Spinners End

Severus Snape was in a sour mood, more so than usual, and felt darker than he had in years. He stared at the mounds of autograph copies of his memoir that protruded haphazardly around his sitting room, arms crossed, and lips thinned. The small—nearly microscopic, even—empathetic side of him knew he should remove them from the room by three, but a defiant, almost proud part of him wanted to display his offending works while he entertained his unfortunate visitor. His dark eyes stared and stared as his foot mildly tapped on the dark wood, his angel and demon bickering internally.

He sighed and raised his wand. "Fuck it."

With a quick flick of his wrist, the looming stack vanished from sight, and the proverbial angel within the bitter man rejoiced over the small victory. Snape stared at the empty space before his eyes rolled over the cobwebs that strung in the corners of the room and empty glasses on the coffee table; he inhaled and scowled when he smelled the stale scent of whiskey that permeated his home. Swearing, he brandished his wand with feeling, instantly ridding his home of his evident delinquency and rebirthed it to its former glory—though it still was not much.

"What am I doing?" Snape muttered to himself as he sat, pressing his palms to his eyes. It was one week since Lucius came knocking on his door unannounced, looking displeased as the rainy day assaulted him in the doorway; since discovering his necromancer was still alive, Snape had immediately locked down his Floo, especially from Lucius Malfoy. The blonde said nothing to him and simply raised a small envelope, passing it to him, and disapparating from the spot. Snape had mixed feelings that stormed within him when he turned the envelope to see the familiar neat handwriting of Hermione Granger.

Thus, here he was, awaiting the young girl—woman—as she insisted on visiting him. He figured it was safe to assume she was still insufferable as she was in her youth. He found her letter both equally annoying and alluring, the latter reinforcing his annoyance, but he still found some sort of…comfort knowing that she took his feelings into consideration in regards to sharing a dinner with the two mutts, not pressing him. With that comfort, came guilt, a common friend to Severus Snape: he had been brutal with the woman, emotional, and unnecessarily cruel. His words bit her like a bull whip and came off his forked tongue so easily that night, so quick he didn't have a second to think of them. To restrain himself.

More so, he raised his wand at her! He attacked her, antagonized her, brought her to tears. But he could not help himself; it was all too overwhelming—between the discovery that Narcissa was who was wanted, the surrealism of seeing Hermione Granger before him, and the unusual power energy that overcame him at a cellular level. It was like being torn in a hundred different directions.

Why she would want to continue a friendship was beyond him.

A soft knock at the door jolted Snape from his musings, and he felt his stomach tighten uncomfortably. He stood quickly and made to answer it when second thoughts interrupted his strides.

Am I sure that I am ready for this?

I shouldn't have agreed to this

That insufferable—

Several more knocks came, a bit louder this time. He quickly shook himself from his stupor and opened the door with a creek, and, surprisingly, he felt an unexpected calmness drown out the self-loathing and anxiety in his bones when he saw her smile up at him. Hermione stood in a camel peacoat and rain boots, her wild curls extra riotous from the humidity of the rainy day. Her smile was kind, but wary, as she eyed him and glanced behind him expectedly.

"Come in, Miss Granger," he drawled as he extended a hand inside. Nodding, she shook her umbrella before closing it and crossing the threshold. She followed the light into the sitting room, her head turning to look about his home, which caused him some mild embarrassment. "It is not much, but it is habitable."

Hermione stopped and turned slightly, her smile not as hesitant as before. "It's lovely, though I did expect black walls."

Severus paused. Was she joking?

"Well, that ice breaker didn't work as expected," she said, mild amusement in her voice. Her eyes roved over the place again, her smile still present, before regarding him again. "How are you, Severus?"

Electric vibrated down Snape's spine when he heard her speak his name, his hair standing on end—he visibly gulped. He watched as her brow came together slightly, her eyes growing small in question.

"I am well. Would you like a drink?" he asked politely. She nodded, the grinned as she rose her brows suggestively at something on the end table behind him.

"I'll have two fingers of that, please."

Severus Snape nearly laughed as he ran a finger over his chin thoughtfully. "I am not sure how I feel sharing a drink with my former student. If anything, it ages me."

Hermione laughed, finally sitting when she felt the discomfort that weighed heavy in the air dissipate with her words; her back relaxed as she removed her peacoat and handed it to Severus' offering hand to hang, and she fidgeted a little with an unruly lock that continued to spring into her line of sight. After several failed attempts to tame it, she huffed, and looking up to find Snape offering her a glass of firewhiskey, his brow raised in a familiar way. He was watching her. She could not help the faint embarrassment that heated her chest, one that only deepened as a few more coils sprung from their confinements.

"I suppose when I think about it, I am not much older than you now, given the circumstances," he said quietly as he sat in a chair away from her. He watched as she brought the glass to her lips, pausing for a moment to mull over his words, before tossing it back and swallowing. He smirked as he sipped his own. Perhaps this would not turn out so bad after all.

The firewhiskey was two-thirds empty when Snape figured their empty stomachs could use some sustenance to help the burn and he had a small house elf whip up a starchy snack; what first felt like pulling teeth surprisingly became natural as their conversation lead to his small library that she insisted on seeing. He knew it was because of the liquid courage but he felt mild comfort knowing they both needed it to relax a little. Snape watched as she perused over his texts, a gentle well-manicured finger running softly over the spines as she mouthed the titles, pulling a few out here and there to inspect the cover before slipping them back in line; he was sure she had read most of them, given her bookish ways. He watched as she slowly made her way to the mantle of the fireplace with eyes widening as she stretched to see anatomical models of several small magical creatures displayed atop it; her hand trailed the mantle to the next wall where she examined framed works of Snape's past mentors. He sobered slightly when her hand touched a photo of him in his youth with Lily Potter brewing together their first year at Hogwarts.

Snape felt vulnerable in that moment and opened his mouth to distract her but snapped it shut upon seeing a soft, knowing smile curve at her full lips before she turned to him.

"You seemed happy," Hermione said softly, her finger lightly tapping the frame.

"I was…for the most part."

"And now?" asked Hermione, retreating her curious hands and linking them behind her. She turned from him and continued her inspection of his curio of medicinal and alchemic oddities. The air changed around them—Snape could feel it; gone was the lightheartedness of the past two hours where they spoke quietly and politely, even bantered a bit, and replaced with it was obvious disassociation. He felt her disconnect from him, her proverbial arm outstretched to keep it nonchalant.

Maybe it was just his slightly euphoric state, but Snape did not like this feeling.

"I am not happy…for the most part."

Hermione came to a halt, her back to him completely. He watched as the tension in her shoulders cracked, slumping slightly, and she brought a hand to her forehead as she sighed. She turned to him with a frown and slight wetness to her eyes as she crossed her arms and leaned against the wall. When his eyes found hers, she immediately submitted, avoiding his dark gaze—this would not do. Before Severus could think, he cleared the space between them, and towered over her, causing her to close in on herself more, but her eyes rose to him when his hand touched her shoulder briefly.

"I am sorry for my behavior that night, Miss Granger," said Severus in a quiet voice. He didn't know what it was but seeing her doubt herself…it was nearly unbearable. He also did not need another reason for Lucius to have his head, especially since he clearly gave his blessing for Hermione to see him alone. "I was…upset, to say the least. I spent years convincing myself to hate you, when really, I believe all I wanted were answers. Why you did it…why you left. And when I found myself in a position to finally have some clarity, I was…disappointed."

"You were hurt," Hermione said softly, her eyes on his, unmoving. Severus' lips pulled to a thin line as he felt himself get lost in her gaze; was that what this was? Hurt? Rejection? He supposed that made sense, but also made it all the more embarrassing. He tore away from her with a frustrated sigh and grabbed the bottle of firewhiskey to pour again before Hermione's small hands rested atop the cork, pressing the bottle away. Severus raised a brow at her, though she did not look at him. "I didn't intend to bring you back because I didn't believe you would want to. But I also had no intention of being around when I was done. I hadn't planned to live, to be honest."

Severus did not speak as he lowered the bottle back onto the table.

"I know it's not an excuse," Hermione continued, offering him a rueful smile. "I still hurt you, regardless. And for that, I apologize, Severus; I apologize for thrusting you into a life you didn't want. But…if it's any consolation, I am glad you did come back. I appreciate the opportunity to be your friend, regardless of bad we started—"

Whether it was the raw honesty or the softness of her words, Snape did not know, but he found himself compelled to touch her yet again; he wrapped his long arms around her small frame and pulled her close to him, his heart pounding like a caged beast against his chest. A rush of emotions overcame him—relief, confusion, warmth, some things unidentifiable—and he did not know how to process them all, but the energy within him urged him to hold her. He heard her sharply inhale and felt her hands press against him, curling into his shirt. Suddenly, a great warmth began burning in his chest again, though a bit uncomfortably, were he to admit. He looked down at the young woman before him as she pulled away slightly, his face reddening though unable to bring himself to protest as she absently unbuttoned his shirt to better see a greenish-yellow glow under his hair and skin. Hermione's mouth parted as she rose a shaky hand to his skin again, feeling the pulsating heat, its glow reflected in her eyes as they snapped back up to Snape, a nervous smile pulling at her lips as she released a breathy laugh. He could not help himself. He smiled back at her, softly and natural.

There was absolutely no way he could be angry with the incredible woman before him any longer. Whether it was due to her magic coursing within him or something more, he did not care, as long as he was able to keep her around.

In that moment, watching her youthful and enchanted reaction to the \phenomena that occurred between their touch, Severus Snape made a vow to be better. He vowed to wake up and live each day with grander purpose in full appreciation to the unexpected gift the young, magicless girl in his arms granted him. Starting with—

"Thank you, for your kind words, Hermione," he said sincerely, dipping his head to catch her gaze. A slight flush danced across her face and she nodded with a small smile. He frowned slightly, pulling away from her, ignoring the loss of touch, and buttoned his top once more. "I, too, should apologize. For my book."

Hermione made a puzzled look before redness completely overtook her features. Severus fought the urge to leave the room as he felt immediate shame; he wrote awful things about the young girl, and regardless of his previous defense of his words, he genuinely did feel remorse. He half expected the girl to rage, but when he turned to her to find that her flush was that of embarrassment, his jaw nearly hit the floor when he watched her pull a copy of his memoir from her bag, her eyes hopeful.

"Ah—well yes, you were quite terrible," she said with an embarrassed laugh. Hermione slid a rebellious curl behind her ear before shyly presenting the book. "But I thought you could sign it for me."

Severus blinked several times at her as Hermione slipped the books into his hands quickly. She was like a school girl all over again as she pursed her lips and looked at him expectantly, her blush deepening. He could not help himself; great laughter escaped Snape's chest for the first time in years, freeing him of the heavy weight he bore and replaced with genuine relief. He paid no mind to her confused and mildly bristled expression as he held his sides as he still laughed, scouring a table for quill and ink.

Yes, Severus was sure this would be the start of a very interesting friendship.