I had only seen her properly after six whole years of teaching her. It occurred to me, the summer before she was due to start her seventh and final year at Hogwarts, that I had honestly never had a pupil so dedicated as she. It was as if in the first few years at Hogwarts, she had felt a loyalty to Potter and Company to dislike potions, and loathe me. Gradually, as she grew up, she started to break away from the stereotyped teacher's pet and faithful disciple of Potter that we had all had her down as.
It wasn't until the fifth year that she started to 'date' Ronald Weasley. I remember watching them walk hand in hand together: Ron bumbling over his words and actions, and Hermione looking as though she had finally found It.
I think, that despite her relatively late entry into the world of the mature teenager, she had always been a precocious girl. She had always been more mentally mature than her peers. Perhaps that was why she was so confident about her level of emotional stability.
I asked her straight, "Do you love me?"
"No," she replied calmly, a hint of compassion in her voice that was maddening.
I closed my eyes. "Could you ever love me?"
"No." The compassion and pity was unbearable. An unspoken apology hung in the air. I opened my eyes and swallowed thickly.
Our eyes locked for a second and I seized the chance. I leaned forward, pulling her body towards mine in a soft kiss. My hands tangled in her long brown hair and traced the patterns of her spine, and I was intoxicated by her. Soon, however, the kiss became an awkward hug.
She pulled away, looking flustered, and something flickered in her eye that I couldn't quite name.
"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. Was that a tear on her cheek? "Good night, Severus."
And she left.