'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away
You've gone away, you don't feel me here anymore.
The worst is over now and we can breathe again
I wanna hold you high, you steal my pain away
There's so much left to learn, and no one left to fight
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
Broken – Seether ft. Amy Lee
There was a tremor in her hands, despite having snuggly wrapped them around the cup of tea she'd yet to drink from. After regaining consciousness and some semblance of alertness, she had curled up on his sofa, her arms tucked between her chest and her knees, where her hands rested. She'd laid her head against her forearms, gaze blank as she stared into the hearth.
She hadn't said a word, hadn't looked in his direction, since Potter and Malfoy had begrudgingly left her in his care. Poppy, despite the hell she saw fit to give him, had sworn to both boys that Miss Granger couldn't be safer anywhere else, and the whole lot of them kindly got out of his hair.
While her words would've been true from a pure livelihood perspective under normal circumstances, the added reason for their accuracy unsettled him. Of course, she'd be safest with him. How could you be truly safe and secure anywhere but in the presence of one's mate?
He supposed it would be quite some time before his mind made peace with situation the evening had brought to light. Severus had long since stopped thinking about mates and bonds. When he didn't have better things to worry about, the idea had always seemed absurd to him. The absence of a mate from his life had seemed like the universe's way of punishing him for the many mistakes and misdeeds he'd committed, none of which he could atone for.
And yet, here she was.
He watched her, trying to wrap his mind around the school girl he knew and the idea of even having a mate to begin with. Somehow the girl he'd found tiresome for seven years was secretly his most suitable match. She was someone he would grow to love and care for before he could even consider desiring otherwise. The young woman before him and his own abstract idea of his mate were two separate entities, and yet they were the same.
Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor know-it-all, the brains of Minerva's beloved Golden Trio, the insufferable witch he'd taught for seven years, was the young woman he would be —was— unable to live without.
The fates were having a laugh.
Yet as he sat in the armchair across from her, studying her outside of a formal setting like his classroom or Order meetings at Grimmauld Place, he realized, quite harshly, that his luck could've been significantly worse. The circumstances were far from ideal, he could admit, but at least he knew the witch was competent. Powerful. She even had the rare streak of cunning under the right circumstances. She could learn from books, lectures, independent study, and, most importantly, from mistakes. He could teach her and she'd learn. She had the strength for the magic she needed to learn to help her survive the coming war. He could trust her to take care of herself for the most part.
She was capable.
But she was also a muggle-born. That fact alone made his already precarious situation as a double agent all the more dangerous. Unless they won the war, he would have to hide her away forever. No one could know about their bond without making the targets already plastered on both their backs brighter. And if they lost, their connection would be a death sentence for both of them. But if they managed to survive the war as victors, then perhaps their circumstances would find some semblance of balance, if nothing else.
A twisted sort of chance at happiness was dangling before him in the form of a confused and wary eighteen-year-old girl, the Gryffindor princess, the most brilliant witch of her age. His mate.
The most pressing issue he had to deal with for the time being, it seemed, was her reaction to their newly discovered bond and maintaining the bond itself.
"I would free you if I could," she said softly, surprising him out of his thoughts even though his expression remained untelling. "I'm sure there are plenty of other witches you'd have rather been mated to."
Severus frowned. "Miss Granger, any discontent I may feel in this situation stems solely from my trouble adjusting to the fact that you exist to begin with and the dangers that presents," he said slowly. "I expected any matters of identity would greatly affect you, however, and understandably so."
For the first time that evening, her dull, tired eyes met his own. "I didn't think you existed either," she said.
Despite knowing the influence of the bond was far beyond the realm of his control, Severus found himself angry beyond reason when he felt it pull his thoughts and feelings in one direction over another. The desire to accept her words, both spoken and unspoken, as truth despite being baffled that she claimed she didn't care who he was, just as he couldn't be pressed to give a damn who she was, proved to be too difficult to fight off.
"Well then," he said, "I suppose we have a lot to discuss, Miss Granger, if we're going to survive this and the war."
Her expression relaxed slightly. "Hermione, sir, if you'd like, of course."
After a brief hesitation, he nodded. It would be odd to maintain the formalities in private all things considered. "Severus."
The smile she gave him was small and hesitant, but filled him with a foreign sense of accomplishment nonetheless. He would adjust. To her. To the situation. To the bond.
They would adjust. He'd make sure of it.
How is everyone?
