I haven't done this yet, but my infinite thanks go to you readers and fellow authors for leaving reviews somewhere on the first 6 chapters: ALIASTESIN, Amarenima Redwood, Angelusica, Angelwells, Ante162, Anthro79, AntigoneScorned, AurorasJenkins, Ava Allen, Ava-Potter gal, B2-the -ry2, BearyFunny66, bluefirely5, thebookworm90, bournespeed, butterflykisses69, The cat with blue eyes, Conquistador Imp, Consitura, dmeb, EccentricGhost, Ehann, Elli Cole, EllieMay Duncan, ennuinyx, everlanstingtrueromance, Goldilocks 92, Hanna, HarryPGinnyW4eva, idle lumberjack, JainaAngel, Jaxa, jitra, JM2010, kc, L'vanna, LadyBookworm80, LittlebigmouthOKC, LoveSpock, Mama Shmi, MarchesaLace, mehr03, MoonShadowAMR, mundy, nightkitty555, notyetanotheralias, Nutter4Potter, nyaw2468, ThePenIsMighty, pewterlocket, PheonixTheFire, phoenix-b, pixiefang15002, RhodaBush, Rocky181, Senshi at Heart, SevMione DuCaine, SeverusSneerwell, Shiv5468, Skievers, Smithback, Snapes-star, SophieAngel69, susu, Tar-Silmarien, TakersSoulMate, ATrueSlytherinAlwaysSS, Vess, Vinaplains, viola1701e, worrywart, write-this-song, zizou, and all of you mysterious, nameless guests.
I think many of you have been waiting for this reaction. I hope it doesn't disappoint!
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He picked it up off the floor of his closet and delicately unfolded it. Printed across the top were the words 'Reasons to Convince Severus Snape for a Proper Shag,' and beneath it were twenty-six numbered items. Twenty-fucking-six. He skimmed over the page. The first twenty-three were all in black ink, the next two in blue, and the final one was in green. He knew that Granger preferred a quill and ink to a pen when she worked at her desk, although she took a pen out with her in the field for the sake of practicality. What did it mean that she kept changing inks? If he was interpreting this correctly, the woman must have sat down, drummed up almost two dozen reasons why she wanted to give him her body, considered it some more and came up with two more reasons. Then she kept on thinking of him until she added one more and was finished.
Perhaps she was running out of ink, and she changed ink bottles in one sitting. He was more apt to believe that she came home completely inebriated or suffered under the side effects of some potion when she wrote this. She had one off night, scribbled out this list in a fit of drug-induced madness, and forgotten about it the next morning. That would explain things.
He examined the strokes again, noting a strong, clean line throughout.
So no. One lapse of judgment was not the case here. She sat at this very desk on at least three separate occasions with this task in mind.
It was insane, but it seemed to be true.
Hermione Granger had been meditating on his shaggability for weeks.
He read over the items a full three times before any of the words made any sense to him.
Roughly a third of them seemed to be accurate assessments of his intelligence. His unorthodox approach to his subject and his personal library were numbers 11 and 20. The depth of his knowledge, the sharpness of his wit, and the extent of his vocabulary were numbers 3, 16, and 5, respectively.
Only Granger would find that last one a turn on. He imagined pressing himself against her body, whispering words like "encomiastic" and "expatiation" into Hermione's ear and listening to her gasps of delight. No, he reprimanded himself. That way madness lies. He stopped that train of thought cold. It was only natural that a sharp bird like Granger would recognize and appreciate his intelligence. That didn't mean anything. She could say the same of herself or Minerva or Filius.
Another six or seven of them were related to what she perceived to be his character, but she seemed to be suffering under the delusion that he was some bloated, idealistic, tragically misunderstood hero. She noted his bravery in the war, his ability to protect the people who hated him the most during his year as headmaster, his endurance watching some of his students suffer at the hands of the Carrows in order that the ruse be kept up. His willingness to sacrifice his life and his own happiness for absolutely no public recognition or thanks.
Bravery! What a farce. He was scared shitless for pretty much all of both wars. He was entirely driven by guilt in the immediate aftermath of Lily's death in the first one, and in the second, he just had to make it long enough to send her son off to his own grave. Fear took a much greater role in the first war for him. At twenty-some odd years of age, he still held an inkling of belief that he might be find a more meaningful use of his talents or girl that didn't mind his company. He'd already given up any hope of ever being loved even then. Really, the thought was laughable. By the time the second war rolled around, Severus knew he had nothing to live for afterwards. Why not die? Even if he had died and been labelled a traitor, he knew what he had stood for. His death would have given his miserable life some semblance of meaning. As for his willingness to protect the students of Hogwarts under his reign of terror, who was she fooling? Yes, he kept students from being killed outright, but he wasn't able to do much more than that. He tried to prevent needless torture, and he disguised their punishments as best as he could, but why was Granger singling him out for that? He wasn't a monster. Anyone with a soul would have done as much. Pffft. She admired his selflessness? What a ludicrously optimistic little thing she was, thinking as though he could ever be a happy man. Life is all too brief and then you die. The end. Others distract themselves from this through their work or their spouses or their children, but that simple truth remained.
The description of his person made very little sense. She didn't seem to have vision problems, and he had never seen her wearing glasses of any kind, but something was clearly wrong. Her assessments had, at best, a tenuous relationship with reality. Number 11 on her list was what she called his "lean physique." That would be underdeveloped scrawniness, Granger. Number 17 was his nose. She'd drawn an odd cartoonish face with an open grin after that one, and it seemed to be winking. He had no idea what was happening in her mind about that subject. His nose was far too large for most people's tastes. Unless she was indicating the size of his... No, he thought. Granger wouldn't speculate about that, would she? Number 8 on her list was his hands. All right, so he could almost understand that one. A capable Potioneer's hands could come in handy in amatory pursuits, even if they were attached to his body. He would concede one point to Granger. His smile when he teased her? She was surely imagining things here. Severus Snape did not smile. Not even at intelligent, pretty young things who sought him out for discussions of politics and who awaited him toplessly in their quarters. His eyes made it on the list. Well, yes, he did have eyes. Another point to Granger, although he didn't know what having eyes had to do with wanting to shag him.
Number 1 on her list made the least sense of all. His heart. He didn't know if he should classify this item as referring to his body or his character. Anatomically, he did possess a heart, although a few decades' worth of erstwhile students might disagree. She had written that 'even he doesn't understand the depths of his heart.' What did that even mean?
Tired and overwhelmed, Severus folded the paper back in quarters and tucked it away under a pile of black socks in his dresser drawer. He pulled on his trusty grey nightshirt, brushed his teeth, and slid under the covers of his bed. As he drifted off the sleep, he reconsidered Hermione Granger and all he had learned about her this evening.
She had never told him of this list, hadn't written it after the fact to convince him to sleep with her. No, indeed not. Hermione had written out all of the things about him to convince herself that he was what she wanted most of all.
Well, well, he thought. So Professor Granger is smitten, is she? Interesting...
This changed everything.
Now that he knew of the extent of her esteem for him, there was only one woman he needed to speak with.
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"Poppy," he said, grave decorum written on his sharp features, "I feel it my responsibility to alert you to your professional negligence."
It was early, so the only patients present were those with complicated injuries and illnesses that required them to stay overnight. Two young Gryffindors, a Hufflepuff, and a Slytherin were still sleeping behind the hospital curtains.
Shaking her head and smiling, the school matron led Severus into an quiet corner of the infirmary away from other patients. A portrait of Renaissance Healer in odd garb was snoring away on the wall behind them. Poppy threw up a series of Privacy Charms in case any of the students awoke. With great forbearance, she sat down on the empty bed and patted the space beside her.
He sat down.
"Severus, my dear, what is it that you think I have neglected?"
"The staff undergo annual physical checkups," he said slowly, "but you fail to address their mental health needs during that assessment."
Poppy Pomfrey was the woman who had shown him more kindness in his life than any other, who had seen him at his worst when he was a child and nursed him back to health through two wars. In many ways, she was as close to a second mother as he was ever going to get. She took his hands in hers and looked him in the eye, deeply concerned. "Is something wrong, Severus? Have you been having self-destructive thoughts or experienced anything out of the ordinary?"
He pulled away gruffly. "This isn't about me, woman."
"Who is it about?"
He crossed his arms across his chest and looked away. "I will not disclose their identity. Confidentiality is required on matters such as these."
"If you can't tell me who this concerns, can you at least tell me what this is about?"
"I have reason to believe that a staff member is unstable."
Her demeanor was warm and soothing as she coaxed answers out of him."Why do you believe that?"
He blushed. "This person has been spouting nonsense of an indelicate nature."
"Ah, I see," she said knowingly, a small smile tipping up the corners of her mouth. "What has Hermione said to you that has rattled your cage so?"
A remnant of his spying days was his ability to show no reaction whatsoever when it served his purposes. He used it now.
"Am I wrong?" she gently prodded.
"I do not see why you automatically leap to that conclusion."
"The girl talks to you more than everyone else on staff combined. Not for lack of trying on my part, but you're always too busy to visit me, Severus. Besides, you're forgetting that I work with her once a week. She's as sharp as ever. It is my professional opinion that Hermione Granger is of sound mind and body."
"Is it difficult working with someone with impaired vision?" he asked, testing his other theory that Granger had simply gone blind, forgotten what looked like, and was now operating on a terrible memory.
"What are you talking about?" Poppy asked, now openly laughing. "She doesn't even wear glasses."
Severus nodded brusquely.
The older woman inspected him, methodically observing the slight flush of his cheeks, the bead of sweat at his hairline, and the way he avoided making eye contact with her. She sighed and stood before him, placing her hands on his slumped shoulders. "My dear boy, Hermione knows herself. I don't know what it is she's done or said to throw you into such a tizzy, but rest assured, she is not working with faulty evidence. She means what she says. You would do well to believe her and accept whatever it is she's telling you at face value."
She kissed him on the forehead, pulled him up to standing, and clapped his shoulders. "Now don't mess this up! She admires you, you know."
She walked away, chuckling to herself, leaving behind a very confused Potions master in her wake.
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He waited nearly a week before confronting Hermione. One awkward, tense week in which she ignored him almost entirely.
Of course, the weekend was easy to deal with, since she wasn't there. Even after Ginevra had insulted her so abominably, she had decided to go over to Chez Potter and watch their rugrats for them. She was far too soft, Hermione was.
Having made his decision, he showed up at her quarters on one of the evenings he knew she would be free. When had he learned her schedule? He didn't set about to do it, but there it was, a fact of his life. Severus Snape knew where Hermione Granger would be at almost every hour of every day. He doubted even followed Lily like such a sad puppy when he was a boy. He stood outside her door for a full three minutes before he lifted his fist and knocked.
"Just a minute!" he heard muffled through the heavy door.
A brief scuffle later, and she opened it, dressed in her pyjamas and wearing a robe belted tightly around her slight waist.
"Oh," she said, her voice flat. "It's you." She did not step aside to let him in as she usually did, but stood there, stony-faced and proud.
He barged past her and marched down the entryway.
"Yes, Severus," she mumbled sarcastically under her breath. "Do come in, will you?"
He heard the door close, followed by her slippered footsteps as she joined him in her living room. Having determined that there was no possible way to avoid the discomfort of this conversation, he decided to have it out with her as quickly as he could manage it. He paced back and forth behind her sofa.
"It has recently come to my attention that you would like to embark upon an intimate relationship with me."
"It has recently come to my attention that you wanted me to be evaluated for mental instability," she spat back.
He gasped. "Poppy told you that?" I thought I could trust—"
Hermione put her hand up. "No, Severus. She didn't tell me. I was worried about you, so I asked her if there was anything I could do anything to help you. She told me to be patient and supportive, and to ignore my concerns. When she left the room, one of the portraits spilled the beans and told me everything you said."
He rubbed the back of his neck. "I needed to know."
"You doubt yourself far too much, Severus."
She was already stepping on territory he preferred she would avoid. They were not this close. He wasn't this close with anybody.
"You're offering me a drink, Granger." He walked away before she could tear down any more of his walls. He summoned an empty glass and headed over to her liquor cabinet to pour himself a firewhisky. He downed one, poured another, and thrust the bottle into her hands.
Then he turned to her, drumming his fingers on his glass. He spoke slowly, determined to get out these words before he left her quarters again. "I believe we can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement."
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Also, the prize story for Goldilocks 92 has been posted. It's called "We Shall Have Snow," and it features what Hermione thinks is a chance encounter with Severus out walking on a winter's day. Short and sweet!
