Severus finds it highly uncomfortable that someone else has access to his feelings even when he is Occluding. He hopes the link will subside with time, but as the months pass it doesn't seem to diminish. Perhaps the strength of it is related to the amount of blood he had to transfer. Literature has been scarce on the subject and what he has seen speaks of a few months up to half a year for the link to disappear in most cases. He doesn't ask what she thinks of the link, and she doesn't say anything about it either, to his astonishment. Perhaps it is a good thing it's one-sided, he thinks, or he'd have to suffer through her monthly issues. He'd like to think his own mood is more stable than what he's seen of the Slytherin witches over the years but if he's honest with himself that might be a stretch.

She comes for Occlumency lessons and helps him brew for the Infirmary, since obviously Slughorn can't be arsed to do it and the Headmaster more or less told him to deal with it. It is a good enough excuse, and after a while it becomes almost natural to have her in the labs with him. She handles the straightforward brews easily, freeing up time for him to catch up on his marking or brew the more advanced potions. She asks questions sometimes about what he does and watches his technique like a hawk, but still in a rather unobtrusive way. It's strange to get along with someone in that way, as if it is the most natural thing in the world to spend time in their company.

The year rushes ahead. He ruthlessly quells his worries, hiding all behind layers upon layers of Occlumency. It is not enough, it will never be enough. Yet the Headmaster hasn't noticed the bond, or if he has he hasn't said anything about it. The curse on his hand must take a lot of his mental energy. The Dark Lord is busy elsewhere most of the time but Dear Bella is posturing, taunting him with something she knows that he doesn't. He guesses it is about Draco's task, the little brat is refusing to tell him anything and his Occlumency is good enough to withstand a subtle probe.

Miss Granger's Occlumency is improving fast once she settles on a mental model that is actually useful for subterfuge. It ends up being a large outdoor park, modelled on Kew Gardens she says, where trees and flowers and meandering paths can appear and disappear as needed. He nods in approval and she beams a smile at him, one that makes him feel all warm inside. She's not afraid of him, not even when he invades her mind without warning during class, or whenever she makes eye contact in the Great Hall during meals. She raises an eyebrow and throws him out, or makes the hedges grow around his presence in her mind like a maze without an exit. It's strange to feel her trust in him but there's no denying it is there.

There are several things he hasn't told her about the blood sharing. Seeing how it was a one-off he hasn't deemed it to be important, but it is in the book he lent her, or at least in the references she can follow in the library. It's odd how slowly the connection fades, however. He doesn't want to think about it, how it indicates an unusually high compatibility between them, where their magic and minds easily feed off each other, creating a resonance that stays alive for much longer than each individual note. He's rather certain that if it had been the youngest male Weasley instead of her, the connection would have faded within a week, severed by mutual loathing.

He sees her at Slughorn's party before Christmas which he couldn't talk himself out of attending. She looks ethereal, even when hiding from McLaggen. He can almost pinpoint her location only via her magic. It shouldn't be like that, the bond isn't going in that direction, but it is. The Gryffindor brat accompanying her makes him irrationally angry. Assigning detention might have been a bit over the top but he probably deserved it anyway.

~ x ~ xx ~ oo ~ xx ~ x ~

The sixth-year NEWT level class has an odd number of students during a lesson in April, due to Finnegan being in the Infirmary after a Potions accident to no one's surprise. He's showing them shielding, and how to cast offensive spells while maintaining a shield, dropping it to attack and reforming it immediately. Almost as soon as he tells the others to pair up and calls her name to duel him he knows it is a mistake, but there is no way back from it.

Her magic is strong, flowing against his effortlessly, as if she isn't afraid of him. As if she knows him. He casts a Stunner, she blocks him easily and counters immediately. There is an edge to her spells, something that feels familiar in turn. His own magic, flowing through her wand. She's picked up nonverbal casting during the year thanks to his teaching, and she's using it to good effect against him. It makes him proud to see it, to see the way she's learned from him.

She's inexperienced, of course, but she manages to hold her own for a surprisingly long time. In the end he has to actually make an effort. It's as if his magic doesn't want to fight her, or as if his magic within her senses his intentions, negating his efforts. They're both sweating by the time he disarms her, deftly catching the wand in the air while keeping her Stunned, just in case she would go all Muggle on him and box his nose or something. Wouldn't surprise him, all things considered.

The rest of the class has stopped duelling their partners and are gathered around the two of them, slack-jawed.

"Three feet on the use of Shielding while hexing, due Thursday," he snaps, turning around. He's breathing heavily, beads of sweat pearling around his temples. He releases Granger from the Stunner and hands over her wand. The others start filing out, slowly. Potter and Weasley linger but Granger shoos them out, saying they should save her a seat for lunch.

Not until they are all gone does he realise both of them are bruised. His right sleeve is torn and his upper arm is stinging from a hex, blood dripping on the floor. She is also bruised, her shoulder and arm swollen to thrice its usual size.

He heals her and feels her magic surge to meet his, almost blending. It's sensual and soft, like a cat winding around his legs, purring.

With obvious hesitation she gestures at his own arm and raises an eyebrow. Against all his principles he nods, once. He can't go around with a torn sleeve and it's difficult to heal his own wand arm. One of these days, one of these lives, he'll focus on learning off-hand casting.

Her magic settles around him, infusing his skin with warmth. The wound knits back up, as does the sleeve. To his surprise she raises a hand to his face and gently traces another cut on his cheek with three fingers. His eyes flutter shut of their own accord. It feels like home, somehow. As if it is meant to be.

~ x ~ xx ~ oo ~ xx ~ x ~

And then… And then.

His heart, his soul breaking.

Albus.

It hurts.