A/N: I actually intended this story to be a one-shot, but a plot bunny has
attacked me and won't let me be, so I've decided to expand it a little to
three chapters. The third will be posted as soon as I've written it.
Thanks for reading!
Thanks to everyone for all of their kind reviews so far, especially DistinctVagueness - you're a star and I really appreciate your encouragement.
***
Two weeks had passed since Severus' encounter with Hermione in the Room of Requirement, two weeks in which he had dared not venture back to see her again. The music had reached him often as he patrolled the corridors, soaring and dipping into a haunting tune that tugged at his heart and threatened to overwhelm his senses completely, but he had made the conscious decision to avoid both the Room, that corridor and Miss Granger entirely.
The first two were easily achieved, but the third had posed him more of a problem.
Seeing her twice a week in his Advanced Potions class had been agonisingly difficult, and he had struggled to avoid her brown-eyed gaze. Sensing her eyes upon him, he had chanced a glance at her on several occasions, only to meet a look of sweet determination that had frightened him into looking away again. If she was hurt by his ignoring her, Hermione did not show it, and those looks aside, Snape found no other fault with her performance in class or as Head Girl. She did not attempt to speak to him privately or otherwise and he was reduced to stealing covert looks at her when she was absorbed in a task that required she not look at him. Then he allowed himself the liberty of turning questions silently over in his mind.
He had still found no justification for what had happened that night in the room he had come to refer to as the 'piano room', and was depending upon a notion that the room had somehow made him behave in such a completely out of character manner. When he recalled the things he had said, he winced as though physically pained. When he remembered kissing her, his face became unusually flushed, and after some strange looks from other members of the school faculty he refrained from doing so in public.
Blaming the room was all well and good when Severus discovered, some ten days after the event, that he could not stop thinking about it. About her. Falling into the habit of scanning the corridors for a glance of her face unnerved him, but he could not help himself. When he spotted her in the company of Potter or Weasley or both, as she frequently was, he struggled to contain feelings of jealousy and anger. He observed her easy manner with her friends, and wished that he could be part of that select group.
He knew that should he go to her she would reaffirm the things she had said to him that night, but still he held back, watching as the look in her eyes faded from determination to hope and finally to dull acceptance. There would be no repetition, he told himself sternly. She would get over it. She was too young anyway. What could a child know about love?
But, in truth, what did Severus know about love?
He asked himself this question late one night whilst protectively cradling a glass of Firewhiskey to his chest, and the answer surprised him. He had never been in love, he realised, not really. He remembered fleeting attractions, infatuations, lust, but nothing that could be adequately described as 'love'. This surprised him, given his arrogant assumptions that he had experienced all life had to offer, and he turned his thoughts back to the look on Hermione's face that night. Warmth coursed through him that he knew had very little to do with the whiskey in his hands, and then came the realisation that she probably knew more about love than he did. And she wasn't a child.
The glass containing the whiskey was flung into the empty fireplace with astonishing force, but the ensuing breakage did little to console him.
The end of term and consequently the end of Hermione's time at Hogwarts, drew increasingly closer, until the night before had arrived. Severus viewed the Leavers' Ball with intense trepidation, and as any attempts he had made to be excused were met by Dumbledore with a firm 'no' he was forced to endure the spectacle of young adults, intoxicated by the thought of leaving school for good (and intoxicated by other means too, he thought sourly) behaving foolishly. Seven years of bad behaviour could easily be squeezed into one evening, he knew from experience.
Despite heroic effort on his part, he found his eyes being drawn to Hermione and the other Gryffindors around her more than was appropriate. She seemed to be making an equally valiant effort to ignore him, but their eyes had met on more than one occasion and Severus had been shamed into looking away. When the dancing had begun he had taken the opportunity to retreat into a dark corner of the Great Hall where he could observe goings on without challenge.
On the far side of the hall he noticed a commotion from within a huddle of Gryffindors, Hermione included, and then watched as she detached from the group and made her way determinedly in his direction. The horrified looks on the faces of Potter and Weasley made Severus shrink further back into the shadows. Whatever it was she was going to do, it was not pleasant.
"Professor Snape," Hermione addressed him in a loud voice as she approached, and he stared at her wordlessly. Potter and Weasley were virtually goggling at the pair of them.
"Hello Miss Granger," Severus spoke reluctantly, and felt an accompanying frisson of excitement at her proximity. He took a moment to observe her glossy curls and neat figure encased in well-fitting dress robes of silvery- grey before lifting his dark eyes to hers, and speaking in a deadpan voice. "What do you want, Miss Granger."
"Do you dance, Professor?" She took a step closer towards him, and he caught the scent of her perfume on the air. She smelt like an angel. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and keep her there . . .
Then disbelief at her words kicked in. Over her shoulder he saw her friends were clinging onto each other and laughing. At her? With her? He no longer knew.
"Are you asking me to dance, Hermione?" He spoke in a low voice, to warn her off such foolishness. She glanced around self-consciously and leaned in towards him.
"Harry and Ron have made a bet with me. Fifty galleons say that you won't dance with me," her expression changed to one of hopefulness. "I'm willing to share it with you . . ."
"For Merlin's sake!" Grasping her firmly by the wrist Severus all but dragged her to the dance floor, ignoring the astonished looks he was receiving. The music, which until that point had been rather lively and fast paced, suddenly gave way to something a lot slower. He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief and looked down at Hermione.
"Dance then!" He hissed at her, and then he gathered her gently into his arms into an acceptable dance hold. Their bodies were only touching where his hand was resting upon her waist and where his other hand was resting on top of hers, but all the same he could feel the heat of her. She was as good a dancer as she was a pianist. Refusing to meet her eyes, Severus instead looked over her shoulder in a carefully constructed expression of boredom, and caught sight of Potter and Weasley looking absolutely mortified. Turning his partner around a little so that she could see this, he then leant down to murmur into her ear:
"I think your friends have lost their bet, Hermione."
She stiffened a little in his arms, and Severus fully intended then to let her go and stalk off in the direction of the dungeons, but the expression of humour and delight that crossed her face stopped him, and he instead found himself risking tugging her a little closer to him. She looked up at him in surprise and opened her mouth to speak. He shushed her with a look.
The feel of her warm female body pressing against his own was almost too much to bear, and all at once Severus felt all of his reluctance to see her alone again fade away. He knew that his feelings could not be denied any longer, and was about to tell her so when the song abruptly ended and Hermione pulled herself firmly out of his arms. He was about to walk away from her when he heard her speak to him in a whisper.
"Room of Requirement, at midnight."
She did not give him the chance to answer, and was immediately swallowed up by the crowds of people around them as she walked away. Severus stared thoughtfully off into the middle distance for a moment, made his decision, and then stalked off to the solace of his rooms.
Thanks to everyone for all of their kind reviews so far, especially DistinctVagueness - you're a star and I really appreciate your encouragement.
***
Two weeks had passed since Severus' encounter with Hermione in the Room of Requirement, two weeks in which he had dared not venture back to see her again. The music had reached him often as he patrolled the corridors, soaring and dipping into a haunting tune that tugged at his heart and threatened to overwhelm his senses completely, but he had made the conscious decision to avoid both the Room, that corridor and Miss Granger entirely.
The first two were easily achieved, but the third had posed him more of a problem.
Seeing her twice a week in his Advanced Potions class had been agonisingly difficult, and he had struggled to avoid her brown-eyed gaze. Sensing her eyes upon him, he had chanced a glance at her on several occasions, only to meet a look of sweet determination that had frightened him into looking away again. If she was hurt by his ignoring her, Hermione did not show it, and those looks aside, Snape found no other fault with her performance in class or as Head Girl. She did not attempt to speak to him privately or otherwise and he was reduced to stealing covert looks at her when she was absorbed in a task that required she not look at him. Then he allowed himself the liberty of turning questions silently over in his mind.
He had still found no justification for what had happened that night in the room he had come to refer to as the 'piano room', and was depending upon a notion that the room had somehow made him behave in such a completely out of character manner. When he recalled the things he had said, he winced as though physically pained. When he remembered kissing her, his face became unusually flushed, and after some strange looks from other members of the school faculty he refrained from doing so in public.
Blaming the room was all well and good when Severus discovered, some ten days after the event, that he could not stop thinking about it. About her. Falling into the habit of scanning the corridors for a glance of her face unnerved him, but he could not help himself. When he spotted her in the company of Potter or Weasley or both, as she frequently was, he struggled to contain feelings of jealousy and anger. He observed her easy manner with her friends, and wished that he could be part of that select group.
He knew that should he go to her she would reaffirm the things she had said to him that night, but still he held back, watching as the look in her eyes faded from determination to hope and finally to dull acceptance. There would be no repetition, he told himself sternly. She would get over it. She was too young anyway. What could a child know about love?
But, in truth, what did Severus know about love?
He asked himself this question late one night whilst protectively cradling a glass of Firewhiskey to his chest, and the answer surprised him. He had never been in love, he realised, not really. He remembered fleeting attractions, infatuations, lust, but nothing that could be adequately described as 'love'. This surprised him, given his arrogant assumptions that he had experienced all life had to offer, and he turned his thoughts back to the look on Hermione's face that night. Warmth coursed through him that he knew had very little to do with the whiskey in his hands, and then came the realisation that she probably knew more about love than he did. And she wasn't a child.
The glass containing the whiskey was flung into the empty fireplace with astonishing force, but the ensuing breakage did little to console him.
The end of term and consequently the end of Hermione's time at Hogwarts, drew increasingly closer, until the night before had arrived. Severus viewed the Leavers' Ball with intense trepidation, and as any attempts he had made to be excused were met by Dumbledore with a firm 'no' he was forced to endure the spectacle of young adults, intoxicated by the thought of leaving school for good (and intoxicated by other means too, he thought sourly) behaving foolishly. Seven years of bad behaviour could easily be squeezed into one evening, he knew from experience.
Despite heroic effort on his part, he found his eyes being drawn to Hermione and the other Gryffindors around her more than was appropriate. She seemed to be making an equally valiant effort to ignore him, but their eyes had met on more than one occasion and Severus had been shamed into looking away. When the dancing had begun he had taken the opportunity to retreat into a dark corner of the Great Hall where he could observe goings on without challenge.
On the far side of the hall he noticed a commotion from within a huddle of Gryffindors, Hermione included, and then watched as she detached from the group and made her way determinedly in his direction. The horrified looks on the faces of Potter and Weasley made Severus shrink further back into the shadows. Whatever it was she was going to do, it was not pleasant.
"Professor Snape," Hermione addressed him in a loud voice as she approached, and he stared at her wordlessly. Potter and Weasley were virtually goggling at the pair of them.
"Hello Miss Granger," Severus spoke reluctantly, and felt an accompanying frisson of excitement at her proximity. He took a moment to observe her glossy curls and neat figure encased in well-fitting dress robes of silvery- grey before lifting his dark eyes to hers, and speaking in a deadpan voice. "What do you want, Miss Granger."
"Do you dance, Professor?" She took a step closer towards him, and he caught the scent of her perfume on the air. She smelt like an angel. He resisted the urge to pull her into his arms and keep her there . . .
Then disbelief at her words kicked in. Over her shoulder he saw her friends were clinging onto each other and laughing. At her? With her? He no longer knew.
"Are you asking me to dance, Hermione?" He spoke in a low voice, to warn her off such foolishness. She glanced around self-consciously and leaned in towards him.
"Harry and Ron have made a bet with me. Fifty galleons say that you won't dance with me," her expression changed to one of hopefulness. "I'm willing to share it with you . . ."
"For Merlin's sake!" Grasping her firmly by the wrist Severus all but dragged her to the dance floor, ignoring the astonished looks he was receiving. The music, which until that point had been rather lively and fast paced, suddenly gave way to something a lot slower. He lifted his eyebrows in disbelief and looked down at Hermione.
"Dance then!" He hissed at her, and then he gathered her gently into his arms into an acceptable dance hold. Their bodies were only touching where his hand was resting upon her waist and where his other hand was resting on top of hers, but all the same he could feel the heat of her. She was as good a dancer as she was a pianist. Refusing to meet her eyes, Severus instead looked over her shoulder in a carefully constructed expression of boredom, and caught sight of Potter and Weasley looking absolutely mortified. Turning his partner around a little so that she could see this, he then leant down to murmur into her ear:
"I think your friends have lost their bet, Hermione."
She stiffened a little in his arms, and Severus fully intended then to let her go and stalk off in the direction of the dungeons, but the expression of humour and delight that crossed her face stopped him, and he instead found himself risking tugging her a little closer to him. She looked up at him in surprise and opened her mouth to speak. He shushed her with a look.
The feel of her warm female body pressing against his own was almost too much to bear, and all at once Severus felt all of his reluctance to see her alone again fade away. He knew that his feelings could not be denied any longer, and was about to tell her so when the song abruptly ended and Hermione pulled herself firmly out of his arms. He was about to walk away from her when he heard her speak to him in a whisper.
"Room of Requirement, at midnight."
She did not give him the chance to answer, and was immediately swallowed up by the crowds of people around them as she walked away. Severus stared thoughtfully off into the middle distance for a moment, made his decision, and then stalked off to the solace of his rooms.