"Got another letter from Harry," Ginny said. "He's been down at Diagon Alley with Ron all week."
"Really?"
"Yeah, they're helping George reopen the store."
Hermione nodded, her attention focused on the Head Table as a platter of food appeared in front of Snape. He only took a couple mouthfuls, Vanishing the rest with a flick of his wand.
"He's doing a lot better, you know."
"What?"
"George. He's doing better."
"Oh, right."
Of course, Ginny hadn't been talking about Snape. His skin was even more sallow than usual, eyes underscored by dark circles that looked like bruises. He'd lost quite a bit of weight, too, voluminous robes seeming to swallow his thin body as he rose and left the hall.
"Hermione?" Ginny sounded mildly annoyed, waving a hand in front of her face to get her attention.
"What? I'm sorry."
"I asked if you'd gotten any letters from Ron."
"Oh. Yeah, I believe so."
"You mean you haven't read them? I can't even wait five minutes to read mine."
"I'll catch up over the weekend," she responded as she got to her feet. "For now, I need to get to work on that Transfiguration essay."
She didn't go straight to the library. Instead, she wandered through the halls, her thoughts drifting back to Snape. What had happened since she'd seen him last summer? Was there anything she could do to help?
She'd asked herself that question countless times over the past few weeks, though she couldn't come up with any ideas. How was she supposed to help him when he went out of his way to avoid people, only appearing at meals and at the beginning and end of class? He never prowled the halls, deducting House Points or assigning detentions as he'd done in the past. He'd even skipped the first Quidditch game of the season, not seeming to care that Slytherin was playing Gryffindor.
Why had he returned to Hogwarts if he didn't want to be here? Maybe like her, he'd needed something productive to do? That would make sense, but the problem was, he didn't seem to be doing anything at all. He hadn't given a single lecture since term had started, his lessons copied straight from the textbook. No originality, no attempts to challenge…
She lost her train of thought, eyes widening as she spotted a familiar figure at the other end of the hall.
"Professor Snape?"
He stopped in his tracks, turning around to face her.
"Yes, Miss Granger?"
Of course, she knew he could speak now, but this was the first time she'd heard his voice since his return. He sounded… different, though it took her a minute to figure out why.
"I was just wondering…"
"What is it?"
Suddenly, she realized what it was. There was no bite to his words, no sharp edge of hostility when he spoke. He'd never addressed her this way, without even a hint of irritation in his voice.
"Sir…" She hesitated, taking a deep breath. "Are you okay?"
He flinched, his mouth compressing into a tight line.
"That's hardly an appropriate question, Miss Granger. If you wish to inquire about your essay…"
"I watched you in the Hall this evening, and at breakfast, too. You barely touched your food."
"Scrutinizing my dietary habits?" He raised an eyebrow. "Surely you have better things to do."
"No," she said frankly. "I don't."
"Well, your failure to find a suitable hobby isn't my problem. I'd suggest…"
"Sorry," she interrupted, "but I can't help noticing what's going on around me. I know you haven't been eating. By the looks of it, you haven't been sleeping either. The way you've been acting…"
"And how, precisely, am I supposed to act? What is it about my behavior that you find so objectionable?"
"I only meant…" She took a step closer without realizing she'd done so, her eyes widening. "You've been drinking."
"Pardon?"
"Firewhiskey," she said. "I can smell it."
For the first time, she saw a spark in his eyes, his nostrils flaring as he glared down at her. "I am 38 years old, Miss Granger," he said, sounding uncannily like his former self. "It is both intrusive and entirely inappropriate for you to…"
He trailed off, both of them spotting the small group of students who'd just entered the hallway.
"I'm sorry," she said under her breath. "I just…"
"20 points from Gryffindor."
"What?!"
"20 points," he repeated, "for your impertinence."
Without another word, he turned away, black robes billowing behind him as he strode down the hall.
Severus was no stranger to unjust punishments. He was unaccustomed to feeling guilty about them, however, berating himself as he headed toward the dungeon. What had he deducted points for, exactly? The fact that she'd picked up on the obvious? Or was it the implication that she gave a damn?
No. He'd punished her because he hadn't known how to respond to either of those things, blindsided by three simple words.
"Are you okay?"
Dumbledore had asked him that question, but only to ensure he was up to the task at hand. Inquiring after his well-being without any agenda, just to make sure he was all right? He couldn't remember the last time anyone had done such a thing.
Of course, he wasn't all right. She'd had no trouble picking up on that, even before she'd smelled the alcohol. She'd been observing him for days, it seemed, perhaps even weeks.
Why?
That was the bigger question, one that left him confounded. Why did she care?
Her decision to save his life? That made sense. She wasn't the type of person who could've just left him there to die, whether she'd despised him or not. As for St. Mungo's, he'd assumed it was guilt or feelings of obligation that motivated her visits. Well, that and her need to escape the Weasley clan, which he could certainly understand.
But what about now? He wasn't ill or incapacitated, nor was he on the brink of death. Why did she still feel the need to check up on him?
Severus shut the door to his office, hardly aware of what he was doing as he poured himself a glass of Firewhiskey. He scowled as he lifted it to his lips, setting it back on the desk. All else aside, he needed to cut back on the drinking, appalled that someone had picked up on his newly acquired habit. An occasional nightcap was one thing, but getting pissed before dinner? That was rather excessive.
Summoning a pot of tea instead, he graded a handful of essays before he retired to his quarters. By then, he was fully sober, already dreading the night to come. He'd barely slept since he'd returned to Hogwarts, even with plenty of alcohol in his system. Without it…
He sighed, changing into a loose sleeping robe before he stretched out on the bed. At least he had something to distract him tonight, staring up at the canopy as he dwelled on his conversation with Hermione.
"Sir, are you okay?"
Whatever her reasons, she hadn't been faking it. He'd heard genuine concern in her voice, along with a fair amount of sympathy. Of course, he'd detected wariness, too, a clear sign that she'd anticipated a negative reaction.
She'd expected him to lash out at her, yet she'd still chosen to question him. Why?
Closing his eyes, Severus forced himself to reflect on the past few months. Yes, it made sense that she'd saved his life… but how had she known he was alive in the first place? That wouldn't have been possible unless she'd returned after the battle, expecting to find a corpse.
Why had she come back? There could only be one reason. She'd wanted to make sure he received a proper burial, affording him some small measure of dignity.
That one simple act had shifted his perspective, making it impossible to hate her. It wasn't the fact that she'd saved his life, but that even in death, she'd tried to show him respect. It was the last thing he would've expected, certainly far more than he'd deserved.
Of course, that was true for her visits to St. Mungo's, too. He didn't know why she'd treated him with so much compassion, but even now, it left him feeling humbled.
"I thought it might be better if I read to you. Would you like that?"
She had no idea how much he'd liked it. He'd lost himself in the sound of her voice, wondering how he could've ever thought of it as shrill and demanding. Soft and pleasant, oddly sweet… he'd been content to listen to her for hours, the one thing that had given him some measure of peace since the end of the war.
Severus yawned, attempting to recapture that feeling as he turned on his side. From the day he'd left St. Mungo's, it had eluded him, but tonight was different. It was almost as if…
"Mr. Snape? Your visitor's here."
Severus lay still and silent, his stomach fluttering as she walked in the room. What a stupid reaction. Downright absurd, really. Why should he care that she'd chosen to come back? Was he really that desperate for company?
Yes, he was. He couldn't deny it, eager with anticipation as he watched her set down her bag. She pulled out several books and set them on the table, flashing him a smile that made him catch his breath.
When had she become so…
Beautiful? No, he couldn't allow himself to think of her that way. Still, he had to admit that there was something appealing about her soft brown curls, framing a face that had matured tremendously over the past couple years.
"More Shakespeare?"
He grunted in response.
"Okay."
Closing his eyes, he lost himself in the melodic prose. Her pronunciation was flawless, her voice never faltering as she read the first act. She was…
She was touching him.
He lay there stunned as a warm hand parted his robes, caressing his chest before it slid across his stomach. Holding his breath, he felt her move lower, wrapping her fingers around his…
What the bloody hell was she thinking? Didn't she realize how inappropriate…
He opened his mouth to speak, though all that emerged was a gasp. Meanwhile, his hips began to move, arching upward, seeking her touch.
"What…" he finally managed, each word catching on a pant. "What… are… you… doing?"
Oddly enough, she didn't seem to hear him, still reading in that calm, collected voice as she continued to stroke him. Her hand…
Severus jerked awake, his eyes widening as he looked down at himself. It was his own hand that had slipped inside his robes, gripping a part of him that hadn't been responsive since long before the battle.
How was this possible? He hadn't gotten hard since…
Oh, who the bloody hell cared? He was certainly hard now, desperate to take the act to its inevitable conclusion. Closing his eyes, he picked up the momentum, stroking himself faster until finally, finally…
He could've wept with relief, shuddering in the darkness as he pictured her face. For the moment, he couldn't even bring himself to feel guilty about it, his body utterly relaxed as he drifted back to sleep.
Severus wished he could hide under the covers for at least a week. Instead, he heaved himself out of bed, summoning his teaching robes as he headed for the shower.
Of course, he wasn't unhappy to discover that he could still function. But the way it had happened…
It didn't help that he'd awoken in a similar state, his thoughts still focused on Hermione. This time, he refused to act on them, gasping as he stepped beneath a stream of icy cold water. He scrubbed himself from head to toe, shaking his head as he did so.
To think that he'd fantasized about one of his students… that was something he'd never done, not even when he'd hardly been older than they were. Granted, he'd been too grief stricken to have much of a libido back then, but still…
Still, he shouldn't be having those kind of thoughts about Hermione. No doubt she'd be horrified if she knew about the dream he'd had, repulsed by the thought of putting her hands on a nasty old git like him.
And what about him? Could he honestly say he'd ever want to…
No. No, of course not. What happened last night had only been a dream, one that bore no reflection on his current reality.
Snape sat stiffly at the Head Table, his expression stoic. He never even glanced at Hermione, appearing every bit as disinterested as he had for the past few weeks.
Still, there was something different about him. She watched him out of the corner of her eye, resisting the urge to smile.
He was eating.
She saw him polish off a couple pieces of toast, followed by a handful of sausages. He helped himself to a bit of fruit, rounding off his breakfast with a bowl of fried potatoes.
Had he gotten his appetite back? Or was he just trying to avoid her scrutiny? Either way, she was pleased to see him taking better care of himself. He even looked like he'd gotten a decent amount of sleep, the circles under his eyes slightly less pronounced.
She finished her own breakfast, wondering what else she could do to help. What would it take to break through his apathy, sparking his interest in what was going on around him?
"Ready?" Ginny said.
She nodded, still watching Snape as he rose and left the hall. He didn't speak to anyone on his way out, though of course, no one spoke to him either. It had been that way since the start of term, both students and teachers choosing to keep their distance.
That was the problem, she realized. No one ever attempted to engage him, whether that was asking questions during class or chatting with him at meals. Really, was it any wonder that he seemed disinterested? It wasn't as if anyone had taken an interest in him.
"Sir, are you okay?"
He'd been shocked when she'd asked him that question. Not annoyed or offended, but genuinely shocked. He'd done his best to hide it, responding with his usual sarcasm, but she'd seen… well, she didn't know what it was, but it certainly wasn't apathy.
Was that all he needed? Human interaction, someone who cared about his well-being? That would explain why he'd been so responsive at the hospital, surprisingly tolerant of her company.
No, it wasn't just tolerance. He'd enjoyed her visits. It didn't matter whether she'd been reading, chattering about her childhood, or telling him about her future ambitions… he'd seemed to welcome the attention. Granted, he'd been a bit more standoffish last night, but actions spoke louder than words. Her attempt to engage him had made a difference, leading to the first positive change she'd seen since he'd returned to Hogwarts.
She made her way to the dungeons, feeling optimistic as she entered the Potions classroom. Snape was already seated at his desk, staring intently at a pile of essays. He didn't bother to look up as she walked by, though it didn't matter. She had a plan.
As she'd come to expect, he never said a word. He rose to his feet instead, flicking his wand at the blackboard before he turned to leave the room.
She took a deep breath, her hand shooting up in the air. "Professor Snape?"
What the bloody hell was she doing? Severus had answered three of her questions already, yet here she was, raising her hand for a fourth time. Surely she couldn't be having that much trouble with her potion. It should've been simple to brew, especially for a NEWT level student.
"What is it, Miss Granger?"
"I'm sorry, sir, but I think I missed a step. Could you take a look?"
He'd been trying so hard to keep his distance. He hadn't even made eye contact, staring at the wall as he'd answered her previous questions. Of course, he could always do the same with this one, but he couldn't ignore some tiny spark of curiosity. Why would she of all people be struggling with this assignment? For the past few weeks, her work had been flawless.
Rising from his desk, he strode over to where she was seated. He peered at the contents of her cauldron, giving his head a little shake.
"Miss Granger, your potion is…"
She glanced over her shoulder, her eyes widening as they met his. He was standing too close. Much too close. He could feel the warmth of her body, his senses reeling as he caught a whiff of her hair. It smelled like vanilla and sunlight, that faint fragrance she'd left behind in his hospital room. Even in his dream, he'd remembered it, breathing it in as she'd…
"There's nothing wrong with your potion," he snapped, taking an abrupt step backward. "Stop wasting my time."
With that, he swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Was Hermione surprised that Snape had lost his temper? Of course not. She'd been making a nuisance of herself, going too far in her efforts to engage him. Really, it was no wonder he'd chosen to leave. She was just lucky he hadn't taken House Points on his way out the door.
But before that, the way he'd looked at her…
She could still picture it, his breath hitching in his throat as his eyes met hers. For that brief, utterly baffling moment, she'd almost thought…
How was that possible? He was her teacher, a man who'd despised her for years. True, he seemed to find her more tolerable these days, but the idea that he might be attracted to her?
Shaking her head, Hermione shed her school robes as she sat down at her desk. She made a brief attempt to work on her Charms essay before she set it aside, her thoughts returning to Snape.
Of course, he wasn't just her teacher. Not anymore. The past few months had changed their dynamic, shattering boundaries she'd once taken for granted. She'd seen him broken, helpless, his stoic facade blown apart by raw suffering. Those terrible moments in the Shrieking Shack…
And what about St. Mungo's? She'd told herself that he'd enjoyed her company, but she knew it went much deeper than that. She'd felt his isolation, his despair, knowing it was her he'd turned to for comfort. Hadn't the healer said as much?
"You're here and you care. That can make a huge difference, especially to someone who has no one else."
After all that, how could she help but see him differently? To her, he'd become a human being, no less vulnerable than herself.
His perception of her had changed, too. He'd made that obvious, treating her more like an equal than he ever had in the past. The conversation they'd had last night… true, he'd responded sarcastically, but not with his usual venom. He'd listened to her concerns, taking them seriously enough to modify his behavior.
"Here, Crookshanks."
She opened the door, letting the cat out to roam the castle. Changing into her pajamas, she crawled into bed, still bewildered by what had happened that morning. No, Snape wasn't just her teacher, nor did he seem to see her as just another student. But that look in his eyes, the intensity she'd seen there…
Of course, it didn't mean anything. How could it? Just a brief moment of weakness, some passing thought… no use dwelling on it, really.
What she should be doing? Thinking of Ron. He was her boyfriend, after all, a boyfriend she'd been neglecting for weeks.
"Accio, Ron's letter."
Three unopened scrolls landed on the bed, filling her with guilt. She hadn't realized she was that far behind, igniting the tip of her wand as she opened the first one.
Ron missed her. He couldn't wait to see her over the holidays. He'd played Quidditch with Harry that afternoon, though it was a lot less fun with only two people.
The second letter was strikingly similar, other than a couple of lines about his work at George's store. The third was more peevish, wondering why he hadn't heard from her.
She couldn't blame him for that, promising herself that she'd write him first thing in the morning. In the meantime, she summoned his picture, studying features that were as familiar as her own.
But as she closed her eyes, it wasn't his face she saw. It was Snape's. Try as she might, she couldn't forget the way he'd looked at her, wondering why it had affected her so deeply. Why hadn't she ever felt that way when Ron…
She pushed the thought away, choosing to ignore it as she drifted off to sleep.
Hermione sat up, wondering what had woken her. She rubbed her eyes, watching as silhouettes gradually separated themselves from the darkness. Her desk… her wardrobe… the chair where she sat to do her homework…
A tall figure standing at the foot of the bed.
Before she could react, the figure moved, looming over her for a brief, terrifying moment before it drew back into the shadows. She shrank against the headboard, grabbing her wand from the bedside table as she opened her mouth to scream.