Chapter 10

Winky

Severus was jolted awake by something softly gripping his shoulder. Jerking up in his armchair and drawing out his wand in the same movement, he realized that he was aiming his wand right at Miss Granger's heart.

She inhaled sharply and he saw her eyes filled with surprise.

At once, he lowered his wand and prepared himself for her to go into a panic. Surely the sudden pointing of a weapon at her, albeit out of defense, would remind her of having been attacked by Zabini. "Miss Granger, forgive me," he began.

She let out a long sigh and her eyelids fell, her body beginning to relax. "That's alright, Sir. I should have known that my touch would have startled you."

"Are you alright? I hope I didn't cause you to think of—"

She cut him off before he could finish, shaking her head. "You didn't. His wand looks nothing like yours. And I know you'd never hurt me."

Intentionally, Severus found himself muttering to himself, silently.

An awkward hush fell between them, though he was pleased to hear he had not reminded her of his disgusting student.

"I guess we both dozed off," she finally said, breaking the stillness that seemed thick in the room.

"It would seem so," he replied, arching his back and feeling it crack. It had been a good few months since he had fallen asleep in his sitting room's chair. Due to having very little reasons to stay awake until the early morning hours, he had found himself sleeping in his bed more within the past month than in the last four years. While he had been acting as a spy he needed to be ready to be summoned by Voldemort, or Dumbledore, at any moment of the day, which resulted in very little time for sleep. And then, as temporary headmaster, he never seemed to make it to his bed. He was always too anxious, too high-strung, too paranoid. The plan could fail at any moment. Potter could be caught and killed. Severus would have to continue to live in the hell that was Voldemort. He would, finally, succumb to sleep brought on by absolute exhaustion, usually slumped uncomfortably in his armchair or on his couch.

He glanced up at the grandfather clock above the fireplace. "I suppose we should prepare for breakfast."

He noticed that the Gryffindor tensed at his suggestion. Feeling tactless, he realized she probably wasn't prepared to face a majority of the student body. Luckily, as it was a Sunday, she wasn't required to eat in the Great Hall. "If it would put you at ease, I could send for a house elf so that you may have breakfast here."

Continuing to avoid his gaze, she nodded, then seated herself once more on the couch where she had previously been sleeping. She looked uncomfortable, he realized, yet it could not be due to the couch itself, as it was rather spacious and cozy around her small frame. He took this to mean that she was beginning to feel uneasy about where she found herself—in his private sitting room—as he had expected her to feel once she began to fully realize the strangeness of the situation.

"If there is a problem..." he began slowly.

"I just don't know what to do."

The vagueness of her statement irritated him, but he remained calm, as he had learned to do so well ever since taking on his role as a spy. "Could you...elaborate?" he pressed.

Her cheeks reddened. "Well, I want to stay here, but I don't want to be any more of a burden than I already am, and also, these are all of your things..." She faltered, then seemed to break off that train of thought and said instead, "You didn't ask for me to be here. Your privacy is, I know, so crucial to you. I don't know what to do now that I'm awake. I don't want you angry or aggravated with me, so I feel like I should find somewhere else to be, but I am so scared of stepping back into the main parts of the school. I know it's irrational, and that I'm not likely to be attacked walking through the halls in broad daylight, but... I can't shake off this feeling. And what will others say when they see me?" She pulled in a deep breath, her shoulders heaving noticeably. She glanced around his room, still dodging his eyes. "And while I'd love to just curl up and read until I feel better, none of my things are here, and I—"

"Don't want to ask my permission to browse through my collection?" he finished, phrasing it as a query.

She nodded, solemnly.

"Afraid of what you might find on those shelves, Miss Granger?" He couldn't prevent the dark and snarky tone from escaping. It was just too easy sometimes, especially with Gryffindors, and she was no exception. He had heard the rumors, of course. Rumors from many students that he kept the most dangerous and gruesome dark arts books in his private collection.

Surprisingly, she let out a giggle. Looking up at him and meeting his gaze for the first time since she had woken him, she replied, "'Afraid' is definitely not the right word, Professor."

He couldn't altogether keep the shocked expression from forming on his face but was able to replace it quickly with his well-practiced smirk. "Is that so? And what word would you choose?"

She rolled her eyes and they landed on the bookshelf nearest her. "Intrigued, interested…excited, enticed… longing, craving… Those are much better words to describe how I feel when looking at your bookshelves."

When she had said 'excited' and 'enticed' he couldn't help but feel a warm sensation spread through his stomach and abdomen. Luckily, she was still looking away from him and didn't see the momentary lapse of facial control that occurred. When she had turned back, gifting him with a small smile, his face was completely impassive, and his thoughts, just barely, back under his control.

"Well, perhaps we could see about bringing some of your belongings here, so you can use them while you wait to meet with the headmistress? Surely you have studying to do."

Her smile faltered at his obvious avoidance of her desire to peruse his bookshelves, but he continued to watch her with his impassive expression. To his quiet amusement, she shrugged and said, "That would be nice. How will I fetch my things?" She was terrible at acting, but he would do away with a sneer this time.

"The house elf that I summon for breakfast can also bring the belongings you think you'll need while you wait here. Since you shouldn't have to wait too long to meet with Professor McGonagall, why don't we just fetch your school books and necessary items you need to study and, perhaps, a change of clothes, as you are still in the ones from last night."

She flushed.

He looked away and snapped his fingers twice in quick succession. The little house elf who had been bonded to him at the beginning of the term appeared with a loud crack! and bowed her little head low in greeting. Lifting up her head she squeaked, "Professor Snape has requested—"

The Gryffindor's gasp was so loud it cut off the small elf's announcement.

-HG-

"Winky!"

Hermione couldn't believe her eyes. She was staring at the house elf she had first met in her fourth year of Hogwarts who had been dismissed by her previous master and sent to work at the school. Everything about her looked the same—large, floppy, bat-like ears with a tomato-sized nose, and big, watery brown eyes, and even the same skirt and blouse and blue hat.

At Hermione's gasp of shock, Winky had turned her enormous brown eyes onto Hermione and a look of frightened surprise befell the little elf's face.

"It would seem you two are already acquainted." Her professor sounded genuinely interested.

Hermione felt herself nodding as she smiled kindly at the house elf who had never liked her. Whether or not Winky's feelings toward her had changed, seeing the elf brought a rush of emotions into Hermione's chest. Happiness and relief that the elf had survived the battle, amazement that out of all the elves who worked at the school she was the one Snape had summoned, and sadness that it still seemed like Winky was not taking care of herself as she should be.

"I met Winky in my fourth year," she told her professor. Then she tentatively approached the small creature, knelt down, and proceeded to peer into her protuberant eyes. "Winky, do you remember me?"

Winky nodded but didn't make a sound. Hermione was afraid that Snape might snap at the elf for not showing more respect, but unexpectedly, he remained silent and only watched their interaction.

"I know you've never liked me. I know you disagree with me on many topics of elf treatment and welfare, and I know you still miss your previous master…" at this the elf's eyes grew larger still and became moist. "But," Hermione continued quickly, not wanting the elf to burst into tears, "I just want you to know that I understand now what's like to lose someone close to you. Someone you've known your entire life. Someone who is family. And I also want you to know that I'm so relieved—so happy—that you survived the battle."

The stillness in the room after Hermione's short speech lasted for a few, long moments, as the witch and the elf held each other's gazes intensely. Luckily, it was interrupted gently by her professor.

"Winky?"

As if poked with a hot iron rod, Winky jumped and spun to face Snape. "I is so sorry, Professor Snape! What is it that Wi-Winky can do for you?" Her eyes flickered nervously back to Hermione before locking back onto the professor and staying there, patiently waiting for his instruction.

"Miss Granger and I wish to have breakfast in my quarters as opposed to the Great Hall. We would like you to go to the kitchens and bring up a dish for each of us."

"Yes, Sir, of course, Winky can do that."

"Very well. In addition, Miss Granger needs her school supplies and a new set of clothes from her room to be brought here while she remains for the next few hours. Would you, please, be able to fetch those things and bring them here?"

Hermione's heart lurched at her professor's gentle tone and polite words. He did not seem to be, she realized, a wizard who felt entitled to the service of house elves, nor did he treat Winky as if she were inferior to him.

Winky was nodding but looked perturbed. "How will I know what clothes to fetch for the Misses?"

Hermione watched Snape's eyebrow arch and he turned his eyes to rest on her, a smirk crossing his lips. "Perhaps Miss Granger would like to give you a list?"

Blushing, Hermione nodded. Her professor flicked his wand and a piece of parchment, quill, and ink bottle came floating over to where she still sat on the couch. They rested down on the sitting table, so she gracefully slid off the couch and seated herself on the floor, crossing her legs. She dipped his quill into the ink, leaned over the desk and began to write out a list of what items Winky should gather, all the while acutely aware that her professor was watching her. She did her best to describe what each item looked like and where they were located, hoping that he would never lay eyes on the parchment as she had to describe what her underwear and brassier looked like. She wouldn't allow herself to blush as she wrote her detailed list, as she could still feel his eyes on her and did not want to give him reason to pry.

"Are you writing an inventory checklist, Granger? For Merlin's sake, hurry up, I'm hungry," he finally growled just as she was finishing the last item on her list.

"Here Winky," she said, folding the list and handing it to the elf. "And could you please bring up some coffee, extra milk and sugar, with the breakfast, please?"

"Of course, Misses."

Hermione heard Snape let out a huff. "No need to bring the coffee, Winky."

The house elf turned to him. "Yes, Sir."

Hermione gave him a glare.

"I have coffee here, and I guarantee it's better than any house elf coffee," he said right after Winky disappeared with a loud crack! from the sitting room.

"You brew your own coffee?" Hermione asked him, astonished.

"Only in the winter," her professor replied in the same bored drawl he had used in the library on her first day back. "Other times in the year I get my coffee straight from The Three Broomsticks. Rosmerta can brew exceptional coffee as well as Butterbeer."

Hermione found it hard to picture the dark, cool and collected professor sipping on a mug of Butterbeer. The thought brought a smile to her face.

"What's gotten you grinning like an idiot?" he snapped.

Deciding to be honest, she forced out, "You. Drinking Butterbeer?" and when she brought her eyes to his face in time to see his eyebrows shoot up and then immediately furrow together in a scowl she couldn't help herself. She leaned back and let out a loud laugh. And suddenly she couldn't stop. Her sides began to ache, but she couldn't get the ridiculous image of Snape, in all black, bringing a Butterbeer down from his lips and sporting a white foam mustache.

"Miss Granger!" he finally boomed. "Control yourself, please. I dare not think what a student would say if they passed down my corridor and heard your obnoxious, maniacal laughter coming from my chambers."

Stuffing her fist into her mouth to stifle her laughter, her other hand grabbing her stomach, she brought watering eyes back up to her unamused professor where he sat in his stiff-backed chair. He looked as if he was desperately trying to control himself from getting up and shaking her in frustration, or just leaving the room altogether. Which she definitely didn't want him to do. Breathing in a large gulp of air, she forced herself to calm down and cease her laughter. When she finally allowed herself to relax again, she said, "Forgive me, Professor. I have no idea what came over me."

"Could be mild side effects from the Calming Draught and Dreamless Sleep potion. You obviously need food." He was still scowling openly at her, but his eyes didn't seem quite as cold and threatening.

"Yes. That must be it," she agreed, though not entirely believing it.

"I have potions I need to work on," Snape said suddenly, rising to his feet and walking towards the far corner bookshelf. "I am going to change and then work in my private potions lab. Meanwhile, you should eat as soon as Winky returns, and change into a new pair of clothes. I expect the headmistress will come fetch you when she, Professor Weasley and Professor Hagird are ready to meet with you."

His abruptness and crisp tone caused Hermione's stomach to churn uncomfortably. Maybe she really had bothered him by laughing so uncontrollably? No. Surely not. Her poised potions professor would never let something that trivial bother him. When he was a teenager, perhaps, but not now. Besides, her opinion of him, she knew, didn't matter that much. Or did it? Possibly… but more than likely he was just tired of the strangeness of their situation and wanted an escape.

Before she could reply, he had pressed his left palm onto the bookshelf and she could only watch, amazed, as he seemed to mold into the books until he had disappeared entirely. That must be the entrance to his bedroom, she thought. And she felt her face redden at the thought of being so close to the reclusive potion master's personal bedroom. Hermione had always known he was a human who, of course, had a bedroom, for he obviously needed somewhere to sleep, and shower, and change clothes, but to be so close to it…felt like an invasion of his privacy even more so than sitting and sleeping on his sitting room's couch.

It was true that she and Harry and Ron had been positive that Snape had been the one trying to steal the Sorcerer's Stone back in their first year, only to realize that he been trying to stop Quirrell and also save Harry's life. This mistake of judgement had resulted in Hermione viewing the callous, dark, snarky professor in a new light. He became more mysterious to her than frightening. Yes, he had injured her pride on many occasions, especially in her third and fourth year, but she had never hated him like Harry had, not even when he had murdered Dumbledore. She had thought it probable that he had been threatened by Voldemort and forced against his will to kill the headmaster. But, because she wasn't sure, she wasn't about to let Snape use Phineus—Professor Black—to discover their hide-out while they had been seeking refuge in Grimmauld place the previous year. When it was revealed to the world, through Harry no less, what Snape's memories had showed, well, she had felt more than relieved. She had felt justified in her belief that he was not a bad man. And she had felt proud of him. But she also felt…intrigued.

But she could never imagine telling him that. She wouldn't even know how.

There was a sudden crack! and Winky appeared with a small cart of food, Hermione's books and quills and ink, and a neatly folded set of clothes the witch recognized as her own.

"Winky has brought breakfast for the Misses and Professor Snape, as well as Misses clothes, as she instructed."

"Where is the list I gave you, Winky?"

The house elf reached into her skirt's pocket and drew out the neatly folded list. Handing it, shyly, to Hermione she squeaked, "Winky hopes she retrieved all of the necessary items."

Hermione took the note from the elf's long, thin fingers. Then she looked through the clothing items Winky had brought, being sure to look around the room to confirm it was empty of her professor before she checked which undergarments were folded in between the pants, blouse and sweater. "You did very well, Winky, thank you."

The house elf gave her a small bow and asked, "But where is the professor?"

"He, uh, went to his bedroom, I think."

Winky looked troubled and it seemed like she wanted to say something, but instead she kept her lips pressed together tightly.

"What is it, Winky?"

Slowly, the elf said, "This is the first time Winky has seen the professor with a witch in his room besides the headmistress."

"You've helped Professor Snape before?" Hermione asked, being sure to say 'helped' instead of 'served' because she despised the word.

Winky nodded. "Winky is Professor Snape's now."

Hermione couldn't help but give the elf an open-mouthed expression of shock and horror. "What do you mean, Winky?" But then understanding washed over her in horrible, shocking waves. He may be polite to the elf, but if he had brought her back into slavery then he was no better than the wizards and witches who viewed elves as being inferior creatures. "How could he?" she continued her whine to the elf, who was becoming more distressed with each of her words. "No! You're free, Winky! How can you be his?! You're a free elf!"

But before the small house elf could reply, the witch, who was now becoming quite heated, became aware of the sound of robes swishing lightly from behind her. She spun around to face her professor, ready to berate him for having taken away the elf's freedom.

-SS-

She had spun on him, her wild hair flying, as if she were ready to draw her wand on him and duel. She was scowling at him, her eyes hard and condemning. Seeing those emotions clearly displayed on her face, directed at him, nearly caused him to suck in a pained breath. But the air caught in his lungs as he righted himself, ever the well-practiced spy and actor. He hardened his face in turn, ready for whatever she was about to hurl at him. He could take it, whatever it was. This was Hermione Granger, for Merlin's sake, not some Death Eater or Dark Lord. He would be able to swat her away as if she were a fly…

He looked from Miss Granger to Winky, then back. "What has happened?" he asked, forcing his tone to come out deep and threatening.

"How could you?!" she spat.

Again with the ambiguity. He loathed it. Turning to Winky, about to dismiss her so she wouldn't have to witness the tsunami that was sure to crash down over him in the voice of Granger, he extracted two galleons from his pocket.

As if he had produced the elixir of life itself, his angry student's eyes grew in shock and her mouth formed a comical O. "Wha—" she stuttered, watching as Winky walked over to him and lifted her hand up towards the gold coins. While Winky took the coins with her head lowered in shame, as she always did, Granger's mouth closed slightly and all previous ferocity had been replaced with what could only be described as embarrassment.

"Thank you, Winky. That will be all for now." He gently patted the elf on her head and then she was gone with a crack! that always accompanied the comings and goings of house elves. He brought his hard gaze back to his student and droned, "Do, go on, Miss Granger. Now that the elf is gone, and her ears spared, do continue accusing me of Merlin-knows-what."

"I—but—you—"

"Stop stuttering and spluttering and get it out or I'm going to leave and get on to something of actual importance," he heard himself growl. He had spent most of the last twenty years listening to students stumble around their words and was growing evermore agitated by the occurrence.

"You're…paying her?"

Although still vague, it began to make sense.

"Ah, yes… your Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. Unless I am mistaken, you were preparing to accuse me of stripping away Winky's freedom and putting her back into a bondage of servitude?" He couldn't help but sneer at her. Remembering the flames in her bright brown eyes in the moment she spun on him amused him as much as it irritated him. "So ready to defend the welfare of a creature that was ashamed to be paid—and you, so quick to assume that I, an unfeeling and supercilious man, had quieted the elf's shame by offering her a renewal of servitude, least it benefit me greatly since I am sure to enjoy the ordering about and unfaltering obedience of others?" He let the venom pour out of his mouth—venom he had felt the need to hold back ever since the first day of term. But he let it loose now. If this fiery Gryffindor, insisting she was a fully-fledged adult who could think securely for herself, wanted to face him with flames and the brazenness of a lion, he was prepared to meet her with Slytherin venom and fangs. "So ready to accuse a man of ill-treatment and apathy because he couldn't possibly be willing to reward such a lowly creature for her help; prepared to scold him for his callousness. Believe me, Miss Granger, your accusations mean nothing to me. You think I would care about an angry nineteen-year-old concerned about my treatment of a house elf? You dare to think I would feel ashamed had that same witch's concerns been of any merit? Why would I waste my time when I have been accused of actions you could scarcely fathom—when I have faced torture and death threats of much more powerful witches and wizards than yourself? Oh, Miss Granger. I must regretfully inform you that your opinions Have. No. Value."

Her face had fallen, and fallen, and fallen more still as he had continued. Tears were bubbling behind her eyes. Her cheeks, which had been crimson, were now as pale as a corpse's.

"Now," Severus hissed, dangerously. "You will get changed, you will eat, and you will study, while you wait in my sitting room for the headmistress to retrieve you." As he gave her these orders he strode over to the cart, grabbed the plate meant for him, and strode towards the door that would lead to his private lab.

When he reached the door, he called back to her, "You will have to forgo coffee. I have no patience to brew some for you." And with that, he retired to the safety, the tranquility, the silence, of his lab.

She would forever be an insufferable know-it-all.

-HG-

What had she thought? That he had truly changed? That his kindness was not just another act of his many masks and facades?

She pulled her blouse over her head, yanking it down in frustration.

Had she truly believed he had felt something like concern and fondness for her?

She pulled her sweater on roughly, turned on the sink in his small bathroom, and splashed water onto her face.

Had she truly deluded herself into feeling something like friendship towards him? To feel like they could be more than professor and student? Why would she do that?

She opened the door and walked over to the plate of eggs, toast and sausage, but couldn't bring herself to touch her food.

He would always be an insufferable git.

A/N: Oh, dear... Hermione and Severus have done it again! As always, thank you for the comments/critiques, faves, follows, and overall continued support!