Despite acting the hero in front of Miss Granger, Snape spent a restless night. He would never admit it to anyone – he even had trouble admitting it to himself, now that he thought about it – but during the sleepless hours of early morning he realized that not only was he disgusted by the task that awaited him, but he was also somewhat scared of what was to come. True, he had been assigned much more demanding, not to mention gruesome missions by the Dark Lord in his time; he had killed, he had tortured, but although he could not quite explain it, what he had to do now seemed somehow more ... personal, as if he were going to let Miss Granger get closer to him than he had ever let anyone before. And this he did not like at all.
Still, at eight o'clock it was no longer possible to guess that something with Snape had ever been amiss, as when Miss Granger entered his office he already looked his usual surly self, and when he inquired about what exactly she had in mind that they should do he could pride himself in sounding just as cold and unpleasant as he always did.
Miss Granger, however, seemed to be prepared for such a reception. "Well, to start off with I suggest that you stop calling me Miss Granger," she began determinedly. "I think we would hardly pass off as a couple without calling each other by the first name, so from now on it's Hermione to you." She held out her hand, eyeing him expectantly.
Snape looked at the hand, not really happy with what Miss Granger was asking him to do, but eventually he decided that this was the smallest evil of all that was bound to come, and so he took the hand and gave it a brief shake. "Severus," he said reluctantly.
Miss Grang-, no, Hermione, gave a satisfied nod, as if ticking off an item on an invisible list, and then quickly went on. "OK, now if you could maybe hold my hand for a little longer? For example, we could pretend that we're arriving at the party, hand in hand. Could we try that?"
Normally Snape would have hesitated, perhaps even used an acid remark to comment the situation, but he remembered his boastful talk from the day before, and so he obediently took Hermione's small hand into his, being careful not to show even the smallest sign of displeasure. "Now what do you have to say, Hermione?" he sneered, unwittingly noticing that Hermione did not seem to mind holding his hand either. Interesting.
Hermione gave him a resigned smile. "All right, so I underestimated you," she said simply. "But just one thing – lovers usually don't hold hands like this," (she slipped her hand out of his) "but like this." (She snaked her fingers in between his).
For a fleeting moment, it occurred to Snape that holding hands in this fashion was actually quite pleasant, but he quickly shrugged the feeling off. What on earth was he thinking? Pleasant indeed!
Just to make sure, however, he quickly uncoiled his fingers from Hermione's and then, in his usual sardonic manner, said, "Thank you for enlightening me, Hermione. Now, is there anything else? Personally I would say we have done more than enough."
To his irritation, Hermione shook her head. "Oh no, that wouldn't do. If we want people to believe we are really in love, we have to practise how to look at each other the right way, too. After all, from what Professor McGonagall has said I understand that we are supposed to be a fresh item, so that means everybody will expect us to look all lovey-dovey..."
"But that is preposterous!" exclaimed Snape. "Don't you think you are taking this a bit too far, Miss Granger? I have taught at Hogwarts for long enough to know what kind of looks pass in between students, and I dare say that often this has been the reason for many a potion going wrong, but do I look like a lovesick teenager to you? Even if I were in love I would never let that imbecilic expression cross my face, least of all in public."
"Hermione. Not Miss Granger," Hermione gently corrected him. "And how do you know how being in love would, or wouldn't, make you act? Have you ever been in love? I'm sorry, it's just that somehow, and please don't get offended by what I'm going to say, well, somehow it's hard to imagine you actually being ... well, capable of such feelings."
Snape regarded her for a while, but there was no hatred in his eyes. After all, the girl was right – he did his best to create the image of the mean Potions Master (well, former Potions Master now, anyway), hoping that if people were sufficiently afraid of him, none of them would even think of trying to get close to him.
"At least you are honest, Hermione," he said finally. "But as for my being in love, I would think that is hardly any business of yours. You simply have to take my word when I say that under no circumstances would I act like a hormonal teenager."
"All right," Hermione conceded. "But you could at least try looking at me in a slightly affectionate way. You could do that, couldn't you?"
"Well, I suppose so, yes," Snape admitted unwillingly, arranging his features into something that he hoped would pass off as what Hermione called affectionate.
Hermione let out an involuntary giggle. "I'm so sorry, Severus, I didn't mean to laugh," she apologized quickly. "But you rather looked as though you had a spasm."
Snape glared at her. "You show me, then," he spat.
"Sure, why not," shrugged Hermione, and she let her lips form into a slight smile, while her eyes filled with something very close to tenderness.
Although Snape had prepared himself for something like this, it still caught him by surprise when it actually came. Yes, he had seen such looks among his students, but no one had ever looked that way at him, and even though he knew the look was not real, it still caused his heart to give a sudden, painful throb. What was the matter with him? First the hand, now this ... he did not know what was going on, but it had to stop.
"All right, Miss Granger, I believe we have been productive enough for one day," he said decisively. "I still have some lesson preparations to finish for tomorrow's classes, so perhaps if we could continue this tomorrow after dinner? Or have you some other engagements?"
To his immense relief, his words caused the disquieting expression on Miss Granger's face to vanish almost instantly, only to be replaced by a slight frown. "Well, no, after dinner would be fine," she said slowly, "but I still can't really see why we have to stop now. It's not even nine o'clock yet; surely you don't need the whole day to prepare for lessons you know by heart anyway, being always so interested in the Dark Arts and all?"
"I rather think I should be the best judge of how much time I do or do not need for my lesson preparations, Miss Granger," said Snape coolly. "Until tomorrow, then. Eight o'clock, shall we say?"
"Eight o'clock is fine," said Miss Granger resignedly. "But do stop calling me Miss Granger, will you? Otherwise we can give the mission up straight away."
Snape merely scowled at her, and waited for the girl to resignedly leave the room. Then he sank into his chair, angrily hitting the table with his hand. He was furious with himself. How could he have let the Granger girl affect him so? She was right – he was behaving like a hormonal teenager. After all, she had only looked at him, and what did he do? He got cold feet and sent her away. He, who had continually risked his life by spying on the Dark Lord, now could not find the courage to meet the affectionate gaze of an eighteen-year-old girl. Not to mention that the gaze was fake. Was that perhaps the problem? That he knew it could never be real? And did that mean that he wanted it to be real?
Getting this far, he disgustedly gave himself a huge mental slap. How could he have ever allowed his thoughts to stray this way? This was Miss Granger he was thinking of! The obnoxious know-it-all who had been driving him insane ever since she had first raised her annoying little hand. What did it matter that she had now turned into quite an attractive young woman? Physically she might have changed, but mentally it was still the same old Miss Granger, and if he could only manage to retain this thought in his mind, then hopefully it would help him keep all inappropriate ideas at bay.
Well, at least theoretically, he mused later on in the day, shutting his copy of The Dark Arts – Dangerous and Deadly with an angry snap, as the image of a smiling Miss Granger once again inconspicuously crept into his mind. He decided that the time had come for some drastic measures. After all, wasn't he one of the best Occlumens around? He would simply empty his mind ... thus ... and consequently enjoy the comfort of complete oblivion, if only until the next evening.
Unfortunately, said evening arrived much too fast, and as the appointed hour drew nearer, Snape found himself growing visibly nervous. What was the matter with him? He could not remember feeling this way even when facing the Dark Lord, compared to which walking on explosives sounded like a pleasant pastime activity. If only he had never undertook this mission! He half wished he could go to McGonagall and say he was quitting, but he knew that would only mean a lot of nagging questions and inquisitive looks, to which, he could not help but admit, McGonagall would be perfectly entitled. No, he would have to face Miss Granger, and simply hope that if he scared her more than she scared him, he would somehow make it through their meeting unharmed.
Still, when – at exactly eight o'clock – the knock on the door came, Snape could not help but tense. "Enter," he said, trying to make his voice sound cold and distant as he anxiously directed his gaze towards the door. Almost immediately it opened and Miss Granger marched into the room.
"Hello, Severus," she greeted him, smiling brightly as she made her way over to his desk. "How was your day? Have you taught the first-years yet? Aren't they simply adorable?"
"I would hardly call them that, Miss- Hermione," said Snape tartly, willing himself to meet Hermione's gaze. "There may be one or two exceptions, but the rest of them are as thick-headed as a bunch of Flobberworms."
"Maybe you shouldn't be so demanding," countered Hermione. "I actually found most of them quite bright."
"By your questionable standards, perhaps," sneered Snape. "But why don't we cut the small talk and get down to business? Unlike you, I do not have time to spare."
As if by magic, Hermione's smile vanished. "If you plan to insult me, Severus, I might as well stop wasting your precious time altogether," she said heatedly. "If you're in a bad mood today, there's no need to take it out on me. So either you treat me with at least a bit of respect or we can go straight to Professor McGonagall and tell her we're giving the job up because some people simply refuse to cooperate."
Snape threw her a withering look. "Very well, then," he said testily. "I shall try to behave."
Hermione sighed. "Yes, that's the best I can expect from you, I guess. So ... let's get started, shall we? I think you still owe me a proper affectionate look from yesterday."
Snape's response was one of his deadliest glares, but it was done merely to cover up his real feelings. If only Hermione knew what change he had undergone since yesterday, maybe she would not look so surprised when he eventually gave her a look diametrically different from the one he had produced then. He tried to convince himself that it was all just an act, similar to the one Hermione had put on, but deep inside he knew it was not quite so.
Hermione, meanwhile, looked at him with wonder. "Wow, that was ... quite good, Severus," she admitted with appreciation. "I would never have thought you had it in you."
"Of course you would not," said Snape curtly, quickly dropping the unusual arrangement of his facial features and replacing it with his customary sneer. "It is not an expression I generally wear for the public to see."
"Well, I don't think I'd have been half as scared of you in Potions if you did," smiled Hermione. "Anyway, that's that, so what now? I'd say trying out some gestures of tenderness would surely not go astray..."
Snape gave her a suspicious look. "Such as?"
Hermione shrugged. "Well, you know, caressing my hand, or my knee ... or the like," she finished quickly, unable to withstand the intensity of Snape's gaze.
"And what exactly do you propose we do?" inquired Snape, the tone of his voice not exactly inviting.
"Well," said Hermione uncertainly, but with a hint of determination, "we could pretend we're sitting down next to each other at the party, and then you could start caressing my hand, and ... and you could try using your imagination too, you know." She looked defiantly at Snape, as if daring him to protest.
He didn't. "Very well then," he said instead, though he did look as though the words caused him immense suffering. "Sit down." He gestured towards the one hard-backed chair in front of his desk, usually reserved for his victims awaiting their punishment. At the same time he stood up and walked over to said chair, eyeing Hermione coldly as she sat down. Then he knelt down next to her and took one of her hands in his, slowly running his thumb down her palm. Having done this several times, he brought the hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Then, as if what he had done had scared him, he quickly dropped the hand and gave Hermione a challenging look.
Hermione smiled at him. "That was better than I had hoped," she said encouragingly. "Let's try again, just this time try not to look like a martyr, will you? Could you possibly combine it with that affectionate look you showed me earlier? Then it'll be perfect."
Snape scowled but said nothing; he knew Hermione was right. He also knew he could not help but enjoy what he was doing, and the fact unsettled him horribly. He wished he could hide his feelings behind his regular mask of coldness, but instead he was being asked to do the exact opposite. He wondered whether even the Dark Lord himself had ever pushed him this far. He seriously doubted it.
Noticing Hermione eyeing him expectantly, he had to act, however, if he were not to lose his face. Sighing inwardly, he once again took Hermione's hand into his, but this time he looked straight into Hermione's eyes, putting as much passion into his gaze as he dared without losing control. Hermione returned the gaze and for a while their eyes remained locked, before Snape could bear it no longer and lowered his gaze. The affectionate expression stayed on his face as he ran his fingers down the back of Hermione's hand, however, caressing it as if it were a precious jewel. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione close her eyes. Could she, too, be enjoying the experience? Or was she just acting?
Getting this far in his thoughts, Snape knew it was time to stop. What did he care if Hermione was enjoying herself or not? He disgustedly dropped her hand and stood up.
"Satisfied?" he asked curtly.
Hermione slowly opened her eyes and nodded. "Professor McGonagall herself would be proud of you. Really, one would almost think you meant it."
Snape flinched at the comment, but immediately collected himself. "Is that not what we were aiming at?" he asked, arranging his face into a self-satisfied smirk as he did so.
"Well, yes, of course it is," admitted Hermione. "It's just that ... oh, nothing. I suppose we've done all we could now, haven't we? So unless you've got any other ideas as to what we could try, I'd better get going, I guess."
Snape gave her a look of momentary surprise, as until then he had considered it his own domain to dictate the terms of their parting, but he did not consider the matter worthy of verbal comment, and so he simply said, "Very well. We shall meet on Saturday, then. I dare say the Headmistress will summon us both to her office for some last minute instructions."
Hermione stood up. "Yes, she probably will, won't she?" For a moment she hesitated, as if she wanted to say something more, but then she obviously thought better of it and merely said, "Well, good night," before heading for the door.
"Good night," said Snape thoughtfully, watching Hermione's retreating form until the door snapped shut behind her. Then he went to sit behind his desk. He suddenly felt cold and empty, as if all warmth had left the room with Hermione. Could he possibly miss her already? Nonsense! Where on earth did these blasphemous thoughts keep coming from? He was sure there was a perfectly logical explanation for how he was feeling. The room was simply cold, that was all. And since he was no longer distracted by Hermione, he got the opportunity to notice it. There, that was easier than he had thought.
Satisfied with his deductions, he decided to go over next day's lesson plans, but he soon found he could not concentrate. When, for about the tenth time, Hermione's face floated up in front of his eyes, he disgustedly shoved the plans away and rose. Maybe a walk would do him good. Deducting a few points from students out of bed had so far never failed to lighten his spirits, and so in pursuit of this favourite pastime of his he briskly left his office and headed towards the kitchens, where he was bound to catch somebody harassing the house-elves for some extra treats.
The corridors were dark and deserted at this hour, just as he liked it. He breathed in the cool night air, trying to clear his head, but instead the faint odour of something burning entered his nostrils. He inhaled again, but the smell did not go away. Instinctively, he drew out his wand, and then began to follow the scent, curious to find out its source. The unpleasant smell grew stronger as he turned the next corner, and that was when he also saw what (or rather who) was causing it. Peeves the poltergeist was floating in mid-air, holding a burning torch next to the portrait of a fat monk, who was cowering in the corner, presenting a certain part of his anatomy for all the world to see. Cackling like a lunatic, Peeves was systematically nearing the torch to the canvas until he singed it (while the monk emitted a high-pitched squeal) and then withdrawing it again, only to prepare for another attack.
Pressing his lips tightly together, Snape stepped out of the shadows. "Having a good time, I see?" he said silkily, drawing out his wand.
Peeves paused in his activities and flashed Snape a twisted smile. "Ah, your Professorship," he said with a mock bow. "What can old Peevesey do for you? Polish your shoes? Iron your robe? Wash your hair?" With the last word, Peeves let out a shriek of laughter and zoomed up towards the ceiling, where he blew a loud raspberry.
Snape, however, looked unconcerned by his insults. "Tsk, tsk, when will you ever learn some respect, Peeves?" he asked lazily. "I suppose we will have to teach you some manners, won't we?" He fingered his wand ostentatiously.
Peeves's smug smile vanished as he eyed the wand apprehensively. "Peeves meant no harm, your Professorship," he said smarmily. "A little joke it was, 'tis all."
Snape raised his eyebrows. "A joke, you say? Well, in that case I have a joke of my own to share with you. Exuro!"
A burst of orange flame shot out of Snape's wand, hitting Peeves directly in the backside. The poltergeist squealed like a wounded animal and flew through the ceiling like a bullet, leaving Snape standing in the deserted corridor with a smug smile on his face.
"Thank you, kind sir," said the previously tormented and now rescued monk, turning to Snape only after making sure that Peeves was definitely gone. With a hint of amusement, Snape noticed that his robes were still smoldering. "If ever you need anything, I will be at your-"
"Yes, yes, I shall bear it in mind," said Snape distractedly, for his attention was already directed elsewhere. He had heard a distant sound, a girl's giggle to be precise, and that could only mean one thing. A student out of bed.
Like a dog on the scent of a hare, he greedily set off toward the sound, which he guessed had come from behind the door of a nearby classroom. Making good use of his long legs he reached the door in a matter of seconds, and then paused to listen. Soon he was rewarded for his patience, for he heard it again, a girl's giggle. Satisfied, he threw the door open with a deafening bang.
There were two students in the room, a boy and a girl, whose position could only be described as compromising. For a fleeting moment, before they broke apart with a frightened jerk, Snape thought that the girl might be Hermione, for her hair looked very similar from behind, but when she turned to face him, her expression resembling that of a cornered rabbit, he realized that it must have been merely his recently awoken fantasy playing tricks on him. He quickly pushed the blasphemous image from his mind and concentrated on putting on his customary you-are-in-trouble expression.
"Fifty points from Hufflepuff," he said silkily, drawing sadistic pleasure from the paralyzed expressions on the couple's faces. "Each," he maliciously rubbed salt into the wound.
A rather oppressive silence filled the room, always a necessary part of such a confrontation. Snape knew his victims would need a couple of seconds to gather their wits, it was rarely otherwise. Why, he would gladly allow them the luxury of properly enjoying their state of shock; after all, that was what he lived for, the power he had over them, the fear he instilled in them. If his judgement were to be trusted, he would not see these two prowling the castle after dark for quite some time to come.
Curiously, it was the girl who recovered first, throwing Snape a furtive glance, muttering a barely audible "Yes, sir," and then scurrying out of the classroom faster than a mouse with a hungry cat on its heels. Her boyfriend followed suit soon after. Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Snape trailed after them at a leisurely pace. As he had hoped, he now felt decidedly better. Perhaps he could even go and finish looking at those lesson plans without the image of a lovey-dovey looking Hermione permanently swimming in front of his eyes.
Hermione.
For no apparent reason, his mind wandered back to the girl in the classroom. How on earth could he have thought that it had been Hermione? Then again, what if it had? What then? How would he have reacted? Despite his better judgement, his imagination inadvertently created the corresponding image. Hermione kissing somebody else ... no, no, that was simply wrong, he could not allow that, for he himself wanted to be kissed... Another corresponding image, then, one that caused his heartbeat to accelerate rather rapidly and a strange tingling sensation to spread all the way to his fingertips...
He snapped out of his trance with a shudder, feeling absolutely disgusted with himself. He simply could not believe where his thoughts had just led him. And he had let them! He, Severus Snape, daydreaming like one of his teenage lovesick students! What was happening to him? Had his famous self-control left him for good? Were the Dark Lord still alive, he would not have lasted even two seconds had he allowed himself to slip in this horrible manner...
The thought rather unsettled him. Surely this was just a temporary phenomenon? Surely it would pass in a day or two? After all, he relied on his self-control! It was one of the few things in this world he could rely on! Things he could not control had always scared him, for he did not know how to deal with them. Unfortunately, the situation with Hermione fitted this description perfectly. If he could stomp out any thoughts of her from his head, he gladly would, but for reasons he could not quite grasp he was hopelessly unable to do so (even Occlumency seemed to be failing him now!). Why, he could not even understand why he kept thinking about the girl in the first place! He did not like her, he did not care for her, so why, why should he think about her all the time? What had she done to him? Had she bewitched him in some way? No, he did not think her capable of something so vile... But if not this, then what? Was it really just the way she had looked at him? Looked at him in a way that nobody had ever looked at him before? Could it be that, contrary to what he made the public believe (and contrary even to what he himself had gradually come to believe), he secretly craved for somebody to care for him? Even if it were to be the Granger girl? Was he really so desperate?
What? Had he really just thought that? He must be losing his mind. Of course he did not need anybody meddling in his life. People were cruel, people knew only how to hurt and betray him, and so he had learned not to expect anything from them, not to trust them. And up till now, it had worked, he had got on perfectly well on his own, so he saw no reason why he should want to change that just because a girl had pretended to look at him with a bit of affection in her eyes. Therefore he would go to bed, take a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and, come morning, he would think about this foolishness no more.