Chapter 4: Denial


The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves.
George Villiers

Professor Severus Snape's lips twisted up into an evil smirk. He had successfully faced the Granger demon and came out virtually unscathed. Victorious, even. With the use of a few well-chosen words he had put that irritating little witch back in her place proving to her that he was still the unapproachable, unpleasant, unpopular Potions Master. A force not to be reckoned with. A wizard to be avoided. And judging by the look on her face, Hermione Granger was not about to forget that lesson any time soon.

Severus unhooked the small silver clasp and shrugged off his dress robes. He returned the heirloom to its resting-place inside a polished ebony box, which he set carefully on the top shelf of his maple bookcase. Snape slowly began to unbutton his high collared white shirt revealing the soft, pale skin of his lean chest underneath. The Professor paused mid-way down, reached for his wand and used it to light a roaring fire in the hearth. Raking his hand through his raven hair Snape dropped himself into a chair, his long legs stretching out in front of the fire as regret inevitably began to seep in.

Perhaps he had been a little too harsh. Perhaps he should have let Hermione Granger have her say. But what in the name of Merlin would have made her chase him half way down the corridor in the first place? What could have been so damn important?

Snape snarled arrogantly. He knew the real reason. It was obvious now that she was a Professor she no doubt wanted to instruct him on how he should teach his classes. The impertinent chit! Or moan over how he had been too rough on her precious Potter and Weasley. Insolent Gryffindor! Maybe there was the remote possibility that it was more innocent than that. Even so it didn't matter, he'd never know the real reason now – not that he cared - his ill treatment of her guaranteed him of that.

The half-empty bottle of Firewhisky on the oak table next to his chair caught his angry eyes. Snape hesitated slightly before reaching for the bottle. But once he had it firmly in his grasp he smiled ruefully. Now he could finally drink himself into oblivion and not have to worry about sobering up for a good long time. A gentle rapping on the door prevented him from pursuing the Firewhisky further. Snape growled inwardly, it had to be Dumbledore, no one else ever came to see him. Thank the gods.

"Albus, what a surprise," Snape murmured sarcastically as he stepped back to allow the Headmaster to enter his quarters.

"I'd love some of that Firewhisky you've got open, Severus," Dumbledore grinned. " I don't think I've had a drop since you, Sirius Black and I polished off three bottles of it when Voldemort was defeated." Snape poured Dumbledore a glass and handed it to him. He had long since given up trying to figure out how the old wizard knew about everything that was going on at Hogwarts. He just did. "We got quite rambunctious that night, didn't we?" Albus continued merrily.

Snape snorted. "There are words to describe me and I can assure you that rambunctious is not one of them."

The Headmaster chuckled. "Perhaps, Severus you should tap into your inner child. It would do you good to get rambunctious once in awhile." Snape rolled his eyes at his old friend. Just the thought of it turned his stomach

"So what is it that you want?" Snape asked sourly. "I highly doubt that this is a social call."

"And why is that so hard to believe?" Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled beneath his half-moon spectacles. He wasn't put off by the younger wizard's abrupt behavior in the least, he had known Severus since he was a child and knew it was all part of his - charm.

"Because you have only made three unannounced late night visits to my chambers in the last four years," Severus sighed. "The first being the night Potter graduated, the second the aforementioned night of Voldemort's demise and now tonight." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know there's a pattern here somewhere, but I am too tired and strangely enough my migraine inhibits my desire to solve the puzzle." Snape picked up his glass and carelessly topped it up with Firewhisky before falling back into his chair spilling a portion of the alcohol on his stark white shirt. "Bloody hell!"

Albus took the seat opposite Snape and rolled the tumbler gently between his wrinkled hands warming the liquid inside. It hurt him to see his friend in pain, seeing him suffer in a self-inflicted misery when the obvious solution was so very near at hand. If only Snape would allow himself to believe in the possibility of love.

The old wizard leaned forward, his long white beard curling up on the floor at his feet. "There was a muggle named George Villiers who once said that 'The world is made up for the most part of fools and knaves'."

Snape yawned widely hoping Albus would take the hint and leave before shoving the nauseatingly well-intentioned and unwanted advice down his throat. "I am not familiar with that quote. However," he sneered, "I assume this is leading somewhere."

"I have been both, Severus," Dumbledore replied sharply, his eyes growing serious. "A knave when I needed to be and a fool -" his voice softened slightly with emotion, "a fool more often than I care to remember, especially when it came to matters of the heart."

"Your point, Albus," Snape snapped coldly through gritted teeth. The Headmaster's tendency to be vague or worse, talk in riddles irritated him to no end.

"My point is that finding a kindred spirit is rare. You have been fortunate enough to have found yours."

Snape took a long sip of his drink before setting his tumbler on the side table and looked at the Headmaster impassively. "Alas, I must admit that the sagacity of your revelation has eluded me for I've absolutely no inkling to what it is that you're talking about."

"I think you do, Severus," Albus said flatly. He downed the Firewhisky and smiled sadly at Snape. "Fate has already graciously given you two opportunities which you have turned your back upon and I am afraid, my friend," Dumbledore rose setting his glass down next to the bottle of Ogden's, "that if you so foolishly pass up this third opportunity then you will not be given another."

Snape remained seated as Dumbledore glided effortlessly towards the door. "Not only is the world made up of fools and knaves," the Potions Master's silky tone carried easily across the room, "but of meddlesome Headmaster's as well."

Dumbledore met Snape's scowl with a slight bow before exiting in a flourish of brightly colored robes hoping that his young friend would heed his words.

Snape wasn't sure how long he sat staring mindlessly into the fire after Dumbledore had left, but it was long enough for it to turn into low burning embers. During all of which the Headmaster's words kept haunting, reverberating painfully in his head.

Kindred spirit... Found yours...Turned your back...Not be given another...

He ran a long hand over his tired face. It was nonsense, all of it. He did not believe in such things. Life, especially his life just did not work that way. Taking a deep breath, he indulged himself for a moment for if he did believe, then who would this so-called kindred spirit be? Snape tapped his index finger thoughtfully against his chin. There must be some sort of connection between Dumbledore's midnight visits and his pathetic words of wisdom - Severus suddenly froze as the answer struck him with intense clarity. Surely not her. It couldn't be her. That would mean that the gods were - could they actually be smiling down upon him? Snape shook off that thought as quickly as it had come. Foolishness. Absolute foolishness. Complete and utter bunk!

He needed rest. Standing up he reclaimed his glass of Firewhisky raising it to his lips. But something made him stop and Snape impulsively threw the contents of the tumbler into the fireplace. Dying flames instantly were brought back to life - in a short lived blaze of glory.

Snape stalked over to his personal storage cupboard at the back of his chambers. Opening the oak doors he pulled out a dreamless sleep potion, downing it quickly hoping that in the morning he would wake up and discover this was all just a bad dream. As he headed for his bedchambers, he somehow he doubted it, Severus Snape was never that lucky.

A week had passed since the disaster as Hermione not so affectionately called it with Snape. The events of the encounter rumbled endlessly through her mind and she found herself constantly assessing and reassessing what had gone wrong. What she had done wrong. It had, in fact, taken several days just for her to calm down enough to allow her anger to dissipate to the point that she was able to think about Severus Snape without wanting to hex the living hell out of him.

Hermione sat cross-legged on top of the large, worn wooden desk in the Charms classroom letting her elbows rest on her knees and cradling her face in her hands. Professor McGonagall had encouraged her to redecorate the Charms classroom to better fit her needs and to accommodate her teaching style. Hermione's heart sank as her eyes drifted sadly around the room. What was her style? Hopefully that would be something she'd discover once she started teaching – in less than two days time. But for now it seemed almost sacrilegious to change the classroom of one of her favorite Professors and perhaps by leaving it as it was, it would provide her with some sort of level of reassurance that she so desperately needed.

From the moment Hermione returned to the school of witchcraft and wizardry she was struck by a wave of nostalgia. A floodgate of memories crashed over her leaving the young witch feeling like a pebble that had been washed upon a familiar yet somewhat hostile shore. Hermione found herself missing Harry and Ron more than she ever had in her life. It was so strange to be at Hogwarts and not have them nearby. At times she could almost swear she could hear their voices discussing Quidditch or Wizarding chess while she was lying in bed at night in the solitude of her room. Or she would suddenly catch their shadows on the walls along the corridors that lead towards the Gryffindor tower. She once found herself staring morosely at the spot where Harry had kissed her after she had trod on his foot while they were both underneath his invisibility cloak.

How long had it been since she'd seen them, much less speak with them? Regrettably, it was her fault that they had drifted apart. Both Harry and Ron valiantly tried to keep in touch but she ignored their efforts. She had become so focused on her own inner turmoil that she lost track of what was really important. Friendship. For seven years they were the inseparable trio. The best of friends who had shared so much together, both the good and the bad. Her thoughtlessness and indifference had destroyed all that. Hermione blinked back the tears as she resolved to try and make amends; maybe it wasn't too late to salvage what they once had.

But until then, Hermione was thankful for Jeff Burnham. He seemed able to help fill in the void created by the absence of Harry and Ron as well as providing her with a welcome distraction keeping her mind from over-analyzing her relationship – or rather lack of one with Professor Snape.

If someone were to ask Hermione to honestly describe her ideal man, then all the qualities that Jeff Burnham possessed would leap instantly to the forefront: intelligence, kindness, humor and the incessant love of books and learning. But even though he embodied all those qualities that she deemed necessary to create the perfect man, there was still something missing.

Their friendship had blossomed surprisingly quickly over the course of the week. Easing into a routine consisting of sitting next to each other at meal times and taking long walks in the evenings around the lake. Every time McGonagall saw them together her face would practically glow. It was no secret that she felt that the handsome Arithmancy Professor was the right man for her favorite Gryffindor.

Although Burnham hadn't even attempted to push their relationship any further than friendship, Hermione could see the beginnings of tell tale signs that what he wanted was something more than a platonic relationship. Burnham had the same glassy eyed look that Ron Weasley had all throughout their seventh year and it was the look that she desperately wished she could see reflected in the black obsidians of Severus Snape. The day, however, would arrive where she'd need to wave off Jeff's inevitable advances by explaining to him that she was in love with the cranky old bat of a Potions Master. Hermione snorted loudly. She doubted Jeff would believe her. Hell, at times she could hardly believe it herself.

"Now that snort certainly wasn't very lady like."

Hermione jerked her head up quickly and saw Jeff standing in the doorway grinning at her. She unfolded herself from the desk and deftly landed on the floor. She arched an eyebrow at him while placing her hands on her hips. "I don't recall asking your opinion over what is lady like and what is not, Professor Burnham."

"Ah, it's Professor Burnham now is it? Hmm?" Jeff moved towards her. "Will you please ask that lovely Hermione Granger that I had lunch with not more than two hours ago to show herself? This snarky version is too much like that dreadful Professor Snape."

Her foolish heart leaped at the mere mention of Snape's name. Hermione carefully schooled her expressions and hoped her voice didn't forsake her feelings. "Professor Snape isn't dreadful at all, he's actually -"

"Rude and repugnant, and those are his redeeming qualities," Jeff broke in. "Yes I know, and speaking of which, if we don't get ourselves down to the staff meeting right away all the good seats will be taken and you'll end up having to sit next to him. And believe me," he continued with a smirk, "no one in their right mind would willingly sit next to Snape anytime, let alone at a staff meeting."

As it turned out Burnham could not have been more correct. Even arriving a good fifteen minutes early hadn't guaranteed them – in Burnham's view - a spot far enough away from Snape's usual chair, a Louis the Fourteenth - furthest from the fireplace and closest to the door. Hermione looked wistfully at the chair feeling a strange pang deep inside her chest. If only the Professor was already there, seated, drinking tea and waiting for the staff meeting to start then she wouldn't be feeling so utterly and nauseatingly tense. If only he had arrived before her, then she would not need to constantly glance at the door with her stomach churning and chewing desperately on her lower lip like a child awaiting the arrival of an angry parent.

The question that burned most in Hermione's mind was whether or not she would be able to maintain control over her emotions when she saw Snape again. Would she be able to keep her cool exterior while the rest of her body was wreaking havoc on her heart? Hermione rubbed her temples, her head was spinning and she felt a migraine coming on.

Burnham watched Hermione through a veil of curiosity. It was apparent to anyone who cared to notice that the young teacher was a bundle of nerves, yet he was at a loss to what could've brought on her sudden bout of neuroticism. Rubbing his smooth chin thoughtfully, he doubted that it had anything to do with it being her first staff meeting, which in his opinion, was more likely to make one drowsy than anxious. Surely there was much more to it than that and he would make a point of questioning her about it afterwards. Jeff placed a comforting hand on Hermione's shoulder informing her he would get her some tea.

With a great amount of trepidation, Snape knew that his latest bout of Granger free days was abruptly about to come to an end. For the past week he had purposely avoided her by sealing himself off from the rest of the castle. He had holed himself up in his private lab preparing a variety of potions needed by Madam Pomfrey for the upcoming school term. He completed lesson plans for the entire first through seventh year curriculums and his potions storage room had never been better stocked or organized. Snape ate his meals in the solitude of his chambers, venturing out of the dungeons only when he was sure that he would not come in contact with anyone, especially Miss Granger.

Throughout his self-imposed imprisonment, Snape did not allow himself even a moment to consider Dumbledore's words. In his opinion it was all just simply mislaid advice. Unwanted, unneeded and certainly undeserved. Even though Snape highly respected the Head of Hogwarts, he knew that even the great Albus Dumbledore wasn't infallible, and in this instance, he was dead wrong.

Granted, with the exception of a select few, the world did seem like it was made up of fools. Gods, every year his classroom was full of such dunderheads. But at the same token, it doesn't do well to dwell on dreams. Perhaps Dumbledore would benefit from following the same piece of advice that he had surely given out more than once and to more than just Potter. Because if Dumbledore thought for one moment that pursuing that particular Gryffindor girl was not an imbecilic dream – then more the fool he. For Severus Snape did not dwell on dreams. Hermione Granger was a dream. Hermione being his kindred spirit was a dream. He would not dwell on it. He would not dwell on her. Let Albus and his advice be damned!

Black robes billowed out behind him in the wake of his quick strides as Snape made his way through the draughty corridors toward the staff room. Contrary to popular belief, Snape didn't abhor staff meetings he merely tolerated them. In his view they were nothing more than annoying inconveniences taking him away from time that could be better spent performing research, or burying his nose in the latest edition of Alchemist Monthly. His mood was always purposely raw and in doing so, the other professors gave him (much to his own satisfaction) a wide berth during these incommodious meetings. He had his space and he had his chair, but to put a finer point on it, he came to the staff meetings for the warm biscuits, tea and because Dumbledore required it of him.

This time, however, it was different. This time it marked the beginning of a whole new series of horrendously painful Monday afternoon staff meetings now that Miss – er – Professor Granger would be in attendance. Snape literally cringed at the thought and his palms began to sweat. He was not looking forward to seeing her again. Yet, deep down he knew he desired nothing more than to feast his starving eyes upon her.

Burnham passed Hermione a steaming cup of tea and a warm biscuit, which only marginally cheered her spirits but did nothing for her nerves. She had barely downed the biscuit when the object of her anticipation arrived and as he stormed passed her, Hermione caught the faintest hint of spice in the air. It was enough to make her heart go wild.

The Headmaster made his way to the front of the staff room as the livid Potions Master lowered his lean body into his chair glaring viciously at anyone who dared to look his way. Dumbledore was both unruffled and amused at Snape's behavior. It was Snape's usual performance, however Dumbledore felt that this time the hostility was intended more for Hermione's benefit than for anyone else's. Albus smoothed down his royal blue robes before clearing his throat. When he had the attention of all the professors in the room he commenced the meeting by welcoming everyone to the start of the new school term.

Hermione took a deep breath and risked a glance over at Snape. Her skin instantly flushed as his glittering black eyes met hers. Her pulse quickened and she yearned to be able to break down the barriers surrounding his heart, desperately wishing she knew what it would take for him to let her in. Then in a brief moment of strength, Hermione braved a small smile.

Severus' heart thundered inside his chest. Her actions caught him entirely off guard. She had smiled at him and it was not what he was expecting. It wasn't logical that she should show him kindness after his callous treatment of her. But then he should have learned by now to expect anything outside the norm when it came to Hermione Granger. Gods, he was sorely tempted to return her smile, but what would have been the use in that? The Head of Slytherin smiling like a simpleton at a whelp of a Gryffindor? He hardened his heart not daring to expose himself as a lovesick fool, especially when the love he felt was unrequited. Snape sequestered himself deep inside the safety of his well-built armor reciprocating her smile with the darkest and foulest of scowls.

It was as if he had brutally slapped her in the face, and perhaps if he had it would have been less painful. Hermione had bestowed upon him a sign of a truce, a proposal of friendship and he rebuked her offer without consideration, without hesitation. The bitter sting forced her to turn sharply away, her heart crying out in despair. The natural need for comfort caused Hermione to move closer to Burnham, who eagerly welcomed the gesture. Jeff smiled warmly at her, openly placing his hand on top of hers and squeezing it affectionately.

Snape gritted his teeth and gripped the arms of his chair with such force that his knuckles turned white. He barely restrained himself from splattering the Arithmancy professor against the wall. Pain ripped through his heart. Snape narrowed his eyes before closing them in defeat. It was pointless.

If Hermione Granger wanted that buffoon, then she could bloody well have him.