A/N: Written for round five of the QLFC.

Prompts:

Story written by Chaser 3 of the Bats: "Without Proof"

10. (emotion) apathetic

14. (action) pacing nervously

15. (object) candle

Title: Without Proof

"I cannot act without any proof!" Hermione insisted.

Ginny gave an exasperated sigh and toyed with the warm drops of wax that had spilled over the rim of the candle sitting in the middle of the table. "If you keep waiting for a sign, you will be waiting forever, you know that."

"Yes, I know!" Hermione shot back. "But I just can't take the risk. What if I am wrong? I could never live it down."

"So it's best to just ignore it and keep pining away for the rest of your life?" Ginny raised her eyebrows.

"I am not pining away!" Hermione hissed angrily. "I'm just… unhappy in love. It will pass."

"Like it did during the last five years?" Ginny scoffed. "Face it, you are never going to get over him like this. Either you quit cold turkey, or you finally make a move!"

Both girls took the following silence to sneak a look across the room to the dark figure perched in a corner of the pub. Severus Snape was bent over his glass of firewhiskey, ignoring his surroundings. His impassive face gave nothing away, the black depths of his eyes occasionally flicking over the room before returning to stare into the amber swirls inside his tumbler.

"I don't know what you see in him," Ginny said, a thoughtful crease between her eyebrows while her fingertips kept pressing into the soft candle wax, "but that is not the point – you obviously see something in him, and you will have to tell him, because he is not going to give you any indication of how he feels towards you."

"So your advice is to run headlong into disaster?" Hermione inquired.

"Absolutely." Ginny confirmed. "Otherwise, you will never know. And you're not someone who can deal with not knowing something if there is a way to find out."

"Damn you, Ginny!" Hermione whispered. She knew that there was nothing she could say against that.

For years she had been asking herself if there was a chance, any chance, that he might be interested in her, too. There was never anything she could put her finger on, but sometimes she had been unable to shake the impression that he treated her differently from others, but it was nothing she had been able to put into words.

The year following the final battle, she had spent a lot of time working with him. He had taught her how to brew wolfsbane so she could take over in supplying the Order of the Phoenix when needed. He himself had wanted to withdraw from everything that had surrounded Albus Dumbledore. Any offer of friendship and company that had been extended towards him had been declined; not in an unfriendly manner but no less determined. The only one he had seen for more than a curt nod in passing had been Hermione.

Granted, it had only been because she needed to learn how to brew wolfsbane; yet, there had been moments when she had had the impression that her presence was not all together unwelcome. If this was only sprung from acceptance due to their situation or if there was something about her company that he might come to grudgingly accept or even enjoy, was a whole other matter altogether.

Unfortunately, the man was as far from an open book as possible, his black eyes often cold as stone, giving nothing away. His apathetic demeanor was almost tangible. He was a rock of Occlumency and mystery, which, of course, drew her like a siren's song.

After she had successfully brewed the potion for a second time, he had deemed her ready to proceed on her own and wished her goodbye; and before she knew it, she was out on the street with his door closing softly behind her. Confused thoughts swirling in her head, Hermione had walked down the street towards the nearest apparition point, but instead of apparating home, she had turned to her inner battle.

Nervously pacing up and down the stretch of green that marked the apparition point, she had debated going back and confronting him. She needed to know if those little moments, when the air between them had been pregnant with some subcurrent, had been real or only part of her overachieving imagination. What if there was a chance that he was interested in her, too? What if the only thing separating the two of them was her making the first move?

She had already turned on her heel to walk back to his house when another thought had crossed her mind, or rather an image. His incredulous face upon the realization that she had feelings for him, and worst of all, his features then settling back into a stony façade, just barely able to mask his derision. She would die on the spot. She could never take that chance. Not without proof that he felt something for her, too.

She had turned onto the spot into a fluent apparition, never looking back.

And yet, years afterwards, she was still haunted by the idea of what could have happened if she had summoned the courage to tell him.

And now, staring into the flames of the flickering candle, she decided that she would at least test the waters tonight, get a first impression of how he reacted to her, and then decide on a further course.

"I know that look," Ginny whispered. "You're taking initiative. Good for you. I'll be just a floo call or an apparition away in case you need me." With that, she rose from the table and made her way to the bar to pay for her drinks, ignoring Hermione's fervently hissed demands to stay for just another couple of minutes. A minute later, she was gone.

Hermione sat frozen in her seat, but knew she could not be a coward and run. Taking a deep breath, she took her glass in a firm grip and ventured over to where Snape was sitting.

His black eyes were focused on his tumbler although she was sure he had been aware of her approach from the minute she had risen from her seat. It was in his nature to ignore the people around him, so she tried not to let that pierce her armor.

"My friend had to make a quick exit. Would you mind if I keep you company until I have finished my drink?" she asked, her voice even and confident although inside, she was in turmoil.

For a long moment, she feared he might not even reply, but then he spoke in a quiet voice. "Suit yourself."

She had half expected a rejection, therefore his acerbic reply came almost as a relief. Without another word, she slid into the seat opposite him.

She took a deep breath. Would she dare it? Would she be willing to take the leap without proof?

A/N: Oh-oh! This time, a cliffhanger oneshot!

Do not hate me, you know you can always bribe me into another chapter via reviews… ;)