Worth It
-Diane-
She didn't know why she loved him. She had never known, not really.
It wasn't his looks, though they did hold a special sort of twisted attractiveness for her. Lank, jet black hair, dull from so many hours spent in a cramped potions laboratory. Soft, almost-white skin, pale for the same reason his hair was limp. Those piercing obsidian eyes, so dark they were almost black, so very expressive for their small size. And that nose. She loved to run her finger lightly over it, feeling the firm skin, the rise of the bone, crooked from so many childhood incidents.
His hands, callused and strong from stirring, chopping, heating. His legs, his stomach, his back, lean but gently toned, surprisingly so for a man who had spent so much of his life in the classroom. So hairless, too. She could run her hand all over his chest and upper torso and rarely would she encounter any of the fine, black hairs that sparsely populated his legs and arms.
His personality left so much to be desired. Rude, snarky, and overly demanding of his students, brusque and aloof to the point of discourtesy to his colleagues. Especially her, before...well, before it happened. Before she kissed him. Before he kissed her back awkwardly, obviously unfamiliar with that sort of thing. That was a laugh. She never thought she would live to see the day when Severus Snape was out of his depth.
Then again, she had seen many facets of this complex man that she never would have even guessed existed in him. His extreme sensitivity, his surprising gentleness...the way he looked when he woke up, hair a mess and eyes lidded heavily with sleep, that made her want to throw him back into bed and just lay in his arms forever.
She couldn't do that, of course. He had always been uncomfortable with displays of affection like that.
He had told her he loved her before. Many times, in fact. But he didn't let her sit in his lap, or stroke his hair, or just hold him against her for no reason at all. Just in bed. In bed, it was like being with another man entirely. He caressed her body with such a shy, careful awe, as if she would just disappear if he did something wrong or hurt her somehow. He whispered things in her ear that made her heart race and her breath catch in her throat. He used those wonderful dexterous, hardened hands of his to take her to new heights, to take her to the stars.
But afterwards...afterwards, he just lay there next to her, still and quiet. She longed to reach out for him, for him to just hold her, but instead, she curled herself up and, when she was sure he was asleep, she wept silently in her hands.
So why did she love him? She was beginning to question it, whether it was worth it to give it all up for him.
"It doesn't have to be like this," Harry had told her. "Hermione, just leave him. Forget about the greasy git. He doesn't deserve you. Not in a million years could he ever hope to deserve you."
"No," she had said, looking at her oldest friend with tears threatening to spill down onto her cheeks.
He frowned, apparently trying to decide whether to be angry or sad. He chose neither and simply walked out of the room, Ron following. They had never been able to accept the fact that she could love somebody that they despised, and considered it a betrayal on her part.
But she missed them so much she hurt.
Now she lay in her bed, her silent lover next to her, and shook with silent sobs. She crumpled up her mouth, trying valiantly to keep from crying out.
He turned his head to look at her, his dark eyes curiously bright in the darkness. He brought his hand up to her face, and wiped away a tear. She looked at him questioningly, in bemused amazement. He just took her into his arms and held her there, pulling her tightly against him.
She started to cry again. The first time he had ever just held her. The first time he had ever intentionally comforted her, like he would do anything to take her pain away. It was worth it. He was worth it, this complex, difficult man that she loved for no apparent reason at all.
