No One But You
Hermione looked at herself in the mirror and twisted her hair around one finger, wondering if she should get the color changed. Her natural hair was far too wiry and dark to be considered properly red, though in the summer, hints of bronze shone at her temples when she was out in the sun for too long.
'Your skin is not fair enough,' she thought darkly, 'You have freckles. And let's not even get started on how….not like Lily Evans your body looks.'
She'd begun to wonder what Severus saw in her at all. He certainly wasn't seeing his tragically lost best friend who might have been his beloved had they any choice in the matter; if blood-bigotry and a war hadn't torn them apart.
Oh yes, Hermione had pretended that she hadn't read that bestseller written by that hack Rita Skeeter, but then she'd saw the copy in in Ginny's bathroom and couldn't resist looking inside. Every page seemed to be about Lily Evans this and Lily Potter that. The entire reason the Wizarding World was free of the tyranny of Voldemort hinged on Severus Snape's eternal devotion to a woman long dead.
'A woman who isn't you,' Hermione thought bitterly to herself.
Sure, she knew that he enjoyed the pleasure of her body, though she couldn't seem to understand why. Lily was so…young and…perfect in comparison to the reality of herself.
Secretly, Hermione had begun to wonder if she was only a physical diversion- his way of keeping his appetites at bay and nothing more. Still, he did invite her to lunch regularly and he'd even stayed the night a number of times, though she'd never been to his place yet.
Hermione paced the floor, beginning to draw conclusions from the sparse information she had gathered already, and felt the depression rising in her heart like an eclipse.
'He doesn't want you, not really. He can't, after all. Not when the perfect woman has already stolen his heart,' Hermione thought, biting her lip.
And later: "That bitch."
Hermione felt her chest fill with self-loathing for thinking such petty thoughts, but at the same time, she couldn't help but whisper the words bitterly under her breath as she pulled the blankets more tightly around her body and burrowed further underneath them.
Soon after, she began distancing herself from him, gleaning a measure of sick glee out of the disappointment in his voice and the slouch of his shoulders.
'Perhaps he will finally understand my bitterness, the bitterness of knowing that his heart will never beat for me,' Hermione thought, biting her thumb so hard that it nearly broke the skin.
Though she knew it was wrong, she nearly rejoiced at the idea that she'd hurt him before he could hurt her- before he could pull the rug out from under her and laugh at her for thinking that she could ever be important to him.
But, finally, like all horrible things, it came back tenfold to bite her in the arse.
The depression hit her like a wall and she found herself calling in sick to work, unable to drag herself from her bed. The windows were kept permanently dark with thick curtains and she wallowed in her misery in darkness. Her heart beat the language of the truth, that it killed her to hurt him. It was like tiny knives twisting ever deeper into her chest every time she pushed him away. But it was always the face of Lily that rose in Hermione's head, staring at her in her mind's eye, her face as sharp and clever as a fox, a predatory grin upon her lips.
No. Hermione knew that he was lost to her. What made it worse was the fact that she'd never had him to begin with, even when he lay warm and naked at her side, his lips pressed against hers. She squeezed her eyes shut and sobbed, knowing that she'd never feel such bliss again.
"You idiot." His voice was soft and low in her room and her eyes flew wide, trying to see him in the gloom.
"W..what…?" Hermione blubbered unattractively.
"You gave me a key to your flat several months ago," he replied, stepping out of the shadows until he was standing next to the bed, "I didn't want to come in like this, but I got worried when I saw how many owls were sitting outside your window with back-issues of the Prophet and you didn't answer the door when I knocked."
He looked gaunt and thinner than usual, which was not a good sign. Hermione knew that meant that he was not eating again.
"You look like hell," she sniffled, though she couldn't say why this was the first thing that came to mind.
He smirked. "Pot, meet kettle."
Hermione snickered, because it was true.
"Come on, untangle yourself from those blankets. You need something to eat." He bent down, looking at her seriously.
"Nuh-uh. I'm never coming out."
"Don't be petulant." He sneered slightly, out of habit.
"I'm not being petulant. I'm just very sure of myself." Hermione tried to burrow under the covers until her face was hidden, but he pulled one corner of the covers up from under her chin, exposing her.
"Fine," he said, deadpan, "If you won't come out, then I'm coming in."
And suddenly, he was inches away from her, lying on his side under the blanket.
"You're still wearing your boots!" Hermione protested.
"Hn. Yes. It's my turn to be petulant," he replied with a shrug.
"Why would you do this?" Hermione whispered huskily, realizing that the last time she was like this with him, it involved a lot fewer articles of clothing and a sense of bliss that she'd never known before.
"Because I missed you," he sighed back. "Because I can't give up on our relationship without trying one last-ditch maneuver to win you back. Because, as infuriating as we both can be, I love you, and I dearly hope that you feel the same about me."
His face grew pink with the effort of forcing himself to tell her such things, even though it was under a blanket and there was no one there to hear it but her. But perhaps that was why he seemed so utterly bashful. Because what he said is true, and it is then that Hermione realized that she'd been utterly, completely stupid.
"I'm an idiot," she grumbled, and he threw his arms around her with a noise that she was fairly certain was a tiny, uncharacteristic squee of glee.
"I know," he replied, pulling Hermione close to him. "But you are my idiot."
"Even though you still love Lily?" she asked, because she had to, or she knew she wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it.
He went still, his hold upon her as firm as though he expected her to bolt at what he was about to say next.
Which was good, because Hermione had begun to seriously consider it.
"Have you ever dated before?" he asked, after a long pause.
"Well…of course…but…"
"And do you love your family?"
"Sure, but-"
"Do you think that you could understand that Lily was one of the only people, in my entire life, who treated me as a friend instead of as a burden or a worthless piece of shite? So yes, I loved her as well as a damaged, emotionally stunted, abused kid could love someone. I clung to her because she was so normal, and I thought that if a normal person could care for someone like me, that maybe it meant that I wasn't nearly as fucked up as everyone told me- as I believed that I was."
Hermione thought of her own friends and family. She thought of the slobbery boy she had kissed in fourth year who was nice enough and whose brand of "love" became increasingly tiring within a month. She thought of her own normality and her own scars.
"She was the only person you had," Hermione said slowly, feeling the tears pricking the corners of her eyes, but they not for herself this time. Her chest ached to think of what he had to endure, and what the utter loss of the only person who made him feel normal must have done to him.
"No." His voice was soft and his lips were hot against her forehead. "I have you."
"B…what?"
"It is possible to love people in your past and miss those who have died and still love someone truly with all of your heart in the here and now, wouldn't you agree?" he said, adopting a stern, teacher-like tone.
"Yes, Professor," Hermione snickered. "I really am an idiot, aren't I?"
"An idiot wouldn't admit to having made a mistake," Severus replied, his lips whispering against hers. "Therefore, I retract my earlier statement. You are, however, incredibly, devastatingly sexy."
For the first time in weeks, Hermione found herself beaming as she blinked back happy tears and felt like an utter baby for crying so much.
"I love you," he whispered, closing the distance between their lips as she gasped against the heat and pleasure of his body pressed against hers.
It was at that moment that she knew that she would never doubt his devotion again.