Silence is Golden

"Crookshanks! Stop it!"

Her kneazle was not as quick for forgive as she was, it seemed. He was trying his hissing, growling best to keep her from answering the door. There was no doubt as to who stood on the other side.

Hermione shut Crookshanks in the bedroom and hurried back to the door, wondering how Severus would react to her attire. Her fuzzy golden robe was not revealing by any means, but he had rarely seen her in less than a full school uniform or professor's robes.

His cheeks turned pink immediately, and then he scowled at her. Anyone else might have laughed. Her favorite robe made her look more like an overgrown, molting canary than anything else. It was worn in places and left bits of yellow fuzz in her hair. She kept it mainly to annoy her mother whenever she went home for a visit.

"What on earth are you wearing, Granger?"

"My robe," she had said haughtily, folding her arms. "I was not expecting to see anyone at this hour."

He made no further comment, but cleared his throat.

"I – must ask you – if you will supervise the students in Hogsmeade tomorrow," he said. "My interview has been rescheduled."

"I see," she said, suppressing a smile. "Well. It was thoughtful of you to inform me yourself. I do hate hearing it from other people when you've left me your responsibilities. Very well. I have no objection to the task."

"Very well. Your help is appreciated."

"Goodnight, Severus. Do be careful. Journalists should not be underestimated."

She closed the door on his smirking face before she could give into temptation and throw herself into his arms. She sighed and settled into her comfy chair. Seconds later, there was another knock at the door. From the bedroom, Crookshanks yowled angrily.

Hermione opened to door to see Severus standing there as if he had not moved an inch.

"Incidentally, I believe you left this in the library earlier," he said, a peculiar expression on his face.

He held up a small book - a small, black, leather-bound book. Hermione tried to stay composed as her heart began to pound. How had her journal ended up in the library?

"Oh. Er- thank you, Severus."

He smirked again, amusement in his eyes.

He had read it. Of course he had read it.

Hermione took the journal from his outstretched hand and slid it into the large pocket of her robe with as much dignity as she could muster. She repressed the urge to slam the door in his face before he could see the blush beginning to warm her cheeks. At least her ears were covered by her freshly washed hair; they always gave her away.

"Well – ah – goodnight, then," she said, inching backwards.

"Goodnight, Hermione," he said, fixing her with a steady gaze that seemed to glue her feet to the floor.

Moments later, she watched him walk away, thinking of what was written in the journal and feeling quite warm.

After only a few steps, he whirled back around to face her.

"I did not realize that you wrote fiction," he said, a familiar glint in his eyes. "You are quite prolific for one so young. Do you plan to publish those works as well?"

Hermione's face burned, but she smiled at him in what she hoped was an alluring manner.

"Don't be ridiculous, Severus. That was only my dream journal. I've been keeping it all year."

She shut the door again before he could reply. It was cruel to tease him so, but he really should not have read her journal.

There was a single, sharp knock on the door.

Hermione grinned, and flung it open.

"You-"

She silenced him with her mouth, and not another word was said on the matter that night.