26.
Sun's Day
Snape took longer with his morning ablutions than he normally would. He performed the stubble removing spell as usual and ran his hand over his jaw. Without a mirror it was difficult to assure his thoroughness.
He put on the woolly socks from Miss Lovegood and a pair of the lounging pajamas from Mr. Potter. They were of impeccable material, soft yet thick and warm. They were of an olivey-green hue which Narcissa assured him went well with his coloring, or lack thereof.
He was sated and groomed and waiting anxiously for Miss Granger to arrive. He re-played several scenarios in his mind and found no fault. If she caught on quickly, the petty questions and answers would be completed in an hour.
Then, Snape could direct the conversation to important concerns. If Miss Granger felt an obligation towards himself, he would take the advantage. Snape could almost feel the silken gloss of his black walnut wand in his hand.
Snape heard the whoosh of the door as Miss Granger arrived on time. He heard her walk to her customary chair. Snape rehearsed his responses while waiting. He heard her grunt and watched her as she came into his peripheral view.
She carried her chair, placing it about two meters to his right. He could see her through his long hair as she adjusted the angle and sat down. She clasped her hands on her lap and began staring at the enchanted wall.
Snape tried not to look surprised, but he was. Snape tried not to look at her, but he did.
Instead of trainers, she wore clunky brown shoes. Her ankles were crossed in gray tights and were those calves? A pleated gray skirt, a woolly jumper and... He dare not lift his head further lest his hair part.
He listened to her breathing. She didn't sound angry or upset. He eyed her sideways tilting his head ever so slightly. Yes, he could see her face now. Her brown hair was tamed with a band. Her profile revealed a dark smudge under her eye. She looked... peaked.
Snape resumed staring at the floor. This confrontation was not going as he imagined. Was the girl never going to speak? She should at least have the decency to stare at him instead of that blasted wall.
Snape glanced up at the shores of Kurdlish Bay. How was that more interesting than him? Snape fumed silently at the unexpected change in his plans. Twice he stopped himself from drumming his fingers in exasperation.
***
Hermione replayed the events of the past months in her head. She thought her silent visits with Snape would be reassuring to him, but there didn't seem to be any progress in his condition.
Then she was struck with a severe convulsion and he stopped it. She concentrated on her body and felt no residual tremors. Professor Snape cured... her. Whatever animosity he may have had for her as a former student, he willingly helped her.
Then there was the time she touched him. After hearing Draco's story, she goggled why the professor hadn't hurt her. He didn't even budge. And all that time he was conscious and aware of them. So, if he didn't try to hurt her, maybe he didn't really want to. Or, maybe the end of the war did change him. She never would have considered him suicidal before.
Whatever the reasons, she was determined to help him in return. She would acclimate him to her presence. To her body. To her touch. If he was repulsed by touch, let him vent his anger on her. She could withstand his demonstrations. And if he broke her bones?
She deserved it for not coming to his aid in the Shrieking Shack as he told her every night in her dreams. If he was afraid of rejection, she would prove to him his touch would not be refused. That his touch would be welcome.
Hermione made a show of unclasping her hands, standing and turning around. She slid her chair closer to the professor and reseated herself. She watched the enchanted screen which displayed a montage of baby animals.