Hermione awoke several minutes later, finding herself lying on her back,
not in the hall where she had fainted, but on the floor in her sitting
room. She stirred groggily, opening her disbelieving eyes slowly and
discovering that her head was resting upon a pair of knees. She gave a
little groan and dark eyes stared down impassively into her own. Judging
by the look on his face, Severus Snape was not amused. She struggled a
little and was immediately held still by hands resting firmly on her
shoulders, warm through the thin fabric of her shirt.
"Remain where you are, Miss Granger," he muttered warningly. "I would prefer it if you did not faint again."
"How did I get here? I fainted . . . in the hall," she whispered.
"I carried you." He gave a little snort of derision, and Hermione felt her face grow hot. The thought of Severus Snape carrying her unconscious form anywhere was more humiliating than fainting in the first place.
"What's going on?" She closed her eyes briefly, finally satisfied that the world was not about to start spinning again. Snape gave her a little nudge and helped her slowly to her feet, dropping her hands as soon as he was satisfied that she wouldn't fall over again. They regarded each other warily, and then Hermione dropped weakly onto the sofa and invited him to do the same: "Please, sit."
He sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward and clasping his hands loosely between his knees. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Hermione wondered why.
The silence between them deepened, and Hermione used the time to look cautiously over her old potions professor. He had removed his coat at some point, presumably while she was unconscious, and was now wearing a simple pair of black trousers and a heavy black sweater. Muggle clothes, she thought. Odd. They suited him even though he was obviously uncomfortable wearing them. He looked tired as well, there were dark shadows under his eyes and his mouth was bracketed either side by deep lines. As she looked at him, his lips thinned a little in obvious annoyance.
"Dumbledore sent me." He said, at length. Hermione's eyes widened. "He wishes to see you . . ."
"No." She shook her head emphatically, fear washing over her not the first time that evening.
". . . immediately." Snape finished heavily. He looked wearily at her grim face.
"No." She repeated. He frowned.
"This was not a request, Miss Granger," he said softly. His voice was dangerous, and in another time and place she would have known not to contradict him. The difference was, he was no longer a figure of authority for her and she was no longer afraid of him.
"Hermione." He was looking at her again, and she could not read what it was she saw in his eyes. The sound of his voice speaking her name reverberated around the room, brushing against her like a lover's caress when it was designed to be a warning. She sighed. His proximity to her made her uncomfortable, even though she was determined not to show it.
"Dumbledore knows better than to ask this of me," she whispered. Snape gave a low, hoarse laugh.
"Times have changed," he said. "And you of all people should know that nothing ever stays the same."
"But why did he send you? Why did he not come to me himself?"
There was a pause, during which he stared off into the distance, silently debating whether or not to tell her. He swung his head back abruptly.
"I forget that you would not be aware of what has happened since you left our world," he muttered. Hermione nodded slowly, pursing her lips. "Dumbledore likes to see me made useful. He considered that I was the best person for the job, so to speak."
"But what of your involvement with the . . . with . . ." She hesitated and his eyes glittered strangely.
"I am no longer a spy, if that is what you mean." A dull flush was creeping up his pale cheeks.
"Why?"
"Why do you think?" He was clearly angered by her questions, and struggled to control himself. "I was discovered, Miss Granger! I barely escaped with my life!" Shoving back the left sleeve of his sweater to the elbow he showed her the inside of his forearm. Where his Dark Mark had once been there was instead an ugly, puckered scar that ran fully from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. His arm trembled as he held it out to her, and Hermione was surprised at the sudden rush of emotion that accompanied the sight. Tears sprang to her eyes and she unthinkingly reached out to touch him. Her fingers curled around his arm and she touched the scar gently, rubbing her thumb across his wrist. Snape's breath hissed between his teeth but he made no effort to pull his arm away, instead waiting until she released him, lifting shocked eyes that were bright with tears to his.
"I am so sorry," she told him. "How did they . . . remove it?" She swallowed, intelligent enough to realise that his scar had not been made by any magic she had ever encountered. He shook his head, as if reading her thoughts.
"They burned it away," he said hoarsely. "Not that they intended for me to live much longer after that. But I did."
Hermione could no longer prevent her tears from falling. His unexpected appearance and revelations had shocked her fragile state beyond words. The sorrow she felt was fixed almost entirely on him, and even though she knew that crying would not change a thing, she could not stop.
Snape was looking at her, his face a curious mixture of pity and defiance.
"Do not cry for me, Hermione," he said warningly. "I do not want your tears on my conscience."
Her tears fell unheeding, and he made a small noise of concern, shifting a little closer to her on the sofa, searching in his pockets and producing a white handkerchief that was in stark contrast to the rest of his clothing.
"Take this." He offered quietly, pressing it into her hand. His gesture did not help, instead the gentle generosity only made her cry harder. Snape's sigh echoed dimly in her ears and he closed the gap between them without further hesitation, folding her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. One arm encircled her waist, the other her shoulders, and both were warm and real. He comforted her with small touches and soft words, smoothing the unruly curls of her hair and hushing her gently until her tears had ceased.
Somewhere closer to the centre of the village, a clock struck twelve, and Hermione felt him pull away, dropping his arms to his sides, looking at her closely.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, hanging her head so that her curls might obscure her face. "This is too much."
"I should not have told you what they did to me," he apologised tonelessly.
"I am glad that you did."
"Then you will return to Hogwarts with me? Now?"
She finally raised her head to look at him with sad eyes. His expression was intense, hopeful.
"I cannot."
He frowned.
"Cannot or will not?"
"Cannot."
"Not now or not ever?"
"Not ever." There was something very ominous in his eyes, and Hermione resisted the sudden urge to flinch. Her stubbornness was borne of desperation, for she knew that should she leave this life and return to Hogwarts she would never want to leave the castle again.
"Is this your final word on this subject?" He got to his feet in one smooth motion, and she looked up at him with vulnerable eyes. Opening her mouth to speak, no words would come, and so she nodded. His eyes slid away from hers.
"So be it," he murmured, almost to himself. "I will tell Dumbledore your answer. Do not expect him to be happy. You will be seeing me again."
"I'm sorry, Professor. You know why it has to be this way." Hermione got to her feet, very close to where he stood. He leaned down to her so that they were almost nose to nose. His breath was warm on her face, the irises of his eyes were indistinguishable from the pupils.
"Severus," he breathed. "You may call me Severus. And no, I do not know why it has to be this way. But no matter. Goodbye, Hermione."
Straightening up, he placed a thoroughly unexpected kiss on her forehead, and before she had a chance to reply, swept from the room.
By the time she had gathered herself enough to follow him into the hallway, he had already disappeared, and Hermione gave herself a mental shrug, determined to dismiss the night's strange events from her thoughts.
Life goes on, she thought.
Life goes on.
His handkerchief was still grasped in her hand.
It was to be Christmas Eve before she saw Severus Snape again.
TBC . . .
"Remain where you are, Miss Granger," he muttered warningly. "I would prefer it if you did not faint again."
"How did I get here? I fainted . . . in the hall," she whispered.
"I carried you." He gave a little snort of derision, and Hermione felt her face grow hot. The thought of Severus Snape carrying her unconscious form anywhere was more humiliating than fainting in the first place.
"What's going on?" She closed her eyes briefly, finally satisfied that the world was not about to start spinning again. Snape gave her a little nudge and helped her slowly to her feet, dropping her hands as soon as he was satisfied that she wouldn't fall over again. They regarded each other warily, and then Hermione dropped weakly onto the sofa and invited him to do the same: "Please, sit."
He sat on the edge of the sofa, leaning forward and clasping his hands loosely between his knees. He looked distinctly uncomfortable, and Hermione wondered why.
The silence between them deepened, and Hermione used the time to look cautiously over her old potions professor. He had removed his coat at some point, presumably while she was unconscious, and was now wearing a simple pair of black trousers and a heavy black sweater. Muggle clothes, she thought. Odd. They suited him even though he was obviously uncomfortable wearing them. He looked tired as well, there were dark shadows under his eyes and his mouth was bracketed either side by deep lines. As she looked at him, his lips thinned a little in obvious annoyance.
"Dumbledore sent me." He said, at length. Hermione's eyes widened. "He wishes to see you . . ."
"No." She shook her head emphatically, fear washing over her not the first time that evening.
". . . immediately." Snape finished heavily. He looked wearily at her grim face.
"No." She repeated. He frowned.
"This was not a request, Miss Granger," he said softly. His voice was dangerous, and in another time and place she would have known not to contradict him. The difference was, he was no longer a figure of authority for her and she was no longer afraid of him.
"Hermione." He was looking at her again, and she could not read what it was she saw in his eyes. The sound of his voice speaking her name reverberated around the room, brushing against her like a lover's caress when it was designed to be a warning. She sighed. His proximity to her made her uncomfortable, even though she was determined not to show it.
"Dumbledore knows better than to ask this of me," she whispered. Snape gave a low, hoarse laugh.
"Times have changed," he said. "And you of all people should know that nothing ever stays the same."
"But why did he send you? Why did he not come to me himself?"
There was a pause, during which he stared off into the distance, silently debating whether or not to tell her. He swung his head back abruptly.
"I forget that you would not be aware of what has happened since you left our world," he muttered. Hermione nodded slowly, pursing her lips. "Dumbledore likes to see me made useful. He considered that I was the best person for the job, so to speak."
"But what of your involvement with the . . . with . . ." She hesitated and his eyes glittered strangely.
"I am no longer a spy, if that is what you mean." A dull flush was creeping up his pale cheeks.
"Why?"
"Why do you think?" He was clearly angered by her questions, and struggled to control himself. "I was discovered, Miss Granger! I barely escaped with my life!" Shoving back the left sleeve of his sweater to the elbow he showed her the inside of his forearm. Where his Dark Mark had once been there was instead an ugly, puckered scar that ran fully from his wrist to the crook of his elbow. His arm trembled as he held it out to her, and Hermione was surprised at the sudden rush of emotion that accompanied the sight. Tears sprang to her eyes and she unthinkingly reached out to touch him. Her fingers curled around his arm and she touched the scar gently, rubbing her thumb across his wrist. Snape's breath hissed between his teeth but he made no effort to pull his arm away, instead waiting until she released him, lifting shocked eyes that were bright with tears to his.
"I am so sorry," she told him. "How did they . . . remove it?" She swallowed, intelligent enough to realise that his scar had not been made by any magic she had ever encountered. He shook his head, as if reading her thoughts.
"They burned it away," he said hoarsely. "Not that they intended for me to live much longer after that. But I did."
Hermione could no longer prevent her tears from falling. His unexpected appearance and revelations had shocked her fragile state beyond words. The sorrow she felt was fixed almost entirely on him, and even though she knew that crying would not change a thing, she could not stop.
Snape was looking at her, his face a curious mixture of pity and defiance.
"Do not cry for me, Hermione," he said warningly. "I do not want your tears on my conscience."
Her tears fell unheeding, and he made a small noise of concern, shifting a little closer to her on the sofa, searching in his pockets and producing a white handkerchief that was in stark contrast to the rest of his clothing.
"Take this." He offered quietly, pressing it into her hand. His gesture did not help, instead the gentle generosity only made her cry harder. Snape's sigh echoed dimly in her ears and he closed the gap between them without further hesitation, folding her into his arms and tucking her head beneath his chin. One arm encircled her waist, the other her shoulders, and both were warm and real. He comforted her with small touches and soft words, smoothing the unruly curls of her hair and hushing her gently until her tears had ceased.
Somewhere closer to the centre of the village, a clock struck twelve, and Hermione felt him pull away, dropping his arms to his sides, looking at her closely.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, hanging her head so that her curls might obscure her face. "This is too much."
"I should not have told you what they did to me," he apologised tonelessly.
"I am glad that you did."
"Then you will return to Hogwarts with me? Now?"
She finally raised her head to look at him with sad eyes. His expression was intense, hopeful.
"I cannot."
He frowned.
"Cannot or will not?"
"Cannot."
"Not now or not ever?"
"Not ever." There was something very ominous in his eyes, and Hermione resisted the sudden urge to flinch. Her stubbornness was borne of desperation, for she knew that should she leave this life and return to Hogwarts she would never want to leave the castle again.
"Is this your final word on this subject?" He got to his feet in one smooth motion, and she looked up at him with vulnerable eyes. Opening her mouth to speak, no words would come, and so she nodded. His eyes slid away from hers.
"So be it," he murmured, almost to himself. "I will tell Dumbledore your answer. Do not expect him to be happy. You will be seeing me again."
"I'm sorry, Professor. You know why it has to be this way." Hermione got to her feet, very close to where he stood. He leaned down to her so that they were almost nose to nose. His breath was warm on her face, the irises of his eyes were indistinguishable from the pupils.
"Severus," he breathed. "You may call me Severus. And no, I do not know why it has to be this way. But no matter. Goodbye, Hermione."
Straightening up, he placed a thoroughly unexpected kiss on her forehead, and before she had a chance to reply, swept from the room.
By the time she had gathered herself enough to follow him into the hallway, he had already disappeared, and Hermione gave herself a mental shrug, determined to dismiss the night's strange events from her thoughts.
Life goes on, she thought.
Life goes on.
His handkerchief was still grasped in her hand.
It was to be Christmas Eve before she saw Severus Snape again.
TBC . . .