Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of his wonderful little friends. The only thing that is mine is this sad little plot. Anything recognizable belongs to Ms. Rowling who I hope never finds out what we're doing to her innocent little creations (Hehehehe!! ) (Wow I used the word 'little' in every sentence—creepy)
Chapter 9
Me That Languish'd for Her Sake
It was moments like these that, Hermione could assert without a doubt, made up the 'true' meaning of life. Moments in which time was measured, not by the ever ticking clock, but by the turn of a page and the sipping of strong brew of tea. It was the moments like these that were her root, that place that she had not been able to find in the past years with Harry—he would not condone sitting around, reading for an entire day. Definitely wouldn't have condoned days like today, she thought with an evil grin that slowly spread from her mouth to her eyes.
For what had she done today? Nothing, and it was precisely the way she had intended it. After breakfast, she padded about the quarters for a bit, bathing, straightening random items until everything was perfect and she could not avoid the moment any longer—the moment where she would have to come to terms with whether or not reading was still something that could occupy and consume her the way that it had as a child. She had been pleasantly surprised to find that reading, much in the fashion of learning how to ride a bike (something that her parents had taught her when she was very young), was something that you did not forget how to do simply by way of not practicing. She had picked up a book direct after lunch and had not been able to put it down for the last five hours—it felt so good to be back in the habit of this.
A few minutes after 5:30, there came a swift knock on her door. Begrudgingly setting the well-loved, yet long-lost, copy of Hogwarts: The Unabridged History on the nearby table, Hermione stood, stretched and walked to the door, opening it to a welcome surprise.
"Amadeus!" she crooned with genuine pleasure, "It's wonderful to see you again. Please, come in." He greeted her warmly, enquiring on how her lip was this morning. "Oh, that?" she laughed, clearing a way a few old copies of the Daily Prophet from the sofa, gesturing for him to take a seat. "No, no, Poppy is a miracle worker with things of that sort. And besides, she's seen me in far worse condition than a bloodied lip…being frozen by a Basilik is certainly a far larger scrape!" Amadeus laughed with her, taking the proffered tea, and explaining how he thought that he might have read something concerning that incident when he was younger.
And so another hour passed in perfectly amicable conversation until the clock bell chimed that they should be heading down to dinner. Just as they were both heading out the door, Hermione was suddenly struck, as is usually the case with these things, with the answer to a particularly difficult question she had been on about for a good 20 minutes earlier that day.
"Oh, no, no," she replied when Amadeus offered to wait for her, "No, I need to read a couple of quick passages and then I'll be down, could you please give my excuses to Albus?"
"Of course," he replied with a shy smile, "it would be the least I could do." And then, as suddenly as a snidget, he leaned toward her and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek. Blushing furiously and stuttering his words, he spoke. "I'll…well, I think I'd better…later, Hermione." And he was gone, the door clicking firmly behind him.
Flopping down into the nearest chair, her answer-quest momentarily forgotten, Hermione's hand slowly found its way to her cheek. She couldn't believe he had done that, it was so sweet, so terribly innocent. With a horrible force, it shoved her mind back into recalling the way Harry had first kissed her—a brief flutter of his lips upon her cheek after he'd won a Quidditch match in their fifth year. He had flushed, and she had kissed him back, from that moment on they had been inseparable. But the kiss from Amadeus hadn't been like that. She wasn't in love with him, harbouring years of unrequited love—they had just met, and already he fancied himself taken with her! It all seemed rather ridiculous when she thought about it—like he was a young school boy with a crush on her. Why did she suddenly fell so much older than he was?
"Because you've, more than likely, experienced far more emotional pain than he has," he mind supplied pertly. Yes, that had to be it. Perhaps….
There was a swift knock at the door. Hermione jumped, she didn't expect Amadeus to come back at all, let alone so soon. Upon opening the door, though, she was met with quite another person than that whom she'd been expecting. Severus. Seeing him there, so close to being in her private rooms, made her knees suddenly weak.
"Hermione, a word if you please." It was a statement, not a request—one that demanded no answer as she moved aside, allowing his soft robes to sweep against her trousers, sending those too familiar pleasant shivers throughout her body. He swept effortlessly into the room and began pacing the small space between her couch and the dinning table, stopping occasionally to look at her, mouth open slightly like he was going to say something before he shook his head and continued his stride. More confused than she had been in a while, Hermione silently shut the door, something insider telling her to lock and ward it, before she sat on the edge of the sofa, almost amusedly watching Snape in his movements—nervous and jumpy—most unusual.
It was a good number of minutes before he finally stopped and faced her, an unreadable expression blooming in his eyes as he gazed upon her like he had so many other times, only it was different—somehow very different.
"Why didn't you tell me?" That statement is getting positively redundant, Severus thought idly as he stared into her disbelieving eyes. It wasn't like him to do this kind of thing; he had spent the last few hours trying to curtail this new found energy that seemed to propel him in the general direction of Hermione Granger's chambers. It was maddening, internally racking him—even now, pushing the idea of crossing the space between them in one stride and taking her into his arms.
"Tell you what?" Her voice was small and confused—he knew that he must sound like a complete fool, a jealous partner who was about to accuse her of keeping secrets, secrets that she really had no reason to tell him to begin with. It was so unlike him, but for once he didn't feel like denying these feelings, this was his chance. He wanted her to share her secrets with him…all of them. He wanted to know every part of her, to know that for once someone knew him too. He wanted to tell her everything, but instead settled for an angry rant, voice booming in a way that she hadn't heard since her days in Double Potions.
"Tell me about the problems you were having…the things that everyone else in this school seemed to know, but I didn't. It's like you all don't deign to inform me of anything that's going on simply because of who I am. I'm Snape. Snape the Bastard, Evil Git, Slime Bag, and whatever other witty expletives the children of this school feel necessary to attach to my name. I'm not an unfeeling monster. So, yes, I'm mean, but it's for your own good. You all don't know what it's like outside of the safe Albus-Dumbledore-protected school world that you live in. You think it's all bloody wonderful to just have fun and not think about the consequences! And why the hell should I have to explain any of this to you all any way?" He stopped to take a breath, immediately giving Hermione the chance to get a word in.
"Sit Down!" she yelled, throwing her self out of her seat. Snape jerked and stared coldly down at her.
"What did you say to me little girl?"
"I told you to sit down Professor! And do stop behaving like a child who's just had his favourite toy broken!" Severus begrudgingly sat in the nearest armchair, crossing his arms over his chest in and expression so juvenile that it rightly warranted Hermione's earlier assessment of his behaviour. "Now, you're acting positively crazy. What are you going on about?" Snape breathed in, ragged, harsh. Looking earnestly up into her eyes, he took his heart into his own hands for once and grasped one of hers. Hermione's breath caught, she looked down at her small hand clasped within his, and then turned back to him. Slowly, he pulled her to sit on the ottoman in front of his chair.
"Harry" came the one word response that was all the invite Hermione needed to completely close down. She stared off into the distance, suddenly marveling at how easy it was to avoid a touchy subject to the point of almost thinking that you are over it. Only the reminder of Severus' hand, he had begun to rhythmically stroke his thumb over the back of her palm, brought her back.
"What's there to say?" she asked, a forced playfulness bitterly mocking the way her heart felt at that moment. "I loved him, and he changed. People change. And love doesn't exist…not really."
Severus listened to the quiet intonation of her voice, watched the slow drop of her head, as if she was ashamed of feeling what she had, and for all the canon it inspired, for once Severus Snape felt more enthusiastic about the term 'love' than someone else. May wonders never cease. He slowly manoeuvred his finger to her chin, lifting her head gently until her eyes met his own.
"This is going to sound like the most ridiculous thing in the world," he admitted gently to the silence and the girl, "but…love, well…love isn't like that." Her laugh was bitter and almost heartbreaking as she lightly pushed his hand away and stood, crossing to the window over looking the lake. Her words mirrored the frozen winter scene before her.
"Love? What is love? Where did it get me? I'll tell you where—to loneliness. It lets you surrender your soul to one person…one person," she emphasized loudly, turning around so that he could clearly see the tears sliding down her cheek. "One person who can take that gift, and toss it aside like so much rubbish." The last sentence was a whisper that barely escaped her lips. Trembling. "Love is nothing, an illusion. A Lie."
Why did this suddenly matter so much to him? Why was he suddenly moved by the emotional problems of some girl 13 years or so his junior. Most women who cried he considered weak and futile, but there was something…something, about Hermione Granger that made him want to run to her and tell her that love did exist, that he…. Oh honourable Merlin. He loved her. But did he even know if love did exist? Yes. For once he was going to be the strong one, the one with the answers.
It had only taken him two seconds to cross to her, to pull her into his arms, and hold onto her for dear life. She pulled away at first, but he held fast, whispering, whispering, "No, no, no" over and over. Finally she pulled back and pleaded with his eyes, her voice only slightly less desperate.
"How can you of all people say that?" She asked, her voice high and cracked. "How can you say that love exists? Have you ever been in love? Do you know what it's like to need someone more than you need yourself? To fall so far that there is no escape and that even when they aren't there you can still feel their arms around you? Feel their presence?" There was no more thinking to this conversation—it had reached its most basic level: emotion. No thoughts to the answers, just the Answers.
"Yes." Quiet.
"Who" she queried brutally. No thoughts.
"You." Severus had honestly been surprised by the effortlessness of the answer—like breathing, that's what the truth was.
Hermione stood perfectly still, staring up at him with an abject amazement that he hadn't seen since he first laughed in front of her. Suddenly there was fear, though. Fear that she wouldn't feel the same, that she would laugh, that she would stare at him like that forever. Say something, he willed silently. Anything.
Yippe! Soooo sorry to leave such a horrible cliff-hanger, but what can I say? I'm an evil chit. No really. Oh Athena, look for the next one soon—real soon, I'm not that mean—and thanks!
By-the-by, the sentence "What is love? Where did it get me?" is from a fabulous Dar Williams song called "Iowa"…which really has no relevance to this particular story, but is a very moving and beautiful song nonetheless.