DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters or setting – those belong to JK Rowling, to whom I am eternally grateful for creating the Potterverse. I'm just taking a couple of her characters out for a spin, but promise to return them, only slightly the worse for wear.
A/N 1: This story is AU in that Severus Snape did not die. A rather brainy brunette saved him after Nagini's attack in DH. As much as is possible, I'll make this canon-compliant, though I'm ignoring the epilogue.
A/N 2: Special thanks, as always, to Felena1971, my trusty co-author/beta reader for her constant support and creativity.
Chapter 3: Fall Colors
Part one: Severus
Of course, word of my indiscretion has spread quickly. Minerva has called me to her office, and I have no doubt what she wants to talk about.
"Golden snitch," I grumble to the gargoyle, and it leaps aside to let me in. Minerva is more keenly interested in Quidditch than is entirely proper for a witch of her age.
"Do sit, Severus," she invites me, once I arrive in her office. "Ginger newt?"
I shake my head and sit, arms crossed over my chest. She eyes me shrewdly.
"Yes, Minerva? I am a busy man, and I assume you did not invite me here just to offer me a snack." Get to the point, woman!
"Severus," she says, not unkindly, "Tell me what's going on with you and Hermione."
Behind her, Albus shifts in his frame. He appears to be asleep, but if I know the barmy old codger at all, he's listening intently.
"With all due respect, Minerva, I'm not sure that it's any of your business." Besides, how can I possibly tell her what's going on with me and Hermione, when I don't even know, myself?
She raises her eyebrows at me, but is undaunted. "I agree," she says, "that since she is no longer a student at Hogwarts, there is no impropriety in the two of you dating, but –"
"Dating?" I splutter, in a most undignified manner. (Albus has abandoned all pretense, and is now visibly awake, eyes wide.) "Minerva, we are not 'dating'! It was one kiss! One horribly misguided kiss!" (Albus gives me a grin and a wink.) I attempt to set my face again into its traditional expressionless mask, though the damage is done. My private affairs are now on the table, so to speak. Not that I am having an affair with Hermione, private or otherwise, on the table or anywhere else. It is merely a figure of speech.
"According to my many sources, Severus, I believe you are deliberately downplaying the event. I heard it was a bit more than one kiss. In fact, I heard that for several minutes it was impossible to tell where one of you stopped and the other began." She smirks, and Albus puts his palm on his face in a cartoon gesture of amused shock.
I open my mouth to protest, but nothing comes out.
"Regardless, Severus, it was a kiss that was witnessed by a large number of your students – and I daresay the rest will certainly have heard about it by now. I thought you might need to talk things over a bit before you are back in the classroom as their professor."
"No, thank you, Minerva," I tell her, as though I have everything perfectly well in hand. In truth, I am dreading facing the little monsters. I shall have to be at my most forbidding, take house points liberally, and threaten detentions. They will quickly learn to fear me again.
"That's fine, Severus. But please do keep in mind that you may come to me anytime if you need me." It's exactly what Albus would have said, were he still Headmaster. He smiles down at her proudly. "In the meantime, although you and Hermione may not have broken any school rules, Poppy is concerned for the integrity of Hermione's certification program. She would like to see you both in her office at four o'clock today."
I groan involuntarily. If there's one thing I want to do even less than talking things out with Minerva, it's talking things out with Hermione!
Albus shrugs, empathetically, as if to say, "What's a wizard to do?" I roll my eyes at him.
"Thank you, Minerva," I say, and take my leave.
As I descend the spiral moving staircase, I check my timepiece. Nearly an hour remains before I must be in Poppy's office for what promises to be a terribly uncomfortable meeting. My own quarters will be the best place to unwind in the interim. As I continue downward toward the dungeons, my fingers curl around the inkbottle in my pocket. Hermione and I have not seen each other since the end of the pumpkin-carving contest last night, but I have, thanks to this little item, had some insight into her frame of mind. I had managed to slip the bottle into her room just before we all left for Hogsmeade, and she put it to use almost immediately upon her return.
After Hagrid's wagon returned us to the castle last night (and it was a particularly miserable hayride, with snickering brats and a smug-looking Filius), I went straight to my quarters and poured myself a glass of elf-made wine. I could not stop thinking about what had happened – how I had lost control, and how she had responded in such an unexpected way. Had anyone ever asked me what Hermione Granger would do if I were to grab her and kiss her, I would have bet galleons that she would smack me quite firmly across the face. But instead… she seemed to welcome the contact, at least after the initial shock wore off. It didn't make any sense at all – the girl detests me. So when I noticed that the ink in the twin bottle I had left on my own desk was changing colors, I was intrigued. She had found the gift inkbottle and started to use it. Incredibly, she wrote last night for over two hours! She has, indeed, become quite dependent upon that journal…
The ink in my bottle – and hers – started off red… Anger. Yes, that made sense. She was clearly angry before I grabbed her, and I could certainly imagine that my actions riled her further. Very quickly, however, the ink changed to orange – embarrassment. Again, this reaction made sense to me. I was quite embarrassed myself by the pumpkin carved by my own house (I'll deal with them soon enough!) and by the smirk on the face of Filius fucking Flitwick. I downed the rest of my wine, and disrobed for the night. But the inkbottle was still warm and orange – the girl was still writing.
Curious, I took the inkbottle to bed with me. By the light of the torches, I could see the color of the ink darkening. It settled into a murky brown, as if several colors had been mixed: confusion. Perhaps she was as confused about me as I found myself about her. Why would a girl who despises me melt into my arms the way she did? Reach her hands up into my hair and pull me deeper into the kiss, moaning slightly against my lips, and pressing her body into mine? Against my will, I found my body responding to the memory. If I ignored the response, I hoped, the problem would go away. It would be utterly wrong to indulge these baser instincts with Hermione Granger on my mind. I lay as still as possible so the silky fabric would not slide against sensitive flesh and make matters worse.
She must be just as puzzled by the incident… Our relationship has been almost exclusively antagonistic. The animosity has dulled lately into what has been a strictly professional arrangement as we have worked together this year. But never have I given her any indication that I want anything remotely resembling romance, or even friendship. So why, then, she must be wondering, did I suddenly kiss her?
She goaded me into it, of course. She called me cowardly, and said I could not understand daring and passion. But why did I respond to her accusation by… by grabbing her in that way? Why in the name of Salazar Slytherin did I feel compelled to do something so – oh, I can't even bear to have the words form in my mind – so damned Gryffindor? My house is known for our cool control. For strategy. For analyzing a situation and playing it to our advantage. HER house is the one for impulsive idiots who grab others and kiss them passionately in public places! Perhaps working with her three afternoons a week is too much, and some of her less attractive Gryffindor traits are rubbing off onto me. The sooner her work with me is finished, the better.
The ink stayed brown for a long time last night. I had almost nodded off to sleep, and was about to extinguish my torches, when I noticed that the ink color had changed yet again. Purple. Passion. Ha – she must have given up thinking about me and turned her thoughts to the mystery gift-giver. I still find it amusing that she imagines there is some shadowy figure leaving her love-tokens. Although I certainly do not plan to tell her, ever, that the "gifts" have come from me, I take great pleasure in imagining her crestfallen face were she to discover that she did not have a lover, and that it was I who left those items, in order to manipulate our time spent together. How entertaining to think of her upstairs in her quarters thinking lustful thoughts about a person who doesn't exist. Sighing deeply, wishing he were there to kiss and stroke her, and bed her properly. Revoltingly, this line of thinking caused my earlier problem to reoccur. It took a long time after that for me to get to sleep.
When sleep did finally claim me, the inkbottle was still warm and purple in my hand. In the morning, I found it near my pillow: cold, and back to its neutral black color. Something else had happened in the night as well, and I needed to scourgify my bedclothes in the morning as though I were some horny third-year. How I loathe third-years. And they only get worse from there. What a disgusting beginning to what is sure to turn out to be a ghastly day.
Turning the inkbottle over and over inside my pocket as I return from the Headmistress's office, I feel it grow warm again just as I reach my quarters. What more could the girl possibly have to write, after spending so long with the journal last night? She has too much free time on her hands. She must need more research to keep her occupied; I shall have to assign her more work. I slide down into my most comfortable armchair. When I pull the bottle from my robes, the ink has turned saffron yellow – the color of fear. Hmph – she must be afraid to face me after the way she behaved. That is good. Fear makes her weak, and I will have the upper hand, as always. I check myself in the mirror to make sure I am at my most imposing. With the addition of my well-practiced scowl, I ought to be able to make her shiver with dread.
But when I return to my armchair and the side table where I left the inkbottle, I see the worst: blue. She is pouring her sadness into the journal. I can only hope she gets it all out on paper before our meeting which is now in only… ugh… twenty-five minutes. That's all I need – a tearful Hermione Granger on my hands. What the hell is she so sad about, anyway? Did imaginary-lover-boy not meet her overblown romantic expectations?
Part two: Hermione
"Biscuit?"
"No thanks," I say. I'm too nervous to eat anything.
In my peripheral vision, I see Severus turn down a biscuit with a shake of his head. I don't want to meet his eyes.
Poppy takes a biscuit herself, and munches on it thoughtfully, looking from Severus to me, and back again. The only sound in the room is her chewing, and it's grating on my already-frayed nerves. I'm exhausted. I didn't sleep well last night at all.
Hannah and Neville had offered to take me to Poppy when we got back to the castle, because I was so shaken by what happened between me and Severus in front of the Shrieking Shack. Though I turned them down, I probably should have accepted their offer, and asked Poppy for a Dreamless Sleep Potion. But no – instead, I went to my quarters, my mind spinning. I couldn't wait to write in my journal and try to sort out my feelings. And there it was…
On top of the journal was a new bottle of ink, with a note attached. Use me, it said. So I opened it up, dipped in my eagle-feather quill, and began to write. I had been thinking about Severus all the way back to the castle. He could be so infuriating! If he had a good reason for not calling on me in class, then why didn't he just say so in first year, and saved me years of hurt feelings? I would have understood. He has always underestimated me. As he underestimates all Gryffindors! Imagine – calling us reckless and sentimental. He irritates me no end! And such nerve he has, anyway, discounting us for being emotional, when he has no capacity for it himself. Why I ever bothered to save his useless life in the first place, when he won't even live it… What a waste. It makes me so angry that he hides away in the dungeon and refuses to embrace life. As I wrote, I noticed that the ink had turned bright red. I didn't think too much about it, until the next moment, it turned orange!
And then, in response to my challenge, Severus did embrace life… or at least he embraced me. What a shock – I didn't see it coming at all. I am humiliated that I responded the way I did. How embarrassing to have asked for more, more, more (not with words, of course, but with my actions), as if I had been craving his touch. I imagined him in the dungeon laughing at me. He knows I have been dating Ron forever – does he now think that I don't have a gratifying sexual relationship with Ron, and that I am seeking satisfaction wherever I can find it? What a mortifying thought.
But then, it is sort of true – I mean, not the part about seeking satisfaction anywhere, but the part about Ron. It's so confusing to love him as I do, to be so much a part of each other's lives, and yet to be – I don't want to say it, even to myself – unfulfilled. And it is just as confusing to have found myself feeling so physically alive when Severus kissed me! I don't love Severus. I have never thought of him in sexual or romantic terms. Yet – I was undeniably turned on by his passionate embrace. My knees went weak, my heart beat wildly against my ribs… But Ron is the one I love! And when he kisses me… Oh, it's the most perplexing thing! When Ron kisses me, I admitted to my journal – but would never say the words aloud – my mind tends to wander, more often than not to my work, but sometimes to food (if I'm hungry), or to what the others are doing, and whether I'm missing anything fun with Harry, Ginny, or George. The ink had turned brown, as if reflecting the swirling, muddy confusion of my thoughts.
So, I asked my journal (as if it could answer!), what was it that made me react so strongly and (I shuddered with revulsion) so passionately to Severus's kiss? Why the weak knees and wildly beating heart? If it's not love – and obviously it's not! – then, it must be… lust? No! I don't lust after Severus, what a hideous thought! Maybe it wasn't Severus himself that made me feel that way, but merely the physical experience of being kissed that way, which any man could do, even perhaps Ron, with a bit of training…
Severus had grabbed me roughly, pulled me to him forcefully, planted his lips on mine with almost bruising force. Do I secretly desire this cave-man behavior? Some part of me must, because as I wrote about it, I could feel myself getting damp. Oh, Merlin, I wrote in horror, Severus Snape makes me soak my knickers? No – no… Not him! He can be so… cruel. Could that be part of the attraction? Of course not, I answered myself, in what had become a deep purple ink. I do not desire a cruel lover. But… though he is frequently cruel the classroom, he was not cruel when he kissed me. He was passionate, possessive, hungry, as if he couldn't get enough of me. And I… I must have lost my mind entirely, because suddenly I couldn't get enough of him. When my fingers laced into his hair, I thrilled at how soft and silky it was. When my lips parted for him, I wanted to devour him and be devoured by him. When I pressed my body into his I felt his arousal and my own and I shuddered with need. I think I would have let him take me right there: I had completely forgotten where I was, or that there were students watching us, or that I was supposed to dislike the powerful, sexy wizard in my arms. If Filius hadn't watered us down, in fact, I might have spontaneously combusted – the kiss was so heated, the passion so fiery.
The more I admitted to my journal about how I felt last night, the more aroused I found myself getting. I finally closed the journal, and placed it and my new inkbottle and quill on the bedside table. I shucked off my clothing, pulled on my nightgown, and crawled, shaking, into bed. I couldn't sleep – Severus kept invading my thoughts, undressing me with his smoldering eyes, kissing me passionately again, stroking me with his slender and nimble fingers… and more. I was so worked up that I tossed and turned for what seemed like ages, until… well, I finally found some release.
I hadn't kissed anyone but Ron since the Battle of Hogwarts… until last night. And I certainly hadn't… well, my fantasies last night have left me feeling unspeakably guilty, as though I cheated on Ron. And not even just with some random man, but with – ugh! – his old nemesis, the only man he hated worse than Draco Malfoy! I mean, we've all had to revise our opinions of the man since his true role became known, but Harry is really the only one who I can say has actually befriended him, even after all these years. I tolerate him, because he's brilliant and I want to learn from him. But Ron… Ron still distrusts and detests him. I am a horrible, awful woman. Why can I not feel that hot, fiery passion for Ron, who I love, and instead find myself with my knickers in a twist over – blech, it's just too appalling for words – Severus Snape?
And now, I cannot look at Severus. He is sitting about three feet from me, and – damn! – my nerve endings are all at attention, as if they want his touch again! I shiver, involuntarily. This is so bad… and so wrong. I am experiencing some deviant physical reaction to him, but I absolutely do not like him. And I know he doesn't like me much, either. This will go no further. I will go to the library immediately following this meeting and find any and all resources about Occlumency to see if it is something I can learn myself. And I must learn to control my body so that he does not have this effect on me – quickly, as our next study session is tomorrow afternoon!
Poppy brushes the biscuit crumbs off her fingers, and leans forward in her seat, looking very concerned. "You know I should report your behavior to the St. Mungo's Advanced Healer Training Coordinator. I don't think he would be thrilled to hear what I have heard from a number of eyewitnesses. But I wanted to speak with both of you first. Tell me, do you feel your working relationship has been compromised?"
Oh, it's exactly as I had feared. When I got the summons to come to Poppy's office today for a joint meeting with her and Severus, I knew she was considering ending my training with him! I was so worried that I pulled out my journal again, and wrote a bit more. The strange ink turned a dark yellowish color. What would become of my training program if that one kiss ended my work with Severus? How could I possibly learn as much from anyone else as I can learn from him? I dreaded the idea of losing this incredible educational opportunity. Would I have to give up my dream of specializing in Dark Arts Damage Reversal? And then, I realized in a moment of panic, would I have to marry Ron, because I would no longer have a reason to delay?
As I saw what I had written about Ron, my heart grew heavy. Marrying Ron will be a good thing, and I mustn't think those kinds of thoughts. But things would be so different – marrying Ron, working at St. Mungo's on the regular healing wards, no longer seeing Severus during the week to discuss important concepts and learn fascinating things… If this meeting goes poorly, I wrote, I will be quite depressed. The ink, as if sympathizing with me, turned a deep blue – sorrows as deep as the ocean itself.
I know I do not want my working relationship with Severus to end. No matter how uncomfortable things might be, I will find a way to struggle through them. I will learn Occlumency on my own. I will keep my desires to myself. (Why my traitorous body wants this maddening, exasperating, brutal man anyway is beyond me. Certainly I can squash such illogical feelings.)
"No, Poppy," I tell her decisively. "I do not believe our working relationship has been compromised. What happened was a mistake, and it will not happen again." My eyes are trained on Poppy, and I can feel, rather than see, Severus turn his head toward me. I close my eyes, and for a moment I think I must be channeling Mad-Eye Moody. It is as if I can see Severus clearly even with my eyes closed. His jaw has dropped open for the merest second, before he closes it, sets his face back to its usual impenetrable expression, and turns to Poppy.
Part three: Severus
How can she calmly inform Poppy that it was a mistake, and won't happen again? She was so angry with me last night, and so embarrassed and confused about what happened that I was certain she would blame me, as I was the aggressor, and claim that she was unsure she could continue to work with me. She had an opportunity here to publicly denounce me – to get back at me for treating her and her friends the way I did – and she did not take it. She could easily have painted me as the big, bad, older, predatory male who took advantage of her youth and innocence. What is she playing at?
Hermione is watching her shoes, while Poppy is watching me. They are both waiting for my answer to the question that is still hanging in the air.
I consider my options, as any good Slytherin would.
Option one: I agree with Hermione, and save some face, but am forced to continue working with the maddening witch for the rest of the year.
Option two: I disagree with Hermione, which saves me from working with her, but which requires me to say that I did intend to kiss her, that it wasn't meaningless, and that it could happen again.
Obviously, there is no question which option I must choose, though it damns me to spending further time with Hermione, and that promises to be an extremely frustrating experience. In more ways than one.
"I concur," I tell them. If I must agree with a Gryffindor, I will do it in as few words as possible.
She looks at me, just for a moment, and I can see the relief in her eyes. But in a flash, her eyes are back to the floor, and her cheeks are flushed. She is obviously relieved to hear that the kiss meant nothing to me. I see now. She was not playing at anything – she was telling the truth, and she does think it was all a mistake.
Poppy eyes us both again, somewhat suspiciously. "Fine," she says. "I will not report you at this time. But I insist on meeting with you both – separately – once each week, so that I can keep tabs on any issues that arise. Severus, I will expect you at 4pm every Tuesday afternoon. Hermione, I will see you at the same time on Thursdays. You are both excused."
I rise, looking contemptuous – I don't even have to try, as I cannot stand the idea of meeting with Poppy weekly to discuss anything, particularly anything as touchy-feely as how I am getting along with Hermione. Hmph. Even though I am condemned to continuing our thrice-weekly afternoon sessions, no one says I have to make them pleasant for Hermione. In fact, it sounds as if Poppy would prefer our sessions NOT be pleasant.
Hermione has also risen, and is dashing for the door. I am closer, and reach it first. I hold it open for her, and we exit together.
As the door closes behind us, I bend my head toward her ear. "I see I am still shackled with you," I tell her. "Am I to understand that you want to resume our work together, and never speak of last night's incident again?"
She turns to me, her eyes rimmed with red. "That's right, you haven't got rid of me yet, Severus Snape. And if you think you can scare me off with one kiss, you've got another think coming. I can take whatever you can dish out, no matter how humiliating!"
We are strolling down the hallway together, away from Poppy's office. "Humiliating! I should think it could only do your reputation some good to be seen with someone like me, as opposed to that child you have been seeing for so long, but have not yet seen fit to marry."
"That was a low blow, Severus," she says, and she swipes at her eyes with the sleeve of her robes. I have hit a nerve with that attack. "I detest you. I loathe you. You aren't good enough to lick Ron's boots. He's a good man, and you're… you're… you're an obnoxious, insufferable git!"
"If I am so loathsome, Hermione, why did you ever insist on working with me this year in the first place?" It has been a mystery to me.
Suddenly, she is no longer next to me. I turn around, to find that she stopped walking a few paces back and is just staring at me, incredulously.
"Severus," she says earnestly, "I insisted on working with you because you are the best. You, more than anyone, have incredible insight into Dark Arts and how to combat them. You are the one who put Draco back together after the Sectumsempra nearly killed him. You are the one who kept the curse contained to Dumbledore's hand for so long, buying him enough time to help Harry learn what he needed to do. I never considered anyone else. It was you, or no one."
"But…" I say, brilliantly.
"Severus Snape, you are the only person I would trust to teach me about the Dark Arts."
She wants me to reach back into my dark past, and teach her about the terrors I have experienced first hand, the horrors I have witnessed. She wants me to carry her into that darkness with me. And she trusts me to bring her safely out again. Why does she trust me at all? I proved last night, yet again, that I am not to be trusted.
I watch her carefully, and she immediately drops her gaze to the floor. "Be careful where you place your trust, Hermione. I would think that even a Gryffindor would have learned that lesson, after your many misadventures." I turn on my heel and sweep toward the stairs, leaving her standing still, mouth agape.
Does she know what she is asking of me? Though I know I can never be rid of that part of my past, I have succeeded in burying it deep. I would much prefer to leave it there, undisturbed. But I cannot refuse her. We will make this dark journey together.
A/N: Eep – I'm having a hard time with this story. Thank Merlin I have Felena1971 to keep me on track and to keep the characters in character. And… Poor Ron! I don't mean to make him out as a bad kisser or a bad lover, but just… you know, they're really better as friends, don't you think? A childhood crush. Hermione needs a man – older, experienced, and a match for her intellect. I can't wait to get them together – you know it's gonna happen – but Felena1971 holds the reins and is helping me slow it down so that the transitions will be more believable. I'm working hard to make sure it's worth the wait – for Hermione & Severus, of course, but for us as well. Your thoughts?
