A/N: Okay, so I've had to invent a paper thin plot device to keep
everything ticking over. It's a little bit lame, but the best I could do
considering I had to fill out the plot somehow! It's a bit convenient, I
know, but it's also the most straightforward way of introducing some
'issues'! I will be working on it a bit in further chapters, it will tie in
with everything, honest! There will be more running, more rain . . . and
possibly some mud too! Thanks SO MUCH to everyone who reviewed chapter
one:
C Jazz, ThePeppermintStripes, addisonrae, Snapecake, star-nite, Merry the Psychotic Coconut, SiriusBlackIsMyHero, AnnabelleElizabeth, Sacha's Girl, Phinix.
Kelly - Yes, you're right. Silly me. We learn that in GOF don't we? It will be removed.
JennyRad - Thanks so much for your pointers, I'm finding my way a little better now. As for where I work, no it isn't Atwools, although I do live just down the road from there! Small world!
DistinctVagueness - I love you, honey! Honestly, you're such a sweetheart. This one's for you for all of your lovely words of praise and encouragement.
***
Hermione jogged swiftly back to her rooms, high in the West tower, whilst all the while contemplating her strange meeting with Severus Snape in the school grounds. True, they had had several unpleasant run-ins during her time back at Hogwarts, but what had taken place between them that evening had been more than strange. Hermione struggled to recall when she had last seen the enigmatic potions professor looking so distracted, and her sharp mind told her that the answer to her question was 'never'. Something had affected him out there; there had been something about the way he looked at her . . .
Hermione did not wish to dwell on such thoughts any further. Severus Snape's problems were not her concern, and she had no wish to get involved. He was a thankless bastard anyway, she reasoned, remembering his odd reaction to her. Giving a mental, if not literal, shrug she unlocked the various wards on the door to her rooms and stepped swiftly inside. The door closed softly behind her as she walked into her sitting room and kicked off her muddy trainers, wincing when her wet feet came into contact with a bit of stone floor not covered by a brightly coloured run. Her lithe body sagged with fatigue and she hurried through a quick warm-down, stretching tired muscles to ensure she didn't inadvertently pull them.
Hermione had been running every day since going to Wizarding University some seven years ago. Her experiences at Hogwarts with a broomstick had led her to believe that she was perhaps not a natural athlete, but running was different. Running was something she did alone, something she found that she could do unexpectedly well. Her trainered feet could cover miles and make them seem like mere steps, her legs seemed more than happy to carry her as far as she wanted to go. Hermione felt liberated when she ran, free from the constraints of her largely academic life. She felt as if she could be anyone and do anything. At eighteen she had been a novice, running in jogging bottoms and baggy t-shirts, hiding her slender white body beneath reassuring layers of clothing. Now, at twenty five, she preferred to run in as little as possible, enjoying the feel of the wind, sun or rain against her skin. Her body was well-toned; her legs finely muscled but still slim and tanned. She had never been ashamed of her figure, but the difference was now she was proud of it. She was still far too shy to openly flaunt herself in front of anyone, but she knew she had nothing to hide. Having a conversation with Snape whilst dressed in tiny lycra shorts and vest had not bothered her at all, she had been perfectly comfortable, but Severus . . . Severus, it seemed had not been.
Hermione chuckled as her train of thought unwittingly led her into thinking of Severus in lycra again. Disturbing thought as it was, she found herself amused at the thought of the potions professor in anything other than his usual black, especially something small and stretchy. Black and small and stretchy? Perhaps.
Rising from a sitting position on the floor, she quickly stripped off her small outfit and socks whilst making her way to the bathroom to shower. Hopping under the hot stream of water she sighed as it made her cold skin tingle. She absently released her long wavy hair from its plait and it rested heavily on her shoulders while she took her time in shampooing it. Gone were the frizzy curls of her schooldays, replaced by sleek sandy coloured waves that fell nearly to her waist. Magic had helped of course, and from the day she had discovered that sleekening charm she had never looked back.
*
The grey light outside had grudgingly given way to the dark skies of night when Hermione decided she was hungry. It was late, past eleven and hours since dinner and her stomach was growling so insistently she knew that it would not wait until breakfast. She had not ventured into the school kitchens since seventh year, but found it no surprise that they had hardly changed. The house elves were more than happy to provide her with more sandwiches than she could possibly eat and a pot of tea that looked to hold about eight cups worth at least. She was carrying her supper from the kitchens back to her rooms when she spied a familiar figure stalking down the corridor towards her. Snape's robes billowed impressively with his long strides, and Hermione wondered fleetingly how he managed it before he stopped right in front of her, his face a disapproving sneer.
"Where did you get those?" He demanded. She curbed a smile, and instead looked carefully around her, as if looking for the source of her sandwiches.
"The kitchens?" Her answer, when it came, was guaranteed to cause maximum annoyance. The game, it seemed, was on again.
"Why?" Severus frowned. Hermione had no idea why he was so interested, but decided to humour him.
"Because I was hungry . . . you know, after my run. Is there something wrong with that, Professor?" She shifted from foot to foot, impatient for the conversation to be over.
"Late night visits to the kitchens hardly set a good example to the students, do they?" He hissed. Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.
"Can you see any students, Severus?" She raised her voice a little. He was obviously doing a late night patrol, and looking for trouble when there patently wasn't any.
"That is not the point!" His voice was a half-shout, causing her eyebrows to rise along with her temper. Shaking her head and refusing to speak another word to him she hoisted the small tray she was carrying a little further up on her hip and rudely brushed past him at a quick pace. He made a curious noise in his throat, which she ignored, and then he turned on his heel to follow her in silence.
When she reached the door to her rooms she turned to him expectantly. His face was like thunder, and she almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she did something that would undoubtedly confuse him, offering him something he would of course refuse.
"Would you like to join me for supper, Severus?"
He looked at her, apparently mute, then considered her question and to her great surprise, nodded quickly. Hermione gave a little shrug, almost to herself, and he followed her into her sitting room, waiting as she pulled two chairs and a small table closer to the fire. Putting the tray down and sitting in one chair, she waved her hand so that he might sit in the other. He did so, his dark eyes not leaving her face.
"What?" She offered him a sandwich, and he took one almost as if he were worried it might poison him. "I didn't steal them, you know," biting into a ham and cheese she chewed, swallowed. "The house elves gave them to me."
He seemed to calm down a little then, eating in silence for a few minutes. Hermione did the same, glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes so that he didn't catch her. His face, in the soft combined glow of candlelight and firelight, seemed contented. She expanded her glance to cover the rest of him. He was clad entirely in black, as always, apart from a tiny glimpse of while at his throat and cuffs, but he seemed a little healthier these days, and not nearly so gaunt as he had been under the shadow of Voldemort. His skin, although still very pale and almost translucent, had lost its sickly yellow tinge and his cheekbones were not so prominent. He was *interesting* looking now, Hermione decided, which was a big change from how he had been. She blinked, suddenly aware of how she was thinking, and coloured. It had been a long time since she had been able to think of a man in such terms . . .
"Tea, Professor Granger?" She looked up to see Severus holding the teapot above two cups he must have accio'd from one of her cupboards. He was looking at her curiously again, black eyes guarded.
"Please." He poured the tea and added milk without being asked to do so, and passed her one of the cups. As she moved to take it from him, her fingers clumsily brushed his and the subsequent crackle of electricity she felt as she did so caused the cup to slip through her fingers and smash loudly on the floor. For a moment they both stared at it, and then he had his wand out again.
"Reparo." He pointed it at the cup and within a few seconds it was whole again. He was repeating the tea making process without another word when Hermione abruptly came to her senses.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down at the small puddle of tea on the floor.
"Never mind." He passed her the cup again and she took it from him, careful not to touch him.
"You know, it's strange. I used Reparo to fix Harry's glasses so many times, I never seem to use it at all now . . ." Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said. It had been quite literally years since she had spoken of Harry, and her silence had been imposed for a reason. Why had a simple repairing charm made her refer to him like that? There was a sudden and frightening ball of fire in her chest as she struggled to breathe properly. The room and its' contents seemed to spin around her.
"Hermione . . ." There was a warning in Severus' voice.
"It's okay, I'm fine," she gabbled out. "I don't know where that came from."
"You've never spoken of him, have you? Not since . . ." The question hung in the air between them, almost tangible. Hermione looked up, her eyes meeting his.
"I can't." She whispered. "It's too hard, even now. I shut it away because that's the only way I can cope with it. It has to stay that way."
"He has been dead nearly five years," Severus spoke softly. Hermione took a sip of her tea, and looked into the fire.
"What difference does that make?" She asked, frowning.
"Nothing will bring him back." Even as he spoke the words, he knew that they would hurt her. He had been there the same as she had, had witnessed Potter's heroic sacrifice. He had died so that the Dark Lord might die also. There had been no other way. Afterwards, Hermione had been inconsolable for a long time, grieving beyond everyone else for reasons of her own. Severus had had an inkling of why that might have been so, but had dismissed it, and had forgotten with the passing of time. Sitting with the young woman now, he remembered.
"I know." Her voice wobbled ominously, she closed her eyes and drank her tea. "I don't need you or anybody else to tell me that." She was aggressive in an attempt to end the conversation before the inevitable tears fell.
"I think that you do." He watched her face in profile, seeing a riot of emotions crossing it. She settled on cold fury.
"Shut up." Her voice was a flat monotone. "This conversation ends now."
Her blazing eyes met his so that he might see as well as feel her fury. Severus waited for a heartbeat, then two, and then he said what he knew he must before his courage gave out completely.
"Did you love him?" He asked her. Her eyes widened, and the teacup tumbled to the floor from her nerveless fingers, again smashing into pieces on the floor.
A long silence followed. He did not move to repair it this time, wondering instead what else was broken.
Hermione bowed her head, hoping against hope that he would not make her confront this, not now. All of her anger seeped away, leaving only a crushing sadness. She thought that she had hidden it so well, kept it so safe from everyone that knew her. She had been wrong. Severus Snape was the last person she would have considered so intuitive, but he knew. And he was right. Tears filled her eyes, she looked up at him. His expression was strange, half pained and half kind.
"I loved him." Her voice was broken, the tears began to fall. "And he never knew."
C Jazz, ThePeppermintStripes, addisonrae, Snapecake, star-nite, Merry the Psychotic Coconut, SiriusBlackIsMyHero, AnnabelleElizabeth, Sacha's Girl, Phinix.
Kelly - Yes, you're right. Silly me. We learn that in GOF don't we? It will be removed.
JennyRad - Thanks so much for your pointers, I'm finding my way a little better now. As for where I work, no it isn't Atwools, although I do live just down the road from there! Small world!
DistinctVagueness - I love you, honey! Honestly, you're such a sweetheart. This one's for you for all of your lovely words of praise and encouragement.
***
Hermione jogged swiftly back to her rooms, high in the West tower, whilst all the while contemplating her strange meeting with Severus Snape in the school grounds. True, they had had several unpleasant run-ins during her time back at Hogwarts, but what had taken place between them that evening had been more than strange. Hermione struggled to recall when she had last seen the enigmatic potions professor looking so distracted, and her sharp mind told her that the answer to her question was 'never'. Something had affected him out there; there had been something about the way he looked at her . . .
Hermione did not wish to dwell on such thoughts any further. Severus Snape's problems were not her concern, and she had no wish to get involved. He was a thankless bastard anyway, she reasoned, remembering his odd reaction to her. Giving a mental, if not literal, shrug she unlocked the various wards on the door to her rooms and stepped swiftly inside. The door closed softly behind her as she walked into her sitting room and kicked off her muddy trainers, wincing when her wet feet came into contact with a bit of stone floor not covered by a brightly coloured run. Her lithe body sagged with fatigue and she hurried through a quick warm-down, stretching tired muscles to ensure she didn't inadvertently pull them.
Hermione had been running every day since going to Wizarding University some seven years ago. Her experiences at Hogwarts with a broomstick had led her to believe that she was perhaps not a natural athlete, but running was different. Running was something she did alone, something she found that she could do unexpectedly well. Her trainered feet could cover miles and make them seem like mere steps, her legs seemed more than happy to carry her as far as she wanted to go. Hermione felt liberated when she ran, free from the constraints of her largely academic life. She felt as if she could be anyone and do anything. At eighteen she had been a novice, running in jogging bottoms and baggy t-shirts, hiding her slender white body beneath reassuring layers of clothing. Now, at twenty five, she preferred to run in as little as possible, enjoying the feel of the wind, sun or rain against her skin. Her body was well-toned; her legs finely muscled but still slim and tanned. She had never been ashamed of her figure, but the difference was now she was proud of it. She was still far too shy to openly flaunt herself in front of anyone, but she knew she had nothing to hide. Having a conversation with Snape whilst dressed in tiny lycra shorts and vest had not bothered her at all, she had been perfectly comfortable, but Severus . . . Severus, it seemed had not been.
Hermione chuckled as her train of thought unwittingly led her into thinking of Severus in lycra again. Disturbing thought as it was, she found herself amused at the thought of the potions professor in anything other than his usual black, especially something small and stretchy. Black and small and stretchy? Perhaps.
Rising from a sitting position on the floor, she quickly stripped off her small outfit and socks whilst making her way to the bathroom to shower. Hopping under the hot stream of water she sighed as it made her cold skin tingle. She absently released her long wavy hair from its plait and it rested heavily on her shoulders while she took her time in shampooing it. Gone were the frizzy curls of her schooldays, replaced by sleek sandy coloured waves that fell nearly to her waist. Magic had helped of course, and from the day she had discovered that sleekening charm she had never looked back.
*
The grey light outside had grudgingly given way to the dark skies of night when Hermione decided she was hungry. It was late, past eleven and hours since dinner and her stomach was growling so insistently she knew that it would not wait until breakfast. She had not ventured into the school kitchens since seventh year, but found it no surprise that they had hardly changed. The house elves were more than happy to provide her with more sandwiches than she could possibly eat and a pot of tea that looked to hold about eight cups worth at least. She was carrying her supper from the kitchens back to her rooms when she spied a familiar figure stalking down the corridor towards her. Snape's robes billowed impressively with his long strides, and Hermione wondered fleetingly how he managed it before he stopped right in front of her, his face a disapproving sneer.
"Where did you get those?" He demanded. She curbed a smile, and instead looked carefully around her, as if looking for the source of her sandwiches.
"The kitchens?" Her answer, when it came, was guaranteed to cause maximum annoyance. The game, it seemed, was on again.
"Why?" Severus frowned. Hermione had no idea why he was so interested, but decided to humour him.
"Because I was hungry . . . you know, after my run. Is there something wrong with that, Professor?" She shifted from foot to foot, impatient for the conversation to be over.
"Late night visits to the kitchens hardly set a good example to the students, do they?" He hissed. Hermione resisted the temptation to roll her eyes.
"Can you see any students, Severus?" She raised her voice a little. He was obviously doing a late night patrol, and looking for trouble when there patently wasn't any.
"That is not the point!" His voice was a half-shout, causing her eyebrows to rise along with her temper. Shaking her head and refusing to speak another word to him she hoisted the small tray she was carrying a little further up on her hip and rudely brushed past him at a quick pace. He made a curious noise in his throat, which she ignored, and then he turned on his heel to follow her in silence.
When she reached the door to her rooms she turned to him expectantly. His face was like thunder, and she almost laughed. Almost. Instead, she did something that would undoubtedly confuse him, offering him something he would of course refuse.
"Would you like to join me for supper, Severus?"
He looked at her, apparently mute, then considered her question and to her great surprise, nodded quickly. Hermione gave a little shrug, almost to herself, and he followed her into her sitting room, waiting as she pulled two chairs and a small table closer to the fire. Putting the tray down and sitting in one chair, she waved her hand so that he might sit in the other. He did so, his dark eyes not leaving her face.
"What?" She offered him a sandwich, and he took one almost as if he were worried it might poison him. "I didn't steal them, you know," biting into a ham and cheese she chewed, swallowed. "The house elves gave them to me."
He seemed to calm down a little then, eating in silence for a few minutes. Hermione did the same, glancing at him from beneath her eyelashes so that he didn't catch her. His face, in the soft combined glow of candlelight and firelight, seemed contented. She expanded her glance to cover the rest of him. He was clad entirely in black, as always, apart from a tiny glimpse of while at his throat and cuffs, but he seemed a little healthier these days, and not nearly so gaunt as he had been under the shadow of Voldemort. His skin, although still very pale and almost translucent, had lost its sickly yellow tinge and his cheekbones were not so prominent. He was *interesting* looking now, Hermione decided, which was a big change from how he had been. She blinked, suddenly aware of how she was thinking, and coloured. It had been a long time since she had been able to think of a man in such terms . . .
"Tea, Professor Granger?" She looked up to see Severus holding the teapot above two cups he must have accio'd from one of her cupboards. He was looking at her curiously again, black eyes guarded.
"Please." He poured the tea and added milk without being asked to do so, and passed her one of the cups. As she moved to take it from him, her fingers clumsily brushed his and the subsequent crackle of electricity she felt as she did so caused the cup to slip through her fingers and smash loudly on the floor. For a moment they both stared at it, and then he had his wand out again.
"Reparo." He pointed it at the cup and within a few seconds it was whole again. He was repeating the tea making process without another word when Hermione abruptly came to her senses.
"I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking down at the small puddle of tea on the floor.
"Never mind." He passed her the cup again and she took it from him, careful not to touch him.
"You know, it's strange. I used Reparo to fix Harry's glasses so many times, I never seem to use it at all now . . ." Her eyes widened as she realised what she had said. It had been quite literally years since she had spoken of Harry, and her silence had been imposed for a reason. Why had a simple repairing charm made her refer to him like that? There was a sudden and frightening ball of fire in her chest as she struggled to breathe properly. The room and its' contents seemed to spin around her.
"Hermione . . ." There was a warning in Severus' voice.
"It's okay, I'm fine," she gabbled out. "I don't know where that came from."
"You've never spoken of him, have you? Not since . . ." The question hung in the air between them, almost tangible. Hermione looked up, her eyes meeting his.
"I can't." She whispered. "It's too hard, even now. I shut it away because that's the only way I can cope with it. It has to stay that way."
"He has been dead nearly five years," Severus spoke softly. Hermione took a sip of her tea, and looked into the fire.
"What difference does that make?" She asked, frowning.
"Nothing will bring him back." Even as he spoke the words, he knew that they would hurt her. He had been there the same as she had, had witnessed Potter's heroic sacrifice. He had died so that the Dark Lord might die also. There had been no other way. Afterwards, Hermione had been inconsolable for a long time, grieving beyond everyone else for reasons of her own. Severus had had an inkling of why that might have been so, but had dismissed it, and had forgotten with the passing of time. Sitting with the young woman now, he remembered.
"I know." Her voice wobbled ominously, she closed her eyes and drank her tea. "I don't need you or anybody else to tell me that." She was aggressive in an attempt to end the conversation before the inevitable tears fell.
"I think that you do." He watched her face in profile, seeing a riot of emotions crossing it. She settled on cold fury.
"Shut up." Her voice was a flat monotone. "This conversation ends now."
Her blazing eyes met his so that he might see as well as feel her fury. Severus waited for a heartbeat, then two, and then he said what he knew he must before his courage gave out completely.
"Did you love him?" He asked her. Her eyes widened, and the teacup tumbled to the floor from her nerveless fingers, again smashing into pieces on the floor.
A long silence followed. He did not move to repair it this time, wondering instead what else was broken.
Hermione bowed her head, hoping against hope that he would not make her confront this, not now. All of her anger seeped away, leaving only a crushing sadness. She thought that she had hidden it so well, kept it so safe from everyone that knew her. She had been wrong. Severus Snape was the last person she would have considered so intuitive, but he knew. And he was right. Tears filled her eyes, she looked up at him. His expression was strange, half pained and half kind.
"I loved him." Her voice was broken, the tears began to fall. "And he never knew."
