"Well, what are you going to do mate?" Ron asked for the third time that morning. Harry shrugged, shoving aside his neglected transfiguration essay. "Well you're going to do something right?" Ron persisted, "you can't really go on like this, can you?"
"No we can't, I suppose you're right," Harry admitted grudgingly as Ron threw down his quill as well. "I've seen it coming anyway, she's been acting odd lately. Come to think of it, she hasn't really been herself all year, have you noticed?"
"I dunno." Ron offered unhelpfully. "I mean she's been kind of emotional, but, I mean, her parents just bit the dust a few months ago, I wouldn't be too cheery myself."
Harry mumbled an agreement; he was quite familiar with the effects of loss and Hermione could very well just be acting out because of it. He had never known her to be so forthcoming and yet so strangely withdrawn at the same time. Harry had begun to realize a few weeks ago that their relationship may have had a limited survival time. It had felt so foreign in the first place, but he couldn't help but be drawn in by her. She was his best friend and he had loved her for years, but it was only this year that he was prompted to fall in love with her. And he did so, blindly, without realizing the impacts it would have on Ron and Ginny, and what it would mean for his pre-existing and invaluable friendship with Hermione. It was a mistake. Harry hoped that when Hermione realized that he was actually okay with going back, with ending the charade, that the tension would leave and they could continue as the friends they once were. Hope being the key word. He deftly remembered her jerking away from his touch, pushing him off as if his mere presence revolted her, and unbridled hurt rose up in his chest. He tried to shake it off as he picked up his homework once again.
Ron sighed loudly, tossing a pillow at Harry's head. "Hey, maybe if you two patch things up, she'll let us copy her essay."
Hermione had been up since before dawn and butterflies were still reeling in her stomach. She had been unusually jittery all morning, partially because she knew that another person would soon be partial to her true identity, but also because she had promised herself she'd continue assisting Professor Snape with his extracurricular potions that evening. After pacing around the dormitory for another few minutes Hermione decided that perhaps forcing down some lunch would settle her nerves, or, at least, serve as a temporary distraction as she had long since ran out of things to do and each minute consequently seemed to crawl by.
She once again entered the Great Hall entirely alone and her eyes inadvertently scanned the front table. Professor Dumbledore caught her eye and gave her the slightest of nods in an almost reassuring manner. She bowed her head in acknowledgement, now aware that the meeting had indeed occurred and that Lupin had been fully informed. She continued to a seat in a very sparse Gryffindor section. The vast majority of students this year had opted - or been forced - to return home for the holidays, perhaps the current threats to the wizarding world had encouraged parents to cherish such family oriented celebrations.
Hermione nibbled on a biscuit and let her gaze wander. It was no great surprise that Snape's chair was empty, though Hermione wondered if he may actually be off school grounds. Yet she reckoned that throughout the years his previous few absences were likely due to a summoning from her father, and if he had been called for, then she likely would have been called as well. No, perhaps he is just avoiding me, Hermione thought dully. Perhaps he just made an impulsive mistake and worries that now I'll be bothersome and clingy like some infatuated... well, some infatuated school girl. She clenched her jaw in frustration, tossing her half eaten biscuit into her soup and stalking off to the library. She randomly grabbed a book and sat down, rereading the first paragraph several times, trying to concentrate on something, anything, other than him. But it's unfair of him to think of me as some daft brainless bimbo who can't even untwist my knickers and think straight when I'm in the same room as him. I know I crossed some lines and acted way beyond what is acceptable... But that doesn't mean I can't correct myself and observe proper conduct enough to help finish the potions in a perfectly professional manner. Hermione snapped the book close in agitation, putting it away without even absorbing the title of what she had been 'reading'. She stood there undecided for a moment, ran her hand through her hair, and then started towards the dungeons.
She creaked open the door to the potion's room and stepped inside. It was expectedly empty, though Snape's usually tidy desk was scattered with parchment. She walked over and saw the sloppy writing of student essays plus the various grades scrawled at the top in Snape's famous red ink. He must be in the middle of marking these, she thought absentmindedly, trailing her hand over his chair as she continued to the storage closet. Hermione stared at the back wall, it was lined hooks and wire baskets containing all the miscellaneous brewing equipment a happy potion's master could ever need: stirring rods, ladles, thermometers, scoopulas, tongs, and a wide array of other utensils that were commonly used. There was no indication at all that the area opened up into another room. Hermione strained her mind, trying to recall the memory of when Snape first led her back here. She wished she had paid more attention instead of fretting over her outfit. She squeezed her eyes shut, drawing up every detail her mind could remember. She thought she recalled him uncharacteristically reaching upwards at one point so Hermione flung her hand up against the wall and began pulling and pressing on anything she could reach. Finally she came across an empty hook that cranked downwards. She stood back in triumph and the stone slowly began to grind against each other as the wall swung forward exposing the hidden room behind it.
Snape started as he heard the low rumble of the study door opening. Spinning around without hesitation, he aimed his wand at the unexpected intruder. Hermione stepped inside, her chin held high. She stopped short upon seeing a wand pointed at her chest. Realizing now that it was probably a bad idea to barge in unannounced on a trained dark wizard, Hermione showed her empty hands in an unthreatening gesture. Snape swiftly lowered his wand, though he did not look the least bit impressed. "Miss Granger," he said in a violently calm voice.
"Sir." She answered confidently, ignoring his scowl as she strode in and sat down at her workstation. "You did request my assistance again, so what may I do to help?" she continued, pulling out a cutting board before he could demand her to leave. He eyed her suspiciously but, deciding not to waste his precious time reprimanding her bold invasion, indicated to a jar of preserved tubeworms that needed to be skinned. Hermione stifled a cringe at the acrid smell as she poured out a few specimens to work on. Without another glance she began to work.
The day passed rather slowly but without hiccup. Occasionally Snape would put a new ingredient in front of her. They worked mostly in silence, the only spoken words being a rare utterance of instruction; otherwise Hermione was trusted to know the proper procedures. She immersed herself completely in her tasks and was thus unable to even spare a thought on whose company she was in. As more hours passed by she developed a deep ache in her shoulder and hand. Finally Hermione could no longer ignore the strain tugging at her body and set down her knife, stretching out her arm and using the other to try and rub out the tension in her neck. Her lapse in activity, however, did not escape her professor. Snape turned to acknowledge her for the first time since they began. She smiled weakly and picked up her cutting knife, reaching for another bundle of knotgrass.
"Miss Granger, you've been assisting me all day. I'm not so callous as to ignore the fact that you are human, and, like myself, are probably well overdue for a break."
Hermione sighed in relief and set the knife back down again, twisting in her chair to stretch her stiff back. Snape stood up and checked the timepiece.
"It is later than I presumed," he said, turning towards her. "I apologize if I have kept you from tonight's plans, Miss Granger. You were, however, under no obligation to stay later than you desired. You are free to leave to join the festivities while they last."
Hermione blinked confused by his comments, "Tonight's plans, sir?"
Snape bent over one of his potions, stirring it carefully. "Surely the Gryffindor house is little different from Slytherin when it comes to New Year's Eve: overtly loud music, food stolen from the kitchens, ungodly rowdiness, scrambling for a kiss when the clock strikes... I wouldn't want you to miss out on the...fun."
Hermione laughed. "Please, Professor, Quidditch celebrations are bad enough! I bought a pack of earplugs my first year for nights such as these. I'd much rather just continue here... that is, unless you have plans..." she left the question hanging, knowing it wouldn't be suitable to pry into his private life, though she was curious if her professor did go out and celebrate. He fortunately answered with a quiet snort.
"Tonight is just another evening I can use to catch up," He said slowly, adding another ingredient, "though with your help today I'm nearly ahead of schedule with these potions. Professor Dumbledore would see me join them at the Three Broomsticks but personally, being trampled on by a thestral would be more enjoyable than enduring an evening in the company of my... colleagues."
Hermione giggled at his clear distaste for fun social outings, much like her own aversion to the wildness that would be occurring in her common room tonight, she had completely forgotten that today New Year's Eve.
"It will be possible to finish the batch of Skele-Gro for the hospital wing tonight, if you are indeed willing to continue?" he raised an eyebrow at her, Hermione nodded with a smile. "But first," he continued, finally appearing pleased with the brews, "I think it wise if we stop to eat something, it's well past dinner and I don't want you passing out in here."
Hermione stood up immediately; she had been ignoring hunger pangs all afternoon and now felt she could be fair competition against Ron for her current level of appetite. She followed Snape back into the classroom and excused herself to the facilities before he could say anything further. Quickly sprinting up the corridor a little ways she turned into the ladies restroom, grateful for the opportunity to freshen up. She tried to wash the various smells of the ingredients off her hands and arms, but then just opted for an entire cleansing spell to rid herself of the sweat she had built up after hours of strenuous preparations. Feeling exceedingly better she observed herself in the mirror. She was wearing her regular uniform skirt with soft leather boots and a v-neck pink top finished with strings of antique pearls (once belonging to her great grandmother) draped loosely around her neck. She shrugged wishing she had a comb with her, but for a day of hard work she felt she didn't look too bad.
Snape was leaning against his desk waiting when she returned. She could tell by his expression that he thought she had taken too long. She refrained from defending herself, wondering what he had in mind for food. Would she have to eat at a desk?
"Miss Granger, it would be... ideal, and presumably most comfortable, to dine at a proper table, which I intend to do. No student before you has ever been permitted to enter my private quarters... but I'm willing to make an exception due to your efforts today. I expect you to possess enough respect and dignity that I needn't worry about allowing such a privilege. If you'll follow me."
He touched his wand to the door that Hermione thought she'd never see opened. She followed him up a dark set of stairs; the stone walls were damp and cold, disfigured candles cast a sickly flickering light every few steps. Hermione tried to reserve judgement. Surely he doesn't live like a dungeon bat, does he? Finally they came to another door, Hermione waited patiently while Snape removed the wards.
Two large silver chandeliers burst into life as they stepped inside and Hermione's breath caught in her throat.
On the wall opposite her several high-ceilinged windows sported a breathtaking view of the mountainside north of the castle grounds. A brilliant full moon cast pale beams of exquisite light onto a sturdy oak dining table that was situated in front of the windows. The table was surrounded by six chairs of the same wood with high carved backs and leather covered seats. An impressive array of fine china was already laid out ready to use.
To her right, endless rows of thick leather-bound books on old wooden shelves were lining the walls on both sides of a huge iron fireplace. A large elegant carpet of green and silver was lying on the highly polished oak floor. Beside the fireplace were three inviting black armchairs, each partnered with a small round table, on which were silver candle holders. Hermione studied the room in awe, never expecting him to favour such luxury. She realized that she had tremendously underestimated Snape's taste. There was another door on the left wall, which Hermione guessed, rather bemusedly, led to his bedroom.
Snape cleared his throat and she managed to close her mouth and look at him with polite indifference. He just smirked and led her to the table, even pulling out a chair for her, which rather astounded Hermione.
"What would you like?" Snape asked, sitting down himself and snapping his fingers. A house elf suddenly popped into appearance and bowed deeply.
"Oh, um..." Hermione faltered, unsure of her options and rather distracted by the house elf. She always held a deep fascination for them.
"I had ordered a cassoulet to be prepared for tonight, if you'd just like to have that as well." Snape offered.
Hermione smiled recognizing the name of the famous French dish. "That sounds lovely; I've always wanted to try it."
"And bring out a bottle or two of Cabernet Sauvignon." Snape told the house elf who bowed once more before disappearing with a loud snap.
Just a few moments later and the food materialized on the table. The smells were incredible. Hermione wasted no time in buttering a piece of steaming white bread.
"Pass me your glass." Snape said, pouring himself out some wine. Hermione obliged and he gave her a healthy splash of it as well. She took a tentative sip, feeling rather confused about openly drinking alcohol on school property - with her professor no less.
"Miss Granger, you are not a child," he said smoothly after noting her shy behaviour. "Plus, it is New Year's after all; we shan't deprive ourselves of all of the benefits of the holiday." Snape explained, raising his glass into a toast.
"You're right" Hermione smiled and followed suit, allowing herself a bigger gulp and fully enjoying the sweet taste of the wine.
Throughout the meal Hermione's butterflies returned. At first she found it difficult to gauge whether she should make conversation, or allow him to eat in silence, and she struggled to even think of topics to bring up without sounding like an overeager know-it-all. Yet she found her concerns slowly disappearing as her professor engaged her in different subjects, ranging from her current class work to different articles within prominent magical research journals. She became increasingly relaxed, either by the soothing effects of the wine or the fact that her professor was just a superior host. After a rather involved argument pertaining to the latest works of the renowned scholar, Libatius Borage, Hermione laughed and set down her fork.
"This was delicious, thank you." She said serenely, gazing out onto the moonlit mountain range. Snape observed her. He had been taken aback that she had even returned to help him today and nearly turned her on her heel for such an impromptu entrance. Yet he held his tongue and decided that he was far too behind to refuse her assistance. She surprised him again by stating her intentions on staying late, despite the festivities that were undoubtedly occurring among her housemates. He was, to put it quite frankly, flattered that she'd choose his deplorable company over that of her friends, tonight of all nights. That was when he decided that he'd at least allow her to remain for a half decent dinner, seeing as she'd missed the serving in the Great Hall. He then discovered that she was, in fact, a stimulating dinner guest, and soon found that he needn't treat her as an inept student but a capable equal, able to hold her own in intelligent conversation and argue her opinions with well thought logic and indisputable fact. He observed her sipping her wine as the soft candle flames made her skin glow, and the beams of moonlight shone silver in her hair. She caught him looking at her and smiled lightly. He looked away, trying to contain his desire and ignore what was as plain as day to him. He had never wanted anything so bad as he wanted her. Hermione Granger was, quite possibly, his perfect match.
"Miss Granger," he began, his throat tight with suppressed passion. "Hermione..." He looked at her again, her soft brown eyes peered up into his own, he faltered. "Ah...if you're finished we should see to the potion before it gets too late, I don't want to keep you here all night."