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Chapter Two: Avoidance

"A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy" Guy Fawkes

The Gods were definitely not smiling down upon him. Not that Professor Severus Snape could ever recall a time when they had. Nor could he say with any certainty that Gods actually smiled. Scowled maybe. Yes, the Gods were definitely scowling on him again and they had for as long as he could remember.

His miserable, contemptible life had always been - miserable and contemptible.

Correction.

Those seven years when she had been part of his life, his lips twitched upward slightly, they weren't entirely miserable and contemptible.

There were moments. Rare and precious moments when he found himself alone in her company. Moments that he had actually sanctioned himself to feel something a little more than - Snape let out a wrathful growl that reverberated throughout his chambers - he would not allow himself to finish that treacherous thought.

Bile built up in the back of his throat as the truth disgusted him to no end. Why in the name of Merlin did she have to come back?

Angry, depressed and very frustrated Snape pounded a clenched fist violently down upon the arm of the leather high-back chair that he had been glued to for the last several hours. He glared viciously at the low burning fire before sighing heavily.

Severus knew he had to face her eventually, knew he had to evict his unkempt, alcohol drenched carcass out from the shelter of his dungeons, knew he had to pretend to loathe every inch of her – perfect body - but he hadn't realized it would be so soon.

He marveled at how successfully he had avoided any type of contact with her during her first five days at Hogwarts. Although five days, in his opinion, wasn't nearly long enough for him to adequately prepare himself for - confronting – her. Especially, he sneered, after enduring four wretched years of….

Of what?

Of waiting? Of dreaming? Of suffering? Of regret? Of…of bloody well trying to convince himself it was all just an illusion?

Pursing his thin lips together Snape's mind reeled, desperately trying to decide which was the most plausible of explanations. Maybe, he concluded, none of them were.

In less than twenty minutes, Snape had successfully drained four crystal tumblers full of Ogden's Old Firewhisky – one for every year that she had been gone. In impressive feat in itself since the dark wizard was not in the least bit fond of Firewhisky. Years of drinking the vile beverage after enduring countless Death Eater revels had left him with a distinctly bad taste in his mouth. Since Voldemort's demise Severus imbibed more civilized drinks, something more suiting to a Hogwarts' Professor. Brandy, Sherry, a fine bottle of wine…

But her presence, her invasion into his domain, had made him desperate. What was that quote again? Ah. He sneered as he remembered. A desperate disease requires a dangerous remedy... Love indeed was a disease. And the remedy, he chortled, the remedy was a totally mind-numbing effect brought on by consuming Firewhisky in grand doses.

Or - so he thought.

Time for a refill.

The inebriated wizard wasn't exactly sure why he had allowed himself to succumb to such a state. Why he was drudging up painful memories that he had long since crushed into silence. Severus was certain that any misappropriated feelings that he harbored over the years for that irritating know-it-all were gone.

If, they had actually existed at all, he added.

Snape toasted that particular thought rewarding himself with another mouthful of his drink.

So, he postulated, as he lightly tapped his long elegant index finger against his lower lip, if he no longer had feelings for the girl (if he indeed ever had them, he reminded himself again) then why was he behaving like a rejected lover? Snape snorted.

As if!

The Potions Master mocked himself. Thirty points – no – fifty points from Slytherin for not behaving like a Slytherin.

He moaned loudly. Gods!

Even after absorbing several bottles of Ogden's since her arrival, Snape was still no closer to finding an answer to his mutinous behavior. It really was simple. She was not now, nor was she, nor would she ever be part of his life. He had long since accepted that reality. Yet the fact remained that no matter how hard he tried not to think about her, she stayed very much on his mind – albeit at the moment – she was more than a wee bit fuzzy.

Snape topped up his glass with more Firewhisky. Holding up the tumbler to eye level, he admired how the amber tones of the liquid complimented the dying flames from the stone hearth. The professor was amused by how the fire danced elegantly within the spirits reflection...

Small things amuse great minds – when you're intoxicated. Snape knew he was avoiding the obvious.

Facing the Granger girl would subject him to renewed unrealistic desires.

Unrealistic desires? Snape snorted again.

What kind of insipid dribble was he feeding himself?

"Goddamn Firewhisky!" He muttered throwing the tumbler angrily into the fireplace. The glass shattered within the hearth, flames leapt up hungrily licking the side of the grate as it fed off of the alcohol.

Snape rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. He had to admit he was more than mildly curious if she had changed much over the years. The last time he had seen her, she looked a little worse for wear. Battered and bruised from the stand against Voldemort. Even so, she was still unmistakably beautiful. And he was unmistakably in love with her. At the celebration afterwards, she ignored his very existence - not that he was going out of his way to acknowledge hers. Yet when he had finally summed up a convincing pretense and conjured up enough courage to speak with her, she had gone. Once again he had let her slip out of his life.

He was such a fool.

Snape let his head fall against the back of his chair staring blankly up at the stone ceiling. It was probably better that way. What would he have said to her anyhow? What in the name of Merlin was he going to say to her now?

Nothing, he sneered getting a hold of himself. Absolutely nothing.

He would not waste one more minute of his precious time. He will not allow himself to pine away over anyone, especially her.

With one bleary eye he sought out the phial he had so carefully prepared hours before.

It was time, unfortunately, to somehow make himself halfway presentable for Dumbledore's little pre-term… soirée. Snape's face contorted in disgust. He despised such things. And it was only because Albus Dumbledore had such a twisted sense of camaraderie and affability that he was being forced to attend the infuriating affair.

Professor Snape was not - by any stretch of the imagination - a social creature. He preferred the solitude of his dungeons, the soothing sounds of a bubbling cauldron, the silent intellect of a good book. He possessed no need or desire to seek out extracurricular human interaction. He had no patience for the inane and useless prattle that was destined to bombard him for the entire evening. It was enough to turn his stomach.

And with the prospect of facing that Gryffindor…

Snape pulled himself out of his chair and staggered over to the maple bookcase next to the fireplace. He let his hand grope along the length of the shelf until he discovered the phial containing the potion that would bring him back to a harsh, cold and sober reality.

One where he would soon come face to face with - her. The bane of his existence.

Hermione Granger.

*

Hermione had thought she had handled things quite well.

Considering.

During her first few days at Hogwarts she maintained a fine balance of sanity teetering precariously at times on the edge of a complete emotional collapse. Amazingly enough, she was able to sustain an air of confidence when in the company of the other professors, especially Dumbledore, for it would not bode well to have him knowing of her true condition. Though by the concerned looks he'd been giving her over his half moon spectacles, she wouldn't have been surprised if he did already know. He had yet, however, to say anything to her.

For the most part, Hermione dwelled within the confines of the library finding solace within the pages of the many books that encompassed her, she took respite in her room when in need of sleep and made short appearances at mealtimes to provide her body with nourishment.

She had yet to grace her new office with her presence, but promised herself that it would be something she would tackle first thing the following week.

The new Charms teacher spent the majority of her time creating and editing course outlines. Discovering how best to teach Charms and furnish her students – her students…that had such a nice ring to it – with the best possible education she could provide. Research was something Hermione had always excelled at and she was more than determined to prove herself worthy of the position that Dumbledore had offered her.

Yet no matter how hard she tried, how much she struggled to prevent it from happening, Hermione found her thoughts invariably drifting over to – him.

She hadn't seen him, though she knew he was there – somewhere - lurking in the shadows. Skulking in his dungeons.

Avoiding her like the plague.

Perhaps that's exactly what he thought of her. An unwelcome disease. A cancer that had come back to invade his life. Or maybe, just maybe he really didn't care that she was there at all.

The latter was more likely to be true. For the first option would require him to have an actual thought or opinion of her - which she doubted he had - unless of course, it was something derogatory.

She wished she could say the same. It was true that in the last two years he was on her mind less frequently. She had toned her feelings, that she had once believed to be love, down to a wild crush before finally settling reluctantly on warm affection. However, Hermione wasn't sure which emotion would beat its way to the surface when she finally did lay her eyes on her former Professor. She was hoping it would be – warm affection – for it was by far the lesser of three evils. And the easiest on her heart.

The last time she saw the Potions Master, her feelings were still raw and her heart bruised. She reacted badly. Childishly. But since then she had time to heal, to reflect and gain back her inner strength. Now she was fairly certain that she'd be able to face him without falling to pieces. At least that was the plan. Needless to say the whole situation was causing her great turmoil and yet strangely enough Hermione found perverse pleasure in knowing that he couldn't hide from her forever.

Weak kneed, Hermione collapsed onto her oversized canopy bed, burying her face into her pillow. Until it had become an unavoidable and blatant reality, she had been looking forward to seeing Snape again. But now - now she wasn't so sure. In less than two hours time, and after four years of anticipation Hermione would be standing in the same room as Severus Snape.

Breathing the same air.

And the very thought of it terrified her to the very core of her being.

Pulling herself off the bed, Hermione stood in front of her mirror and grimaced as another wave of panic rushed through her. What in the name of Merlin was she going to wear?

Hermione laughed out loud at the ridiculous idea of being so vain. She'd never been one to be overly concerned with her appearance. There'd always been more important things to occupy her thoughts - like books and studying. Yet it still took Hermione a good hour and a half of wardrobe changes before she ultimately settled on a sky blue robe with a white lace trim. She allowed her hair to cascade down with its gentle curl resting just above her shoulders as a golden sapphire pendant given to her by her parents when she graduated from college sparkled elegantly against her neck. Finally, Hermione added only small hints of makeup to her already smooth milky complexion. The intention was not to look overdone, just good enough to let him know exactly what he had been missing.

Hermione paused to make a final inspection of herself in the mirror before leaving for the Great Hall. She smiled at her reflection and even the mirror itself admitted that she looked good. Damn good.

"Ready or not, Severus Snape," Hermione murmured, "here I come".

A/N: Part 3 should be up in a couple of weeks when I return from holidays. Yes, that is when Severus meets up with Hermione…finally!! Thanks to all who reviewed the prequel and part 1. J