Chapter 25

A/N: Sorry to leave you guys with such a bummer of a chapter last time; it's important to feel the contrast between 23 and 24. But, oh! Ye of little faith! Don't give up hope just yet! There are such sweet surprises in store... have patience—it will be rewarded! But in the meantime...

Hermione cried until she exhausted herself, laying limply on her bed while little sobbing aftershocks trembled through her as her breathing slowly steadied. She listened to the strange sound of her own voice as tiny moans escaped her from time to time that seemed to arise from somewhere beyond her, as if her body was possessed by a grief all its own. When these subsided, there was only the sound of her labored breaths and sniffling, and the gentle noise was oddly comforting to focus on. At one point she had heard another noise— very quiet— outside her door, followed by the almost imperceptible sound of footsteps softly retreating.

She turned her face into her tangled sheets and sighed deeply as she considered the man outside. Had she been unfair to him? Hadn't he only told her what she wanted to hear when she insisted on knowing the truth? She couldn't remember exactly what she had said to him afterward, and she wondered if she had hurt him. Though part of her might've wanted to argue that he deserved it, the greater part was deeply troubled by the idea. Hadn't he been kind to her? Hadn't he broken character; gone against his natural inclinations; gone out of his way to be gentle? At least, she assumed his natural character was in line with that of the man she knew from the classroom; that man wasn't the comforting type... who was he, really?

There was a great possibility that there was more to his story than she knew about. She had no idea what he'd been doing all this time, while she was apparently— NO. ...best not to think about that right now, she told herself as anxiety gripped her, another shuddering sob wracking her tired body. Why was he trying to help her? Was it just the guilt of letting her get away? He did seem particularly determined to succeed, against the odds. She still wasn't sure why he was keeping her here by himself... where was the rest of the Order? She wondered if there was more going on back home than he'd told her about... was it not safe to go back? If there was a war on, she wanted to help; she couldn't imagine how Ron and Harry were getting along without her. Surely they needed her. ...but then again, how much help could she be to them, as she was? She wasn't stable; not with 'Nina' breaking through periodically and taking over. There was every chance that Nina would ruin everything, should she be let loose in the wizarding world. Snape had mentioned how wizarding society was ill-equipped to treat head cases responsibly... there would probably be few outlets for someone in her condition. What if no one there could help her? Would she have to live in the Muggle world? Be treated by Muggle doctors, taking Muggle medications? ...what if they put her in a mental institution?

Hermione shuddered at the thought, suddenly very afraid of the prospect of returning home before she was fixed. Maybe Snape knew what he was doing. Maybe she needed to put more faith in him. At this point, she probably didn't have a better option.

Rolling onto her side, she stared out into the empty bedroom, blinking as her blurry eyes focused on the shabby wall across from her. This place sure didn't have much to recommend itself. Without any of her books at her disposal, Hermione had little to distract herself from the monotony of her dismal surroundings... that is, aside from her hopelessly tragic situation — which she didn't want to think about at that moment — and Snape, of course. Snape. Snape, Snape, Snape. He certainly was a prominent figure in her life at present. He had always been featured quite strikingly in her thoughts, though she'd never focused on him as intensely as she had been lately. Her situation demanded that she give the man her full attention, and part of her was a little nervous about this. As she chewed on her lower lip, she recognized that this situation had the potential to turn very problematic, very fast. She was a sensible sort of girl, but that didn't mean that her heart wasn't vulnerable to wild ideas and irrational fixations. If she was completely honest with herself, she would have to admit that she might've entertained an irrational notion or two regarding the man back before all of this started... and now... now, she gulped...

Now, he'd called her 'sweetheart'...

Maybe she was right. Severus knew he wasn't the best person to console her at a time like this; he just wasn't any good at it. He was of the 'tough love' variety, and it worked well when dealing with his Slytherins... though he'd certainly never had to console a Slytherin at such a time as this... and Hermione was no Slytherin. She was all Griffindor; all tenderheartedness and sentimentality, passion and spirit. And he had broken hers.

He wondered if she would be better off among her friends and family, even if it meant potentially losing her forever. To bring her back to them would be to essentially give her up; to hand her over to the care of others, whose chances of helping her couldn't be much better than his... could they possibly be as committed, as devoted to her as he was now— especially with all that was happening? After all, hadn't he been the one to find her, when the others failed? It was his persistence, his tenacity, his intelligence that persevered. How could he be sure they wouldn't fail her this time? He couldn't be. They weren't to be trusted, not after everything that had transpired. He couldn't give her up to them; not when he'd finally found her after all this time...

But then, he hadn't truly found her... not his Hermione— the brave, foolish girl who had sacrificed herself for him— the only person ever to have committed a selfless act for his sake... that girl was still missing. He wanted her back more than he'd wanted anything in a long, long time, and she'd be lost to him forever if he gave up now. Was he being selfish? ...probably. Either way, he was running out of time. Better to keep trying while he still had the chance, before his past caught up with him. If these were to be his last days, he might as well try to make them as worthwhile as possible... didn't he owe her that much?

It was a long time before Hermione ventured out of the bedroom, her face still splotchy and her eyes swollen as she glanced out into the living room, thankfully finding it empty. She crossed to the bathroom and cleaned herself up before sighing at her sorry reflection, then stepped out morosely to get herself a glass of water. Her throat was dry and sore, and her limbs ached from overexertion. She thought about taking another bath just to soak in, though the idea seemed wastefully extravagant.

When she hadn't heard any sign of Snape, she went looking for him on the porch. He wasn't there, either, so she tugged on the canvas sneakers she found near the doorway and strolled around the perimeter, wondering where he'd gone off to. Did he want to be left alone? Had she really upset him? She clutched her water glass to her chest as she stood by the side of the house, looking worried. A flash of color caught her attention, and she glanced to the left to see the pink bikini she remembered from earlier hanging from the outdoor shower head. Her brows furrowed as she approached it curiously, reaching out and finding the material slightly damp. Had Nina showered in it? Perhaps she'd been modest, not wanting to stand around outdoors in the nude, and had used the shower to get relief from the heat... it seemed plausible. Why did the idea still bother her a little?

Hermione turned away with a tiny frown, confused by the elusive resentment she was feeling. She must've still been emotionally vulnerable after her crying episode, and was prone to irrational sensitivity. She walked away from the shower to continue her search, hoping to distract herself with her concern for her missing Professor.

She had nearly given up hope of finding him as she came upon the empty shed, turning away from it with a sigh before a movement in the distance caught her eye. She squinted to see an imposing figure trudging along, head down as he cut a slow, meandering path back toward the house. Hermione watched him as she moved back toward the porch, worrying her lip as he continued along at a loitering pace, apparently lost in thought as he slowed now and then to poke at objects with his foot, his thumbs pulling at his trouser pockets while his lank hair fell across his face. For the first time since she'd been here, she noticed that it was quite a bit longer than she remembered it; she wondered if this was by choice, or if he just hadn't taken the time to cut it.

Sitting down at the edge of the porch to watch his approach, she drank slowly from her water glass, idly drawing circles in the dirt with the toe of her shoe.

As he cleared a large section of brush, Snape paused suddenly as he glanced up and noticed Hermione waiting for him. She saw his pace falter, and looked down self-consciously as she drew a wider circle in the dirt, leaning forward as her hands gripped the side of the porch. He swallowed as he summoned his courage and moved toward her, uncertain as to how things stood between them now. When his shadow intersected the circle she was retracing as he stopped in front of her, she looked up at him with a small, forced smile, nervousness clearly visible in her puffy eyes. He stared at her for a long moment in silence, concern showing through despite his stony facade.

Hermione took a deep breath as her eyes flashed between his before lowering her gaze, her arms twisting inward as she rocked forward stiffly, not knowing what to say to him. Finally, she spoke quietly, "I didn't know where you went."

He studied her for a moment before replying, "I just went for a walk. ...I wouldn't leave you alone," he added, hoping he hadn't worried her.

"It's fine," she assured him, not meeting his eyes, "I'm sure I'd be alright if you did."

"...Did you want me to?" he asked self-consciously, "Do you want to be alone?"

"No," she hastily responded, looking up at him quickly before averting her eyes, "I mean, either way, I'm alright. ...I was only curious when I couldn't find you anywhere."

Severus exhaled a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as he looked away from her, squinting as he scanned the horizon.

"I think I'll take a shower now," he muttered. "Can I trust you to stay away from that side of the house until I've finished?"

"Of course," Hermione replied with slight indignation, looking up at him with scrunched features, "I wouldn't infringe on your privacy..."

Severus raised an eyebrow as he looked down at her speculatively, noticing the slight flush to her cheeks. He felt a little sorry for embarrassing her, and nodded shortly before walking away. She crossed her arms as he left, blunting her dirt circle with short kicks as she let the offensive remark pass.

Pulling his shirt off as he toed out of his shoes and stepped onto the wooden platform of the shower, Severus noticed the flash of pink adorning the shower head. He regarded the material with a conflicted expression as he tossed the sweaty shirt over the side partition and started unfastening his trousers, trying not to rouse his libido as he unwillingly recalled the eager body that had filled the tiny garment the night before. Stepping out of his pants, he glanced up warily at the insidious little scraps of fabric, folding his slacks and draping them alongside his shirt as he turned toward the bubblegum pink deathtrap like a carp to a lure, reaching out to fondle it despite himself. Still damp. Enraptured, he stroked a long thumb down the front of the briefs, recalling the sleek feel of the material underwater as he'd touched her. Gods, she'd been so hot; so unbelievably slick...

Severus suddenly pulled his hand back as he became aware of his throbbing erection, cursing as he unleashed the cold water with a violent twist, gritting his teeth as he immersed himself in the chilly downpour, catching mouthfuls of it and spitting them out as his racing blood cooled down, until he was at last able to scrub at his skin with the bar of soap without provoking the urge to spend an improper amount of time lathering his genitals. All the while that damnable bikini dangled before him brazenly, and it took far too much of his willpower not to hex the thing to oblivion.

As Severus walked back from his shower half-dressed, he was surprised to find Hermione still sitting on the porch. She froze when she saw him approaching bare-chested, rubbing his wet hair with a towel, his dirty shirt slung over his shoulder. She didn't realize she was staring until she met his eyes as he arched an eyebrow at her, causing her to blush and look away as he sauntered indoors to get a fresh shirt, smirking to himself as he crossed the threshold.

He reemerged fully-dressed with his long hair dampening the back of his shirt, enjoying the slight relief it offered from the oppressive heat. He frowned when he noticed the radio in Hermione's lap, remembering all the trouble the blasted thing had caused.

"It doesn't work," she muttered, looking up at him as he sat beside her, "the batteries must be dead."

"No," he sighed, "the animation charm wore off. I can reset it for you if you'd like."

"You charmed it to work?" she asked, looking at him in surprise.

"At Nina's request," he answered, not wanting to go into the full story.

"Oh," she murmured, looking down at it again with the sudden feeling that she was trespassing.

He noticed her discomfort, squinting at her before he continued, "Even so, it's still difficult to get a decent signal around here; Nina found that it only really worked when she took it up onto the roof."

Hermione glanced up, open-mouthed, as she imagined climbing onto the rickety roof with the radio in tow. "You let me climb up there?" she asked quietly, a little wary of the thought.

"I wasn't comfortable with the idea," Severus countered defensively, "but Nina tends to do as she pleases."

Hermione looked at him contemplatively, and her quiet assessment unnerved him.

"Your hair's longer than I remember it being," she commented in an offhand way, surprising him with the turn of conversation.

"So is yours," he noted softly. Her eyes met his before she raised a hand to her hair self-consciously, toying with a strand.

"Yes," she replied, "I noticed that, too." She suddenly thought of the other changes she'd noticed about her person, and flushed as she dropped her eyes and fidgeted with the radio again.

"You could cut it, if you'd like," he suggested, and her eyes widened as she looked to him in surprise.

"You'd let me cut your hair?" she asked incredulously.

Severus' eyes now widened as he realized her mistake. "I meant you could cut your own hair—" he corrected, "you don't need Nina's permission."

"Oh," she answered, sounding disappointed, "I know that... But I kind of like it the way it is."

Severus nodded, silently admitting that he liked it, as well. He was disheartened by the way her shoulders had slumped, and it occurred to him that she might actually have been excited by the idea of cutting his hair for him. Though the intimacy of such an act terrified him, he wondered if letting her do it would strengthen her trust in him, bridging the gulf that was currently separating them. The Slytherin in him recognized the tactical advantage, though the private man was reluctant to go to such lengths for the sake of maintaining an alliance. At any rate, it might make her happy. With a deep sigh, he looked down as he murmured, "I would let you cut my hair, if you're so inclined."

She looked at him again in astonishment, nearly smiling as she tried to tell if he was in earnest. "Do you want a hair cut?" she asked quietly.

"It could probably benefit from a trim at least," he muttered, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

"It does look rather unkempt," she agreed, "I do know how to cut hair, by the way. I'd do a good job of it..."

"If you say so," he replied, suppressing the compulsion to fault her for being a know-it-all.

"Shall I fetch some scissors?" she asked, setting aside the radio as she perked up.

"There's some shears in one of the kitchen drawers," he said, resigned now to his fate.

"Alright," she answered, rising up jubilantly as she took off toward the kitchen. "Why don't you pull a chair out here, and drape a towel around your shoulders," she suggested, hurrying off to sift through drawers until she found the shears, then darting into the bathroom to fetch the black comb from the cabinet. Her chest heaved with excitement as she suppressed a big smile, hardly believing she'd been granted permission to perform such a task. Snape must really want to set things right between them if he was allowing this!

Severus set the kitchen chair in the middle of the porch, hardly believing he was about to go through with this. For many years, there was only one person he entrusted the care of his hair to: a decrepit old wizarding barber named Earle, whom he patronized exclusively because he knew the man needed the business, and, most importantly, because the man had the decency not to try and chat him up while servicing him. A quiet barber was a rare commodity, and he had no intention of straying from old Earle so long as the wizard had enough life left in him to sustain his dilapidated business. Yet here he was, committing his first act of infidelity after countless years of loyalty — and with Miss Hermione Granger, no less. Certainly any chance of her not chattering away throughout the procedure would be too much to hope for.

"Well? Sit down, then," she spoke from behind him, startling him as he turned to find her standing straight and tall in the doorway with a pair of shears held up in one hand and a comb in the other. Merlin, this was really happening.

Snape turned and sat down tensely, looking like he was about to be executed. Hermione took a steadying breath as she approached him, suddenly quite nervous about what she was about to do. She would be touching him, she realized. Severus heard her swallow as she stood behind him, tensing further as he sensed her trepidation. It wouldn't do to have her fumbling about with scissors if her hands were unsteady. What had he gotten himself into?

He nearly jumped as he felt her hand gently stroke a strand of hair before running the comb through it, working carefully as she encountered some tangles at the ends, delicately combing through them as she worked her way around his head. He eventually started relaxing as he yielded to her gentle touch, breathing deeply as she silently tended to every strand. His eyes were closed as she stood to his side and finished combing out the front portion, her lips slightly pursed in concentration. As he heard the first slice of the scissors, his eyes flew open as he looked to her uncertainly. She smiled a soft smile of reassurance before turning her attention back to her task. She worked diligently — and remarkably quietly — as she slowly circled him, stepping back from time to time to check her precision, sometimes gently repositioning his head as he became surprisingly sedate, leaning back into the chair and allowing her to do as she would without stressing over the outcome. If she mutilated him, there was nothing he could do about it now. He might as well sit back and enjoy the attention. It occurred to him that he never got this warm feeling he was presently experiencing whenever Earle touched his hair; for some reason, he was receiving an unprecedented amount of contentment from Hermione's touch, to the degree that the experience had turned rather indulgent... he soon found that he didn't want it to end...

He looked up at her with soft eyes as she stood in front of him, lightly tugging on the front portions at the side of his face as she made tiny adjustments, glancing at him now and again as he watched her closely. As she continued clipping away bit by bit— nearly stroking him as she rearranged the same portions of hair again and again, worrying her lip as she met his warm gaze before looking away quickly— he wondered if she was intentionally drawing out this last part. His eyes flicked back to the lip tugged between her teeth, and he bittersweetly recalled the way that very lip had tasted between his own. Before he could dwell on the thought, she backed away from him to survey her work, carefully scrutinizing the hair that now hung neatly just past his shoulders. It wasn't too much shorter than it had been, but it was decidedly less scraggly. She smiled in approval, looking to him shyly as he brushed some hair off of his lap.

"All finished?" he asked, and she could've sworn she'd heard a note of disappointment in his voice.

She nodded her head in response, biting the inside of her lip as she gave a little smile of apprehension.

"Well?" he asked, carefully removing the hair-covered towel from his shoulders as he rose from the chair, "Do you see any improvement? Or have you made me look ridiculous to spite me?" he teased. His eyes warmed as she let out a little laugh in response.

"No, sir, I wouldn't abuse your trust like that," she smiled, stepping toward him to brush off some clippings from his chest, "you look perfectly dapper, now. Not quite so shabby."

Hermione stilled as his hand rose to hers, pressing it lightly to his chest as he waited for her to look him in the eyes. Her breath caught as she took in his expression.

"Thank you, Hermione," he said in a deep voice, "you've done a fine job."

"...You haven't even seen it yet," she almost whispered back to him, trying to make sense of the look in his eyes. Her heart palpitated wildly as she wondered if he intended to kiss her.

Severus stared back at her for a long moment, his face changing as he took in her frightened expression. He watched her swallow nervously, and he released her hand as he backed away.

"I shall remedy that immediately," he said with a smirk that didn't match his eyes, turning abruptly to head towards the bathroom. Hermione watched him with wide eyes as he retreated, her breaths coming unsteadily as she tried to shake the insane idea from her muddled head. He hadn't wanted to kiss her, she reassured herself, he was only being thankful for a job well done...

Her mouth twisted as she turned away and looked down to the mess of hair on the floor, distracting herself from her errant thoughts by meticulously scooping handfuls of clippings into the towel, then shaking them out in the bushes. She swept the towel over the chair before picking it up to carry inside, startled when it was lifted away from her by Snape, who looked at her strangely before averting his eyes, then turned to carry the chair back to the kitchen.

"You did well, Granger," he said softly over his shoulder, "I'm quite pleased."

So it was back to 'Granger' then, she sighed, despite her pleasure at having finally heard words of genuine praise from the perennial critic. She smiled to herself as she considered how very strange it all was; that— after all her sweating over potions and laboring over carefully-worded essays— it took a haircut of all things to finally hear him express approval for her effort.

Shaking her head in disbelief, she carefully folded the hair-covered towel and hugged it gently to her chest as she marveled at how close he'd let her get to him. What a confusing, implausible, fascinating man...