Dust
Severus Snape ground his teeth together in annoyance. How had he found himself back here?
Again!
His lean, dark form nestled in the shadow of the threshold where he would not be seen. Had not been seen as of yet, as far as he could tell.
How many days in row is this? Four? Five?
Had he not feared being discovered, he would have stormed off in a swirl of robes and a loud huff of disgust. As it was, his secret was still safe as long as he went undiscovered; he kept his silence as he hoped to keep what little of his pride he had left.
The broom had been going for days in the room beyond the door frame. Sponges and rags and newspaper with foul smelling vinegar continued to work, day and night, ad nauseum. One would think that it hadn't been cleaned since before the First War! Much to the contrary, however, the classroom had only been recently vacated at the end of last term. And yet, it's new occupant had been casting cleaning charms since the minute she arrived. And she had the nerve to be installed in her room from the minute her predecessor had departed!
Summers were a quiet blessing for Severus. A time when he could work on his own projects, big and small, and be free of blatant stares and whispered conversations of the morosely curious. Nothing says 'borrowed time' like cheating death; and Severus Snape was in no mood for wasting another single iota of his life living for anyone but himself. Yet, even with as big as Hogwarts was, he was irritated beyond rationality that she had inserted herself into his peace; and he had no idea why.
It was why he started observing her in the first place. He needed to know what she was up to; needed to understand why she would prefer to be in this lonely castle during the summer holiday rather than — well — anywhere else.
What he discovered was simple. She was happier on her own. She seemed to enjoy the cool, quiet of her rooms, in setting up her residence and settling in to her new role. She talked aloud to her cat and to all the things whisking around her office as if they were old friends. And she loved her books. Even when he wasn't observing her (spying is such an ugly word), he might cross her path on his own travels out to the Forbidden Forest or along his well-worn constitutional around the Astronomy Tower. She was never without a book; and it was never the same book twice. Austen and Hobbes mixed in seamlessly with Scamander and Croate. She lounged, she flopped, she sat, and she sprawled with her books all over the castle, completely ignoring him; or worse, giving him a contented little smile and a nod by way of acknowledgment before returning to her reading.
So, how (and, more importantly, why?) had he found the moments to stand here, in the gloom, and watch her read? It was what she was doing right now. Magical instruments all around her, and yet she unpacked each and every book by hand, lovingly cleaning their covers and checking their bindings. It was usually during this process that she would flip a book open and find herself lost, sometimes for hours, in reading the book. A book she had, no doubt, read before. And what was worse? He was standing there watching her read it.
Insufferable!
And today she was somehow even more distracting. Her hair was shining in the waning sun of the sultry afternoon, pulled up into this obscene knot atop her head, a scarf tied about it just above her forehead in an effort to keep the trailing pieces of it out of her eyes. She sat, curled over her latest tome, surrounded by the dust she'd kicked up floating around her as if her very being radiated magic.
She absolutely sparkled.
Severus pressed himself back against the cool stone of the wall, his eyes wide. What was happening to him? His fingers went to his temples and rubbed with vigour, his hair falling around his face as he bent his gaze down toward the floor. He could feel the ache in his neck, pressing around his head, in muscles he never knew he had. He felt as if the world was spinning much too quickly.
How long had he been here this time? His body seemed to be saying that it was longer than he had imagined. Was he mad?
No.
No, it was much more serious than that.
"I was just about to make some tea," a quiet, confident voice said from a much closer proximity than he had wished.
"I'm sorry...I…"
"— Look as if you are about to faint. You should really sit," she replied, taking his arm and placing him in a hard backed chair nearest the door. "Sorry, it isn't exactly comfortable," she continued as she was attending to tea with her back to him, "but, it certainly beats falling down."
Hermione Granger, newly-minted Hogwarts Professor, brought over a steaming mug of sweet, milky tea. Earl Grey, by the smell of it. Severus breathed deep and forgot himself, allowing a smile to curl his lips as his hand curled about the cup.
"I love the scent of it, too," she said, unabashedly. She dragged over another chair and sat across from him, hunching over her own mug. Before Severus knew it, a small plate of sandwiches had appeared and she was pressing one on him. "You should eat something. You look wan."
"I think it was just a touch of heat…"
"Pffffth…" she snorted and giggled. "That's the most awful excuse I've ever heard." She grabbed a piece of sandwich for herself and took a healthy bite, looking straight into his face. "Try again."
No words came out of his mouth.
She smirked around her teacup and drank deeply.
For the first time in memory, he sat with someone in companionable silence. She asked nothing of him, not even vapid conversation. And yet, she did not avoid him either; she did not read as if he wasn't there. She didn't treat him not like either a curiosity or a shadow. She sat. And he sat. And they sat. Together; as if it had always been that way.
He leaned forward and plucked a dust bunny from her hair, and she smiled.
And it was everything.