sighed. "Never mind. I can guess."

He had obviously had the whole action replay, with commentary, from Radio Weasley.

"Indeed," he confirmed. "I am now fully aware of the fundamental injustices of the way discipline is meted out within this school, with particular reference to house partiality. Out of curiosity, did Mr Malfoy get off scot-free as Mr Weasley seems to think?" Although his tone was mocking she thought she detected a faint undercurrent of concern.

Biting back any retort she might have made, she simply explained the circumstances and what she had done. He nodded slowly as she outlined the reprimand and the punishment that she had imposed.

"You're learning, Miss Granger," was all he said when she had finished. Not exactly praise, but she could sense that some of the tension had left his body. "Shall we get on?" he added, clearly treating the matter as closed, much to Hermione's relief.

An hour and a half later they were both working in silence in the deserted potions classroom. Hermione had completed her homework, and left it on the side of the desk for Snape to take back to the Head Girl's room. Across the room she was aware that he had apparently finished marking and was now adding some substance to a cauldron; no doubt part of their joint quest to disentangle their lives. She picked up her own contribution to the cause and ran her eye over the analysis she was compiling of the shelf inventory. Concentrating, she absently ran her hand through her hair and checking, as she always did, at the feeling of stickiness. I miss my own hair, she thought idly as she returned to her attempt at the impossible.

"Remind me again," she said to the general air, after another half an hour had passed, "why we can't just take Polyjuice for the next six months."

"You astonish me, Miss Granger," came the reply. She jumped, having almost forgotten his silent presence. "This from the woman who tells me that she won't use a menstruation potion due to the possibility of long term side effects." He obviously hadn't forgiven her that yet. "Do you really want to take a potion once every hour for the next six months, when we have no idea what variation of it caused the effect in the first place. Unless, of course, my life is so much fun that you would risk remaining that way permanently."

"No," she said, resignedly, "I suppose not."

It was an ambiguous answer. He didn't ask for clarification. They carried on working.

By the end of the evening Hermione had completed some more of the analysis and Snape had learnt little more about the mysterious potion itself. Despite their lack of progress, however, she found herself feeling considerably more relaxed than she had been earlier. A voice intruded into her thoughts.

"Miss Granger?" He sounded irritable. "If you could manage to extend your attention span beyond that of a goldfish for a few moments..."

That was it, she realised. This was the only time and place that she could still be Miss Granger. Could still be herself. Snape's scathing remark suddenly seemed almost comforting in its familiarity. It was a surreal idea. And considering certainly what she had been up to with his body, the formality between them was simply bizarre

She had to smile. It seemed to cut off whatever it was he was going to say to her.