Chapter 49: Gifts

"You may open your eyes now."

Hermione was not certain what to expect, but she decided to do as he asked. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw what he had in his hands.

"Is this…?" she trailed off, looking up at Severus with an intrigued expression.

"I thought you'd like to see it," he said quietly and his expression softened as he saw her body tense with excitement as she nodded emphatically.

Her fingers were moving slightly as though she were already reaching out to grasp it, and he handed it over to her. He was attempting to stand there silently, but she could tell by the agitated way that he kept pacing slightly that he wanted to say something about it. She looked at him with an indulgent smile and gestured for him to go ahead. It was amazing how quickly he transformed his demeanor from imposing and quiet to enthusiastically eager, and she stifled a giggle at how very un-Snape-like he looked when he was at ease.

"As you know, I've been working in my spare time to analyze the contents of the butterbeer bottle you so stealthily provided for me," he said proudly, his eyes flashing brightly as he gestured in the air, pulling his wand to conjure smokey images of a bottle and ingredients to accompany his explanation as he spoke, "It was quite the challenge. From a mere ten drops of remaining liquid, I finally separated each ingredient of the potion, labeled each one, its derivative material, and backwards engineered the potion-making process. It was rather ingenious, if I do say so myself."

"Am I to believe that the famously sour Professor Snape is preening?" Hermione said with an impish grin.

He looked back at her intensely, sneering slightly out of habit, "Is it impossible for you to believe that I take pride in my work, especially work as complex as this?"

"I didn't mean it like that!" Hermione protested, worried that he had misunderstood, "But you must admit that you get into this intense frame of mind when you talk about anything potions related. I know that your first choice was not to teach Potions, but you are brilliant at the subject- impressively so! I guess I'm just wondering why you would campaign so strongly each year to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts instead?"

Severus closed his eyes and seemed to be thinking as Hermione flipped through the thin, leather bound notebook that he had given her, his precise and controlled penmanship filling each page next to clearly marked diagrams and surprisingly lifelike drawings. She loved how the scent of the parchment and ink mingled together. But what was even more remarkable was the fact that it also smelled like him. That deep, earthy, spice-laden scent that had enchanted her the first moment she had encountered it. Considering all that they had shared together, Hermione knew that she wasn't unimportant to Severus, but the level of detail and effort he had obviously put into this book spoke volumes more of how important she was than any declarations of love or devotion, though they were nice too, obviously.

Like it or not, Hermione knew that his true intentions were defined more by his actions than his words, especially when he was uncomfortable and didn't want anyone to know. Severus Snape was a study in contradictions, but under all the physical scars and years of abuse and neglect, he was still surprisingly kindhearted and eager to please in his own way. The world had seemingly tried to beat the happiness and hope from him with each passing year, yet somehow, his heart had not crumbled to dust.

She thought of her parents, of her friends. What sort of person would she have been without that? If Harry and Ron had not saved her from the troll and they still weren't anything more than classmates? How would she react to a life without the warm glow of recognition from teachers, Dumbledore's continued support, or the reassuring warmth of Crookshanks against her feet on cold nights? She couldn't begin to imagine how someone who grew up wearing literal rags could still function, how someone without the love of parents or peers could survive.

She was so lost in her thoughts that a sudden light tap on her head made her jump. Severus had apparently rolled up a small piece of parchment and lightly smacked the top of her head with it.

"Er...I tried getting your attention the normal way," he explained dryly, when she winced a little instinctively, "But you were a million miles away. A particularly engrossing thought, perhaps? Something you wish to share?"

"I'm not mad," she said, blushing at having been caught up in her thoughts like that, "It didn't hurt or anything. If you must know, I was thinking about you...er...and stuff. But it was rude of me to space out like that, I'm sorry."

"I do not mind repeating myself for you," he said quietly, sitting next to her and placing a hand on her knee awkwardly, "I just need to know that you are listening this time."

"Please. Lecture away!" she said lightly, placing her hand on his and drawing up quickly before he had a chance to react; kissing him on the cheek. Almost instantly, the lines around his eyes relaxed a little at her touch.

"You ask me why I did not wish to continue teaching Potions, despite my aptitude in the subject? Well, exploding cauldrons aside, there are several reasons. Teaching the Defense Against the Dark Arts class is important to me because I have lived it," he started, his eyes growing distant as he remembered, "I have never been much of a teacher, and I certainly have never had much patience, so it does not take a genius to realize that I would probably do far better in a different line of work. However, Dumbledore needs me here, and if I am here, especially as a Head of House, I have a perfect excuse not to be called in regularly by the Dark Lord or, in the interim years before his return, the other Death Eaters with more power and status who wished to use or manipulate me as a 'connection.' For even before the Dark Lord returned, there were still many prominent families who were happy to play their part in ensuring an ongoing level of hierarchy where it suited them."

"Like the Malfoys," Hermione said softly, shuddering.

"Yes, as well as others," Severus said slowly, and then wrapped his other arm around her, his side resting against her comfortably, "The point is, Dumbledore pushed Potions on me because the Defense position is jinxed and has been ever since the Dark Lord was refused an appointment to teach that very class."

Hermione gasped. It had been a bit of a joke amongst the students ever since she started going to Hogwarts, but to hear it confirmed as a truth was still a bit of a shock.

"You're not going to die at the end of the year, are you?!" she said, horrified.

"Hermione, please, I would not be so melodramatic as to do that," Severus chuckled darkly, "Remember, Lupin did not last more than one year in the job, but he is still perfectly alive. As did Moody, though Dumbledore told me that it took him awhile to get used to willingly going into confined spaces again without having a panic attack."

"Then why-?" Hermione started, but he gestured with his hand to stop her.

"The reason," he said evenly, "Is because Dumbledore anticipates that something is going to happen before the end of this year that will change everything. I will be needed in a different capacity by the next school year, but even Dumbledore refuses to tell me exactly what it will be. Suffice to say, I have one year to help teach each of my students the best way to protect themselves against Death Eaters and Dark magic, because who better to teach you than someone who counted himself among their ranks, and still plays a part at the Dark Lord's side? I am perfectly suited to get students acquainted with the common tactics of those who wish to do them harm, and, if needed, to make them hate me so much that they unite themselves in solidarity at proving me wrong and pushing themselves to do better spellwork that might even save their lives one day."

"Wait….so you're telling me that your insufferable sourpuss attitude is simply a tool?" Hermione said suspiciously.

"Are you telling me that you are only just now realizing how useful a tool it is?" he replied wryly, "An angry opponent makes mistakes, which makes it easy to dodge their attacks. As a professor, if I am the bad guy, then the students who find themselves at odds against one another feel better about forging their own alliances if I am a common enemy. The troublemakers will either stop making trouble or become skilled enough at avoiding being caught that they will have at least learned a valuable skill in any case."

"But what about you?" she said plaintively.

"What about me?" he grumbled, his expression darkening, "There are few people who can stand my company, let alone seek it out. There are even fewer who could be said to love me. I do not look to make friends with my students simply because they are there or endeavor to be well-liked by children in general, unlike a professor with a penchant for acquiring illegal and dangerous beasts that I could name. I have never been a particularly lovable person, even as a child, so I do not expect or generally desire to be liked by others. You probably understand this, at least to some extent, though, don't you Hermione? Each year you have been here, you have experienced firsthand the fickleness of those who pretend to love you when you're doing what they want you to do, and then delight in throwing you to the wolves the second it is convenient to do so. I have had the distinct privilege of having spent the greater part of my life avoiding being torn apart by said wolves, so while I may have developed the sort of skills that one must to survive, it does not generally include having the time to learn much about making nice and attending tea parties in pretty purple bonnets."

Hermione had a sudden mental image of Severus sitting in a garden, sipping tea and wearing a purple bonnet with a bunch of old ladies with silver hair, and she couldn't help but giggle. His glare intensified.

"Apparently being torn apart by wolves is humorous? I had absolutely no idea! Please do explain," he said sarcastically.

She rolled her eyes.

"Honestly? I was just thinking that purple not really your color," she said, smirking a little.

"What are you-?"

"You were the one bringing up pretty purple bonnets, not me. I guess I know what to get you for your birthday, then," she said and burst out laughing, the mental image of the tall, sneering professor trying to fit in at a garden tea party still stuck in her head. The look on his face made seemed to merge with the mental image and only worsened the effect it had on her.

For a moment, he looked at her as though she'd gone completely insane as she laughed so hard she thought her sides would burst, tears slowly leaking down her cheeks as she tried to catch her breath. And then, as she watched him through bushy strands of hair that kept falling into her face as she shook with laughter, she saw his mouth curve upward into a bemused smirk, and before long, the two of them were collapsed in a shuddering, red-faced heap, all thoughts of the looming darkness on the horizon temporarily forgotten as they shook together and filled the room with pure, uncomplicated laughter.