A Most Unwelcome Proposal
Hermione Granger was bored to tears – not just this day, but every day. She spent most of her time at her desk in her tiny office at the Ministry of Magic daydreaming about quitting on the spot and walking out of the building a free woman.
The trouble was that she could not take the daydream to a satisfying conclusion. Ever since she'd taken this job working for the Magical Law Enforcement office analyzing data and documenting the latest research in the field of Defense Against the Dark Arts, she'd been paralyzed with indecision. Was this really where she wanted to be?
Sure, it was nice working in the same department as Harry and Ron, even if in a very different capacity. She was supposed to be applying to programs to earn her license in Magical Law but the very idea of going back to school made her want to curl up and die. It was so uncharacteristic for her to feel such a thing about school that she did not know who she was anymore.
The problem was that Hermione did not have the stereotypical Gryffindor recklessness that would prompt her to quit on a whim without a plan. What did she want to do? The answer continued to elude her. After the war she was restless and adrift. Nothing seemed to matter as it did before.
So, four years after helping Harry save the world, Hermione sat in a stale, dimly-lit office crunching numbers and reading reports with unremarkable findings, hoping that something interesting would come across her desk one day.
She was not prepared for the day that something did – or rather, someone:
The Long-term Effects of the Cruciatus Curse After Repeated Exposure and Delayed Treatment with Elixir of Elabum – by S. Snape
Hermione first skimmed the title in such a stupor that she did not even see the researcher's name. Realizing that she'd already forgotten the subject of the article, she read it once more, and realized who had published the research.
"Snape?"
The man had not been seen by anyone Hermione knew since the war ended. The only reason they knew he'd miraculously survived was that Draco had accidentally let it slip to Harry that his family had paid a few of the best private Healers in Germany to fix his broken, poisoned body, which they'd rescued from the grounds of Hogwarts before disappearing from the country.
Hermione took the rest of the day off, feigning illness, and went directly to the home of Draco Malfoy and his new wife, Astoria. The house-elf was a bit rude, but did let her in once it became apparent that Hermione would not be dissuaded from seeing Mr. Malfoy that afternoon. She waited impatiently in a sterile sitting room with an impossibly high ceiling, sipping a cup of tea that she had to admit was the best she'd ever tasted.
"Granger, whatever are you doing here in my sitting room?" came Draco's voice after perhaps thirty minutes. She wouldn't be surprised if he'd made her wait just to be difficult.
He walked in and stood staring at her with folded arms, as if she were a lost child and he wasn't sure what to do with her. He was only teasing, but it irked her nonetheless. Draco had become something almost like a friend in the past few years. Not wanting to give him the upper hand, she stood up to face him with her hands on her hips.
"Where is Severus Snape?" she asked. "Don't try to tell me you don't know!"
She waved her copy of the research in his face.
"He's publishing research now."
She said it as if it was an accusation but she did not know why. It offended her that Snape was alive and well, happily working on research. He should have made himself known by now. They all needed the closure. Harry in particular was still devastated by how wrong he'd been about Dumbledore's right hand man, the most trusted member of the Order of the Phoenix.
"Is he? Fascinating, I'm sure..." Draco said.
"Yes! Yes, it is fascinating. Let me read you the most fascinating part," she said, scanning the page until she found her place.
"This research demonstrates that the cultivated variety of leonotis leonurus called 'White Lion's Tail' has extraordinary medicinal benefit when used in the creation of the Elixir of Elabum. This variety, also known as 'Alba Root' colloquially in older potions texts, is essential to the formulation which will counteract the long term effects of the Cruciatus Curse."
Hermione stopped reading and stared at Draco.
"The effects of leonotis leonurus are further increased by the addition of leonurus cardiaca, or 'Motherwort'. This herb is not commonly recommended in the creation of the elixir, however it does have a significant effect on the potency of the final product, rendering a single dose twice as long-lasting."
She looked up at Draco again.
"Riveting," he said.
"White Lion's Tail? Motherwort?" she asked. "Draco, I know you have both of those in the conservatory here. You took us through when you gave us a tour of the manor. There is Lion's Tail decorating every other flower bed, and I'm sure I recall your house-elf offering me a tea of Motherwort once when I was upset."
"I couldn't say. Hermione, these are not uncommon magical remedies. Any magical household with a decent greenhouse would have them, and what's more they're easily procured from an Apothecary."
The tiny, hint of a smile on his face made Hermione want to smack him.
"Snape is here, isn't he?" she asked. "Draco, I'm not leaving until I see him."
"What? Why?" Draco asked, laughing.
"So you admit it? He's here?"
"Even if he was here, I don't know why you'd want to see him... or why you think he'd want to see you."
Her mouth dropped open indignantly, but she promptly closed it.
"Draco. Please. Just tell me the truth. Where is Snape?"
Draco sighed with dramatic exasperation and held out his hands.
"I can't."
He laughed at her again.
"Is there anything else you've come to demand? Perhaps I can oblige you in something else."
She sat back down.
"Yes. You can go inform Snape that I know he's here and I would like to discuss his research. In case you've forgotten, I endured more than a few rounds of the Cruciatus Curse at the hand of your delightful aunt."
Draco sobered and finally said, "I'll be back in a moment. Don't go anywhere."
Ten minutes passed and Hermione heard the door unlatch again. Draco must have Apparated through the house, because ten minutes was barely enough time to make it down one hallway of the manor.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione snapped her head around to see Snape close the door to the sitting room silently behind him. He was pale, a bit disheveled, and a massive scar now decorated his neck and the side of his face.
"Ah... Mr. Snape. It's good to see you well. Are you? Well?"
"I am not unwell," he said.
He looked like he'd rather be anywhere else than standing in front of her. After a moment he sat down on the settee on the opposite side of the room, which was rather far away.
"You must not have been very well, before," Hermione said awkwardly.
He did not reply, but scowled at the floor.
"I just meant, since you used yourself as a test subject for this research," she said, holding it up in front of her body like a shield.
"You must not be very well, either," he replied. "If you've come to offer yourself as a test subject."
That had not been her original intent, but it occurred to her that even as mild as her lingering effects were that she should try to do something about them. After the Healers at 's offered lackluster remedies, she'd resigned herself to living with the frequent headaches, muscle pains, and brain fog that descended unpredictably from time to time.
"I'm well enough most days," she said. "I get by."
He stared at her now with that familiar look, as if peering directly into her thoughts.
"You are unhappy," he said. "The treatment won't cure unhappiness, but it can address the rest."
It was Hermione's turn to stare. Snape continued.
"If you wish to participate in the study, you may return here once a week for treatment. You will tell no one about this. If you do, the treatment will be terminated."
She nodded.
"Fine. What day and time should I come?" she asked.
"We shall begin today. You will return every Wednesday."
"Today?"
He stood up and said, "Yes. Follow me."
Hermione watched him stride toward the door and realized that he was not going to wait for her to gather her thoughts. She jumped up and hurried after him, trailing his quick pace down the hall. They walked in silence down the hall, around a corner, down a narrow staircase to the lower level, and through yet another long hallway. He stopped suddenly and Hermione nearly walked into him.
"This is my work room," he said, looking as if he wished he did not have to let her inside.
The room was large and neatly organized. There were small horizontal windows lining the opposite wall near the ceiling, and Hermione realized they opened to the greenhouse. One of them was propped open and a slight cool draft wafted into the air. A few cauldrons were prepped for brewing next to their own spacious work tables.
"Has this lab always been here or did Draco put it together for you?" she asked.
"When this house was built, it was customary for a wealthy family to employ their own apothecary," he said.
Snape went to a cabinet and pulled out a stoppered bottle of dark amber glass.
"Have you read the entire article?" he asked.
Hermione stifled the urge to scoff at the question.
"Of course."
"Then you are familiar with the risks of long-term use of Elixir of Elabum."
"Yes."
He put the bottle down on the nearest table and summoned a piece of parchment. He waved his wand over it and the script of a contract appeared on the blank page. He handed it to Hermione and she read over the terms and risks listed.
"Do you have a pen?" she asked.
Moments later, an inkwell and a well-used black quill floated over and sat themselves down in front of her. Hermione signed the bottom of the parchment. Snape took it from her and folded it into his pocket.
"Let us begin," he said.
After methodically recording her complaints, he unstoppered the bottle that held the Elixir of Elabum.
"Your starting dosage is two drops under the tongue," he said, lifting the dropper from the bottle.
He watched her, unmoving, until she tilted her head back and opened her mouth. Snape quickly squeezed two drops of clear potion under her tongue. It was so cold that she shivered in response. Thankfully, there was no taste.
"Keep track of your daily symptoms in this notebook," he said, placing it before her.
Hermione opened it to see a weekly chart with plenty of space in which to record information.
"Come back next week," he said.
With that, he ushered her out of his work room and shut the door. Hermione stood in the hall blinking at the aged wood of the heavy door, wondering why he did not at least have the manners to walk her back to the main floor. Never mind – she would find her way out eventually. This was a wonderful opportunity to explore parts of the Malfoy house yet unseen. If caught snooping, she would blame getting lost on Snape's rudeness.
Hermione had no intention of actually getting lost in the house, yet somehow she managed to lose her bearings. Finally, she found what she suspected was a house-elf passage with a very narrow staircase that wound upwards, and decided to follow it to the main floor. She exited the stairwell into a dusty, forgotten storage room that held old gardening tools and bins full of dirt. The door to her left opened up into the conservatory.
She stepped out into the warm air and blinked as her eyes adjusted to the light filtering down through the glass and ironwork roof. It was so peaceful here she wanted nothing more than to take a nap on one of the benches. Then, she heard voices – the familiar sound of Draco's voice to be exact.
"Bollocks," she muttered to herself. Why was Draco out here?
Hermione walked cautiously in the direction of the voices, certain that the other, deeper voice speaking at a volume too low to carry very far, was Snape's. As she peered around a hedge of flowering bushes, she saw a wall and a familiar horizontal window propped open – they were talking inside Snape's work room.
Still unable to make out what Snape was saying, Hermione crept closer, careful to stay out of sight of anyone inside the room. Soon, she was pressed against the cool stone wall eavesdropping on the two wizards.
"I told you I had no idea she was coming," Draco said defensively. "It was your article that tipped her off!"
"Perhaps if you had not given her friends a bloody tour of the house, she wouldn't have put it together."
"How was I to know you'd be living here in the future? Besides, nobody but Granger would remember what kinds of plants were in the conservatory – she spent less than a full minute walking through it. Who else would recall what kind of tea the house-elf offered, and what were the chances those two things happened to be in your potion, or that she'd come right over to demand a dose?"
"Indeed. Yet you have more faith in her ability to keep the information from Potter than I, Draco. This is a concerning development. I should begin looking for my own residence."
"You'll never find anything as good as what you have here. Stop worrying. We can trust Granger," Draco said.
"I shall leave eventually, Draco. As wonderful as your hospitality has been, I must have my own space. You know this."
Draco did not reply, and Hermione imagined he was displeased to think that Snape would eventually leave him alone in such an enormous house with only his wife and the house-elves for company. Draco was something of a social pariah now.
"I had no idea she was ill," Draco said. "I assumed she must have recovered completely. Did you think you'd ever had another test subject who was still in their right mind?"
Silence from Snape followed.
"I mean, she looks well. She's rather pretty now that she's learned to tame that hair of hers. I never would have thought she was ill," Draco said.
Hermione touched her hair without thinking. It was embarrassing to admit how long it had taken her to understand that it wasn't frizzy, but naturally fell into dramatic waves and loose ringlets with the proper encouragement and no hairbrushes. It was still wild, but no longer resembled a fluffy, unruly bramble engulfing her face.
"Don't you agree?" Draco prodded. "When we first began dating, Astoria was jealous – she said Granger was beautiful and didn't believe me when I said we've never been closer than friendly acquaintances. I never would have imagined it from the look of her in school, but she is good-looking now."
Though offended at the turn of the conversation, the back-handed compliment warmed Hermione a bit. She knew she could turn heads if she wished, but she could not often be bothered to put in the effort to really impress the opposite sex. She supposed she looked nice that day – she was wearing one of her more flattering work robes.
"I can't say that I gave a single thought to her beauty," was Snape's answer. "It certainly is not so great as to tempt me to ponder the attractiveness of a former student."
Hermione decided she'd had enough with eavesdropping, and poked her head within sight of the window.
"Draco! There you are!" she said brightly. "I've gotten turned around in your great maze of a house, and somehow ended up out here. Which way takes me out front?
The two wizards looked up at her like deer in headlights, but Draco quickly recovered.
"Stay there. I'll walk you out, Hermione. I'm astonished that Severus did not already do so."
"Yes, so was I," Hermione said cheekily, her gaze falling on Snape's stony face for a moment.
So it was that Hermione began to visit Malfoy Manor regularly. Draco rarely bothered to play the host, and most weeks she was escorted to Snape's work room by one of the house-elves. They walked her back out as well. She supposed Draco did not want her to explore more of the house on her own.
Nearly two months after the treatment began, Hermione finally started to feel normal again. Her symptoms were less frequent and less intense, and she had an energy back she had attributed to teenage hormones settling down.
Snape remained as curt and aloof as he'd been the day she first came to Malfoy Manor and demanded to see him. A small part of Hermione had hoped she might play a larger role in his research than simply a test subject, but he was not interested in involving her further – but then, why should he want the help of a Ministry office-worker? Something about the situation made Hermione deeply ashamed that she had not done more with herself.
When she tried to inquire as to whether he was still experiencing symptoms after a full year of treatment, he declined to elaborate beyond a vague, 'to an extent."
Today she sat on a stool waiting for him to finish bottling a fresh batch of potion.
"Have you considered testing the effectiveness of this treatment on those whose minds have been addled by the curse?" she asked, thinking of the Longbottoms.
"It would not restore normal mental function," he said. "That is not how it works."
"Would it not be worthwhile to at least ease their physical suffering?" Hermione asked. "They might be mentally confused but they can still feel pain."
"If this treatment is eventually accepted as the primary way to counteract the lasting effects of the curse, then it will be administered to any such patients."
"But that will take years!"
"Yes. It will."
He had no more to say, which angered Hermione. He must know she was thinking of Neville's parents.
"What if their next of kin gave consent for them to be included in this research?" she asked.
Snape looked up at her with no small amount of annoyance. He tapped the stopper onto the bottle before answering.
"It would not be ethical to expose mentally incapacitated participants to an experimental potion," he said.
"The side effects of the elixir are mild, even with long-term use," she said. "The only real danger is that the potion might not help them at all due to the severe nature of the damage to their nervous system."
He picked up the bottle of fresh potion and went to place it in the cabinet.
"There is a chance of dependency," he reminded her.
"Even so, they are already dependent on the constant care and supervision of others. They do not have the ability to administer their own medications. Isn't it worth asking?"
Snape spun around and smacked his hands down on the table beside him suddenly, making her jump.
"Enough. Not only is it unethical but I have no intention of revealing to any additional persons that I am still in the country. You will remember that your participation in this research ends if you break your promise to keep my residence here secret. That includes from the ears of Potter, Weasley, and Longbottom."
"Fine. I understand," she said.
She folded her arms and waited for him to administer her dose – she was up to four drops now, which Snape estimated would be her final adjustment. As always, she shivered after he placed the drops under her tongue. This time, she shivered again as his gaze lingered a moment on her face. She heard the soft tinkle of the glass dropper going back inside the bottle in his hand.
"Miss Granger, I – "
Suddenly she had the urge to cry. Her eyes watered. He frowned.
"You will return immediately if you experience any new symptoms after this dose," he said.
"Yes."
He turned away from her.
"Dilly will see you out."
The house-elf appeared instantly by the door with a pop.
Hermione left feeling strange, but she did not think it was from the elixir. Nearly two months, and she still did not know any more about Severus Snape than she had at the start. It was just as well that she was not allowed to tell Harry and Ron, for there was nothing to tell. The only thing she knew for sure was that he was still unpleasant and secretive. She was beginning to think that his loyalty to Dumbledore had been purely circumstantial, not based on any deeper conviction than fulfilling a duty. Harry claimed that Snape had truly loved his mother but Hermione did not think the man seemed capable of such an emotion.
She had a date with Ron that evening. They usually went out on Fridays with Harry and Ginny, and saved Saturday evenings for their private outings. It was unlike Ron to ask her on a mid-week dinner date – at her favorite restaurant, no less. Hermione had a not-so-small suspicion that Ron was going to propose soon. Would tonight be the night?
The thought of an impending proposal made her extraordinarily anxious. She wanted to marry one day, of course. She loved Ron, as one does a boyfriend. Did she picture Ron as her husband, though? No, she never had... and shouldn't she have by now?
Hermione had chewed her fingertips raw with nerves over the past few days, anticipating the moment Ron got down on his knee and asked her to marry him. If she was yet undecided, then there was only one answer that would do. She could not agree to the engagement with such ambivalence in her heart. Yet, she did not want to break up with him. It would destroy her to lose Ron. They'd never be friends again.
"Hello, love," Ron greeted her, a few hours later. He kissed her in the doorway of her flat before coming inside. "Ready to go?"
She was dressed and prepared to leave, but wholly unready for the date. Nevertheless, she smiled and took his arm after she locked her door. Ron Apparated them to Diagon Alley, where they would dine at a modest but delicious cafe called The Nest. It was homey and cozy inside with a magical fire roaring under a brick oven.
"I love this place," Hermione said, thinking that she sounded nervous. He patted her arm.
"I'm starving," he said. "I hope the service is fast tonight."
It was his main complaint with the establishment, which was family run. Hermione did not mind waiting a little longer for their meal, when the quality was so high.
All through the date, Hermione watched for signs that Ron was mentally preparing himself to propose. Instead, he seemed almost bored. It was not until she mentioned their school days that he perked up.
"Remember Potions with Slughorn?" Ron asked. "Harry acting all superior because he had Snape's old textbook with the cheats written in?"
"They were tips, Ron, not cheats. Potion making isn't a contest."
"Well, Slughorn made it one, didn't he? Awful git, he was. Almost as bad as Snape."
Hermione laughed and said, "I think you've forgotten how much you and Harry hated Professor Snape."
"I haven't forgotten anything. The old dungeon bat was nasty, but Slughorn constantly kissing the arses of the students with famous or rich parents was worse."
"I don't know about that," Hermione said.
"You only say that because you were in the 'Slug Club', Hermione. I wonder what old Snape is up to these days. I imagine he's living in some fancy villa with Draco's mum and dad."
Hermione kept her mouth firmly shut so as not to give away anything.
"What? You don't think so?"
"No, I'm sure you're right. He'll probably never come back from exile, even though it is self-imposed at this point. Harry's gotten his name totally cleared since the war."
"Ungrateful, if you ask me. The least he could do is come back and say thank you."
Hermione tended to agree, but she reminded Ron that they all owed Snape their lives many times over, and that he'd been close to death when the Malfoys found him.
"He is probably suffering a great deal of pain from those wounds to this day," she said. "Imagine what scars he must have."
"Yeah. My dad has a wicked scar from that snake bite. His face must look rough, poor sod. Although considering what he looked like before, maybe it would be an improvement."
"Ron!"
"What? Bill's scar made him cool!"
"Bill was already cool, Ron," Hermione said, laughing.
"Bill? Nah... he was just my brother, Bill, before the attack. Now Fleur has to beat the other witches off with a stick."
"I think you were just too young to see how many witches liked Bill before," Hermione said.
The date ended without any proposals, to Hermione's relief and disappointment. Harry and Ginny were going to be married that summer. If Ron wasn't planning on proposing to Hermione soon, then why was he still dating her? Why did he talk of having a family so often? He and Harry were already arguing about whose children would be the best at Quidditch.
Hermione kept her promise to Snape not to tell anyone of his whereabouts or her participation in his research. However, she did pay Neville a visit the next week, as she usually did each month. This time, Luna was not around since she was on an assignment in South Africa.
"Come in, Hermione. Gran is upstairs resting, so it's just us," he said.
That was a relief. Hermione was not fond of Neville's overbearing grandmother. She handed Neville a bottle of Firewhiskey.
"Here, I thought we could have a few drinks after dinner tonight. As long as we stay out of sight of your grandmother, of course."
"Oh, ah, yes. Thank you," he said. "I actually still have a little left of the last bottle you gave me."
He laughed nervously.
"Not that I don't like it! It just upsets her if she sees it... or smells it..."
Hermione fought the urge to tell him to stop letting his gran tell him what to do.
"Anyway, let's eat," Neville said. "I ordered in since it's just the two of us, and we don't mind if it isn't a 'proper' meal."
Later, over drinks, Hermione got to the question she'd been hoping to ask all evening.
"Neville, can I ask you something about your parents?"
He was tipsy, but suddenly he appeared to sober up.
"You can say no, it's all right," Hermione assured him.
"No... I mean, yes, Hermione. What is it you want to know?" he asked.
"Well, as you know part of my job involves keeping up with the latest research on topics in the field of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I recently read some promising research that suggests there may be a way to relieve some of the side effects of exposure to – ah – to the Cruciatus Curse."
"Oh... that... that is too good to be true," Neville said. "Hermione, I've accepted that they will never get better. I'm sure the Healers will tell us if that ever changes."
"Yes. Of course they will. From what I understand, this research does not regard improving the mental effects, but it would relieve some of their other symptoms."
"I see..."
"I just wondered, if there was a way to ease their pain without the heavy side effects of pain relief potions, would you want to try it? Even if it was experimental?" she asked.
"Of course," Neville said. "I have often wondered how much of their mental state is due to the pain potions. If they could lower the doses or even stop using them... what might they be like? Not normal, of course, I know that... but..."
Hermione nodded.
"Do you think your grandmother would agree?"
Neville pondered the question for a while.
"I think she would."
Hermione left the Longbottom house that night with the conviction that Severus Snape was using his supposed moral convictions to avoid interacting with the outside world. His primary motive was self-interest.
She recalled, too, that Snape had always seemed to hate Neville even more than Harry, if such a thing was possible. The hatred of Harry made sense – Snape could not very well be seen going easy on the enemy of his supposed dark master. Not to mention the pain the very sight of Harry must have caused him, if indeed he did have a heart and a conscience beneath that cold demeanor. But why treat Neville so hatefully? The boy whose kind, decent parents weren't dead but tortured to insanity? How could Snape justify his disdain and mockery of Neville's inadequacies?
In fact, the only times Hermione had really gotten in trouble with Snape were when she tried to help Neville during potions class. It seemed to strike such a nerve in him to see Hermione help the hapless. Could Snape really be as good as Harry seemed to think he was? After all, his opinion was based on the memories that Snape had decided to show him. There was certainly other more damning memories that remained securely inside Snape's own head, never to be shared with anyone.
Focused as she was on her desire to help Neville and the maddening personality of Severus Snape, she was completely taken by surprise when Ron proposed to her that Friday night in front of Harry and Ginny.
She stood gaping at the ring he held in his outstretched hand and tried to think of what to say. Ron was grinning happily at her, and she could see Harry and Ginny smiling excitedly as well out of the corner of her eye.
"She's speechless! Well done, Ron," said Harry encouragingly.
Ron took her hand and stood. As he attempted to slide the ring onto her finger, Hermione found her voice again.
"No, Ron," she whispered.
He froze.
"What? Hermione..."
"No, I – I can't. I can't marry you."
His face was beginning to flush and Hermione's was as well with shame and embarrassment. Of course he'd choose to propose in public in front of their friends! Why would she have imagined he'd do it privately at her favorite restaurant?
"I'm sorry!" she squeaked out, and then she grabbed her bag and fled.
Tears poured from her eyes and she tried to hide her face with her hair as she made her way out of the restaurant. She could feel the eyes of the other patrons on her as they spoke in hushed voices. Brilliant. She was the night's entertainment.
Hermione hid in her flat all weekend. She wished she'd kept the bottle of Firewhiskey she'd given Neville for herself. It would take him months to finish it and she was in need of a drink. Instead she drank copious amounts of tea. She had no intention of braving the outside world until she was due at work on Monday.
Never had the idea of going to work in her little dull office been so appealing. She would not be bothered there. It was her own personal, boring sanctuary. Unfortunately, the Monday paper was delivered to her before she left the flat, and while the main headline was about a Charms accident that blew up a family home, there in bold print on the front page were the words, The One the Got Away – Again, and an unflattering photo of herself trying to avoid the flash of cameras. She recognized the photo as one taken shortly after the war ended.
Hermione refused to read the article until she was safely ensconced in her office with the door shut. Then, she opened it to page three and began to read:
Hermione Granger, who first made a name for herself as Harry Potter's on-again, off-again flame while they were classmates at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was seen out this Friday on a double date with the Boy-Who-Lived and his fiance, Holyhead Harpies player, Ginny Weasley. Granger has been dating Weasley's older brother, Ronald, publicly for about a year. Witnesses say that Mr. Weasley proposed to Granger after dinner and drinks at a popular Diagon Alley pub. To the surprise of everyone, but most of all Mr. Weasley, the witch turned him down and ran out of the establishment. Granger has faced public scorn in the past for her romantic involvement with Potter as well as famous Quidditch star, Viktor Krum, garnering accusations that she is far more attached to the thrill of borrowed fame than to any relationship. After Granger's exit, her friends and presumably new ex ordered another round and drowned their sorrows. Patrons proceeded to pay for so many drinks for Mr. Weasley in sympathy, that he was forced to stand up and drunkenly put an end to the charity. He was escorted home by Mr. Potter and Ms. Weasley, who were later sighted trying to convince him not to take a nap on the pavement as they made their way home.
With a deflated sigh, Hermione let her head fall down to her desk.
"Bollocks."
She did not get much work done that day. Her coworkers were mostly quiet, bookish types who kept to themselves, but a few of them did poke their heads in to check on her with looks of pity.
By the time Wednesday came around again, Hermione was resigned to losing all of her friends thanks to the breakup with Ron. Perhaps Neville and Luna would remain, but she could only really handle them in small doses. Molly Weasley had not yet sent her a Howler, which was a small miracle. Hermione was in a low mood, perhaps the worst she'd ever felt, and she was not looking forward to seeing Snape.
The man was unbearably silent this time. He never spoke much, but it was as if he'd been hit with a Tongue-Sticking Charm. He made a copy of her symptom notes for the week, handed the notebook back to her, and a moment later stood in front of her with the bottle of elixir, dropper aloft.
Hermione opened her mouth and waited for him to dose her. When he did not she lowered her eyes from the spot on the ceiling she was studying to meet his. This seemed to snap him out of it and he dropped the liquid under her tongue.
After the bottle was put away, he said, "You complained of insomnia this week, a symptom that was previously eliminated."
"Yes. I don't think it was a relapse. It was likely unrelated to the curse or the treatment."
"I see."
He did not question her further.
"I've had a lot on my mind," she supplied, mildly annoyed with his silence.
He was now reading over her notes carefully and seemed not to hear her.
"Do you like living here?" she asked.
"What I like is of no concern at the moment. I have work to do and this is the best place to do it."
He had not called for the house-elf to take her away yet, so Hermione pressed on.
"I think Draco enjoys having you around."
Even if you aren't the best company, she thought.
He did not reply, but shuffled the papers on his desk.
"I got an invitation to Astoria's birthday dinner. Formal attire required. Will you be in attendance?"
"Of course not. He's invited half the Ministry."
"Oh? I thought it was a small gathering." Hermione said.
"Perhaps we have different ideas of what constitutes a small gathering," he said. "Regardless, I cannot attend. I have no desire to alert the Ministry to my whereabouts."
"You could attend in disguise," she said. "There's time to brew a batch of Polyjuice Potion."
"Miss Granger," he said with some exasperation. "Why would I do such a thing when I could simply... not?"
"Even you must get lonely," she said. "It would be something to break up the monotony of your work."
"I enjoy my work," he said. "It only appears monotonous to you because you do not understand it."
Hermione bristled at being told she did not understand something.
"I would understand it if you cared to explain it," she said.
To her surprise, he did explain it to her that day – or at least, he began to. He was in the middle of describing the temperature variations necessary to ensure the potion's success when a house-elf interrupted them. Hermione recognized the elf as Trips. She hated that Malfoy Manor still had house-elves and took every opportunity to tell Draco he must start paying them wages. This did not make her a favorite with most of the elves.
"Miss? Mr. Malfoy would like to see you, please," said Trip.
At least Draco had insisted they stop calling him 'Master'. Snape watched her leave without another word.
The house-elf took her to the manor's library, where Draco was seated with a red leather-bound volume in his hand.
"Hello, Draco. It's good to see you. I was starting to think you were avoiding me."
"Good evening, Hermione. I was avoiding you. Severus gets cranky when I bother him in his work room, and I thought you might want some privacy since your visits are medical in nature rather than social."
"What makes today different?" she asked.
"I thought you might be having a rough week," he said. "I have a bottle of wine for you. You can decide whether to share it or take it home to enjoy on your own."
He reached behind him and lifted a dark bottle off the table.
"Open it," she said.
"I thought you might say that," he said, producing two glasses.
A few minutes later, after her first sip of wine, Hermione asked, "Where's Astoria?"
"She's not feeling well."
Draco seemed to ponder the depths of his glass before adding, "The pregnancy is taking a toll on her health."
"Pregnancy? Already?" Hermione knew it was impolite, but it slipped out before she could stop herself.
"Astoria wants a large family," he said. "She may be forced to reconsider."
"Draco, I'm sorry," Hermione said. "Can Snape help?"
"Severus is doing what he can but he's not a Healer. We've seen a few already and they're not much help, either."
"It sounds like you need this wine as much as I do," she said.
"Yes. I saw the papers. I used to be jealous of Potter for his fame, but I very glad it's you and not me whose personal life is always in the news. How are you holding up?"
"I'm just trying to get through the week," Hermione said. "I think I'll sleep all weekend."
"Out of curiosity, why did you turn Weasley down? I assumed you'd marry him and have a red-haired brood soon enough."
Hermione shuddered at the thought.
"Draco, I don't even think I want children."
That surprised him into silence.
"I've been unhappy for a long time. Since the war. Everyone else moved on and started their lives, and I got stuck trying to figure out what I should do next. So I did nothing. I should have broken up with Ron a long time ago, but I was too scared of losing that reliability. It's nice being an honorary Weasley. It feels safe."
Draco looked as if the idea made him ill, so she continued.
"I have to do something with myself. I need something meaningful and challenging. I can't work for the Ministry – I despise the politics of it all," she said.
"Everything is political," Draco said.
"Spoken like a Slytherin," Hermione teased.
They finished the wine and Draco insisted on having Trips Apparate Hermione home so that she wouldn't risk splinching herself.
She spent the rest of the work week in a dull haze of resignation. It was time to make a change, but for now she would just survive.
On Saturday she received a letter from Neville:
Hermione,
I found the research you mentioned the other night, and I see why you did not mention who completed it. You know how difficult I find the mention of his name even now, when I should have gotten over the past. Perhaps you've already written to him, and your letter was returned unopened as mine was today.
It probably never reached him at all.
I suppose all that can be done is to wait and hope that future treatments will become available for them. Thank you for thinking of my parents, it means a lot to me.
Your friend,
Neville
Hermione slogged through the weeks following her public break-up with Ron. He had not tried to communicate with her since the failed proposal.
Harry and Ginny wrote separate letters. Harry's was full of rambling, confused questions and begged her to go see Ron and work things out. His friend's pride was too wounded to come to Hermione first.
Ginny was less concerned with Ron and far more personally hurt by the rejection. She mourned the loss of Hermione as a sister and also begged her to at least talk to Ron about her refusal to marry him. He was still living at The Burrow, a place Hermione would not step foot in of her own free will. She could not bear to see the rest of the family now.
She wrote back to both of them to say that until she heard from Ron, expressing his wish to speak with her, she would assume he was too upset to meet and have a reasonable conversation.
I very much regret that I rejected him in such a public manner, but if he'd proposed privately that would have been avoided. My actions were hurtful but his were inconsiderate. He knows I don't like public displays of affection.
Her friends did not respond, as she expected. Instead she received a letter from Draco:
Hermione,
I regret to inform you that Astoria's birthday celebration ball has been cancelled due to her continued ill health. She hopes to be well enough that day to have a much smaller celebration, to which you are still invited. Dress as formally as you like – we shall dine in the ballroom to her favorite classical pieces. She would love to see you, as would myself and S. Please say you will come, she needs something to look forward to more than ever.
D. Malfoy
Hermione immediately sent her reply, that of course she would come. Hermione also desperately needed something to look forward to more than ever.
When the evening arrived, Hermione put on her favorite dress robe, which she rarely had occasion to wear, and spent a significant amount of time on her hair. A few subtle makeup spells completed her look. The small gathering was indeed just Draco, Astoria, Snape and Hermione. Their party was dwarfed by the empty space of the ballroom, but Astoria seemed thrilled to be there. Despite whatever problems she was enduring with the pregnancy, she glowed. Hermione supposed it could be a charm, though.
Snape barely spoke a word, which was nothing new. Draco doted on his wife and smiled more than Hermione had ever seen before. The pianist kept the volume low enough that it was easy to hold a conversation, which was how Hermione preferred music to be.
"Draco, tell Hermione my idea," Astoria said after a while.
"Why must I tell her? It's your idea," Draco asked.
"She'll take it better coming from you," Astoria insisted. She smiled at Hermione.
"What's this?" Hermione asked.
"My wife thinks we ought to invite you to live at the manor," Draco said. "She thinks getting away from the city and that tiny flat with all its memories of your ex would be good for you."
"And what do you think?" Hermione asked Draco.
"I think she's right, of course."
Snape made a little noise of dissent.
"You don't agree, Severus?" Draco asked.
"Severus would rather not be forced to see me any more often than he must at present," Hermione said lightly, but she knew she was hitting on the truth.
A bit of distress was now present on his face, perhaps due to his irritation at her use of his name to address him.
"You are mistaken, Miss Granger. My disagreement is with the presumption the Malfoys have just made about what is best for you. A small flat might bring you infinitely more comfort than rattling about in the labyrinth of Malfoy Manor."
"All that matters is what you think, Hermione," said Astoria. "Are you happy in London?"
"I am ready for a change. I just haven't decided what sort of change it should be," Hermione admitted.
"Then you will consider it?" Astoria asked. "You don't have to answer tonight. The offer will stand until you've taken the time to think it over."
Hermione nodded and said, "I will."
Snape did not appear to be pleased.
"Don't worry, Severus. If I do come to stay at Malfoy Manor I doubt we'll run into one another very often. This place is large enough we might never socialize at all."
Hermione's teasing only seemed to make him grumpier and he did not reply. Astoria whispered something into Draco's ear which caused him to vacate his chair.
"If you'll excuse us for a moment, I promised my wife a dance before the evening is over," Draco said, offering his hand to Astoria and helping her to her feet. For a witch who was with child, she was shockingly frail and was only showing a bit around the middle.
Hermione and Snape sat in silence for a few minutes watching the couple dance. Draco was a good dancer, Hermione noted. He probably had private lessons as a child.
"Do you dance?" she asked.
"Not if I can help it," Snape replied.
Not that she wanted to dance with him. Hermione marveled at how lost to time Malfoy Manor was and wondered if all rich wizarding families were just as traditional and formal. No wonder they grew up believing that Muggles were a different species. The modern Muggle world had left magical tradition in a bygone era. Even the more progressive magical folk were mired in odd and unhelpful traditions. Only Mr. Weasley enthusiastically and openly showed interest in all things Muggle – a trait the rest of his family viewed as a personal quirk, not something to emulate. In fact, they seemed to think it was the most embarrassing thing about the family patriarch.
Still, despite recognizing the unnecessary and oppressive weight of magical tradition, Hermione would not mind if a well-dressed wizard appeared at that moment and asked her to dance. She had not properly waltzed with anyone since the Yule Ball.
"If I lived here, I'd be tempted to put on a ball gown and dance around this room at least once a day," Hermione said.
"Do you own any ball gowns, Miss Granger?"
"Not yet," she said.
The couple finished their dance and embraced.
"Severus, you should ask Hermione to dance," demanded Astoria. "Someone must dance in this lovely ballroom, and I need to go lie down."
Draco escorted her back to her seat, then called a house-elf to Apparate her to bed. Her pale skin was slick with perspiration, though the dance had not been fast.
"Darling, if Severus isn't up to it you must dance with Hermione. I bet that skirt looks lovely when she twirls. Frederick, play a waltz!"
Astoria's eyes were a bit glassy, and Hermione could see she was flagging. She kissed her husband goodnight as the pianist began a lively waltz.
"Hermione?" Draco asked. "My wife demands that we dance, and it is her birthday."
Hermione took his hand and laughed at the absurdity of herself dancing a waltz with Draco Malfoy while Severus Snape watched sullenly from the table. Astoria was right – it was lovely to twirl in her dress robe. It had never known a good twirl until now.
A few weeks later, Hermione moved into Malfoy Manor. She suspected Draco wanted a trusted friend for his wife as she struggled through a secluded and difficult pregnancy.
One morning, as Hermione walked through the main floor on her way out to work, Draco stopped her.
"Are you seriously still working that awful Ministry job?" he asked.
"I didn't quit my job when I came here, Draco."
"Well, why not? You should quit immediately! I'm not charging you rent," he said.
Hermione laughed.
"I don't want to feel like a charity case, I suppose," she said.
"Hermione, you're my friend. This isn't charity. I want my friends to be happy and you were not happy in London. You are not happy at that job. So quit. You'll find something else soon enough. In the meantime, take a break and relax. Go to the library. It might not have all the dark tomes it once did but everything legal is still there."
"That sounds wonderful, Draco, but I am still going to work today. I shall give my notice," she said.
"You are far too generous," he said. "They'd replace you in a day if you simply walked out."
Hermione did give her notice that day. A few weeks later, she was jobless, rattling about Malfoy Manor as Snape had predicted... but it nice to be free. Hermione was not used to being unproductive. It went against her nature and everything her parents had taught her. Still, after a nap in the conservatory, she was able to forgive herself.
As predicted, she rarely saw Snape around the house. He must spend most of his time in the work room, and she only went there on Wednesdays. Her symptoms were totally gone now. He said that his were nearly reversed as well. She was still taking her dose of four drops weekly, but Snape wanted to try weaning her off of it soon.
Hermione took frequent walks through the grounds around the manor – acres and acres of pasture and woodlands. The nearest village was miles away, out of sight.
Once the weather turned cold, she began walking the hallways and staircases of the house. It was on one of the these walks that she found herself outside the grand ballroom, and she could not resist opening the tall, heavy doors and slipping inside.
She first went to the piano and sat at the bench, wishing she'd accepted her mother's offer of lessons as a child. Instead, she picked dance lessons, which were promptly abandoned when her Hogwarts letter arrived. She'd spent years dreaming of the day she'd be allowed to dance in toe shoes, only to give up the art form entirely in favor of magic.
It had been worth it in the end, but the memory of lining up in neat rows and dancing to classical music was still a fond one for Hermione. It was something decidedly Muggle that she still missed. She'd love to go to a ballet.
"You are supposed to be wearing a ball gown."
Hermione turned to see Snape standing in front of the doors. He pulled them closed behind him.
"I'd have to go to Muggle London for that," she said. "A ball gown is a different thing entirely from a dress robe."
"So, go," he said.
"Perhaps one day I shall. For now you'll have to use your imagination."
With that she stood and began dancing in a large circle, in what she was sure was a poor imitation of a ballerina performing turns. Snape looked mortified at her unashamed abandon. She came to a stop in front of him. To her great surprise, he bowed stiffly.
"Would you do me the honor of a dance, Miss Granger?" he asked, and offered his hand to her.
The slightest breeze could have bowled her over in that moment. What had come over him?
"Well, I... ah..."
He scowled and before he could retract his offer, she said, "Yes, I'd love to dance."
Now she must allow him to touch her. It was nothing like dancing with Draco. Snape was taller and he did not move with the easy practiced grace that Draco had used to direct Hermione across the dance floor. Of course, it did not help that they were dancing to dead silence. The sound of their shoes on the hardwoods was the only sound in the room.
"Hold on," Hermione said. She'd managed to recall a charm that should do the trick, and with a flourish of her wand at the piano it began playing a simple waltz. It wasn't Chopin, but it would do.
They resumed their awkward dance. Hermione tried to enjoy it but she had too many thoughts racing through her head. Why was he doing this?
"I apologize if this is woefully inadequate practice," he said. "Perhaps Astoria will throw another party soon and you'll have the opportunity to dance with a more skillful partner."
"Is that your way of telling me you won't be asking me to dance in front of other people?" she asked.
"No. I meant nothing more than what I said. Though, as you know, I shall not attend any parties which include outside guests."
"You'll have to come out of hiding one day, you know," Hermione said.
"I do not know anything of the sort. I could spend the rest of my life as Draco's pet if I wished."
"His pet?" Hermione made a face.
"Don't you feel a bit like an exotic zoo animal here?" Snape asked. "He's beginning to remind me of Horace Slughorn, collecting people to fill up this house."
"That's really not fair. It's only the two of us and you're the one trapping yourself here by refusing to go out in society."
"Why are you here?" he asked.
"I don't know. I needed a reset before I moved on with life."
"How is that going? Moving on?" he asked.
"I've been studying the great Potions Masters. The library here is full of original edition texts. It's amazing."
"You have an interest in Potions?"
"Don't act so surprised. I got an 'O' on my Potions N.E.W.T. and I find the subject fascinating."
"You find every subject fascinating, which is your problem," he surmised.
"It doesn't strike me as a bad problem to have," she said.
"It is if you lack focus."
He was hitting too close to home with his insights. Hermione abruptly let go of him and stepped away. She turned off the music with a wave of her wand.
"I suppose I should get back to figuring out what to do with myself. Dancing in an empty ballroom certainly isn't going to help," she said.
She began walking away, her eyes set on the door from which she would make her escape.
"Miss Granger. If you would like to use the work room. I have some extra space in the back corner where you would not be in the way."
"That's very gracious of you," she said sarcastically. "I'll dust off my cauldrons."
Later, once her temper had cooled, Hermione decided that she would take Snape up on the offer of a corner of his work room. At the very least she could make some practical household potions to keep in her medicine cabinet.
Hermione learned that Severus Snape kept unusual hours in his work room. He preferred to brew early in the morning, disappeared for most of the day, and returned at night to prepare ingredients, take notes, experiment and clean. She began to wonder if the reason she rarely saw him around the house was that he was nocturnal and slept through most of the daylight hours.
If she was sorry not to have company in the work room all day, it was not because she wanted his company but simply because it was too quiet. She began singing to herself to fill the silence, or simply talked her way through her recipes. Sometimes, she brought her magical wireless, but she was afraid he'd come stomping in and confiscate it – which was a ridiculous fear but one that stayed in her mind nonetheless.
Then, one day he burst into the room unannounced and Hermione nearly dropped her stirring rod onto her toes.
"Good day," he said.
"Ah, you scared me," she said. "My heart is racing, bloody hell. Perhaps you might knock?"
"Knock to enter my own work room?" he asked.
"Or enter less... angrily."
"Miss Granger, I am not angry. I am – "
He stopped himself from whatever it was he nearly said aloud.
"I simply have a lot to do," he finished.
However, as Hermione watched covertly out of the corners of her eyes, he seemed to have nothing in particular to do. He puttered around, absently leafing through texts and reading passages from his journals. After twenty minutes or so, he left without another word, and did not return.
She did not catch another glimpse of him the rest of the week. Even Draco said the man had turned into a ghost lately.
"He must have found a spot in on the grounds that the house-elves can't find him," Draco said.
"Is that possible?" Hermione asked.
"There are two that I know about," Draco said, nodding. "However, I don't know how he knows about them."
Then, on Friday afternoon, he knocked on the door of the work room before coming inside.
"Thank you for knocking," she called.
He closed the door and stood in front of it, looking remarkably pale, even for him.
"Miss Granger."
"Yes?"
He took a few steps toward her, then turned around as if to leave again. His behavior was so peculiar that Hermione put her potion under stasis and turned her full attention to him.
"Are you all right, Severus?"
The question seemed to agitate him further.
"Miss Granger, I must speak with you. Please, sit down."
He gestured to the bench between them. Hermione did as he asked, staring at him as she went. He briefly joined her on the bench, but jumped to his feet again as soon as he spoke.
"Miss Granger. Try as I might I cannot hide it any longer. My feelings will not be suppressed. I must tell you how deeply I admire and love you."
Hermione was so shocked, beyond anything she'd ever felt, that she could not react beyond blushing furiously in response. He continued, the words rushing out of him now as if they could not be stopped.
"I am fully aware of the inappropriate nature of this admiration. It is in such opposition to my better judgement and character that I have spent many weeks struggling to rid myself of such feelings. To no avail."
He was pacing back and forth now, still talking without leaving Hermione time to interject, so she waited as he went on.
"I am also fully aware that a relationship with you would put myself back into the public eye. You will not be content to hide away at Malfoy Manor forever. Eventually I shall have to resign myself to entertaining the unfortunate connections you have made over the years. Indeed, the very people I most wish to avoid in the world have been your close friends. They will paint me as the most abominable of predators. It cannot be helped. I care not. Almost from the moment you walked into this house and demanded to see me I have come to feel for you a passionate regard, which now overcomes all objections. If you return even a fraction of this regard, I beg you to come with me when I leave Malfoy Manor. I plan to purchase a modest home in the country and continue my research."
He seemed to be so certain that she would agree. Perhaps he flattered himself that she'd come to Malfoy Manor to be nearer to him. This must be corrected.
"As I am sure you heard, I am not the best at handling these sort of situations," Hermione began. "I hope I can answer with more clarity than I gave poor Ron. I feel that I should say I am flattered by your regard for me, but I confess that I cannot feel such a thing. I never would have imagined that I could rise so high in your opinion, from the depths at which it was formed... when I was but a schoolgirl. I am sorry if this sentiment causes you pain, but I did not ask for nor encourage these feelings which you have developed so secretly. Your objections, which have until now prevented you from showing me how you feel, will quickly bring you back to your senses. Soon you'll be back to hating me along with the friends you find so intolerable."
Snape, surprisingly, did not appear to be angry at her response. If it was possible, he paled further and seemed to struggle for the composure necessary to form words. After a dreadful pause in which Hermione wondered if he'd forgotten to keep breathing, he spoke again.
"This is all you have to say on the matter, then? I suppose I should be happy to receive any explanation at all, but I do wonder why you brought up my public opinion of you as a student. It is of no importance, as I was a spy at the time."
"And I wonder," Hermione replied, "why, clearly meaning to insult me, you professed your feelings just now by telling me that loving me goes against your own will, against all reason, and even against your character? I think that gives me the right to bring up any past grievances I wish. And I have more. You know I have. If I did somehow develop feelings for you despite your coldness toward me, how could I be tempted to act on those feelings, knowing that you previously delighted in ruining the childhood of a dear friend, and continue to deny him the small comfort of easing his parents' unending pain?"
As Hermione spoke, Snape changed color yet again, this time flushing. She continued.
"I am grateful for the part you played in the war and your loyalty to Dumbledore, but I have every other reason in the world to think ill of you. Nothing can excuse the torture you put him through at school. Don't you dare deny it! He was terrified of you and the shame of being exposed as inadequate over and over in front of all his peers has never stopped haunting him. In his case, at least, you are responsible for misery of the acutest kind!"
She paused and noticed that he did not look at all ashamed of himself after her accusations.
"Do you deny it?" she challenged him again.
"I have no wish to deny it," he said. "I did everything I could to make him appear inadequate and non-threatening. If he grew up to be more sensitive and empathetic for it, all the better. To him I was kinder than to Potter."
Hermione did not know how to respond to that. Her mind already had so much indignation and shock swirling through it she needed a moment's pause before she replied.
"It isn't just Neville, of course. Long before I realized how much you enjoyed picking on him, my opinion of you was low. Your character was on display from the my first year at Hogwarts when you began provoking Harry until he snapped. I don't care that you were a spy or that you weren't supposed to let him know you were protecting him! All that provocation, the glee with which you did it, on that subject what can you have to say? There is no imaginary act of protection to claim as defense."
"You've always been too concerned with Potter's problems," said Snape.
"What friend could have seen his misfortunes and remained unconcerned?" Hermione asked.
"His misfortunes!" repeated Snape. "Yes, his misfortunes have been great indeed."
"And many of your infliction!" cried Hermione. "You took every opportunity to withhold and deny him a normal school experience. If you'd had your way he'd have been locked in the dungeons for detention every day – I suppose that would have made your life easier protecting him. The only thing that ever took his mind off of his dead parents, or Voldemort, or the prophecy, was Quidditch, which you tried to deny him at every turn. You knew he had a terrible destiny, yet you treat his misfortunes with contempt and ridicule."
"This is your opinion of me!" Snape said, as he paced yet more furiously. "Thank you for explaining it so fully. My faults by your account are many indeed! But perhaps these offenses might have been overlooked if your pride had not been hurt by my honest confession of reservations that prevented me from showing my feelings sooner. If I had ignored the obvious objections and flattered you for a few weeks instead... but I do not enjoy manipulation. It has been applied to me too often in the past to be palatable, even to a Slytherin such as myself. Would you have believed me capable of ignoring the problem of your friends? To be happy I'd have to see them again after so many contentious years as their professor?"
Hermione was now seething and growing angrier by the second. She struggled to remain calm.
"You are mistaken, Severus. The insulting manner of your overtures merely spared me the concern I might have felt in rejecting them, had you behaved in a more considerate manner."
He finally looked as if she'd slapped him – was that the only blow that penetrated that obstinate head of his?
"There is nothing you might have said to me today that would convince me to consider a relationship with you."
Still, he looked astonished, and increasingly mortified. What had she done to make this man believe she was remotely interested in him?
"From the very beginning of our acquaintance at Malfoy Manor, your demeanor, your manners, your secrecy, and your purposeful disdain for the plight of others convinced me within a month that you were the last sort of man with whom I would ever enter a relationship."
"You have said quite enough, Hermione. I fully understand your feelings on the matter. I am now appropriately ashamed of my own. Forgive me. I wish you the best in the future, wherever that may take you."
With that, he bolted from the room. In his haste, the door did not shut completely behind him, and Hermione could hear his footsteps at a frantic pace as he fled down the hall.