Chapter Text
Hermione stood alone, her fingers clutching the empty vial.
She could feel the slight pulsing in her chest signal the first signs of a positive reaction.
The flux in her hormonal structure suddenly made her feel very…hot.
Her head was spinning slightly, her blouse felt too tight.
Sweet Merlin, what has she done?
Hermione Granger didn’t fuck up very often. In fact, she did it so rarely, everyone made a point of noticing and rubbing it in her face when she did. Of course, that had nothing to do with the fact that when she did in fact, fuck up, she fucked up royally.
And as usually, she did it with nothing other than potions.
It was three years since she began her apprenticeship with Professor Snape. Three years of her blood, sweat and tears poured into not making a single mistake while brewing.
Perhaps, it was because she hoped to finally prove to one Severus Tobias Snape that she could be as good a potioneer as he was. That she could and would perfect her potion making skills. Yes, that was the true reason she pursued mastery in this particular subject.
Her endless need to hear him praise her.
Her endless need to prove to him she was up to every challenge he ever deigned to put in front of her.
Her endless need for him to finally notice her.
The reason Snape agreed to take her on had eluded Hermione’s intellect up to this day. Because this was not a usual apprenticeship, no. This was a more private, old-fashioned one. The one that required she lived almost like a monk, locked away in his secluded house, devoting her day and night, thoughts and dreams to nothing other than the meticulous brewing methods no books seemed to mention. Gathering and preparing the ingredients, learning how to harvest the potency of every leaf, stem, root or blossom.
He thought her well. Too well maybe, if the potency of the original brew she just poured down her own throat so recklessly was anything to go by.
Hermione was losing her train of thoughts again, wishing desperately she’d still have a functioning time turner that would bring her an hour back and help her undo her own stupidity.
She’d have to tell Snape, now.
He'd probably stride into the laboratory any minute, demanding explanation.
Hermione sighed as she undid another button on her blouse, desperately trying to think of an explanation. Her mind was too foggy to be productive, and even if it wasn’t, she would probably just drive herself mad with endless ways this will affect her mastery. Or even worse, the strained relationship she had with the taciturn wizard.
Severus Snape was not a kind man. If people thought he’d change after the war, after he was finally free to do as he chose, they were sorely wrong. Severus Snape was as menacing and as stern as always.
But to Hermione, all the little manierisms that were so innately him, never posed as a reason to dislike the man. If anything, they made him more interesting. A tougher nut to crack.
They lived together for the past three years, and only in the past ten months or so, Hermione began to melt his hard exterior. She felt the man underneath the battered armour was a much softer soul, one that was simply bruised too many times to let people in anymore.
She couldn’t blame him.
Now Hermione would catch him smirking at her, the corners of his lips twitching as if he was trying to remember how to smile.
Gods, she hoped she’d be able to see a full smile bloom on his face before her apprenticeship was over.
A lump formed in Hermione’s throat every time she thought of that. Only a month left, and then what?
She’d have to leave him.
She’ll be forced to turn her back to this great countryside villa and the lonely man living inside it.
Both, the house and the man that had stolen her heart.
Hermione stopped lying to herself years ago. She fell in love with Professor Snape when she was nothing but a clumsy teenager. When he was still her professor, he intrigued and attracted her both physically and mentally. But she didn’t want to admit it, then. It was when the war erupted, when Snape was proclaimed a murderer, Death Eater and the dark Headmaster, Hermione feared for him. Feared for her own heart that didn’t stop beating for the man, even though he was supposedly an enemy. It was as if she never truly believed it, anyway. And even if she had, she’d love him still. Foolish girl, her own mind chided. But then the battle happened, and Hermione couldn’t let him bleed out on the floor of the boathouse. She feared she was too late when she administered the potions to the man already fainting from blood loss.
But he survived.
And when he recovered, when he was exhonourated, Hermione finally felt free to admit it.
She was desperately in love with Severus Snape.
The brave, stern, difficult, brilliant man who never, not once looked at her with anything but detachment or disdain.
She didn’t know what came over her when she wrote him a letter, asking for apprenticeship. When a black raven brought her back his consent, Hermione simply packed her miserly belongings that barely filled one room at the Grimmauld’s place into her beloved beaded bag and disapparated. The next thing she knew, she was standing in the middle of a neat gravel path, staring at the tall country villa, light grey walls decorated with white wooden trims and window shutters. Its surroundings could be mistaken for a botanical garden, if the state and variety of plants was anything to go by. The warm light seeped out the windows, calling to her.
For some reason, when the tall wizard opened the door to watch her come closer, Hermione felt like coming home.
After the loss of her parents, who still lived in Australia, happily oblivious to the fact they had a daughter, after the war and the loss of so many people she regrated not being closer with, Hermione needed a home.
A place where she could simply be.
It surprised her to realize she’d find it alongside the man who already had her heart.
But now he’d come tearing into the basement, with his hair pulled back and his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. He will take one look at Hermione, and scold her for the sheer stupidity of not letting him know she was developing a new potion.
Hermione already finished the one she will use for her final task as an apprentice. All that was left to do with the one for her Mastery, was to finalize the paperwork, the reports and the analysis of her final project.
It was a potion that would regenerate nerve paths of the victims of the cruciatus curse. Hermione was hellbent on creating it, after seeing Snape’s hand tremble with little spasms he couldn’t control. She also believed he suffered chronical pain, probably a posttraumatic stress syndrome, but mending his nerves was the start.
This other potion however, was her secret pet project.
Hermione was too afraid Snape would mock her for ever believing she could brew something so whimsical, so she never told him what she was working on. If she made a point of brewing it only when she was certain he wouldn’t disturb her, Hermione thought it was only because she didn’t wish to irk him. Risk his ire over something so…unimportant.
But somewhere along the way, the idea sucked her in to the point when she spent sleepless nights researching midwifes journals, comparing notes her pregnant or nursing friends had sent her, until she was certain to have a solution.
Now, after six failed attempts, Hermione finally managed to brew a potion that would help witches with their hormonal balance after birth.
Ginny, who was now trying to nurse her second baby was the inspiration. Hermione didn’t see her friends often, but she made a point of being constant in sending letters and talking through the firecalls.
Albus was only four months old, and Ginny already got her period back. She didn’t know whether it was the sleepless nights, a light depression or the general stress of being a stay-at-home mom while her Harry was off facing danger every day - her milk supply was deteriorating. And so was her libido.
Ginny said Harry was already mentioning trying for the third baby, when all Ginny could muster was a mild interest. That worried Ginny even more because she always prided herself in being hypersexual.
Hermione worried for her friend too, since she swore she tried every trick in her mother’s book, every tea and potion on the market, but nothing seemed to help. Adamant that she’d nurse little Albus until he was at least one year old, Ginny pleaded with Hermione to help her out.
And here she was, Hermione thought with dread. Such a good friend. Recklessly trying the potion that was supposed to fill Ginny’s breasts, amp up her mood and her libido. Balance her body so it would be up to the challenges of nursing and…breeding.
Only now it seemed to successfully do all those things…to the wrong witch.
Hermione never, never imagined she’d have such a reaction. She tried the potion to make sure there was no nauseating side effects. That the taste was palatable. Not to turn herself into a nursemaid with a breeding kink.
But here she was.
Her breasts heavy and aching, her knees weak.
Godric have mercy, Hermione thought desperately.
If anyone could help her now, it was Snape.
Severus stood on the stairs that led down to the extensive laboratory he built in his cellar. He kept the staircase in the dark, so he could disappear into the shadows and watch Hermione from a safe distance.
He took up the habit of covertly observing her the minute she moved into his house. It only became a home after she was there. Not that he’d ever tell her that, of course.
Severus watched Hermione brew, read, research, even wash the dishes the muggle way after he cooked them dinner. He watched her tend to the pretty flowers she planted for her own joy, and hang up the laundry when the sun was shining.
He watched her constantly, wishing this would be their everyday life forever, her smiles warming him more than any hearth ever could.
But it couldn’t be.
Hermione was only here for the apprenticeship, only to absorb every ounce of knowledge he would pour into that brilliant, studious mind of hers. When he’d finally approve of her brewing skills, no longer able to postpone the actual confirmation she always sought with him, Hermione would be gone, leaving him with nothing but the ghost of her presence in this big secluded house.
For the first two years, Severus tried his best not to let her get too close. But the last year, he began to falter. It was so hard not to react to her dry sense of humour, not to indulge her in long academic debates on anything, really. Severus could no longer think of excuses to let her be, when they were out in the nature, gathering ingredients.
If he took her to breathtaking locations to do so, he did it because of the potency of the herbs they were collecting, not because he secretly enjoyed the little gasps she let out when facing a magnificent view.
If he took her to a local book fare to hunt for old potion journals or rare editions, it was because his library needed updating, and she needed good research material.
If he perfected cooking everything she loved most, it was because he simply enjoyed cooking and prided himself in it.
Sweet Salazar, he was such a fool for her.
Severus hung his head in disbelief.
If anyone told him he’d fall in love in the middle of the war, seeing a witch twenty years his junior face the unspeakable, he’d have them admitted to the Janus Thickney ward in no time.
But oh, did he fall.
Not just for anyone, no, Severus smiled bitterly.
It wouldn’t be like him to fall for a quiet, submissive little Rawenclaw. One that no one noticed, one that was just bookish enough to fit him, one that would be a half blood like him, just cute and never quite beautiful…No. He had fallen for the smartest, loudest, muggleborn Gryffindor witch he’d ever laid his eyes on. One that wasn’t just brave and clever as the devil himself, but so breathtakingly beautiful it knocked all air out of him when he first woke up at the infirmary after the final battle.
He'd never forget the sight.
Hermione sat next to his bed, a golden evening light falling through the window at her back, illuminating her honey-coloured mass of curls. They spilled down her back like a waterfall, so soft and sweetly scented. Her skin was almost as pale as his own, but dusted with constellations of tiny freckles. Not everywhere, just … over her nose, the tops of her cheekbones, the backs of her hands, her shoulders. Her legs and hips were slightly rounded, as one would expect for a girl who spent most of her time reading. But despite ample curves, her waist remained narrow, her cheeks almost too hollow. The cupid bow of her mouth twisted, as she pouted at something she read in the thick tome.
For a moment, Severus wondered if he died and gone to heaven. But then again, it would be a twisted sort of fate to be dead, and still feel the hardness of the hospital bed. Hermione’s hand reached for his own, and she rubbed her thumb over his slender fingers absentmindedly.
Severus never felt more alive. Or more comforted.
By some ridiculous trick of the Gods no one but Hermione Granger sat beside him, beautiful as an angel, now muttering to herself about how if Professor Snape was awake, he certainly wouldn’t allow such idiocy to be printed in any book on the face of the Earth.
A laughter bubbled up in his chest.
But instead of laughing, he croaked out a series of raw coughs, trying desperately to breathe again.
Hermione helped him calm down some and called for the mediwitch. Reminded now, that he was way too old and too fragile to glance at a pretty girl like a besotted fool that he was, Severus tried his best to push Hermione away. A scowl and a cutting remark or two were enough to prevent the girl to sit with him any longer. When finally recovered, finally free to do as he pleased, Severus turned his life around.
No one was more surprised he actually had a life to live, now.
He sold everything - his father’s house in Coke’s worth, his entire Prince legacy. He registered his spells and patents and with a vault as big as if he were a Malfoy, bought a house that called to him. A quiet house far away in the Scottish Highlands, with a lot of spacious land and no nosy neighbours.
For the first couple of months all he did was fix the house, planted herbs and brewed like crazy. He built the library of his dreams and tried to convince himself he was doing great.
It was soothing to finally be allowed to have preferences. To have a life, a personality that didn’t depend on this or that master. That living alone suited him, a lifelong dream of a man who was once tucked away in a crowded castle now fulfilled.
It wasn’t until he received Hermione’s letter, asking for the apprenticeship, that he finally realized he was lonely.
So utterly lonely he replied without thinking, writing how he’d only take her in if they honoured the old traditions of apprentices living with their masters, focused on nothing but achieving a complete mastery of their elected subject.
Severus sent the letter before he could change his mind.
An hour later, the wards alarmed him of the visitor.
Never in his wildest dreams had he imagined Hermione Granger standing on his doorstep that same evening.
Fireflies danced around her legs as she walked up to the house, a light summer dress in teal emphasizing the golden embers in her eyes. He was scowling at her, he realized as he watched Hermione’s eyes flicker over his expression, her smile faltering at the sight of him.
He only scowled because he worried about her catching a cold in such thin garment.
Annoyed with himself, Severus waved her inside and set her down next to the fireplace with a mug of steaming tea in her hands. And the rest was, as the saying was, history…
Now Severus was scowling again, scowling at the pretty witch that was visibly trembling, fluttering her eyelashes and unbuttoning her pretty floral blouse. If he wasn’t so worried for the little harridan’s wellbeing, Severus would flush at the sight of her lace cups peeking out from under the fabric. Then he’d get mad for her acting so recklessly in the room full of poisonous ingredients, sharp tools and so forth. A potions master should know better than to undress in the laboratory. But since Severus knew his little apprentice was not the reckless kind, he also knew there was something very wrong with her…
When Hermione all but collapsed onto a wooden chair, Severus broke his resolve and strode in, his long legs covering the space in five decisive steps. Suddenly, he was kneeling in front of her, scanning for signs of poisoning.
“What happened?” he bit out.
He'd never forgive himself if Hermione somehow got hurt under his roof.
“I’m so sorry.” She said, trying to muster the courage to look at him.
“I brewed a potion and tried to verify its effectiveness, just like you taught me...” she admitted, her cheeks growing pink with embarrassment.
Severus never told her how much he loved the way she blushed. He was silently hoping he could convince her to stay once she was finished with her Mastery. Maybe then, he’d finally pluck up the courage and court her openly. He certainly wouldn’t do so now when she was still his apprentice.
“What potion?” Severus tried to focus. If he knew the ingredients, he could determine the cause of her reaction.
He took a closer study of her symptoms.
Slight breathlessness, rosy skin, sweating despite not being physically active and obviously, feeling hot.
“I…Gods, please don’t be mad. I brewed something of my own, for Ginny. She’s having troubles with her hormones, she’s trying to nurse and it’s not going well…”
Severus nearly smiled at her honest plea for him to hold his temper.
He'd do all he could to hold it back, but then his mind caught up with her explanation.
An original potion?
For…hormonal issues of a nursing mother?
And Hermione tried it herself?
Severus’s mind was spinning. Reluctantly, he allowed his eyes to fall on Hermione’s cleavage. Her usually rounded breast now seemed so swollen they threatened to spill out of the shirt, the buttons barely containing their weight.
“I need to see the recipe you worked by. The research. The ingredients.”
He hoped he could brew an antidote.
Not because Hermione would be in any real danger by having her hormones mixed up, her body foolishly producing the milk she obviously couldn’t feed to anyone…but because having a hormonal woman with tendency to lactate was too much even for his own restraint.
He was already having a hard time holding back the filthy thoughts that wanted to cloud his mind around Hermione.
He was already mad with lust every time Hermione wore a dress or a shirt that showed off her cleavage.
Now? Living together would become torturous, positively impossible if he didn’t fix this. Somehow.
Hermione silently summoned the thick notebook containing her notes on this project and placed it in his hand, her eyes a little wide, her brow furrowed.
Severus merely arched an eyebrow at her quizzically, then opened it.
His breath whooshed out as he scanned the list of ingredients.
The brewing plan.
Choosing to ignore the fact Hermione somehow managed to brew this potion in secret, he looked into her eyes with sheer frustration etched on his complicated face.
“There is nothing to be done. You will have to endure…the effects of the potion for the duration you predicted. Were you aiming for anything besides lactation when you brewed? I noticed you used powdered orchids. And a freshly ground oyster shell…”
He paused, frowning in concentration. Then it dawned on him.
Severus gaped, searching Hermione’s expression.
“It’s a strong aphrodisiac. A fertility enhancer.”
He tried to fix his gaze on her face, her eyes. He didn’t want to look at her body and wonder.
But Hermione’s pupils were dilated, darkening her gaze. Her lips were moist and parted. She looked as if she was…aroused.
“You’re not mad?” she said huskily.
“I don’t know what I am.” Severus admitted, hoping the conversation would keep the blood in his head instead of rushing lower.
“If this works, you discovered another cure, one that will probably be very marketable, especially for the nursing mothers. And those who have…more specific sexual appetites.”
A delighted giggle escaped her. There was something alike mischief dancing in her whiskey-coloured eyes as she watched him, now.
“I think I may become one of the latter myself by the end of the month…” she said, not shying from his gaze.
Was she aware how attracted he was to her, Severus wondered. Was she teasing or provoking?
He was already debating on how immoral would it be to use this as a lever to finally get what he wanted. The way Hermione was looking at him now, all wide eyed and challenging, might be because of the potion-induced heat and not because she liked him that way, but…
“You will need to get the milk out regularly, if you don’t want to get an infection. I heard they can be quite painful.” He said at last, trying for a safer topic.
“Yes, I will…”
There was something slightly playful in Hermione’s voice. Another button on her blouse flew off, exposing the blush-coloured lace covering her breasts.
Severus couldn’t help himself. His eyes roamed down to her chest as soon as it happened.
“I will also need a man to help me sate my…urges.” She purred.
Alarmed at the thought of Hermione with another man, Severus snapped his head up.
“You still have one month of apprenticeship with all its rules to uphold. You sleep here, Granger, and I will certainly not tolerate any men under my roof.”
Not realizing he trapped himself, Severus warred with the undirected jealousy. He’d kill any man who dared to touch his…apprentice.
“Oh, I was thinking of someone I trust, Master Snape.” She said a little too sweetly.
“Someone who is always here, knows my rhythms and is smart enough he won’t bore me...someone who would stand by me in case the fertility factor worked a little too well and I’ve fallen pregnant…”
“Damn right, he should!”
Severus was still waging war with his own temper, too blind to see how Hermione opened the last button herself.
“Will you help me, then?” she said, shrugging off the fabric.
There was nothing but silence for a few beats.
Then, the sound of his racing heart as he watched the blouse float to the floor.
Then, his eyes found hers.
“Me?”