A/N: I was commanded by my beta reader to post a warning with this chapter. The mid-section has a bit of unpleasantness, or as my beta affectionately penned it, "All the wrong feels!" But I think the later half should more than make up for it. So, in the words of our dear Potions Master, "Prepare yourself."
Many thanks to my wonderful beta reader, Brittny.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox.
Chapter 21: A Past Undeserving
Hermione awoke to an unaccustomed sound: snoring. She slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the bright beams of light coming from the fireplace that still crackled via a long-standing fire incantation. She squinted and let her eyes adjust further.
The striking profile of Severus Snape soon came into view, only he wasn't at all aware of her blatant scrutiny. He was fast asleep, his body slouched against the couch—against her—and Hermione suddenly became aware that their bodies were touching. She had literally curled herself into a ball beside him, laying her head against his, and had lost all sense of cognizance.
"Severus?" she whispered, but he merely mumbled something inaudible and fell back into a gentle bout of snoring.
Hermione smiled. She never expected to witness the wizard so relaxed and uninhibited, and a slight tug beneath her palm brought awareness of the placement of her hands; they were still laced around Severus's arm. Her left fingers were lying listlessly atop that disturbing image of the Dark Mark that didn't at all match the tranquil, snoozing man at her side.
Hermione inched herself upward, careful so as not to disturb Severus, and heard him inhale sharply. Hermione froze, praying that she hadn't just woke him up. She could tell just by looking at him how bad of an insomniac the man had to be and how desperately this sleep was needed.
To Hermione's relief, his head fell sideways, turning away from her, and he proceeded to snore again, softly and without issue. Hermione quietly got to her feet and stretched, arching her back in discomfort. How the older wizard could sleep for any length of time on that god-awful couch was beyond her. It was terribly stiff and worn down.
Hermione had no idea what time it was or how long she had been in the professor's office, but she allowed her eyes to wander and take in her surroundings. The last time she had chanced a glimpse around Severus's work space was when she had mistakenly entered without permission and found the small photograph of his mother hanging on the wall. It was still there—staring back at her impassively—but Hermione found herself drawn again to the unhappy, scowling woman in the plain frame.
What was she like? What was her name? Was she still alive?
Hermione recalled Severus referring to his mother in the past tense not too long ago, so she had to assume that she wasn't alive. It brought Hermione's focus back to the elusive figure reclining nearby, with a purring, orange feline curled up against him, dead to the world, and to her...
What was Severus Snape's upbringing like? Hermione had gathered it wasn't pleasant from the little hints that Severus dropped in conversation, but just how bad had it been for him as a child, and why? Did something traumatic happen in his youth to make him so mistrusting and resentful, shocked and horrified by any little bout of kindness or compassion he received?
It couldn't possibly all have to do with Lily... Could it?
"Lily," Hermione hissed aloud, unaware of doing so, and with unmistakable displeasure, "why were you so unforgiving?"
Hermione knew about the memory Harry had witnessed but would have preferred to view it for herself, especially in light of getting to know Severus better. Harry's description cast the wizard in a typically nasty light, particularly over his calling Harry's mother a 'Mudblood,' but Hermione concluded that there had to be more than just that to the story. It had to be more complicated than what Harry saw...
And it was one mistake. One. We all slip up. We all say things we don't mean and regret. What made her so high and mighty?
Hermione's eyelashes fluttered, bringing her out of her bitter contemplations. She spotted Crookshanks moving, his furry head snuggling itself on top of Severus's right hand. Hermione shook her head with a smile, and then tore her gaze away towards something else that caught her attention.
In the corner of the room, situated behind Severus's desk, was a regal-looking phonograph. Hermione hadn't noticed it before, but it was quite breathtaking and appeared to be pretty old; well before Severus's time, for sure. She tip toed to it and inspected the antique instrument, finding a tiny, square engraving in the center of the carved, oak wood: "Victor V." Its metal horn was enormous and elaborate, with intricate detailing one could only detect up close. A disc was already in place and ready to play. Hermione peered down to read the contents and her lips stretched across her face in a smile as she read the inscription: Billie Holiday.
Hermione had never heard Severus play music in his office before; it must have been something he did only in private, which heightened her intrigue about him even more. Her gaze darted back to the couch for a moment to survey the slumbering, dark wizard before she made a decision. She had no idea how to work the record player but found the task easy enough.
About half a minute later, the phonograph started to play, and the muffled sound of a piano infiltrated the quiet room, filling it with an otherworldly sound unconventional to Hermione's ears. This was music from another era—from another time and place—but she gravitated towards it, nevertheless.
Billie's captivating voice, both passionate and intimate, began to sing, and the first lyrics brought back the conversation Hermione had had with Severus about the feline from his childhood and one of the songs he had mentioned to her.
"...The very thought of you, and I forget to do..."
Hermione gathered on her own that it had to be a particular favorite of his, and hearing it now, playing in the confines of this private setting, with the Potions Master sleeping peacefully just a few feet away, Hermione was filled with an indescribable sense of belonging. She listened intently to the lyrics.
"...The mere idea of you. The longing here for you. You'll never know how slow the moments go 'till I'm near to you..."
It was breathtaking. How she had never heard of the woman, her voice, or this song before was confounding. But more importantly, it was so appropriately Severus. Even without knowing all there was to know about him, Hermione was pulled right into the song—drawn to the lyrics, so full of longing and affection—as if they were the very echoes of the Slytherin wizard himself.
"...I see your face in every flower. Your eyes in stars above. It's just the thought of you. The very thought of you, my love..."
Hermione lapsed out of her meditation when she heard a sluggish, low moan. Hermione quickly darted back over to the couch and carefully took a seat next to the professor, who was now beginning to stir. The music slowly drew him awake, and a sense of genuine confusion overcame his senses before, as if by some magic of its own, the lyrics brought an immediate calmness to every line on his face, showcasing that rare serenity that Hermione treasured.
His eyelashes fluttered, listening to the familiar vocals, and Hermione unconsciously took his left arm back into her lap and gently squeezed his hand. "This is beautiful," she whispered, waiting for Severus to draw out of his slumber.
"Mmm... Yes, it is," he purred, closing his eyes to listen, or perhaps fall back asleep.
"I've never heard it before."
Severus didn't answer right away, but then the corners of his mouth curled ever so slightly. "You were snooping again, Hermione..."
She smiled back. "Not really. I woke up and spotted your record player. I had no idea you were so old fashioned."
How beautiful...
Severus chuckled quietly and kept his eyes closed. "It was my mother's. She had affection for all things 'old,' as you've so kindly put it, as do I."
"Well, I like it."
"Oh? Isn't screaming and dumb-downed lyrics more to the liking of kids your age nowadays?"
"Kids my age? Nowadays? Merlin, you make yourself sound ancient."
"Well, I probably was born in the wrong century..."
"That I can agree with. Stubborn, old sod."
Hermione's heart fluttered at hearing his faint laughter. He had offered her a sincere glimpse of his humor only a handful of times—many only that evening, in fact—and each time it was a sound and image she didn't want to forget.
Hermione peered down at his hand cupped in hers. It was contentedly intertwined with her own, and that gave her pause as she thought over something she hadn't considered until now: the age factor. She wasn't quite sure if she was ready to ask him, but she decided to coax the information out of him as long as he was in a rather contented mood.
"When's your birthday?"
Severus's eyes shot open, and he gave her a dark stare that almost made her burst into laughter. "If you're thinking of serenading me with 'Happy Birthday,' I'll hex you with my eyes closed."
He had tried to sound threatening, but his voice sounded more tired than abrasive. Hermione simply tittered and shook her head.
"You're hopeless. And I wasn't thinking of doing so, but now that you've planted the idea in my head..."
"Don't even think about it," he hissed.
Even if he was teasing, Hermione gathered that he was serious, too. "So, when is it?"
Severus sighed and suppressed a yawn behind his hand. "January 9."
"Rats, I missed it," she glowered. "You never even said anything!"
"Why would I? It's nothing special. After you turn seventeen, you'll find its all downhill from there."
"Rubbish. You're way too bitter for barely being awake."
Severus chortled again but didn't say anything else, seemingly too spent to make small talk. Hermione began running her fingers up and down his left arm again, this time ignoring the Dark Mark completely. It no longer fascinated her; the whim of curiosity had lifted. The Dark Mark wasn't him, she had concluded hours ago, so what was the point?
"Do you use your record player often? I've never heard you playing it in your office."
"I do. Late at night, normally. It calms me."
"I wouldn't have expected you to be the type who's into jazz and blues."
"You'd be surprised at what 'type' I am," he mumbled.
Hermione leaned forward, her face very close to his. "Oh? So what type are you exactly?"
"You don't want to know."
Hermione frowned. "Actually, I really would, Severus."
Severus gradually opened his eyes again; they were bloodshot and unnaturally hazy. Hermione drew back and tightened her grip on his arm.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't be keeping you awake. Sometimes I'm far too curious for my own good."
"It's all right."
"Well, Crooks doesn't show any indication of moving, but I should let you sleep."
"You're leaving?"
Hermione noted the small hint of alarm in his voice, evident also by the wave of panic that swept across his eyes. It was difficult to refrain from smiling.
"I'll only keep you awake, Severus, and I really should get back to my dormitory anyhow. Wouldn't want you to deduct another fifty points on my behalf, would I?"
Severus's face lightened, but his eyes remained drowsy. "I could, you know..."
"Watch it, Professor."
Hermione had all but forgotten about Billie Holiday, but then the lyrics came back to her. She rose to turn the music off, but Severus grabbed hold of her wrist.
"No. Leave it on."
"Won't it keep you awake?"
"No. It helps..."
Hermione wasn't sure what to make of that, and the request sounded so feeble and unlike him, but she respected his wish. She leaned down and touched Severus on the cheek.
"You should go to your quarters to sleep, Severus. This sofa can't be good for you. Do you want some help?"
Severus's mouth stiffened, but the rest of his body remained slouched. "No, I'm fine here. I'm not that old yet, Hermione."
Hermione giggled. "Oh, be quiet. I know you aren't. At least, lie down then. You might be more comfortable that way."
Severus listlessly did as Hermione instructed, much to her own secret delight. Crookshanks meowed, annoyed by the disturbance of his comfortable spot. The cat quickly situated himself at Severus's feet, eying them both unreservedly.
Hermione grabbed the same emerald afghan she had spotted last time and brought it over Severus's form, looking him over thoughtfully. "You cold? Do you want me to transfigure you another blanket?"
"No, thank you, I'm fine."
"All right."
"Thank you," he repeated, his words slurring and drifting away.
Hermione smiled in response and remained longer than she intended. She would have gladly stayed the rest of the night had he suggested it, but slowly came to terms with how unwise that probably was.
Hermione peered down at the man and couldn't help touching him one last time, especially since he was rather indisposed for a change and indulging her anyhow. Several pieces of hair had fallen against his hooked nose, and Hermione reached down to delicately brush them behind his ear. But when Hermione's hand made contact with those black strands she had been so intrigued about touching, an unexpected spark shot through her fingers.
The texture was a complete surprise. It was a bit coarse, yes, but softer than she expected, and not at all greasy, only limp. Hermione's hand lingered for a long moment, her fingers continuing to brush the hair behind Severus's ear. When he proceeded to stir, it startled Hermione back to her senses.
"Goodnight, Severus."
She was shocked when he responded back to her. "Goodnight...Hermione..."
Hermione hastily moved her hand away. Had he been awake that whole time? Had he felt her toying with his hair? She inhaled deeply and tried to forget about it. After all, if it had upset him, he would have said so.
Giving Severus one last look over, Hermione finally exited the wizard's office, the gentle voice of Billie Holiday serenading her as she left.
Severus Snape was confounded. And he was never confused, rarely off his guard, and hardly ever unsure of himself. His mind was being distracted more and more by that fiercely intelligent Gryffindor—that young lady with the gloriously wild curls, stunning eyes, and sensual, pink lips.
What the hell's happening to me?
Severus snarled as he paced his private quarters. It had been nearly a week since Crookshanks summoned Hermione to his office, and her touch...
Her touch...
Those soft fingers had stroked his arm; he thought they had brushed his hair at one point, too, but perhaps that was all in his head. She certainly hadn't recoiled or found touching him repulsive, which was a shock in itself. Even more, she hadn't rejected him outright upon seeing his Dark Mark. So many others would have, but she hadn't.
Did she have any idea of the horrible things he had done? Or had yet to do? Did Hermione Granger know the significance of what that Mark meant for him?
Their whole exchange should have bothered him more, but Hermione was growing far too intoxicating, and Severus, to his undoing, found himself clinging to whatever amount of kindness she bestowed. He would willingly take it all. He would hold onto it for dear life. He yearned for that contact again. And again.
But, soon enough, Hermione Granger would undoubtedly never touch Severus again. That morbid reality gave him pause.
Just tell her! Tell her everything you can. Get it over with, Severus, and the rejection will be far less severe than if you let this go on...
Once she finds out what you know—what will be done to her—she'll detest you anyhow and never want anything to do with you ever again. When she learns of everything you plan to do, she'll despise you entirely.
Hermione's trustworthy enough. She hasn't told Potter about the Horcruxes. She hasn't betrayed you. Not yet.
So don't betray her, no matter how you feel. Give her the information she wants. Then leave her alone.
"'Mione?"
"Yeah?"
"Um, have you made a decision yet?"
Hermione glanced up from the dated history book in her hand—Dark Arts After the Fall of the Dark Lord—and was met with big, eager blue irises. "Sorry?"
Ron's tame, half smile fell. "A decision? About us?"
"Oh!"
Hermione closed her book and leaned against the stack behind her. Luckily, the library wasn't too crowded this afternoon, giving Ron more confidence to approach her than he would have if more lecherous eyes were lurking about.
"I'm sorry, Ron. I - I guess I've been really busy this week. I haven't had time to think it over too much."
And I've been distracted by someone else. Someone far less appropriate to be distracted by. Merlin, if anyone knew... Shut up! Stop thinking about it! Stop!
"Oh." Ron looked away, fairly put out, which brought Hermione additional guilt.
"I am sorry, Ron."
"Then what's the problem? Something's changed, 'Mione. What is it?"
"What? Nothing's changed."
Ron's freckled cheeks suddenly lit up like a flame. "Is there someone else?"
"What?"
"Don't pull my leg, 'Mione." The twinge of agony in his voice made Hermione nauseous. "Are you interested in someone else?"
"I... No!"
Ron's eyebrows came together. "Are you lying to me?"
"Why would you think that?"
And you can't possibly know...
"Because you're blushing, 'Mione. It kind of makes you look guilty."
Hermione stammered hopelessly, then stomped her foot. "Well, I'm not!"
She hated how utterly stupid and unconvincing she sounded, but it seemed to be enough to deter Ron, who took a step backward with his hands shoved deep into his pockets. "All right... Well, erm, I'll just go."
Her sulking friend abruptly turned around to leave, and Hermione panicked. What are you doing? This is foolish! Stop him! Stop being an idiot!
"Ron!" she called after him, louder than she had meant to.
"What?" he grumbled back, only half-turning to address her.
Hermione rushed over to him. She hesitated for the briefest moment, and then hastily pecked him on the cheek. Ron startled and drew back in shock.
"I'm sorry. I've been acting like such an idiot. My answer is - is yes."
"Really?"
Hermione swallowed the reservations she still bore in the back of her mind and in her heart and, instead, nodded emphatically. "Yes."
Ron's goofy grin returned, only this time he was beaming from ear to ear. "Wicked!"
Hermione forced a smile back, and prayed inwardly that she hadn't just made a terribly grave mistake, but there was hardly any time to reflect on the decision she had made. Ron leaned in and shell-shocked her with a firm, rather slobbery kiss on the lips that the Gryffindor witch was completely unprepared for.
At first, she squirmed, but then quickly submitted, her curiosity getting the best of her. Ron's lips were large, salty, and rougher than she expected. It wasn't an unpleasant experience; but then, it wasn't exactly how Hermione had hoped it would be. She prayed that her slight disappointment wouldn't show once Ron pulled away.
"Erm," Hermione laughed nervously, and Ron chuckled back.
"That was...nice."
"Um, yeah, it was."
Oh, Hermione, you god-awful liar. You're going to hell for this.
"Well, um, if you're still busy..."
"Oh! Well, I - I do kind of want—have—to finish this."
"Let me guess: extra credit?"
Hermione smiled wryly, but then found herself lying again. "Kind of."
In truth, she had been interested in finding out more about something Severus had mentioned to her a while ago, regarding the many banned textbooks on the Dark Arts the Ministry had obliterated or burned. So far, however, she had found surprisingly little information in her research. She much preferred the tedious fact-finding over her good friend for the time being—now more than a friend—and the guilt of that reality put her stomach in knots.
Ron, however, seemed to have other plans in mind for Hermione's afternoon. "Well, can't you take a break?"
"I - I suppose..."
Ron laughed loudly, displaying his pearly whites. "Wouldn't you rather hang out together? Oh, yeah, right. I guess I have to get used to this now... You and your love of books."
Hermione gazed at him apologetically. "I'm sorry."
Ron shrugged. "Nah, it's fine. Do your thing. I'll see you later."
There was an awkward moment of silence that passed between them, and then Ron leaned in for another kiss. Hermione accepted it without a struggle, but found it not much better than the first.
Practice, Hermione. That's all it is. You're new to this. It's probably supposed to feel this way... Isn't it?
Ron gave her another flash of his trademark simper, and then meandered out of the library, looking quite pleased with how things had gone. He wasn't aware of his new girlfriend's timid, questioning stare as he left.
"Well, it's about bloody time!"
"Please, Harry—"
"Congrats!" Ginny giggled, plopping herself down on the sofa beside Hermione in the common room as Harry sat down in front of the hearth, lacing his arms over his drawn up knees.
"I - I suppose Ron told you then?"
Harry gave her a funny look. "Well, yeah, of course he did! I'm surprised you didn't come and tell us first." He suddenly frowned. "Why didn't you?"
Hermione fidgeted but said nothing, making her friends gravely suspicious. Ginny inclined her head.
"Something wrong, Hermione?"
"No, not exactly..."
"Oh, dear." Ginny's eyes expanded and her eyebrows came together with concern. "Was my brother really bad at it?"
"What?" It took a moment to dawn on Hermione what Ginny was asking her, but when the realization hit, Hermione nervously laughed it off. "Oh, no! No, no, it was fine!"
"Fine?" Harry continued to gaze at his friend, slightly perplexed.
"Well, yeah."
"You don't sound too, um, enthusiastic."
"I am, Harry!"
"Yeah, but—"
"Just because I'm not shouting it from the rooftops means that I'm not happy?"
"Well, Hermione, you have been going on about Ron for a while now. I just thought..."
"What?"
"I thought you might be more excited than this."
"He's right, you know." Hermione turned to Ginny, who was giving her a rather sincere, almost piteous regard. "Have you changed your mind?"
"I— What? No! Why would you guys think that?"
"Well, no offense, 'Mione, but Ron's been acting a lot more enthusiastic about this getting together business than you."
"That's Ron, Harry. That isn't me."
"Oh. Right..."
Hermione paused, feeling the heat trickle onto her face in accordance with the skeptical reactions she was receiving from her close friends. "What?" she exclaimed, becoming increasingly flustered. "Aren't you guys happy for me?"
"Of course we are, Hermione. It's just..."
"What, Ginny?"
She shot the redhead a deadly glare, but the youngest Weasley's somber reply hit Hermione square in the chest. "Just don't hurt my brother, all right? If you've changed your mind, or if you're not that into him after all, then please tell him, sooner rather than later. Don't lead him on."
"I - I won't, Ginny," she stammered quietly. "I promise."
Ginny bowed her head, giving a sweet sidelong look to Harry before taking her leave. Once she was out of sight, Harry took her spot on the couch.
"So, what're you up to?"
Hermione perked up, grateful to be off the topic of her new boyfriend. It had only been a few days, but she was already having her fill of talking about it.
"Actually, I was thinking..."
"Yeah?"
"The Half-Blood Prince..."
Harry's green eyes livened. "Did you find something out?"
"Erm, not exactly. I tried to look up Eileen Prince—the name in the book—but couldn't find much of anything other than the fact that she was a former student here and was in Slytherin House."
Harry gave a prideful snort. "Well, considering some of the questionable spells that are in my book, I'm not surprised."
"Harry..."
"What? It's the truth!"
Hermione bit on her lip to keep from arguing. "My detentions with Snape are going really well, so I was thinking of, um, asking him about it. What do you think?"
Harry jerked his head back as if he had been cursed. "What? 'Mione, no! If Snape knows about that book, I'll receive detention with the slimy git for the rest of the school year!"
"Oh, come off it, Harry. I don't plan on telling him much about it anyhow. I was just thinking that perhaps he might have known Eileen Prince, perhaps taught her or went to school with her. It might help us make some headway." She lowered her eyes. "Unless you and Ron have any better ideas, seeing as you've both been working so hard on figuring this all out."
Harry's expression fluctuated from horror to guilt. He adjusted his glasses and gave Hermione a sheepish smile.
"Oh. Well, yeah, I suppose that could work. How exactly are you going to approach him though, 'Mione? The man can smell an ulterior motive a mile away, even without that large honker of his."
Hermione glared at Harry; it took every ounce of her being not to whip out her wand and send the Chosen One cascading into the wall, but she refrained.
"I'm working on that," she sniped.
Without another word, Hermione returned her attention to her reading material, leaving Harry to ponder over what he might have said to set the feisty Gryffindor off.
"Severus?"
"What?"
It had been nearly a week since Hermione's detentions had resumed, although she was also paying him more evening visits than ever and was exceedingly grateful that Severus didn't seem to mind or tell her to sod off. Harry and Ron believed she was going to the library every night, and she willingly went along with that excuse.
Hermione crossed the room and leaned against Severus's desk, staring down at the man who was hunched over his work and scribbling furiously all over a second year's essay.
"What was your upbringing like?"
Severus punctured a hole straight through the student's parchment, and his quill nearly shot out of his hand. He peered up at Hermione with widened, clearly suspicious eyes.
"Why do you ask?"
Hermione shrugged, no longer fazed by Severus's bouts of skepticism. "Just curious. That picture of your mother hanging in your office..."
"What about it?"
"Well, I was just wondering what she was like?"
Hermione tried to read Severus's hard face but to no avail. He simply scowled at her without emotion.
"There's not much to tell."
Hermione tapered her eyebrows. "Oh, c'mon, there must be something?"
She crossed her arms and waited, showing every indication of not giving in. Severus stared at her for nearly a minute before he finally sighed and threw down his quill, leaning back in his chair so as to meet her gaze more directly. He placed his hands in his lap and grunted.
Hermione was completely sidelined by what ensued. Perhaps Severus had mentally prepared himself for this. Then again, maybe he was finally entrusting himself to her, a major feat well worth noting...
"My mother was not an outgoing person. She was a loner, aloof, and incapable of maintaining long-term relationships with anyone she came into contact with. She was soft spoken and skittish, and when it came to me, I was her only source of company—and vice versa—for a very long time.
"She was not an affectionate mother, but she had her own manner of illustrating to me that she cared. I spent most of my childhood trying to make her happy. She was consumed by her black depression and anxieties. Sometimes it felt as if I didn't even exist to her when she was experiencing one of her manias, or that she literally couldn't see me when I was there. But I knew her regard for me was strong, even when she couldn't show it.
"My father made both of our lives miserable. I had the good fortune, however, of eventually escaping to Hogwarts, whilst my mother was left to fend for herself against him in their own private hell."
"Your father," Hermione whispered, leaning forward and hanging onto every word, "was he..."
Severus stared at her without blinking, his black eyes hardening. The stiff expression he wore pained her to see. This time, however, Hermione understood none of it was to shut her out or push her away, but rather to protect himself. Even without knowing the intimate details, Hermione could sense the harsh reality of Severus's situation before it was properly unveiled to her.
"Yes, my father was abusive, both verbally and physically. He was an alcoholic, ever since he was a teenager, and it only grew worse, particularly after I was born." Severus let out a contemptuous snicker. "I was his emotional punching bag and his greatest disappointment in life. I was unsightly, physically frail, socially awkward, and, worst of all, a wizard just like my mother...
"My father loathed that she was a witch from the time they first became romantically linked. I use the term 'romantic' very loosely. I don't believe they were ever truly in love at all. My mother probably thought she couldn't do any better, seeing as her self-esteem was so poor from the very beginning, and my father was simply shopping around for a wife to cook him his meals, pleasure him in bed, and tell him regularly how brightly the sun shone out of his arse.
"What my mother could have possibly seen in my father is beyond my rational capabilities. I will never be able to make sense of her choices, nor her decision to stay. I will only say that she was vulnerable and brought up to submit to and appease a man's every whim. My father was no exception, and she tolerated his abuse, in all likelihood believing she deserved it. I don't think I ever once heard her complain, but I witnessed her cries, her tears, her all-consuming despair... All the time...
"I, at least, served as a buffer when the abuse became too violent. My father had two individuals to take out his rage upon, which only meant that my mother survived. If it had been just her—if I had never been born—he would have surely killed her. I'm certain of it. There's only so much a battered person can withstand, and my father abused us both to the max."
Hermione tried to swallow, but her throat was suddenly parched. She wasn't aware of the tears now swimming in her eyes. Hearing what Severus was revealing was horrifying, but the lack of emotion in his conveyance of his miserable upbringing was what really tore at Hermione's gut. She could see how hard he was trying to hold back and not display any of the pain from what he had endured.
Hermione fought with every ounce of her being not to throw her arms around him and wrap the man up in a hug. He wouldn't appreciate it right now, one of the many subtle signs she was learning to understand about him. Hermione also knew that what he was telling her didn't even scratch the surface.
"Did he... Did he always abuse you? From the time you were a baby?"
Hermione wasn't sure if she really wanted to know the answer, but it was decipherable in Severus's eyes when he met hers, without even saying a word. Hermione felt crushed, as if she had received a personal blow to the chest.
"Yes, always. I can't remember much from my earliest years, but he never, ever liked me. I was the accumulation of everything he hated. I was his crowning failure and every moment that I lived at home in his presence, he never let me forget it...
"When I first showed signs of being able to perform magic, my mother tried desperately to hide it from him. She managed to keep it from him for quite a long time, but once he found out, I remember the slander and the beatings increasing tenfold, and they had already been quite bad up to that point."
Severus's irises grew murky, drifting off towards a far corner of the classroom without focusing. "Our abuse was his nightly ritual. He'd come home from work, my mother would fetch to and fro for him, have his meal ready and waiting for him, ask about his day, shower him with praise... But none of it was ever good enough.
"I would try to hide in my bedroom or make myself scarce; I ran away from home many times, just to escape his bouts of torment, but then he'd simply take my absence out on my mother. I was far too guilt-ridden to let her stand alone and take such maltreatment on my behalf, so I withstood it whenever I could and did my best not to give my father the satisfaction of garnering a reaction from me. I became very good at masking how badly his beatings hurt. It seemed to only enrage him more, but I still wouldn't allow it of myself, or give him the sickening pleasure he sought.
"I fought back, too, once I was old enough. There were several bloody altercations that happened between us—physical fights, me unleashing my magic upon him without really understanding how I'd done it—and about a year or two before starting at Hogwarts, I taught myself how to defend against him with dark curses and the like. I spent so much time learning about the Dark Arts, for I really had nothing else to bide my time, that I discovered how to make up several curses on my own.
"I firmly believe that, if my father were still alive by the time I left Hogwarts, I would have finished him off, and taken tremendous satisfaction in tormenting him for all the mental and physical persecution he put my mother and me through..."
The dark declaration Severus made sent shivers down Hermione's spine, giving her a glimpse of the young, dangerous Death Eater he had once been. But her conscience simultaneously sympathized with Severus and how justified, in reality, his words came across. She would probably take the same glorification as he after such undeserved maltreatment.
Hermione slowly shook her head, a few stray curls falling out of her loose ponytail and onto her shoulders. She still wasn't aware of the tears that were now streaming down her face.
"Severus..."
He didn't look at her. He continued to gaze hazily off into the distance at nothing, far away from her grasp and lost in a haunted past Hermione secretly berated herself for bringing up. She choked on her breath and quickly reached down to squeeze his shoulder.
"Severus... I - I'm so sorry." When he finally met her gaze, filled with the gentlest empathy, Hermione hated to find that inscrutable, blank stare of his again. It broke her heart. "No one deserves that. You didn't deserve to be treated that way."
Severus didn't answer and simply turned his head away from her once more. He didn't appear at all convinced. Hermione tightened her grip on his shoulder, alarmed by his passivity.
"Severus, you don't actually think you warranted your father's abuse, do you? You can't possibly think that. You can't."
"Don't speak of what you don't understand," he admonished her quietly, and with an unexpected edge to his voice. "You had a happy childhood, Hermione; a pleasant upbringing, I'm sure. Unless you've experienced what I went through, then don't assume anything about it."
Hermione reared back in shock. "Severus, I don't have to have gone through what you endured to know that a child doesn't deserve to be treated the way you were! You didn't deserve it, Severus. Your father's belittling is carved into your brain, I can tell, but whatever horrible things he said and did to you, they were wrong, and you shouldn't listen to any of it.
"And don't shake your head like that! I don't have to know the particulars of what he said. He was an abusive drunk, and he bullied and tormented you to make himself feel better. Whatever nasty words he spat, Severus, whatever he did to you, you didn't deserve it!"
Severus still wouldn't make eye contact or give her an encouraging reaction. More desperate than ever to reach him, Hermione bent low and took possession of Severus's cheek that was turned away. She rotated his face towards her, forcing him to meet her eyes. He allowed her to do so but gave the same expressionless stare as before, and there was something deeply troubling and forlorn lurking behind the depths of his eyes. They fluttered at receiving her gentle caress, as if her touch were the most wonderful feeling he had ever received, and it gave her courage to press on.
"Severus, listen at me," Hermione whispered emphatically, cupping her hand against the side of his face. "I'm terribly sorry for what you went through. I never should have brought up this topic. You've hinted to me before just how unpleasant your upbringing was. My nagging curiosity is both a blessing and a curse. I'm admittedly desperate to know more about you, but my countless questions and incessant badgering have been extremely trying on you, I know. I - I'm deeply sorry for putting you through this. I genuinely don't mean to make you hurt any more than you already do. And don't deny to me that you aren't emotionally scarred, Severus, because I know you are...
"I suspect you haven't been told very often that you didn't deserve what you got. I didn't know your mother. I have a better sense of who she was now, thanks to you, but I still don't know her well enough to judge; however, I would venture to guess that she was probably too fragile to tell you herself that you didn't deserve it. She probably wanted to but just couldn't.
"I can certainly now see where your low opinion of yourself stems from. I really wish she would've told you. I wish someone would have reminded you back then that you deserved better—so much better—because you did, and you still do.
"Nothing—nothing in all this world—warrants a child being abused like that. I wish so many things had been different for you. I know you haven't had an easy life, but letting your past continue to torment you this way won't ever allow you to hear me properly, or see what I see in you. Please just know that you deserved better than the cards you were dealt. You deserved to be loved, Severus. Every person does. You are worthy of love, Severus. You are."
Hermione affectionately stroked Severus's cheek, hardly aware of what she was doing or saying anymore. Her words had simply poured out of her, and touching him in this way felt entirely natural, as it if it were meant to be.
She watched and waited for Severus to react to her words, and for a period of time, all the wizard could do was stare. She could see the wheels turning, however, his dark eyes pleading, almost begging to allow himself to believe that she was right. Yet he was obviously torn, and struggled to grasp what she had so adamantly expressed.
Hermione felt equally tormented watching him trying to come to grips with what he had never allowed himself to believe. But then Severus began to breathe heavily, and, finally, his face altered, contorting into an expression of brutal agony. He looked as if he were experiencing real physical pain.
Inhaling a sharp breath, he brought a quivering hand over top of Hermione's, which rubbed at his cheek, and clasped her fingers. Hermione felt her eyes tearing up all over again. He was so vulnerable, so childlike now, that it sucked the very breath out of her.
"Hermione... I..."
His shaky attempt at expressing himself was such a visible strain in itself that Hermione swiftly resorted to the only thing she could think of. Inching forward, and without giving what she was about to do a second thought, Hermione kissed the top of Severus's forehead. Severus shuddered in response, withering beneath this small dose of compassion, but Hermione made sure that her tender kiss was long and heartfelt, and that he understood what it meant.
When she moved her lips away, she crouched lower to meet his eyes, listening intently to his uneven breaths and knowing how severely he was trying not to lose his composure in front of her. The act only heightened her heartache.
"Severus," she urged, speaking as soothingly as she could, "don't be afraid to let go. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm not going to criticize you or ridicule you or harm you in any way. It's all right. You're doing nothing wrong. I'm here, Severus, and I won't hurt you, I promise."
Severus drew in another sharp breath, and then a pair of strong hands wrapped themselves around Hermione's arms. With a gentle, but firm, tug, Severus eased Hermione onto his lap. She brought an arm comfortably around his neck and the other around his waist, grateful when Severus allowed her to ease him into a warm hug, one that only she could give.
Severus closed his eyes and buried his face in the nape of her neck, inhaling her intoxicating scent, which quickly proved to be a small dose of comfort in itself. Hermione listened in an attempt to sense the man's needs without pushing or saying anything else. She simply held him close, letting him cling to her for whatever solace he needed. He didn't cry, but his breathing was labored and despairing as he tried to ward off the emotions that had been long buried within.
For a while, they sat there in the professor's chair, Hermione seated on Severus's lap, holding tightly to him in another strong moment of contact he never thought he would ever experience. Hermione didn't believe the man capable of doing so at one time, but not anymore. She had broken down another wall, and a window into Severus's soul had opened itself up to her, allowing her to climb through and retrieve yet another defining piece of the complicated, private wizard that no one knew.
Once Severus's heavy breathing subsided, Hermione reluctantly pulled away to look him over and finally witnessed a natural reaction. He was melancholy, mournful, his eyes terribly sad. Hermione quickly brushed a few hairs away from his face so that she could properly cup it in her hands.
She was growing increasingly fond of how Severus responded to her touch. His dark eyelashes routinely fluttered, his body momentarily paralyzed by her contact. But it seemed to be only by her that Severus was left so incapacitated, if just for a short moment.
"Thank you," he managed with difficulty.
Hermione offered him a genuine smile once he reopened his eyes. "You're welcome," she returned softly.
"I..."
"You don't have to say anything, Severus. Opening up to me, and allowing yourself to be held just now, are positive steps in the right direction."
"I... Yes..."
"Do you feel a little better? I hope?"
"Yes." He paused to draw breath. "I - appreciate - what you're trying to do, Hermione. I..."
Hermione's thumbs grazed the lines along his mouth. "It's all right. This was a lot for you, I know, but I'm proud of you, Severus. It - It means a lot to me..."
Severus suddenly became of aware of the young lady—his student—sitting in his lap, warming him in more ways than one, and a flicker of panic flashed across his eyes. Severus... What the... What the hell are you doing?
Severus shut down his blistering mind long enough to give her more focused attention. Hermione didn't seem aware of this being in any way wrong, and that, too, confounded him greatly.
"Hermione?"
"Yes?"
"What... What is this?"
Hermione tilted her head. "What is what?"
"This."
Awareness crept onto Hermione's visage, and she slowly withdrew her hands from his cheeks, which Severus instantly regretted and longed to feel again. "I... I don't know," she responded timidly.
And that was the truth. She really didn't know, and it showed by her furrowed brow and the nervous twitch in her eyes.
"This is... Highly inappropriate."
Hermione hardly knew what to say. "Oh. Do - Do you want me to go?"
"No," Severus answered, a little too hastily. "No, I... I just..."
"We're friends, aren't we?"
"...We are?"
Hermione drew back a little with fresh worry. "Are you not sure?"
"That we're simply friends? No, I'm not sure... Are you?"
Hermione paused before a wave of uncertainty washed over her, and panic, too. She couldn't lie. She was incapable of such insincerity looking at the broken man in front of her; a man she was so strangely and strongly drawn to, no longer in a friendly manner.
Not in a friendly manner... Merlin, what's happening?
"No," she professed quietly, "I - I'm not sure either... Not anymore..."
Severus's obsidian orbs flickered. "Hermione, be direct with me."
"Severus, please—"
He pressed his fingers to her lips—without thinking—to stop her from speaking, but found them lingering on her mouth, so warm and supple, the ridges exquisite as he unconsciously traced them with fascination. He heard the young lady's breath hitch, and he almost started to pull away, but then she reacted, too, and not in the manner he anticipated.
Hermione brought her hand back up to stroke him, though not his cheek this time. She, too, gently examined the contours of Severus's own lips, thin and pronounced, heated and lithe. She had a sudden, very prominent urge to taste them. She had wanted to for a long time, actually. And he was too close now not to chance it, not to try...
"Hermione," she heard Severus breathe cautiously, but the man's warning was ignored.
Staring deep into his eyes was all the confirmation Hermione needed. He wanted her, too. Without question. Hermione may have been completely inexperienced and new to the sensations washing over her, but there was no mistaking the passion brewing in the wizard's eyes, and it was all for her.
Hermione sought the advantage. She brought her lips to his in a flash. And when their lips met, the act was tenderly rendered, with care, with feeling, the warmth of their mouths lighting a fire within each other. Hermione found Severus's lips to be surprisingly soft, gentle, delicious even.
Hermione hesitated slightly as she started to withdraw, but then Severus responded. He brought a hand around her head to press her lips into his in earnest, giving them both much needed encouragement to continue the pursuit.
They kissed for what seemed like forever, neither willing themselves to stop. Their mouths massaged one another's, enraptured by the taste and fluttering sensations it brought. Severus's tongue slipped inside Hermione's mouth, and she let out a small gasp of pleasure as she opened herself up to him further.
Growing slightly bolder, Hermione mimicked his tongue and gave the same back. Severus moaned, low and profound, and the glorious sound shot straight to Hermione's core. She could feel herself warming with passion and desire.
She slipped her hands up to entangle her fingers in Severus's hair, feeling the texture for the second time and finding that she relished it even more than the first. Severus, in turn, could hardly comprehend what was happening. The witch had somehow released him from his confinement, with just a few soft-spoken words and a kiss; he felt too indisposed now to stop the surge rushing over him. He just wanted to taste her, travel her mouth and every sumptuous curve of her body with his lips, tongue, hands, anything he could...
Realizing they were severely lacking oxygen, both pulled away simultaneously to catch their breath, taking a fleeting moment to stare into each other's eyes. Severus's breathing was hot and heavy, and the seductive smirk he now wore was enough to drive Hermione mad. She had never experienced anything quite like this. She was burning—literally on fire—and certainly didn't want to stop.
Hermione moved quickly to kiss him again, but Severus's hoarse whisper abruptly halted her efforts. "No."
Hermione drew back, freshly self-conscious. "What's wrong?" When he didn't say anything, only continued to survey her flushed face and swelling lips, Hermione turned scarlet. "Did - Did I do something wrong?"
"No," he purred, an evident struggle emerging as he tried to formulate words, "only we..."
"What?"
"We shouldn't... Hermione, we - we can't do this."
And just like that, the flame inside her blew out. She wanted to protest but found herself bereft of words. The strange sort of pain she detected in Severus's expression told her he didn't really want to stop either, but there was no doubting his resolve. They would go no further, and the newly found lust Hermione had just experienced was snatched away, leaving her cold and despondent.
"Hermione," Severus urged, cupping her chin in his hand. She wasn't looking at him anymore, and he was desperate to reach her in return, just as the kind witch had wanted to get to him so many times before. "I'm your instructor. I'm supposed to look after you and protect you and be a trustworthy mentor... I - I'm betraying that trust by what I'm doing. I should never have done this. I - I'm very sorry."
"But Severus, I kissed you first—"
Severus shook his head. "It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does! Severus, I'm not a child. I'll be eighteen in a matter of months. I'm already of age. What we did wasn't wrong, especially if - if there are mutual feelings involved."
Severus swallowed his wants, suppressing his craving to take Hermione again and ravage her the way he so desperately wanted to into the ground. He took hold of both of her hands as she sat dejectedly in his lap.
"You have been so good to me," he whispered in a tender manner that made Hermione's heart beat faster, "and I appreciate it more than you know, Hermione. But I've taken advantage of your wonderful kindness, and I shouldn't have. I - I do have feelings for you, make no mistake, but this is inappropriate. You're still my student, and I'm your professor."
"Severus, please."
Hermione leaned in and brought her forehead to his, inhaling deeply, and Severus succumbed to this, for he wanted it, too. He loved her penetrating warmth against his skin; it was more comforting than he had ever believed it could be. He responded by nuzzling her nose, and was pleased to see her give him her radiant smile again.
He was about to say something when a faint echoing of footsteps made him perk up. Hermione heard them, too. She half-stumbled, catapulting out of Severus's lap and nearly tripping over her own feet as she scurried around his desk and adjusted her wrinkled garments.
The door creaked open, and a silhouette emerged. Both she and Severus, who was adjusting his robes, eyed the person who had entered, praying their expressions didn't give them away.
"Professor?" Hermione inquired, her cheeks glowing redder at the sight of a very flustered-looking McGonagall.
"Oh, there you are, Miss Granger! I had a feeling you might be serving detention tonight. You need to come with me this instant."
"Is something wrong?"
The frantic look on McGonagall's aged face was startling and shook Hermione awake from the intoxicating exchange she and Severus had been sharing moments ago.
"I'm afraid so. And Severus," she nodded towards the dark wizard now getting to his feet, "we'll need you as well. Albus is asking for you."
Hermione and Severus shared fleeting glances before he proceeded to join her at her side. "Minerva?" he offered curtly, sounding emotionless as usual.
"I'm sorry to disrupt you both so inconveniently like this, but it cannot be helped."
"Professor, what's wrong?"
McGonagall strolled forward and touched Hermione on the shoulder, giving her a grave frown. "I'm afraid Mr. Weasley's been poisoned. Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley are with him now, but I knew you would want to be there, too."
"Poisoned?" Hermione's eyes enlarged, and her mouth dropped to the floor.
A crease appeared between Severus's eyebrows. "What happened?"
"I'll explain on the way to the hospital wing. Please, come with me."
A/N #2: About time, yes? :) But there's still a lot of hurdles standing in their way, including a certain redhead.
The circumstances aren't perfect, but it rarely ever is with these two, is it? One step forward, two steps back...