Written for the #scratchthatniche festival hosted by the Severus Snape and Hermione Granger Shipping Group on Facebook.
Prompts: "Crossing the line", "Stupid, Cupid", "Ever after"
Rare Pair Prompt: Lily/Marlene McKinnon
Beta Love: Publishing unsupervised. A sleepy DeepShadows2 arrived! The Dragon and the Rose rose from the depths of sleep.
Mixed Signals
"The most confused you will ever get is when you try to convince your heart and spirit of something your mind knows is a lie."
― Shannon L. Alder
She found that he had stepped into the pantry behind her. She took a deep breath and was pleased to hear her voice came out clear and unwavering though she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.
"You made yourself clear, you think of me as some silly little girl, unworthy of your attention. You need not remind me of that fact."
Instead, he raised his hand to her cheek, stroking his finger along it oh so softly. Now she did meet his gaze and found he seemed to be as shocked as she was by that simple touch.
"P-professor Snape, S-ir?" Hermione stammered, utterly gobsmacked.
Snape's expression seemed tortured as if half his face wanted to display one expression and the rest another. He grimaced in some unforeseen torment as he panted sharply. "H-ermione?"
His voice had changed— softened. His expression, too, no longer looked as spiteful.
It was his voice. The voice of the Severus she knew, or at least the one she had come to know. Only for the last few weeks, he had returned to his old persona of the odious, insufferable git who had very little in the way of redeeming qualities.
They'd opened up a shoppe together— he with his potions and she with her arithmancy charms consultancy. She'd combined the magic to help indecisive people know what their odds were when it came to certain things, and when they were done flailing about and giving themselves tachycardia, Severus would sell them a calming draught or what have you to send them on their merry way.
Usually, it was about love.
It was the most confounding unsolved mystery of the Wizarding World next to spontaneous wizard baldness and chronic erectile dysfunction. Oddly, love usually came in after the other two, and she was yet to figure out why. Priorities were— strange. At least when she was growing up in Gryffindor, almost all the young witches proclaimed love was the priority, and Ginny had a lifetime subscription to Witch Weekly to prove it.
They had built what she had believed to be a solid friendship after the war. She'd assisted him with brewing his potions (since he trusted no one else but himself to make the potions or at least trusted her not to botch up his instructions) while he convalesced from his injuries and she worked diligently on completing her dual masteries in Arithmancy and Charms.
By the time he had recovered enough to no longer need physical and magical therapy to combat the lingering effects of magical-enhanced and modified envenomation, they had managed to find certain respect for each other and devise a new anti-venin therapy for annoyingly curse-laden venoms.
Taking the patent money from their latest joint project, they opened the shoppe in Diagon Alley whose only fault, according to Severus, was its proximity to Weasley Wizarding Wheezes. It was, technically, well over a block away, but apparently, even that was too close for Severus.
They had a routine and a morning cuppa regimen that was sternly followed lest either of them lose their minds over "trivial shite." It had become a very quiet, content sort of life.
But on the eve of the day that Severus had asked her to stay after hours to discuss something of importance, he had come back from his afternoon walk to and from Gringotts grumpy and—
Just like the old Severus Snape.
It was back to Miss Granger, snappiness, and outright insults— he scoffed at her abilities and denied she had any talent whatsoever with potions, throwing her out of his brewing lab.
And the closeness they had shared? Gone.
It was, if she were honest with herself, almost impossible to be a partnership when the other half of it refused to be a team player.
But in that moment as the cruelty seemed to abruptly drain from his psyche, the Severus she had come to know and— if she were honest with herself, truly care for—had returned. While she knew there could never be the sort of relationship she craved because she held no candle to love for a woman who had long since died, she could at least appreciate their friendship.
"Severus," she whispered.
He staggered, and she helped him to the nearby chair where he flopped down heavily like a sack of wheat. He said nothing, but it was obvious he was struggling against something.
She got up to get him some tea, and his hand shot out to cover hers, clasping it desperately. She knelt by him, confused and concerned, for he had never deigned to touch her before. If anyone could have been considered allergic to physical touch, it was Severus Snape.
Even the most basic of friendly touches she would have given to Harry or Ron seemed like a very bad idea despite their more common banter and intellectual discourse. Harry hadn't exactly made it any better with his wartime proclamation exposing Severus' lifetime of repentance to a dead woman. Witches had been trying to court the infamous Dark Wizard to snag such love and devotion for themselves, but Snape was about as likely to allow them near him as he was to allow anyone near his brewing laboratory unsupervised, if at all.
Yeah, no.
His hand remained clasped over hers, ripples of a shudder running invisibly through him, but she could feel it as it trickled through her.
"Severus, are you alright?" she asked, feeling like things were not right but unable to pinpoint why.
His mouth seemed to be working, but no sound came out. She neared, trying to hear him.
"...B..bl…"
Hermione shook her head. "I don't understand."
He stared into her, his face wrinkled in a grimace as he tried to make her understand. "Blood."
It was the only clear word she could make of it.
"You need a blood replenisher?" she asked, trying to get to her feet to go raid the storage. "Let me go get one—"
Severus had always been pale, she knew. It was hard to tell if he was anaemic. Years living in a dungeon had probably not done his skin any favours for pigment, either. Even when he didn't live at Hogwarts anymore, he rarely went out of the shoppe save to the bank and supply stores, and he had this strange habit of deciding to go in on the stormy days.
His hand remained like a vice around hers; he jerked his head no.
"Severus, let me help you, please." She wanted to savour the fact he was even touching her, but his struggle concerned her far more.
"Blood," he repeated, his voice a rasp. "Need."
She looked into his face. "Let me help you."
It was then she saw the flash of ivory in his grimace— pointed ivory.
Fangs.
With each pant, they seemed to grow unnaturally long, but as he breathed in, they retracted like a cat flexing her claws only with his teeth. His eyes, which had always been black, seemed even more fathomless, but a ring of crimson and gold outlined where the iris met the whites of the eyes.
Idiot girl, she admonished herself. How have you gone this long and not realised that Severus Snape was a vampire?
There was no time to be repulsed. This was Severus. He had never once hurt her outside the confines of the verbal barb. He had never once laid a hand upon her. She'd shared conversations and discourse way into the night. She'd fallen asleep listening to his voice—
And he needed blood.
Surely a man with as much control over himself would not savage her to death in a desperate bid for blood.
She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of his hand upon hers. Despite it not letting go, she was not paralysed with fear. Her friend was suffering. He needed her. Whatever fears she may have had upon the startling revelation had to be put aside.
She'd deal with it later. She'd fuss over how he could go from the comfortable friend to bastard extraordinaire back to a friend that needed her later.
She tugged her collar free of its buttons and exposed her neck. "Take it," she ordered.
A hundred thousand factoids from the books on vampires swirled through her head, but in that focused moment, she realised none of them knew anything. None of them agreed. They were all guessing.
None of them had bothered to ask a vampire—
Severus jerked his head, a grimace on his face. He shook his head, and she realised even in his compromised position he didn't want to force her into something.
She snarled at him in frustration, using her free hand to weave into his hair and pull his head down to her neck.
"Severus!" she demanded, "you need it. Take it! I give you my permission. I'm of sound mind and body or as much as one can be in a stressful situation. Damnit. Severus! Drink! I know what I'm saying. I'm not making poor life choices. I'll yell at you later for not telling me you were a vampire. Please!"
Perhaps, it was the please, she considered later when all was said and done, but the moment it left her lips Severus' body seemed to wilt, and his hand left hers to wrap his arms around her, his hand cradling her head as a groan left his lips.
He embraced her as a lover, his body so close, so intimate. The brush of skin against hers as his breath tickled her neck combined with the soft growl caused her to shiver in anticipation. "Hermione," his voice rumbled just before the sting of his fangs pierced her neck and the indescribable feeling of his embrace brought tears to her eyes.
His mouth worked gentle suction upon her skin as her blood rose to feed him, and she wove her fingers into his hair knowing it would be the only time she could. His scent clung to her every breath, the intoxicating blend of herbs and earthy loam combined with the scent of their library— all combined in a poignant combination of rightness even as her mind knew this would be the only time, and it would never be as she wished it to be.
It would never be because he loved her.
But he would live, and it was enough to know if but for a moment what it felt like to be in the arms of the one she cared for and respected. She wasn't sure how much of the pleasure was simply being there, wrapped in his presence, or the vampire bite itself. After the first quick pangs, there was no pain.
She felt safe there, trusting that he would take what he needed but not leave her to die.
She had no idea how long she was there as time seemed to stop. There was only the powerful, heady feeling, no matter how illusionary, that she was needed, cherished.
Wanted.
He pulled away, laying her against the settee as he pulled a pillow under her head, his tongue laving against her neck as the last trickles of her blood tapered off. The brush of his fingers against her skin left trails of fire and ice, and she imprinted them upon her memory to never forget.
What she could not have, she would at least remember.
All that could possibly come knocking would be judged against this one imperfectly perfect moment of intimacy, and she knew all would be found lacking.
No one could ever be— him.
She looked up into his face, watching the rings of crimson gold fade around his eyes as his fingers brushed the hair around her ear.
"You're so beautiful," he whispered.
Hermione's blood ran cold. She scrambled off the settee as she saw the look of calm, peacefulness on Snape's face.
No, no, no, no!
What potions had she taken that day? Could it have affected him?
Pain potion— surely not.
Cramp potion— well, probably not.
What did she take?
Could they interact?!
"Severus, you're not yourself!" she cried, stumbling away. "We have to make an antidote!"
Snape's brows furrowed. "Antidote? Why would I ever wish to be cured of this—" His face was serene. "Ecstasy."
His face was flushed, looking far more "healthy" than his typical pallor. She'd blame it on the blood, but she had no idea what he was feeding on when it hadn't been her. For all she knew, he'd been feeding just fine until that point—
"Severus, please, you're going to be so cross when you feel better, and I'd rather you didn't blame me for all the dribble you're spouting. Please," she pleaded, "tell me what I need to brew for a cure, so I don't need to tell anyone else about the right state you're in."
"Stay with me," he breathed. "Forever."
Hermione shook her head adamantly. "I know you're not thinking clearly. I know you don't like me like that, and I'd rather not take the tongue lashings from you once you regain your senses."
"You don't like me," he said, his eyes cast down, his body drooping significantly.
"Oh, for the love of Solomon's buttered sweet potatoes," Hermione swore. "For the record, it's not about me not liking you. It's that you don't like me— I mean, like that. It's been almost two decades of knowing you, and if there had been something there, you'd surely have said something by now. So, don't get all weepy on me. Focus. We need to get you out from under whatever is affecting your mind."
"You like me?" he whispered, his face full of hope.
Hermione sighed, hanging her head. "Yes, you fool man, but that is irrelevant! Antidote! Where did you hide it? How do I get it from the lab?"
"I have a secret I must tell you!" he said, holding his hands over hers.
"Okay, you can tell me, but then we need the antidote!"
"I'm a vampire," he confessed.
No shite, Sherlock, Hermione thought. "I put that together."
"Oh—" he said, tilting his head. "Know-it-all," he mused.
"Okay, we can discuss your true feelings when the antidote is in you, okay?" Hermione said, trying to tug him on his feet. "Let's go find it."
"I love you," Snape said, gazing into her eyes.
Hermione's heart clenched even as a stone fell into her stomach. It wasn't real. "That's nice, and I truly wish it was real, but it's not. I know you don't think that right now, but in a few minutes, you're going to want to Obliviate me. Where is the antidote, Severus?"
"In the drawer," he said, his face changing into a frown.
Wonderful. There are only a few hundred of those.
"I wanted to tell you the truth!" Severus insisted.
Hermione closed her eyes, the bitter truth that he could never think of her like that when he had the memory of beautiful, talented Lily Evans enshrined in his mind causing her no small amount of pain. "You could always talk to me, Severus."
"I was afraid to!" he blurted.
Hermione scoffed. "Now, I know you're not thinking clearly. You don't fear anything anymore, least of all me." She started to frantically rummage through drawers in the blind hope she found something that would work. "What makes you think you couldn't talk to me?"
"I tried to that night."
"What stopped you?"
"I don't remember."
"Right. Good reason." Hermione moved on to another bunch of drawers. None of the standard antidotes were going to work. She needed Severus' end-all-beat-all kitchen sink antidote. "So you just decided to be an arse for the last month or two because you couldn't remember to be nice?"
"I couldn't help myself," he replied, and when she turned to glare at him she found his expression turned into a grimace she recognised: confusion and frustration mixing together. "I tried to cure it. I tried to talk to you, but only the venom came out."
Hermione's hands paused as she rifled through the drawers. Was it true? No, he wasn't in his right mind. Later, he would ban all mention of the day's events.
She sighed heavily.
"You don't feel anything for me," he whispered, his voice laden with sorrow.
Hermione decided that she could just chalk one up for embittered confessions over bad potions and they could mutually Obliviate each other once he took the antidote. "Severus, I love you more than anyone in this world, and if you meant what you said about forever. I would gladly take forever with you, but I know you're not yourself right now. You would never cross that boundary with me. No matter how much I wanted you to. I will not— take advantage of you when you're like this, and if you want me to sell my part in the shoppe and leave after this, I will understand."
"I had a ring for you. In a box in my robe pocket. Please. Look."
"Let me give you the antidote first."
He closed his eyes, turning his head away. "Fifth row, right side. Third drawer. Seventeen vials back."
Hermione's head tilted at the change in tone. Sombre. Resigned.
She fetched the vial from where he'd directed, but when she picked it up she noticed it wasn't the antidote she had expected. A pale, green fluid sloshed within that seemed almost invisible when tilted in one direction but not another. The back of her mind told her what it was, but the label was missing. It probably never bothered Severus. He knew all his potions without the crutch of a label.
"Please, Hermione," he whispered. "Just look."
Hermione placed the vial down on the side table. "If I look, you'll take the antidote?"
Snape closed his eyes. "Yes."
Hermione walked over to where the cloak hung from the stand, and she pulled it off. Feeling a bit like a parent searching through their children's backpack for contraband, her fingers curled around a smooth, hard box.
She pulled it out.
Black ebony wood held the burnt imprint of a goblin silver-worker.
She carefully opened it, unsure what to expect.
A beautiful goblin silver otter made a perfect circle as it held an emerald on its chest. Engraving on the inside of the band had but one word: always.
"Ask me one question before I drink this," Severus said, his voice heavy. "It's not a love potion I'm suffering from. It's Veritaserum."
Hermione's head spun. "Someone dosed you with Veritaserum?"
"I did—" he said. "To force myself to tell you what I couldn't. Ask your question, Hermione."
Hermione touched the ring with her finger, a tremor of magic tingling through her hand as a deep longing resonated in her soul. "Do you really love me?" she breathed the question, barely a whisper, pain in her chest at the answer she knew to be true despite what her heart and soul desired.
What about Lily?
It was always about Lily.
He fought a war for her.
Almost died for her memory—
She was just plain Hermione Jean Granger.
"I would love you eternally if you would but have me, Hermione Granger," Severus said as he stood. He pulled the cork out of the vial and chugged the potion down in one go as steam trickled out his nose and mouth.
Hermione stood, walking towards him with both his cloak and ring in her hands. She stood but a foot away, barely daring to breathe.
"So, you—" she began. "A vampire."
"Obviously."
She frowned. That had not been the word she was hoping for when attempting to not sound like an idiot. "You really—"
"I'd been trying to tell you for years, but I didn't want to lose what we had," he said, his pale hands tugging at his vest. "I finally decided that day, I was going to tell you, so I went to the bank, got the ring, said a last prayer, and came to you— but it all went tits up. Every time I tried to say something, it came out wrong, twisted. I couldn't say what I wanted to say. All I had was anger, so I took Veritaserum hoping that you'd ask the right questions and I'd have to tell you the truth— but in my haste and desperation, I forgot one of the main ingredients in my potent Veritaserum causes blood hunger in vampires."
He looked sombre. "I gave Potter the half-truths he needed to see in order to do what he needed to do. In reality. Lily was far more into McKinnon than any bloke, but we both came from a time and place where such things were even more stigmatised than being magical in the Muggle world. What I lost and held in my heart for far too long was the dream of friendship that never lasted past childhood."
He sighed deeply, "I will be honest that I have been craven in my dealings with you, Hermione.
"Having once been bested by my heart I knew it to be the one thing, the one weakness I could never afford again and live. When I joined a partnership with you and found a friendship with you, I realised I have not been living at all. If you will have me, I will strive to never give you a reason to doubt my devotion to you again. I would have you at my side, my friend and my equal until the sun swallows all."
He opened his arms to her. "Hermione, it would make me the happiest being on this Earth if you would be my wife, my mate, my forever. I cannot bear the thought of eternity without you beside me."
Hermione walked straight into his arms, her face pressed against his buttons as she fought the tears. "Yes, Severus. Yes."
He took the ring and slid it on her finger, and the otter did a loop-de-loop around her finger before settling in.
His fangs flashed just before he sank them into his palm to draw blood. Crimson dripped from his wounded palm as he brought it up to her mouth. "Drink, beloved, and let there be no more doubt as to my love for you."
Hermione tilted her head to the side as he brought his offering to her lips, and as her mouth closed upon it, his fangs sang into her neck. He drank as he lowered her onto the settee, and when he replaced his hand for his mouth, his hands roamed across her body in worship until her cries of passion echoed the clawed scratches down his alabaster back. Their pleasure increased in their frenzy, and at the peak of Hermione's climax, he clamped his body around her, holding her in a tight embrace as the tremors of their bodies both reached the pinnacle of their joining.
His mouth covered hers as their combined blood shared between them, sealing their covenant to each other as body and magic wove together and tightened.
Unnoticed by them, the tarnished galleon coin that had been hidden amongst the other coins in Snape's cast-aside robe rolled out, started to smoke, and then spontaneously vanished—
Far away, the coin appeared on the counter of a small Wizarding second-hand shoppe, nestling itself in a collection of old and obscure coins— ready to cause mischief and mayhem all over again.
Fin.