A/N: This is a storyline I've been attempting to perfect for years now.
Disclaimer: I don't own it; I just love it.
One
The Shrieking Shack sat untouched on the hill, overlooking Hogsmeade. Its shutters hung crookedly, the glass in the windows either obscured by dust or cracked and broken. The chimney was forever losing large hunks of brick. They lay scattered on the rocky ground around the chimney. Shingles blew off the roof, the siding splintered, the foundation crumbled. The house was slowly dying, ignored and avoided, left to its own devices. No one bothered to look twice at it. No one dared venture closer than the very bottom of the winding gravel driveway, though the terrifying screams and screeches had been silent for twenty years. The only sounds that came from the house now were the groans and creaks of an aging house.
Anytime the Shrieking Shack was mentioned, it was to tell the story of the vindictive ghosts that had inhabited the old mansion to misbehaving children. Residents and shopkeepers of Hogsmeade swore that if one happened to be out in the wee hours of the morning and glanced up the hill, one would see flickering lights on the topmost floor. This further fueled the ghost stories and warnings. Anyone to go too close to the house could be considered a daredevil; anyone to go inside it was out of his bloody mind.
--
"You're late." His voice was low.
"You're impatient." She watched the firelight flicker on his face.
"It's one of my only faults."
She rolled her eyes. He stood and approached her, a smirk on his face. She placed a hand on his broad chest, feeling his heart thumping steadily. He kissed her jaw and her neck softly. She sighed.
"I've missed you."
"You see me every day."
"You know what I mean."
"Take it up with my boss."
"Which one?" She buried her face in his chest, clinging to him, inhaling his familiar scent.
"Either." He shrugged. This was not a gesture she associated with him. She looked up at him, studying his face. His eyes were dark and sad. He'd missed her too. He would never admit it. He did not like this scrutiny, her eyes searching his face. He kissed her and she closed her eyes. The firelight threw elongated shadows on the peeling wallpaper. The shadows flickered, and moved slowly in a familiar dance, two separate entities, merging, joining, becoming one.
She stroked the fine, dark, soft hairs on his muscled forearm. The room was dark now, the fire fading, only embers left. He kissed her shoulder and exhaled a large amount of air through his nose, onto her skin.
She knew that resigned, frustrated sigh. She wrapped her arms around him and held tight.
"Don't make this more difficult." His voice was rough and harsh, but she knew he was pleading, not ordering. This was their safe haven, their refuge, their sanctuary, a place where they could escape and pretend. Pretend there wasn't a war. Pretend what they had could last. Pretend they were a real couple. Pretending was so unbelievably easy when they were here, alone, together. Who they were, what they were, what they couldn't be—those things did not exist here. They could be lovers and, for a few precious hours, they could forget. Here they were only a man and a woman. Only Hermione and Severus, without titles or surnames or ages or responsibilities or reputations.
"You have to go back."
"I know." Her whisper was pained.
"Please." He kissed her forehead, then her lips. He unwrapped her arms from his torso, untangled his legs from hers. He watched as she pulled on her jumper, her skirt. She shot him one last longing look before disappearing out the door and down the stairs. He listened to her soft footsteps on the creaking floorboards until he could hear them no longer, and knew she had dropped into the tunnel.
If he thought rationally about what they were doing, what they were risking, he was forced to acknowledge they were acting like fools. For the first time in years, however, he wasn't playing the puppet and he wasn't following rules. He had chosen to do this simply because he wanted her and now he was in too deep to get out. But he didn't want to escape this. She was his escape. He cared for her more than he cared about his job, more than he cared about betraying Dumbledore, more than he cared about angering the Dark Lord. This, he realized, was a dangerous place to be. But danger had never worried him.
--
"Late night?"
Hermione nearly jumped out of her skin, "Bloody hell, Ernie, you scared me." She glared at the Head Boy sitting on the sofa, "What are you doing up so early? It's barely dawn."
"I knew I would catch you coming in."
Hermione braced herself for one of Ernie's self-righteous lectures. After five months of living in close proximity to the pompous Hufflepuff, Hermione knew when to expect him to stick his nose into her business.
"Ernie, I really don't need this now."
"Just a moment of your time, Hermione." Ernie stood, blocking her path to her bedroom. "I've noticed that lately you're out at all hours. Either you've found a way to get into the library and stay there or you've got yourself a boyfriend.
"If you've managed to sneak into the library to get extra studying time, I think it would only be fair if you told me how you're doing it, since I've picked up your slack on the nights you skip patrol duty. If you've got a boyfriend, it's hardly behavior befitting a Head Girl to be out in the corridors after curfew."
"I'm not out in the corridors, Ernie. Thank you for your…concern, but I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." She pushed past him and was about to enter her room when he spoke again.
"There are rumors, you know."
"About what, Ernie?" She sighed and turned around to see his face twisted into a condescending smile.
"People are talking. I'm not the only one whose noticed your behavior."
"Fine. You caught me. I have a boyfriend. Go to the gossips with that if you must."
She closed the door behind her. She knew people were talking. She didn't get detentions, especially in Potions. Granted, she had only gotten two before she and Severus worked out a better plan. But two detentions on an otherwise clean record, within a week of each other, had raised the suspicions of girls like Parvati and Lavender. But the detentions had been months ago. Had someone seen something?
Hermione managed to get a few hours of sleep in before breakfast. She dressed automatically, stumbling down to the Great Hall. Harry and Ron greeted her with grins. It was rare that they reached breakfast before her.
"Up late doing Snape's Wolfsbane essay?" Ron taunted. He loved having less homework than Hermione.
Or just doing Snape, she thought. Out loud, however, she said, "Something like that."
"Have you done Charms?" Ron asked hopefully.
"Yes."
"Can we—
"No."
"But Mione," he whined, "We had Quidditch this weekend."
"Oh yes," she snapped, "I forgot the whole world revolved around Quidditch. Did you finish your Charms essay, Harry?"
"Yes." Harry said reluctantly.
"If Harry did his on his own, then there's no reason you can't do yours, Ronald."
Hermione left the table abruptly, having barely eaten anything. She nearly bowled Severus over in the Entrance Hall.
"Watch where you're going, Miss Granger," He barked. She flinched. He was much more skilled at this deception than she. She was always on the verge of slipping up, about to call him Severus in Potions, or refer to him by his first name when talking to Harry and Ron or Ginny.
His fingertip brushed the inside of her wrist.
"I'm sorry, Professor."
A/N: Review please.