Bleeding Love

I do not own Harry Potter, sadly. This is also not particularly DH compliant. My Snape survives. 

Chapter 1

Severus Snape looked at himself in the mirror and struggled with his high collar, trying to place it in such a way that the scar on his neck would be less visible. Not that he cared of his aesthetic appearance to the world, but that it was an uncomfortable reminder of how close he had come to death. If it had not been for his foresight to carry a small vial of the antidote to Naganini's venom, mostly thinking he might need it for Potter, he would still be a dead man. He had hidden away in the muggle world for a time until he was comfortable enough to return to the wizarding world. He was very surprised at the welcome he received, after the shock wore off. "Hero" they called him. He couldn't bring himself to accept the term and resolutely brushed off the hype and attention. He was content to brew again and teach more foolish minds. He could not forgive himself of his past, even though all others did. He kept to himself down in the dungeons, only really seen in classes, nightly rounds, or meals, although Hermione Granger seemed to make it her personal mission to get him to socialize. She frequently visited him for afternoon tea and they discussed the latest Potions Journal Weekly. He humored her because he knew if he didn't she would keep insisting and bothering him.

In fact, he was preparing for said visit. He adjusted the collar one more time before giving up in frustration.

"The scar does not bother me Severus." Came the voice softly from the doorway.

He spun in surprise to see Hermione there.

"I wasn't…I mean,"

"So what did you think of Tangeir's latest study? I thought his applications for grintlewood root were quite interesting."

He mentally sighed, grateful for the change of subject.

"Hmm..I quite agree…"he replied, ushering her out of his rooms and escorting her to his private study.

Once there, Hermione took residence in her favorite chair, the closest to the fire, and listened to his line of thought with great interest.

He swiftly poured them tea and placed hers on the table beside her.

"I suppose we shall see once the study has finalized then wont we?" she retorted in response to his theories on the subject.

"Indeed." He agreed, sitting in the chair across from her.

She yawned loudly.

"Hmm..it seems you are tired Hermione. I shant keep you any longer then."

"Oh..Rose was sick last night, poor thing. Kept me up all night, but I didn't mind of course."

"Ah yes I heard young Mr. Weasley speaking of it in class this morning. Is she in the hospital wing now?"

She nodded, sipping her tea.

"Best thing for her. She hates missing classes."

"Sounds like someone else I know…"

Hermione chuckled.

"Well it wasn't Ron..." she replied as her smile turned into a deep frown.

The silence was heavy.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have…"he tried softly, but she cut him off.

"It's alright Severus. It is still a bit hard to remember, but it is getting better." she whispered.

He nodded.

"Rose and Hugo seem to be adjusting well."

"Yes, they still get sad too, but they know their dad would want them to focus on school and not dwell on it."

"It has been almost a year now since the accident, has it not?"

She nodded.

"I was surprised to see you at the Quidditch match Friday."

"Well I promised Rose I'd watch her game…"

"That took a lot of courage. Godric Gryffindor himself would have been proud."

I was proud of you too, he thought.

She smiled brightly.

"Well, I best be off. My first years have a test today that I must prepare for. They're transfiguring cups into peacocks."

She got up and strode towards the door.

"I'll see you at dinner?"

He nodded and she left in a small twirl of green robes.

As he cleared away their tea, he let himself have a moment and sat in her chair to grasp a moment of her lingering warmth. He ran his hands over the wooden armrests before he mentally berated himself.

It's no good Severus, the girl is out of your league.

And as the last of her warmth left, the chair seemed to grow cold beneath him as if only to mock and remind him that he was alone.