Another enormous thank you to my betas and cheerleaders, Hikorichan, Melody Lepetit, TycheSong and Dragoon811.
You know none of this is mine :)
Severus could barely get his breath back after Poppy delivered her little bombshell. In love? With Hermione Granger? Hardly. It was a big leap from thinking she was utterly shaggable to being in love with the woman! Poppy was getting old; clearly her mind was going. It was quite sad, really. Luckily she was still perfectly capable of curing the little troublemakers of whatever ailed them, but otherwise it was clear that age was catching up with her.
He was rather more concerned with the difficult question of how to rid himself of his - partiality - towards Hermione. He thought back a few years, to when she had been his over-achieving, over-enthusiastic, immensely annoying student. Contrary to popular belief, Severus had never minded teaching. It had only been once Harry Potter arrived at the school that an enjoyable career with good perks had become a living hell. Arrogant little tosser, looking exactly like his arrogant little tosser of a father. And his friends! That berk Weasley, not as creative and funny as the twins, or as charming as Bill; not as rugged as Charlie or as pedantic as Percy - wait, that was a good thing - but every bit as sycophantic in Severus' opinion as Black had been to Potter senior. Granger was almost the worst, though, with her immense intellect channelled solely into "helping Harry" (God, he could practically hear her irritating voice now) rather than producing the work he knew she was capable of. Instead, he was forced to mark foot after foot of regurgitated textbook. He vividly remembered the way his heart sank when he heard the brash Gryffindor voices of Potter's year outside the Potions classroom. The more time he spent with Granger, the more she had annoyed him.
Severus smirked. He knew exactly how to get over his little problem. Familiarity breeds contempt, he thought smugly.
"Hermione. A word, if you have a minute?"
"Of course, Severus." Hermione sat back down in her chair as their colleagues shuffled out of the staff room after an interminable meeting.
"I find myself in need of assistance. I am in the process of redeveloping the Blood Replenishing Potion. I have a theory that the addition of a miniscule amount of firewhisky will thin the potion, thus allowing it to be absorbed into the bloodstream in a slightly more timely manner." Severus paused, and Hermione nodded encouragingly.
"That seems plausible. I remember Molly Weasley telling me once that when Arthur was bitten by Nagini, he lost blood more quickly than the healers could replenish it at one stage. And when you -" She stopped abruptly, her previously animated face blanching.
"Hermione, stop. Don't torture yourself. You thought I was dead; you were in the middle of helping Potter defeat the Dark Lord, and for Merlin's sake, you were eighteen years old!
"Make no mistake: I would be dead if you hadn't forced Poppy to retrieve me from the shack. I'd taken the antivenin, but as was the case with Arthur, it was the blood loss that would have killed me if I hadn't been found in time. I don't blame you for leaving, but I do thank you for making sure I was found."
Hermione nodded. She swallowed hard, then asked, in a slightly too brittle tone, "So, what did you need my assistance with?"
"Arithmantic calculations. It's not my strongest suit, and there are so many variables in body weight, gender, age, general health, muscle tone - all the usual things. I need calculations on all of the above, with varying amounts of firewhisky. Ideally, I'd like to narrow it down to three potion strengths: male, female, and child. That's where your skills come in."
Severus was pleased with the outcome of his conversation with Hermione. Not only had she agreed to assist him with the calculations he required, but he had spent nearly half an hour in her presence without a single palpitation. Take that, Poppy Pomfrey. 'In love' my arse! He was relieved, too, to have finally broached the touchy subject of Nagini's attack and his own near-death experience. He'd been fairly sure Hermione was carrying a heavy weight of residual guilt about her part in his recovery, and he was hopeful that he had assuaged it somewhat.
After nearly a week of working with Hermione, Severus felt somewhat less smug. The potion was coming along nicely and he felt confident that his alterations would make for a more efficacious brew. His viral attacks (he refused, even in the privacy of his own mind, to call them panic attacks), however, had not improved. He never knew what would set him off, from the waft of her scent as she reached past him to cast runes over the cauldron, or the sight of her mad hair getting more and more unruly as she clenched her fists through it in frustration. And this bloody chamomile tea is giving me the bladder of a seventy year old with a dodgy prostate. She's got to notice how often I race off to the loo. Damn Poppy. I was perfectly happy thinking I was dying.
Hermione had noticed Severus' frequent dashes out of his private lab. She could only hope that it wasn't caused by an aversion to her presence. She had initially been sceptical of Poppy's announcement, but after her discussion with Severus about Nagini's attack, she felt a little more hopeful that the mediwitch might be right. Severus' frequent absences, though, were sending her self-confidence plummeting. If he were really in love with me, surely he could stand to be in the same room as me for longer than twenty minutes! Well, I suppose I can stop wondering whether to invite him to dinner. As if I'd have the gumption anyway. What would I even say? "Severus, would you like to have dinner with me? And then shag me senseless? You must have noticed I can't stop staring at your arse." I don't think so.
The more Hermione thought about what Poppy had said, the more she began to doubt it. After all, it wasn't as if Poppy had been sober at the time. No doubt it was a combination of boredom and alcohol that had led the mediwitch to make such an outrageous observation. Minerva wasn't much better. She had taken on, rather enthusiastically, Albus Dumbledore's mantle of meddling in the lives of those around her. The twinkle was lacking, admittedly, but Hermione felt that the motives were purer on Minerva's part.
But then, Severus had been so kind - gentle, almost - talking about the night he almost died. He seemed to be making an effort to talk to her, above and beyond their project. His lips quirked upwards in what could almost be termed a smile when she entered his lab. Hermione's spirits lifted briefly, and came crashing down when she remembered how often he absented himself from her presence. No one needed the loo that often, surely. No one under seventy-five, anyway.
Hermione sighed. She had convinced herself that Severus liked her and was attracted to her, then a split second later that he barely tolerated her and only put up with her because of her Arithmancy skills. Her emotional somersaults were exhausting. Bed, Granger, she told herself. And no fantasising about Snape's arse!