Someone had once told her, 'the opposite of love is not hate, it is indifference.' How true that was. Because, she thought, she had never been indifferent. Oh, she had hated, certainly, no doubt about that! But indifference?
Never.
The sad thing was, she had no idea at all how this mess all began. She snorted. This Mess, was exactly how she put it, in her mind. This Mess had more to do with discovering that everything she had been so sure of—was absolute bunk. It almost, Hermione realized, felt as if she had realized after a lifetime of living in black and white that the world actually consisted of glorious breathing color.
He was like that. Snape, she meant.
When she had first come back, she had hardly given him a second thought, or a third for that matter. He was simply a dark shadow in her day, a penetrating gaze that she passed in the corridors. Penetrating, yes, and the thing was…whenever she happened to glance his way, --and surely, it must only be coincidence, right?—those dark eyes always, always bored into her own.
Disturbing, really.
Except…after a time, she realized that even though he hardly ever spoke to her, the fact that she could count on finding his eyes when her gaze flickered over his lean form began to offer comfort. The way he looked at her…oh, it was nothing overt! Just a calm assurance that he was there, that he somehow knew what she was thinking…feeling…
I'm losing my mind, Hermione thought. To think of Professor Snape in such a way! Why, he'd probably be furious if he ever suspected. Although…
She remembered one time, during a staff meeting—Gods! She could barely even recall what was discussed—it was in the same classroom that Minerva taught Transfigurations in. She had been almost ten minutes late, entered with an apologetic smile, and dashed to find a seat. He had been sitting at the end of a row, closest to the door, in fact. Hermione had slipped behind Dumbledore—The Headmaster had been sitting on the edge of Minerva's desk—and edged her way along the borders of the room until she found the outside chair in the same row as Snape.
He had turned his head, and what she had seen in his eyes…such longing, and for her! Was that even possible? Professor Snape, whom she had hated more than… than…well, she had hated him, blast it! The glimpse into his psyche had lasted a fleeting second, if that. A moment later, his face had tensed into the familiar mask she remembered so well from Potions class.
Sneering. Calculating. Cruel. Gods, she hated that look.
However, after the staff meeting that particular day, something in her had altered forever. Not unlike, she decided, a child's game—a hidden picture within a picture. Once you saw the hidden image, you couldn't un-see it. So now when she found his sharply discerning gaze upon her, all she saw was longing. Need.
But over a year had passed and still things remained exactly the same. Well, she sniffed, on her way to the Great hall, nearly. He still hardly ever spoke to her, still looked down his long nose at all he saw…But she…
She thought about him. Wondered what he was doing while she washed her hair, early in the morning. Wondered if he was feeling lonely, down there by himself in the dungeons. She wondered if he really did hate teaching as much as it had always seemed, or if, deep down in a hidden place, he secretly rooted for the Neville's to succeed.
As it turned out, she spent a lot of time wondering about Professor Snape that second year of her tenure at Hogwarts. So when she stepped into the Great Hall and saw the seat next to him open, she did not hesitate, but took it, sitting next to him as if she had always done so.
They exchanged pleasantries. He made a comment, sharp and derisive; making her chest hurt where her heart used to be. Then he had looked at her, really looked at her, with his eyes full of longing and resignation…Oh, he had beautiful eyes, eyes that she could stare into forever. She remembered telling him something like that, feeling foolish, expecting him to sneer, for his gorgeous melty eyes to turn hard and cold.
He had stared at her, after that little confession, and maybe it was her imagination but he had seemed so…hopeful. Maybe he was lonely after all. Maybe he wonders about me. Maybe…
So she had made more small talk, secretly rejoicing in the fact that he hadn't sneered, or turned away, or any of the things she had dreaded. Just kept staring into her eyes, like he was the one anxiously awaiting rejection at any moment.
Oh, it's so warm for this time of year…Warm enough for a walk about the lake, don't you think? The crescent moon? It's lovely.
Hermione had grown bolder by the time she said her goodnights, touching his hand before she left her place, savoring the tingle of her fingertips. He smelled like home, she thought. A nonspecific scent that she could not place. But all she knew was that she needed…more.
Please, please, let him take the hint. Please let him not be as bigheaded a man as he is teacher. Please let him try…
She had returned to her quarters, showering although she had done so that morning. She dried her hair but left it loose, brushing against her back. Sometime after nine, she stole from her rooms and quietly escaped the castle, savoring the feel of the night wind in her hair, and admiring the sliver of moon hovering over her. She walked down to the lake, crunching over shells and pebbles, knowing she was as foolish as a woman could be, hoping against hope…
You know this is all for nothing, she told herself. He'll be in his dungeons, alone, reading a book or some solitary pursuit.
Hermione told herself these things over and over, as if it would make the actual rejection not quite as bad as the anticipation of it. She did know better though, and so allowed herself to cling on to the barest fraction of hubris. The squid came to the surface of the lake, a silhouette in blues and blacks. The water rippled against the grainy sand, lapping with a sound that made the night seem…she smiled.
Almost magical.
Her watch chimed nine-thirty. He's not coming. But the night was beautiful; dark, yes, and also lonely in its own right, but she could not make herself return to her rooms, full of empty cheer and smiles that did not touch her heart.
She sat down in the sand, wrapping her arms around her knees and laying her cheek tucked into her shoulder. When she was like this, she could let herself imagine that it was his arms around her, his warmth upon her skin…in her very being.
Up above, a line of light shot across the starry sky. Hermione winced at the falling star, but then smiled, knowing that it had happened long ago, from the star's perspective. That's the thing, she thought. They burn themselves out, but are too hot to know. Wonder what it all means…
But the night owed her a wish, so a wish she would make. It was no question really, she wanted the same thing she had always yearned for. True love. Silly, really, and she knew it, but it never stopped the hope. Hope, she thought again. That's the thing with wings, isn't it?
She lifted her head, staring out at the lake. So many things bubbled under the surface, she thought. Not for the first time, she wished that Hogwarts was closer to the sea. Hermione understood the sea, understood the way things ebbed and flowed, understood the way it cycled…
Something was tugging at her mind. Something felt…different. She caught the looming shadow out of the corner of her eyes and for a second, nearly screamed. Then she realized who it was, and her stomach flew up into her throat, making speech damned near impossible. "Severus," she said without thinking. Then hastily, "Professor Snape."
He raised an eyebrow. "You may call me Severus, if you wish." How did he make his voice sound like that? All smooth, like honey, a sound that made her very marrow resonate to him.
I'm sorry," she said mindlessly, "It just that I don't really think of you as Professor Snape since I started on here so—" she trailed off. Oh, god. She sounded like a babbling fool. How was she ever to get him to see her, and not the girl who had studied beneath his watchful glares for seven years?
"You should be careful, Miss Granger. A woman by herself outside the castle…makes quite the tempting target, don't you think?"
Wonderful. This was going brilliantly.
"I didn't expect to be out here this long," she replied stiffly, through a throat equally as constricted. "I…I didn't expect you to come." And now that you're here, right in front of me, I feel like a school girl once again. Perhaps a light touch might be the thing… "It's starting to hurt my neck, you know, looking up at you. Why don't you come down here?" She smiled a little, patting the dry sand next to her.
He frowned down at her for a moment that felt like eternity. Then he was bending, folding himself, and sitting down next to her, mimicking her posture. Probably unconsciously, she figured. He couldn't still hate her, could he? He wouldn't be out here, getting his immaculate robes dirty if he did, right?
"I was thinking you had company," he said, out of the blue.
Huh? What the hell did that mean? "But why would I…?" Practically fall all over myself trying to get you to go for a walk with me when I—
He looked away, apparently finding great interest in the sand, down by his feet. "Why would any woman?" he asked morosely.
Oh. Oh. Then she was furious, so furious that he thought that way, that he could be that dense, not to know how he had invaded her mind, her thoughts, her…heart? "What would any woman what?" Want to be with you? See past that exterior you wear like a brick wall? Wait a second…what if he thought…? "Did you think…Remus and me?"
He turned back to her meeting her eyes. "It was a valid assumption," he said stiffly. She wanted to leap for joy at the riot of emotions she saw there. All the longing in the world, warring with hesitant hope, fighting confusion and everything but indifference!
That's the opposite of love, and it's not there! It's not there!
Laughter bubbled up, erasing every moment of doubt, every hesitation. She had him now, she just knew it. But…there were still a few moves left to play. "Oh, no," she said, almost conspiratorially, "I could never be with Remus. I simply don't…don't think of him that way. Besides," she added. "He just seems too…lighthearted. I prefer a man…" She let her sentence dangle invitingly.
He leaned closer. "Tell me," he said, and the timbre of his voice made her shiver. Made her go hot in places…oh, his voice, could be like warm brandy when he used it that way, all smooth and sexy…
She glanced up at the moon. " Oh, the man I need is rather like the crescent moon up there. Sometimes he gets overshadowed in the day, by the sun, but at night…" She smiled knowingly. "At night, he's in his element. Dark. Brilliant. Brooding. A little mysterious, and a little sharp. But he's the type of man that, even if you can't see him, you know he's always there. Waiting." She gestured toward the sky, again. "Like the moon," she said unnecessarily.
And if that didn't get his attention once and for all…Well? What's your problem, Severus? He was staring down at his hands now, as if he'd never seen them before. Hermione leaned closer a fraction, invading his personal space, if he cared to notice it. She cocked an eyebrow. She well understood the fascination with his hands. She had noticed at supper how stunning they were. Still. He was deep in thought, and by the looks, not very happy ones, either. "Your hands are so beautiful, you know." she murmured. And I really can't wait to feel them on me…
His head jerked up and he growled, "What?" Wow. He must have been pretty far gone.
"I said, you have such beautiful hands. Like a sculptor's, I suppose." Do or die, Hermione. She reached out and slipped her tiny hand over his, until it nestled palm to palm with his own. He flexed his fingers, grasping her hand, like he was holding on to hope itself. Oh thank, you thank, thank you…
"Hermione," he said hesitantly, "Please, if I've misconstrued things, forgive me, but…you do…I mean…I've been hoping…"
Her throat tightened again at his words, and a shaft of sorrow struck her heart so strong she almost wept with it. All this time, and here he had been, hoping, just as she had been. Keeping her left hand entwined with his, she reached out with her right, gently stroking his cheek, rubbing against the scratchy whiskers with her thumb. "I've been hoping that someday, you would look at me and see me…not the memory of who I used to be."
"Let me assure you," he said hoarsely. "If my eyes are open, all I see is you."
Oh, his eyes…the warmth of his skin under hers…she was drunk with him, but her heart so full of joy at his words…She tangled her hands in his hair, glorying in it, then pulled his face down to hers. She kissed him, loving the feel of his mouth on hers, his breath on her face…He drew his hands along her arms, and she shivered, feeling the thrill shoot straight down to her belly, where all her insides danced.
She never moved her mouth from his, couldn't, not for all the galleons on this earth, and to make it even better, she started rubbing her shoulders. Tension she hadn't realized was there melted away and she moaned into his mouth.
He pulled back suddenly, and she nearly wept with the loss of sensation. "Did I—hurt you?" He sounded appalled.
"Oh, no" she exclaimed, "You couldn't have. It felt wonderful." She smiled, almost shyly. How could he possibly think…?
He kissed her then, wrapping her around him, and making every part of her melt in some way or other. She slid her arms around his back, squeezing as tightly as she could. I've got you now, and I won't be so foolish as to let go…
Sometime later, when they headed back to the castle, Hermione looked up one last time at the sky. "You know, I've always been told that if you wished on a crescent moon, your wish would come true." They watched as the moon disappeared behind the clouds. "What do you think?"
"I used to think that one might as well wish for wings, if one frittered away time in such a fashion." Hermione felt her expression droop, with such a sad sentiment. "Now, of course," he added, "I know better."
She smiled out at the night. There was no indifference between them after all, which would have been so much worse than hate. For indifference, after all, was the opposite of love. She tightened her hand in his and walked a little closer to him. The night was young…and her wish had not come all the way true yet…