Chapter Ten: Changed in the Night
"No, Severus. I'm afraid it's quite permanent," Albus looked more than a little upset, "Madam Granger, you have put both yourself and Professor Snape in a considerable amount of danger by performing this hex. How did you find this magic?"
"In the library, actually," she said quietly. She stared at Severus, sorry that she had put them in this predicament. If Dumbledore was worried, she knew it must be serious.
"Well," the headmaster continued, "I'm afraid that Corvin's spell has no counter curse, nor will it ever. His magic is ancient, and as with other blood bound spells, it is everlasting. Nicolas spoke of the curse to me once. His connection to Corvin was...complex."
"So, what happened to Lomiarti?" Hermione asked.
"I haven't the slightest idea what befell Corvin. Nicolas found his body in his home, but there were no signs of trauma, magical or otherwise. You see, Nicolas and Corvin Lomiarti did everything together. In Nicolas's days at school, Corvin worked on research with him which eventually led to the creation of the Sorcerer's Stone. According to Nicolas, it was Corvin's work with blood magic that made the stone powerful enough to grant everlasting life. The blood runes involved in the Animus hex are cut from a similar cloth. Now, the fact that you pursued this magic knowing about its peculiar side effects is none of my business -"
"I can assure you that had this been a normal situation, we would not have chosen this path," Severus's tone was flustered. Hermione knew he was right, this had been an emergency, a last resort. But, his intense renouncement of their connection made her feel self-conscious. He's stuck with the 'insufferable know-it-all' now, and he regrets it. She tried to push the thoughts out of her head. She needed to be logical if they were going to survive this.
"Nevertheless, Albus continued "you two will need to work things out soon. The effects of the curse will begin to take hold, and to ignore it would unfortunately lead to your eminent deaths. Nicolas lived his whole life in agony without Corvin, and without the potion of immortality, I am certain that he would have followed his friend to an early grave. He spoke to me about his loneliness often, how he would rather have died with Corvin than live another day," there was a long pause, "I cannot lose either of you. Not now, not while we are this close to stopping Tom's killing spree."
"I vowed to keep him alive," Hermione steeled herself, "and my promise still stands. You'll have your victory, Headmaster."
She fled from the office. Her emotions had invaded her thoughts in spite of her efforts to push them away. All they care about is winning. It doesn't matter who gets thrown under the stampede as long as Lord Voldemort ends up dead. Harry has turned to murder, the twins are making bombs, and all Albus wants is his justice. Severus shows up half-dead every night, but where are any of them then?
Instead of the dungeon, she headed straight for Gryffindor tower. She climbed the cold steps to the dormitories, her feet finally treading on the plush red and gold carpet of the empty common room. All the students had been in class for a while, it was almost noon, so Hermione skipped the bedrooms and went straight to the balcony. It was only a small overhang in between the two dorms, too cramped to gather with friends, but just the right size for a bit of fresh air.
The wind was crisp, in spite of summer's recent warmth only a month before. September was nothing but rain and turbulent temperatures. When the sun finally made an appearance, the heat returned, but Hermione could feel the greyness of winter approaching faster than usual. However, today was bright, overcast as usual, yet the dark green of the Forbidden Forest stretched out in front of her like a verdant quilt. The ancient trunks scraped a cloudy sky, soaking up the rays that managed to escape through holes in the firmament.
Viewing the macrocosm of landscape filled her up again. She put Dumbledore and the Order aside, and pushed her fears and stress from the forefront of her mind. Hermione could hear her father's voice in her head, "Don't forget to use your pockets when your hands are full." So, she saved her emotions for later. A few deep breaths and she was able to turn back into the stony heart of the castle and join her friends for lunch.
Back in Dumbledore's office, Snape was seething. Where had she just run off to? He rose to leave as well, but the headmaster's voice stopped him.
"Severus? What were you thinking? She's just a child," Albus' voice was acrid and biting.
"Well," Snape growled softly, refusing to face the old wizard, "I happened to be dying at the time, but perhaps you're right, Albus. Perhaps I should have turned her away and let her clean up a body instead of a little blood."
Albus was silent, his visage smeared with unbridled rage that only Severus had the privilege of witnessing. With the students, the Order, and the other professors, Dumbledore was the picture of patience. But, in front of Severus, there was no reason to hide.
"I will not be responsible for her," the headmaster threw up his hands, "I have protected those three all these years, but she is your charge now. Her death is on your conscience, not mine."
"Are not they all? This entire war has always been on my shoulders. Your only credit is your charming ability to keep a secret for ten years!" Snape was shouting, his anger palpable in the vaulted office.
"Your shoulders? What about Harry?"
"I've had just about enough of goddamn Potter."
"Yes, well," Albus opened the door for Snape to exit, "maybe your time with Madam Granger will remind you that you are not the only one making sacrifices."
The sound of the door slamming behind him was deafening, but Severus didn't care if he woke the entire castle. Before he reached the bottom step, his emotions were composed and contained, but Albus made him long for death like he thought the Dark Lord only could.
Later that day, Hermione took Ashes with her to the potions lab to make a few batches of medications for the hospital wing. Ashes was enjoying the high ceilings, lighting on this cupboard or that, and squawking at Hermione.
"If you're going to cause a raucous, you might as well help," she called to her owl jokingly.
Ashes flitted to her shoulder, his soft feathers tickling her earlobe. She placed him in an empty, shallow cauldron and continued her work. But the owl kept hopping in front of her, his claws digging into her ingredients.
"Ashes!" She laughed, "Oh, alright. You want to send a letter for me? That might keep you busy, you rascal."
She jotted down a quick note to her parents, carefully omitting almost everything that had happened to her over the last two months. Hermione tried to focus on the future, her eventual promotion, and her continued research. Her parents would like to hear those things about her life, but she wasn't sure if they would understand that melding her soul with her Death Eater potions master was good for the cause.
"There," she tied the note to Ashes' foot and carried him to the window, "Straight to mum's, if you please, and try not to scorch the postage."
She watched as he flew into the sky. He would reach them by morning, so at least she could work in peace for a while. Without her feathered distraction, Hermione completed large batches of blood-replenishing potion, bruise and burn healing pastes, as well as Pepperup potion. It was almost nightfall by the time she finished cleaning the lab, and Hermione was thankful to be on her way to her rooms, more than ready to snuggle up with a cup of tea and her advanced potions book. She wanted to brew a pot of Wolfsbane for Remus, but having never practiced before, she needed to read up on it fully.
The rest of her evening was blissfully uneventful, the anxiety in the headmaster's office this morning no more than a mere memory. She left a bowl of food out for Ashes and headed to bed. However, her sleep was racked with dreams. She woke up every few hours, unable to sink into an oblivious darkness. She kept running towards or away from people in her life. She chased Harry into the Chamber of Secrets, she ran from Lucius and Voldemort, and followed Snape into the Room of Requirement, only to find the Death Eaters waiting for her when she entered.
Hermione didn't feel like these dreams were as meaningful as the dream about her capture, which still haunted her sleep occasionally, but she could tell that her mind was being mauled by the stress of the Animus charm. The scar on her chest had healed at an alarming rate, but it burned. It wasn't noticeable until she was still for a while, but the heat from the cut was nearly always there, a constant reminder in the back of her mind.
Morning finally broke through her window, pale beams creating shafts of sunlight that flooded her bedroom. She showered, pulled on her robes, and started to leave when she heard a tapping on her window.
"Ashes?" She turned to look for her owl, but he was sound asleep in his bowl, a reply from her parents Scotch-taped to his leg. Inwardly, she giggled at her mother's attention to detail, and went to open the window for the other bird. She didn't recognize the barn owl, but when she read the letter, she immediately knew who it was from.
Hermione,
Please join me for dinner and lessons in the lab this evening. Eight o'clock.
S. S.
She gave a treat to the barn owl and watched Snape's note burn on the floor. Perhaps she would have a normal apprenticeship after all, she thought. But, somewhere in her heart, she seriously doubted it.
She pulled the note from Ashes and read her mother's loopy writing. They wished her well, told her all about how much Crookshanks missed her, and by the time she read to the end of the letter, Hermione could feel her throat clench with the grief of missing them. But, who had time for grief anymore?
At lunch, while Hermione was face first in a grilled cheese sandwich, Ginny came around behind the faculty table.
"Hey, Hermione," Ginny kneeled next to her.
"What are you up to, Gin?"
"Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to Hogsmead this weekend," Ginny asked.
"Saturday?"
"Yeah," she paused, "It's just that the Fall Ball is only a few weeks away, and I have absolutely nothing to wear."
"Fall Ball?" Hermione could only remember Hogwarts hosting a Winter dance and an end of the year celebration of some sort, not a Fall Ball.
Ginny sighed,
"Parvati and Lavender are our student organizers this year. All of their themes are powered by their new favorite saying: 'Glamorous Gryffindors.' To make matters worse, the other houses are just as bonkers about it. So, we've been going to all kinds of events. We've had two dorm game nights already. It's sort of exhausting."
"I bet," Hermione tried to empathize. She had been so busy with studying, as well as trying to dodge Voldemort during her years at Hogwarts that she had barely made it to the Yule Ball, much less other smaller celebrations. She relented,
"Sure I'll go with you. You're going to need someone to hold your bags."
Ginny laughed and gave her a big hug,
"Thanks! I'll see you later!"
Next to her, Snape quietly chewed a lamb loin chop and drank his fourth tea. His mouth had been constantly full since Hermione sat down beside him.
"Someone's hungry," she said.
He grunted in reply.
"Are we still meeting tonight?" She asked, trying to pry some words out of his ravenous jaws.
Another grunt.
Fine. She picked up her book and began to make more notes about the Wolfsbane potion.
She could feel him reading over her shoulder, and he finally spoke,
"The harvest is almost here for the Monk's Hood."
"Not until next month. Do we have enough left for this season?"
"Plenty really, but I harvest every October."
"The Harvest Moon is on the...um," Hermione looked through her notes, "It's the twenty-fourth this year. Good, a Sunday. Maybe we can actually pick them at a decent hour."
"Snakeweed will be ready as well, but Sprout has that in her greenhouse," he said as he took another big gulp of tea, "and we'll have to be careful not to mix it with the aconite."
"Madame Pomfrey doesn't harvest the snakeweed herself? I thought everything was in the greenhouse." Hermione asked, thinking that it was strange that Snape would gather anti-nausea ingredients.
"Poppy couldn't pick a tulip without mutilating it," Hermione thought she heard the ghost of a chuckle, "The aconite pollen would kill the more sensitive plants. So, I maintain a garden in the forest."
"The Forbidden Forest?" Heading in there on a full moon in October was not one of Hermione's ideas for a good time.
He narrowed his eyes at her, trying his best to hold in a scathing remark,
"Yes. By the way, if I have to go to that bloody ball, so do you."
"What? Oh, Ginny was just asking me to shop, not to attend. I won't be attending," Hermione had no intentions of wasting precious time that could be better spent over a cauldron.
"No. You are a faculty member, and you are...ipso facto...a chaperone," she could see the corners of his mouth twitch into the slightest grin.
Hermione sat back in her chair, frustrated that she would have to free up a weekend just to chaperone a bunch of students. Her whole schedule would have to be rearranged! She pulled out her planner, flipping the pages in apparent hurry.
Severus rose in his seat, a giant lox and cream cheese bagel in one hand with a tea in the other,
"Oh, and do dress up. Albus will simply not stand for normal robes. Trust me, I found out the hard way."
He raised his eyebrows at her, shoving the bagel into his mouth, and disappearing from the table. She watched him leave, suddenly unable to look away. Hermione studied his mouth as he ate, the two thick lips opening wide to accommodate his food, a stray dab of cream cheese at one corner on his cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb, slowly, deliberately, and then quickly polished it off with a sweep off his peach tongue. She felt a surge of...something crash into her chest as she gazed upon his face, and at that same moment, he spun to look at her, just before he disappeared into the corridor. Their eyes met for half of a second, and Hermione thought he looked...surprised? Had he felt it too? He's just eating, and I'm ridiculous. She turned back to her planner before she could be any more embarrassed.
All through lunch, Severus felt her eyes on him. He was not ready to speak about what had transpired between them. He wasn't sure if he was ready to talk to her at all. He had promised himself that they would face it tonight, as professionals, over dinner. But, he could smell her. The scent of caramel and butter ruthlessly filled his nose. She was sitting close enough to him at the cramped faculty table to radiate a soft warmth that plagued his right thigh. Then, all he could think of was her thigh, and that just wouldn't do. She was half his age with her whole life ahead of her, and he was a scarred, broken, Death Eater spy. It wouldn't do to even consider her thighs...but, then he saw her watching him try to escape the dining hall. The blood rose in his arms and chest like a tiny heart attack. In a matter of mere milliseconds, Severus looked upon her face.
Her pouty mouth hung open in shock, and he could see the gleam of straight white teeth, visible just below her pointed Cupid's Bow. His eyes traced her proud jawline to a smooth, olive-skinned neck, and down into a buttoned, grey blouse tucked beneath her open robes. Now that he was back in his classroom, he tried to force himself to focus on something other than her buttery smell, but it lingered through the afternoon until his frustration at his pitiful lack of self-control inspired the wrathful dismissal of an entire room of second years.
Hermione was getting ready to meet with Snape, flustered from her reactions earlier, and she tried to focus on her notes. She had questions about the stasis healing potions she was working on, as well as the Wolfsbane. Maybe they could brew a pot, just so she would have something to compare it to.
She looked at her watch and saw that it was already seven-thirty.
Shit. I haven't even showered.
Hermione hated to do it, but she charmed her hair into more manageable curls, cleaner at least, and she put on some makeup. The shower would have to wait. Besides, she thought, I'll be up to my elbows in potion water by the time I get back.
"There," she looked at herself in the mirror, "What do you think, Ashes? Decent enough."
She hurried out the door, dragonhide boots laced up to her knee, and went down the hall to the lab. Her boot heels thudded against the cold slab, and as she came upon the lab door, she saw that Severus was already brewing something. He was just getting started, adding the liquid ingredients, and raising the temperature with his brewing wand.
"Hey," she pushed the door open wide.
He looked up at her,
"Come in. I was just bringing my Wolfsbane up to boil. Get your cauldron from the closet."
She pulled down her cauldron from the wooden cupboard and found her wand in her robes.
"What am I brewing?" She called to him from the ingredients cabinet.
"We are brewing two batches of Wolfsbane. Mine and yours, so that when we are finished, you can figure out what you did wrong."
Guess he had a bad day. Hermione vowed to keep her distance, but she was nervous. She wanted to get this potion right the first time. She needed to make a large amount of it as soon as possible. If she could combine the Wolfsbane with the stasis potions she was researching, maybe she could make one batch of potion last an entire year. She knew it wasn't a cure, but she imagined how werewolves would only have to take one potion a year in order to stave off the lunar change.
Hermione combined her liquids and started adjusting her heat. After a few moments of waiting, she was happy to see that her color and viscosity matched Snape's potion as well.
She continued to prepare the solid ingredients, checking her notes every few seconds, double-weighing her products, and making sure she had enough aconite fluid.
"Don't bruise that Monk's Hood juice," Snape pointed to her vigorous motions with her mortar and pestle.
"What?" She hadn't read anything about bruises.
"If you're going to beat it like an egg, you'll poison your poor wolf in an instant," he sighed and plucked a few more violet, aconite petals from the sample. In a new pestle, he crushed the plant gently, pulling and pushing at the flower, "See? If you aerate the fluids, you're introducing too much oxygen to the potion. If you add froth to Monk's Hood, you get -"
"Poison. Oh, damnit. How could I forget?" She threw out the mutilated petals and began again. Just as she was about to add it to the cauldron, Snape stopped her,
"Did you add the Bloodroot yet?"
She paused with her aconite fluid midair,
"No. It doesn't give a specific order for solid additions after heating. Bloodroot pulp is a solid."
"It may be a solid for us, but when this potion was written, the pulp was considered a liquid. A thick one, but a liquid nonetheless. So, you're going to have to add it before the Monk's Hood juice."
"Shit, but this is almost at a boil. I can't add it after it reaches a boil."
She didn't get a reply. Snape stirred his pot and simply shrugged at her, a sly smirk on his face. Hermione cut her temperature and started swiftly slicing at the root, hoping that she could save the added it, finally, ignoring the tiny bubbles that breached the surface. Turning the heat up once more, she threw in the aconite and began to focus on the dry herbs.
By the time she had finished adding everything to her pot, she let it simmer and slunk down in her seat, her brow sweaty and her fingers sticky from handling all the sappy plants. She cleaned up, wiped down her station, and watched Severus as he worked. He was controlling two cauldrons, his multiple brewing wands working together like a machine. His deft hands drew out the necessary runes and his two potions slowed to a smooth boil. It was as if the entire table bent to his will. Did he want it thicker? It was instantly viscous. Was it hot enough? He could start and stop a boil in a matter of moments. Frustrated with her mistakes, Hermione hoped that skills like his could be learned, but she had a sinking feeling that he didn't make it on eighty-seven covers of Potion's Weekly by simple practice. Brewing was in his body, his skin and bones could sense the reactions and his brain weighed the calculations in his head. But, his timing - that was the real gift.
When he had completed both mixtures, he called for dinner and carried it away from the delicate cauldron contents. Hermione followed him, starving and exhausted. She pulled apart a honeyed crescent roll and dipped it in the gravy that covered a smoked turkey breast. They ate in silence, the earthy scent of their bubbling potions filled the room, and Hermione leaned back in her chair, clutching a never-ending goblet of cranberry juice like a shield. She knew it was coming. She could feel it. Snape wanted to talk about the Animus charm, and the...consequences. Hermione had to be honest, it needed to be sorted out, but she wasn't prepared to tell him that she had felt something for him over the past few days. If she was being completely honest, her feelings had began to stir before the curse, but she pushed that down into the back of her mind, fiercely burying it. This man had saved her life more times than she probably knew about, he had protected her, and he saw her for what she was - intelligent, cunning, and willing to sacrifice everything for the ones she cared about. Maybe Sirius was right, maybe they did have more in common than she had previously imagined. Lost in her thoughts, his voice startled her.
"I believe you and I need to...discuss what is about to happen," he vanished the plates, but mercifully left the cups, eyeing Hermione's death grip on her juice.
"Yes. Right," Hermione smoothed out her sweater sleeve and pulled out the notes she had gathered from all of her different sources on the hex, "I haven't found anything explicitly written about the...um...effects, but according to Albus, we are soon to be experiencing some emotional...connectivity."
"And Lupin was enough of a gentleman to brashly inform you that there will also be a..." he paused, and Hermione could see his pale cheeks rush with a hint of pink, "physical effect as well."
"Well, I think he meant that physical contact would help our...uh, souls?" She raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded, "help our souls to be reconnected as one whole piece, as opposed to whatever they look like now."
Before now, Hermione hadn't put much stock into souls, or love, or anything that wasn't relevant to her tasks at hand. But, whatever had happened, soul was the best way to describe it, valid or not.
They sat at the table for some time, stranded in the middle of an awkward silence, until Snape pushed back from the table and threw up his hands,
"Look, you're just a child. I can't physically or emotionally be involved with you. I could be your goddamn father, for crying out loud," he leaned into her, looking her in the eyes, "You have got an entire lifetime ahead of you, and I will probably be dead before Christmas. There is nothing that I could possibly give you that would make your life better."
Hermione was taken aback, and she was ashamed for thinking that he had feelings for her as well. She fumed,
"So, I'm just that repulsive, yes? A childish know-it-all that isn't fit to even be considered an equal?"
"Don't turn this conversation into a game just to feed your ego, girl," he snarled.
"My ego?" She was shouting at this point, "You have been nothing but abrasive through this entire ordeal. One minute I'm saving your bloody life, and the next you're throwing me out into the hallway, or attacking me in your quarters. I gave up a part of my fucking soul just so that you could survive, and how do you repay me? By inviting me here to tell me how unworthy I am of your time. And to think that I thought I could have feelings for you! Well, I congratulate you on thoroughly proving to me and everyone else that you don't have any feelings at all."
Any other day, she would have been in tears, but her eyes were clear and focused right on his face. She wanted him to throw her out, or prove her right, or anything. But, he just sat there, staring at the table. She put her head in her hands, reveling in the darkness, thankful she didn't have to watch for the slightest hint of an emotion on his face that she knew just wouldn't be there.
A slow, deep reply pulled her eyes back up to his,
"You have feelings for me?"
"Had," she snapped.
"Why?"
She mocked him, faking the tone of his voice,
"Don't turn this conversation into a game just to feed your ego."
He looked away again, this time visibly hurt. His eyes narrowed as he stared into his cup.
She sighed, not knowing why she was telling him, but she felt like if she had already admitted to it this far, she might as well go all the way,
"Look, I admire you as a person. Your accomplishments alone should be enough to validate your existence. But, you saved me from Voldemort, I'm sure plenty of times, and sometimes from myself in your class, and it made me a better person. I thought that you would be able to find it in yourself somewhere to actually care about me as a colleague, at least. But, if you just want to ignore each other, maybe this hex will just...go away? I don't know. We can try that first if you like."
"Alright," he nodded, "we can try that then."
She got up from the table and started to bottle her potion, which was barely passable, much to her dismay. It was Wolfsbane, but she knew it didn't have the integrity to stop the change in an older wolf like Remus. She stopped bottling and threw her wand down,
"Sod it. Why can't I get anything to come together?" She stared at the potion in silence for a while.
"I had no idea," Snape said, still sitting at the table.
"No idea about what?" Hermione was exhausted and angry. She certainly wasn't in the mood for his intense reservation.
"That you felt that way."
"Yeah, well..." she didn't have any words left. What does he want me to say?
"Hermione," he stood and joined her at her lab desk, "I do not find you repulsive. That's ridiculous. I just don't want you to regret your decision. Who knows what will happen to us?"
"Then help me, Severus. If you just shut off and leave me out here to deal with this, then we're both lost."
"This is difficult for me."
"It's not easy for me either."
Then, to his surprise, she reached out a hand to him. She felt as if she were being pulled toward him, and as she entwined her fingers with his, she noticed that he relaxed. A normally stiff and stoic Snape loosened his joints, allowing her to feel his calloused palm, touch the bones in the back of his hand, rub a thumb over his tattooed wrist.
The lab was silent. The lack of noises made Hermione aware that she was holding her breath. She exhaled with care, the air wavered in spite of her stealth, shaking from her nerves. Snape's warmth was coating her bare skin on her collarbone where he had laid his left palm. He searched her face, like he had in the alley, and in the library, and in his quarters. Hermione could smell his skin, that earthy scent like just before a rain in the autumn, a mix of damp soil and a brisk wind. He ran a hand under her jaw, slowly, testing her reaction just as he would a new potion, waiting for it to combust. Then his fingers grazed her cheekbone, a soft spot just under her mouth, her bottom lip.
He bent down to her, the caution gone from his movements, and pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were soft and hot. His nose brushed her cheek. Hermione felt his jaw tighten as he pushed against her body, her back pinned to the closed door. She could taste his smooth tongue as he softly invaded her palate, a stark contrast to his fierce grip on the nape of her neck. Opening her eyes for a moment, overcome with shock, Hermione could see only blackness. Snape's thick hair and heavy cloak encapsulated her body, concealing her in a dark shroud. Were it not for the inches of alabaster skin just below his earlobes, she could not tell the difference between the darkness of the room and the darkness of the man.
As she moved against him, involuntarily at times, Hermione could feel her thoughts melt into a dull blur. She wasn't afraid, nor anxious. She felt free, safe, and connected. Entwining her fingers in his scalp, Hermione heard him elicit a quiet groan. Then, just as she thought she had imagined his utterance, he freed himself from her kiss and lunged at her neck, a slow snarl echoing deep inside his chest. She tried to squirm free, the electric fury of his lips on her skin sent shivers into her shoulders, but he pushed her back. Then, she knew the catalyst for the growls. To her shock, his shaft was rigidly crushed against the wool of his pants, its hardness unmistakable on her stomach.
At this brief contact, Severus pulled away from her, his face marred with shame and apology. As soon as he dropped his hands to his sides, she was hit with a wave of familiar loneliness. She could see it in his eyes as well. He said nothing, waiting for her to leave or to slap him, anything in response to his assault. But, all she gave him was a sigh. Was that relief? Surprise?
"Severus," she said, testing his response, trying out her voice in the quiet when just moments before her ears had not bothered with the absent sound. But, then she saw it, just over his right shoulder. Oh, no...
"Yes, Hermione," his voice was ragged, a tiny window into the gravely intensity of his recent pleasure.
"Your cauldron's on fire," her voice was barely above a whisper.
"What?" He turned to face a towering blaze at his table, fumbling for his wand to extinguish it.
Hermione moved her pot away from the flames, watching as he quenched the inferno, ruining his entire stock of ingredients. The floor was covered in wasted potion, the tables were charred, and Snape's cloak was soaked in Wolfsbane liquid.
"Shit," he cursed, sinking into an ashy chair.
She waited. Her sides ached, but she was too afraid of his wrath to let out even the smallest giggle. He stared at the wreckage, stunned from the sudden explosion. When she couldn't hold back any longer, she erupted into laughter. He looked like a wet cat, panting from their previous encounter, soaking from his accident, his hands covered in burnt bits of aconite. He turned to her, and to her relief, his face lit up at the sound of her snickering. He shook his head with a curl of a smile,
"You're laughing at me?"
"No," she choked back her amusement, fighting a smile, "Not at you. Certainly not."
"What are we going to do?"
"It'll be fine. Everyone will just think you torched a first year, or something."
"No," he chuckled, "I meant...what are we going to do?"
"Oh," she acknowledged her mistake, realizing that Snape's bonfire had interrupted their recent closeness, "I don't really know."
"Are you alright? I'm sorry if I have...offended you. I know we agreed to be, uh, professional," she watched him speak as he stared at the floor, his hand brushing off the soot, struggling to look conciliatory.
"Look," she saw his eyes raise to meet hers across the lab, "you'll know when you offend me, alright? I guess I just need time to think."
"Could you feel the change?" His eyes were back to the floor, fixated on the black stain underneath the trashed table.
"Yes, and I think that's only going to get worse. So, if we stay apart, I guess it will just build like that until...well, until whatever happens."
"Then what exactly do you propose we do in the meantime?"
"Well, I still need to learn this bloody potion," Hermione peeked into her cauldron, "Mine is next to worthless and yours is...uh..."
He shot her an empty glare,
"Tomorrow, then?"
She nodded,
"Do you need help cleaning up?"
"No, I'll finish up in here. Go get some rest."
Hermione nodded at him, and he smiled, watching her leave. Without warning, Lupin's voice rattled in his head, "Afraid you'll actually enjoy living life for a change?" Maybe Remus was right. When they had spoken on the train, Lupin had said that she was different. But, Severus had not wanted to acknowledge it then. But now, even when she was gone, he could still smell her hair. It was like oranges soaked in vanilla icing, and it was painful to see her go. What am I going to do? He still felt responsible for what happened. He was her professor no longer, but the title was still a fresh memory. Nevertheless, she hadn't rejected him. He was still in one piece. Even he had to admit that Hermione Granger had indeed changed. Maybe the young girl he was connected to had become a woman while he wasn't looking. She was a taste that lingered in his mouth like a spice and on his skin like a bruise. If his life was fated to be entwined with hers, Severus began to realize that he might be dangerously close to actually enjoying it.