She reached for it slowly, her eyes still on his waiting, watching for the trick she was certain was coming. 'And you're really not mad?'
'No.' He shook his head, a small smiling pulling at his lips as he rocked back onto his heels before standing. He gestured vaguely towards the book on the floor. 'But I may not be so understanding if you spill chicken on my book.' His smile widened, his expression teasing as he looked down at her, her surprise at his tone, his words clearly evident on her face. 'It's one of my favorites.'
She blushed then. 'I'm sorry…'
'Don't be.' He interrupted her, the smile still on his face. 'Take your time.' He took a step back, his expression still gentle, his words quiet. 'But when you're done, we need to talk.' He turned and headed towards the other room, pausing as he reached the archway. He turned to look back at her over his shoulder. 'I'll be waiting. Just out here.'
Chapter 12
She took a deep calming breath and exhaled slowly once she was certain he had left the room as she tried to still her rapidly beating heart. She glanced at the sandwich she held in her hand and then towards the book that lay on the floor. She deliberately moved her hand as far away from the open book as she could physically manage before using her free hand to gently slide the tome across the smooth floor to be certain there was absolutely no way the beautifully illustrated, delightfully detailed pages could be accidently spilled on. She glanced quickly back at the archway trying to get a glimpse of where her captor had gone, her eyes failing to find any sight of him. She frowned then, knowing that despite the fact that she couldn't see him she knew he was out there. Waiting. Waiting to 'talk' to her. Just what he could possibly want to talk to her about was beyond her. Did he want to lay the law, state his rules, regulations and expectations now that he held her? What exactly did he expect of her? Was she to call him Master and cater to his every waking need, his wants and desires? She shuddered at the thought. But then, 'I am no one's master' echoed in her consciousness. Was there a slight chance that he didn't want anything from her at all?
She pressed her free hand against her forehead, heel above her eyes as she tried to clamp down on, to clear the cascading jumble of images assaulting her brain;
Death Eater Snape holding her down, his body pressed so intimately against hers as he taunted her and called her worthless, his eyes an impenetrable mask of hate.
Professor Snape holding her so very protectively as she cried, as he tended her wounded wrist and catered to her need, carrying her carefully to the bathroom, his eyes showing such concern for her well being she almost for a moment forgot where she was.
Headmaster Snape buttoned to his throat, poised and formal letting down his guard to promise she was safe, to ask for her to trust him, his expressionless yes dark and foreboding.
And then there was Severus Snape, the man. Humble as he had crouched before her, his face full of expression, his eyes hurt as he questioned her fear, her distrust of him. His unexpressed desire to be thought more of so very clear in his eyes. The man who smirked gently, kindly as he teased her about his book.
She shook her head. No it was this version of him that had her wary. Was he playing to her nature, or was this who he truly was, alone in his rooms, without the conventions of society, the expectations of the Dark Lord and his followers, the protection of his carefully crafted impermeable façade? Was it all just an act? Which version of Snape was real? How was she ever supposed to know?
She swallowed then, steeling herself for what was to come. The conversation. A talk, he had called it. But was it to be? Or was it to be a diatribe packed full of demands. She knew she was stalling, going against the Gryffindor stereotype, but then, she had often thought would she have been better suited to Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff. If she had only been placed within one of those other two houses she would not be here, in this predicament, she thought before shaking her head once more. Even as Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff she would have challenged the status quo Voldemort was trying to instil. She would have still found herself face to face with a troll in her first year as that incident was not due to her house association, but sure to her bookish, and yes she could admit, swottish behavior fitting to the precocious, overly curious muggleborn let loose into a world of absolute dream and fantasy. So, she, by that reasoning alone would have become friends with Harry and Ron and by default, she would find herself exactly where she now was, huddled, delaying the inevitable in Headmaster Snape's private kitchen. Oh yes, she decided, Gryffindor or not, she was royally screwed. For now, she hoped that was only a figure of speech, the literal sense of the phrase terrifying her more than the carving of her arm, after all, from what she could vaguely recall, Lucius had done enough to turn her off of that element of servitude for a lifetime.
She stood then, careful not to jar the various parts of her body still aching, gasping softly at the slight pressure-like pain radiating from her lower abdomen, her mons pubis region. She felt her brow furrow as her uninjured hand shifted to press gently on the area where the pain was emanating from, her first pressed tight against her as she tried to halt the ache from deep within. She pursed her lips, having not previously felt this injury before and decided that whatever pain potions she had been given were clearly running out and that was just one more thing she was going to have to demand of the Professor as they had their discussion.
She shuffled slowly, her teeth gritted together as each step pulled on the injury, the pain radiating not only outwards through her abdomen, but also straight out, downwards between her legs. She paused, by the archway, her other hand against the stonework determined to school her features and not allow him any insight into the depth of pain she was experience. She was determined that she would not appear any weaker than she already had in front of him. Breathing quietly, deeply through the throbbing she let her mind focus on the sounds coming from the other room then, taking her attention from her pain and turning it towards her captor, the man waiting for her. She could hear him speaking softly to someone, something, his voice gentle, his tone equally so, his words spoken with a hint of the humor she had witnessed as he had teased her about spilling chicken on his book. She straightened and stepped out of the kitchen as quickly as her body would allow, hoping to catch him and whomever he was talking with by surprise, hoping to gain the upper-hand, if only for that moment.
She stopped dead in her tracks as her eyes found him, seated on one of the couches, the one that faced the archway to the kitchen, his body angled away as he sat, turned towards the small fluffy dog currently lying on its back, paws in the air, soft underbelly exposed trustingly to his large hands, hands that were currently tickling the dog, his long fingers rubbing through the creamy curls and he spoke quietly to it. She saw his face turn as he became aware of her arrival into the room, his hands pausing in his assault of the dog, the animal rolling to its feet, its elbows resting on the couch, its wagging tail stuck proudly into the air, its tongue lolling from its mouth as it tried to lick him back into action. She saw the happiness, the humor seep from his expression, his eyes creased in enjoyment smoothed as he took her in. She heard him clear his throat softly. 'Cute dog.' She tried, hoping to see the humor back in his eyes and not the expressionless mask he now wore. She figured touching on something as neutral as the dog to start the conversation was a good a topic as any in the grand scheme of things. Plus, she was truly curious as to how he had managed to keep the dog so happy, pleased to be in his company as from what she knew and had read, dogs were the ultimate judges of character.
'I can assure Miss Granger she is an impeccable judge of character.' He responded dryly to her unspoken thought, his eyebrow raised, his face neutral for a moment longer before he smiled once more, turning his attention to the dog, his hands resuming his tickling, his fingers running along its sides as he attempted to dodge the darting tongue. 'Aren't you Lyublyu?'
'Where did she come from?' She took a tentative step closer, watching as he studiously ignored her movements, his eyes on the dog, the dog however watching her every move with great interest, her every step punctuated with a tail wag.
'She is mine.' He answered her question, his eyes still not leaving the dog, despite the fact that she had drawn closer and the animal was now prancing about the couch, spinning around and then sitting straight up, its excitement palpable. He looked at her then, his eyes warm, fond. 'You'll have to forgive her. We don't get visitors often.'
'Is that what I am? A visitor.' She mimicked his so often used raised brow.
He looked away from her questioning gaze and back at the dog as he avoided answering. 'Sit Lyublyu.' The dog obeyed his gentle command, but only just, its tail wagging madly across the cushions, its front paws lifting slightly from the couch as it prepared to jump up. 'This is Miss Granger.' He glanced at her, his expression one of apology. 'She is going to be staying with us for some time.'
'Do I get a choice?' She heard the shrillness enter her tone.
'This is what I need to talk to you about.' He kept his eyes locked on hers. 'Please sit.' He gestured vaguely to the couch in front of him, the arc of his hand also encompassing the vicinity of the couch opposite, allowing her to pick.
'I am not a dog.' She snapped then, her body bristling, straightening suddenly before she gasped softly, her hand flying back to her abdomen, her injury forgotten in her moment of indignation.
He was on his feet then, one of his hands coming to rest on hers, the other wrapping about her shoulders, his face just inches from hers as he studied her eyes for any hint of insincerity. 'You're hurting?' He felt her tense under his touch. 'Let me help you.'
'I'm fine.' She tried to pull away, the action causing her to wince.
'Please.' He made to shift her towards the couch, moving her to sit on the place he had so recently vacated. 'You can even sit with Lyublyu.' He settled her a moment before stepping away. 'I will sit over there.' He backed across the room, watching her for signs of distress. He saw her expression falter as his ever friendly, ever-perceptive dog ran her head along her thigh, lying down, her spine pressed along Hermione's leg, her head on her knee.
Hermione dropped her eyes to the dog now lying beside her, watching as its tongue continued to flick towards where her hands lay in her lap, its tongue warm against her skin as it made contact. She shifted one hand to rest on the side of the dog, her fingers burying into its cream fur. 'She's…' her voice trailed off as her eyes turned to him.
'She's a cavoodle.' He offered quietly. 'She's overly affectionate. And she's very sensitive to mood. To injury.' He sat down on the couch, his legs crossed at his ankles as he rested against the back, his eyes not leaving hers. 'Will you allow me to assist you? To ease your pain?'
'Will you please just tell me what's going on?' She held the eyes contact. 'Please.'
He bowed his head in acquiescence. 'As you wish.' He clasped his hands, his fingers threaded through each other as he rested them in his lap, his position almost a mirror of hers. 'What do you remember?'
'You know what happened.' She glared at him. 'Why are you…'
'Please. Hermione.' He held her gaze as he interrupted her, his face kind, his tone equally so. 'It's important.'
'I remember you.' Her eyes dropped to her lap, willing up as her voice shook. 'I remember you holding me down, telling me I was nothing.' She whispered.
'I said what I had to say. What I was expected to say.' He kept his tone flat. 'Is that all you remember?'
'You told me to fight you.' She brought her eyes back to his. 'Why?'
He saw the confusion in her gaze. 'I needed the opportunity it created.' He stated simply.
'I don't understand.' She caught her lower lip between her teeth.
'I know Little One.' He smiled then. 'But you will.' He turned to face the fire, directing his gaze away from hers. 'I have a role to play. Things I'm forced to do. Hurting you. Killing you. That is not one of them.'
'But?' she attempted to interrupt.
'But nothing. I was expected to. To hurt you.' He shook his head, his eyes still avoiding hers. 'But I could not.' He turned back to face her. 'Would not.' He held her gaze, his expression passive. 'I used the opportunity to rear back away from you. It gave me the space to allow Sage to appear and take you away. I swapped bodies and no one was the wiser.'
'You killed someone.' She whispered, horror filling her eyes.
'She was already dead.' He closed his eyes for a moment as the wave of remorse swept through him. 'But yes, I cast the final curse.' His voice trailed off, his throat closing, choking off his words. He coughed softly to clear it as he brought tear-filled eyes up to meet hers. 'I didn't want to. But I couldn't let either of you suffer anymore. And she had suffered already so very much. You both had.' He brushed a hand under his eyes, pushing at tears, hoping she wouldn't notice them. 'I didn't have a choice.' He shook his head then. 'I used her pointless and grossly unfair death to free you.'
'Am I free Professor?' she questioned softly, taken back by the show of emotion, by his unrestrained tears.
'Yes.' He shook his head once more his expression defeated. 'And no Miss Granger, you are not.'
'So where does that leave me?' She asked, her tone more forceful now.
He shrugged then. 'In my rooms. With me.'
'I don't…'
He cut her off. 'The world believes you are dead. You're no longer undesirable number 2. No one will be looking for you. No one wants to hurt you anymore.'
'And what do you want?' She folded her arms across her chest.
'I want this godforsaken war over.' He bit out, his attention back on the flames in the hearth. 'I want him gone.' He looked back at her. 'I just wanted you safe. Beyond that…it all happened so fast…' He ran a hand through his hair as he schooled his thoughts. 'But you're safe now, and provided you stay here, stay dead, you will remain that way.'
'What if I don't want to remain here?' She continued to glare at him. 'What am I supposed to do from here?'
'You are supposed to stay safe.' He let one side of his mouth pull into a slight grin.
'You killed Professor Dumbledore.' She watched the smile fall from his lips at her words. 'I don't trust you. How am I safe here?' She turned away. 'With you.' She threw the accusation at him.
'You will have to learn to trust me.' He released the breath he had caught at her tone, her insinuation, the intake he hoped had disguised his hurt. 'As for what you will do here,' he paused waiting for her to give him her full attention, to turn back to face him.'
She let herself be drawn to his words, turning to look at him once more. 'Yes?'
'There are a few things we need to discuss.' He stood then and began to pace, his discomfort all too clear.
'Such as?' Her eyes followed his movement from one end of the room to the other, his steps wide, his gait forced, his restlessness so unlike the man she had come to know in the classroom, his presence as far from that dominating confident man as it could be.
'I cannot alter these rooms. They have to stay as they are.'
'What does that mean?' She shook her head, her brow furrowed as she tried to understand all that he was saying, and all that he was not.
He stopped then to look at her. 'I cannot add rooms. We are to share them. As they are.'
'Share a bed?' She stood, wobbling precariously as her body protested her haste.
He was on her in a second, his hands finding her waist, his eyes locked on hers, searching. 'Yes.'
'Am I to…' Her voice trailed off, her horror clearly written in her wide eyes, the increasing of her breath.
'I would never.' He whispered as he tried to maneuver her back to the chair. 'Your ribs. Please. Stop. You're only hurting yourself.'
'You're not going to hurt me?' She shook her head attempting to resist as he pushed her gently onto the couch.
'No Little One. I am not.' He held her gaze then, letting her see his sincerity, his intentions.
She took a deep breath, her hand finding his biceps, her fingers wrapping into them, neither pushing him from her or holding him close. 'Why do you keep calling me that?'
'What?' His brow creased in confusion then.
'Little One.' She saw a deep blush cover his cheeks, his gaze drop to the floor as his endearment was brought to his attention.
'I don't…' he trailed off, clearing his throat softly before he brought his eyes back to hers. 'I didn't realize I was doing it. I'm sorry.' He released her then, shifting to stand tall once more. 'You were distressed. I was trying to assist you. Calm you.' He turned his back on her, his right hand running through his hair, his left dangling in defeat by his side. 'I am sorry if it made you uncomfortable.'
If she wanted to make a break, she knew now would be the most appropriate time, she thought, with his back to her, his wand nowhere to be seen. But in all truth, she really just wanted to hear him out, this new, kind, different version of him. 'Everything is making me uncomfortable,' she spoke quietly, hoping to encourage him to say more.
'It's just now that you are no longer my student. I am no longer you Professor, your teacher. I'm not even your Headmaster.' He paused, his hand finding his eyes, the heel pressing against the bridge of his nose. 'I am at a loss as to what to call you.'
'You called me Hermione too.' She reached a hand up and tentatively touched his back. She felt him tense under her palm before he spun to face her.
'That is your name.' He smiled softly down at her, his brow raising, his expression purely purely now, the tension between them lessening slightly. 'Is it not?'
'You also called me Miss Granger.' She raised a brow at him, at his gentle teasing.
He nodded then. 'I did.' His body sagged, his expression torn once more. 'But under the circumstances, it just doesn't feel right.' He let his eyes find something on the wall over her head to focus on. 'I was aiming for my normal approach to you…'
'You've never been this nice to me.' She interrupted.
'No.' He looked back down at her, his gaze so full of remorse, of apology. 'But I had always wanted to.' His eyes darted away after that admission. 'I meant, using a title you were accustomed too.' He shook his head, his eyes narrowing for a second. 'But, in this new situation,' he gestured between them, 'it just doesn't seem right.'
'So what do I call you?' She questioned, wondering exactly how he would choose to respond to that. Would he stay stoic or offer the olive branch, allow himself to be more personable?
'If I am to address you as Hermione.' He tilted his head as he brought his gaze back to hers, his eyes glittering with something unknown. 'Then I suggest it is only fitting that you call me Severus.'
