Chapter Seven
Hermione didn't know when she had been so angry in her life, or hurt, or disappointed, or confused. They had left Lavender's house in a flurry of fire and smoke, with Hermione trying to pretend that the tears stinging her eyes came from the ashes and not from the daggers Snape had thrown at her while at Lavender's.
I had thought my future pretty bleak before now, but you have made being killed by revenge seeking Death Eaters seem almost appealing.
Why had she let herself become so attached, so close? He was a hateful, loathsome, mean, despicable, vile man who obviously detested her. She had been wary to work with him when Dumbledore suggested it would be wise to have more than one person around who knew how to brew the Wolfsbane potion, as well as the other Potions the Order required. She worried that even though they had discussed the Leaving Feast that he would find someway to make her life hell for having called him Sevie. But that hadn't been the case. Instead, she found herself enjoying working with him. Sometimes they bickered, but even then Hermione found herself trying hard to keep up with his caustic wit. It helped during those times to think of him not as Professor Snape, or even Severus, but as Sevie. She could argue and come close to winning with Sevie, (no one really won against him unless you counted a scowl and petulant silence as victory.) She could gently poke fun and laugh with Sevie. And slowly she found that she could be attracted to Sevie.
But the man who had dragged her to Lavender's this afternoon was certainly not Sevie, and she learned once again that Professor Snape had the power to make her cry. She had ended up in the kitchen, sobbing incoherently while Molly had made her some tea and gave her some biscuits. When she finally calmed down, she had a new resolve. He did not like her. He would never like her. And she would stop caring.
Her plan worked right up until he had asked her to forgive him. She hadn't even succumbed when he had kissed her, (well a part of her did, but she had tried valiantly to hide her surprise and pleasure by resorting to sarcasm.) She tossed and turned all night, and anxiously awaited his appearance at the breakfast table. He had said that he wouldn't regret things in the morning but he had been quite drunk so she didn't know what to think. A part of her knew that it was dangerous thinking like this, that her original plan was indeed the safest, but her mind was fighting a losing battle with her heart. Ironic really, that a girl who had let logic be her guide her entire life suddenly chucked it out the window. To her mild shame she had become like Parvati or Lavender.
Sitting next to Ron, she looked up when he entered the room. Dark circles ringed his eyes and he hadn't shaven. She wondered if he had taken the hangover remedy she had left for him.
"Good morning!" Molly chirped, setting down a cup of tea in front of him as he took a seat across from Hermione.
She suddenly became very interested in buttering her toast, her cheeks flushing red. All morning she had wanted nothing more than to see him, but now that he was here she couldn't bring herself to look at him. What if she saw regret or rejection? Was this Professor Snape, the horribly mean and strict teacher who insulted her and made her cry? Was this Severus, her lab partner? Or was it Sevie, the man who let her call him embarrassing nicknames and kissed her?
"Yes, it is," he murmured. She looked up at him. He never spoke in the morning, just grunting and scowling at Mrs. Weasley's attempts to get him to eat something more than a couple slices of toast. His eyes caught hers and she could see acceptance if not a little warmth. It wasn't love or even affection, but she could see that he was entertaining, at the very least, the idea that she might be his happy ending.
"What is everyone doing today?" Mrs. Weasley asked cheerfully.
"More defense spells this morning," Harry answered grimly. He had been almost unbearable recently. Though Hermione had tried her best to be supportive, secretly she would rather put up with Snape's snarling than Harry moaning about his fate. Maybe she should send Harry to Lavender. Maybe he would realize that Fate had more in store for him than just Voldemort and being the 'Boy-Who-Lived.' His reaction certainly would be better than Severus' had been.
"Look up, mate," Ron said, spewing bits of toast across the table. "We're going to see the Cannons tomorrow."
"That's not today, is it," Harry argued as he got up from the table. "You coming, Hermione?"
"No, I…we have some potions to work on this morning," she said, remaining sitting, her eyes still on Severus. He nodded almost imperceptibly. They didn't really have anything this morning to do, and until last night she had been planning on joining her friends in defense training but they had things to discuss. She looked back at Harry and smiled. "See you later?"
"Yeah," he said, looking at her oddly, but he left without commenting. Ron followed him out chattering about the upcoming Quidditch match. Hermione looked back to Severus, who was finishing his toast and tea.
"Shall we go up then," he said, standing.
"Certainly," she answered.
Severus woke up with an axe protruding from his head, as though someone had tried to kill him in his sleep but somehow had botched up the job. Moaning, he tried to open his eyes bit by bit but the light proved painful even in small doses. He sat up slowly, hoping he could make it from the chair to his bed in the adjoining room as painlessly as possible. And then he saw it. Sitting on the table next to him was a small bottle with a blue potion, and a note.
I wouldn't want you to regret anything this morning. –H.
He quickly swallowed the potion and felt his headache ebb away. As the pain faded, his stomach reminded him rather loudly that he hadn't eaten anything since yesterday at lunch. He headed downstairs, following his nose to the kitchen. He chose a seat across from Hermione and while Molly served him his tea and toast, he studied her. She seemed quite interested in her toast, which meant either it was very good this morning, though he doubted it, it was after all just toast, or she had doubts about what had happened last night. But if that were the case then why had she left him that note? Perhaps she worried that he had changed his mind. Yes, that must be it. And then she looked up and he met her eyes. He saw hope and promise there, he saw a shack with two kids or an apartment with eight, and the last thing he wanted to be doing was sitting in the kitchen with Potter and the Weasleys. He wanted to be upstairs in the lab, talking to her, holding her, kissing her.
They got up and left the kitchen together, walking just close enough to occasionally brush up against the other. On the way up the stairs, however, his mind turned from kissing Hermione to hellish images of Hermione yelling at him to take out the trash or to give the kids a bath. He saw eight children with a mix of greasy and frizzy hair running screaming through a tiny shack while he tried to keep from hexing them. He saw 'Uncle Harry' visiting.
He couldn't do this; it was too much pressure. Why did people feel the need to look into the future? Did knowing make it better? Was it in some hope that they could change things? Did he want to change things?
Entering the room, he brusquely ordered her to start brewing some more Pepper-Up Potion while he retreated to his room to tidy up and give himself some more time to consider his next move. Taking his time, he slowly dressed and shaved.
That game was a farce, whether he played it one time or a hundred, he decided as he pulled on fresh trousers. But did that mean he didn't like the idea that it presented him? It may not be "the" future, but it certainly could be if he chose it. The girl certainly had an effect on him and he had enjoyed kissing her last night. Given another chance, he thought he could elicit a better response than, "you taste like alcohol too." He wasn't ready for children, he saw enough during his classes, and he didn't know if he would ever be ready for a family of eight. Would she want that? Would she expect it?
He had finished dressing and stood standing staring at the door. Hermione waited for him on the other side and she expected some sort of discussion on the matter. She hadn't come up here this morning to brew Pepper-Up Potion they didn't really need. He would have to tell her something. Could he put into words all the doubts that he had? It seemed very vulnerable to do so—unnecessarily so. He wished, not for the first time, that he had never heard of Miss Brown's idiotic game, although Sevie was slowly growing on him.
Taking a deep breath, he swept into the room, where he found Hermione working like he had instructed her. She looked up at him expectantly and everything he had planned on saying flew out of his head.
"You should use a size four pewter cauldron for this potion," he said sharply instead. She frowned.
"All the size fours are being used for the Wolfsbane," she said. He walked up behind her and peered over her shoulder into the cauldron. Everything appeared to be in order, it bubbled cheerfully and the color appeared right. Very hesitantly, he placed his hand on the small of her back. He felt her tense and then relax back against his touch.
"Then this is the next best thing," he told her.
"That's what I thought." She nodded. He moved away and began monitoring the other cauldrons. They worked in companionable silence for the rest of the morning and he felt confident that she had understood his small gesture.
The next couple of weeks passed with slight changes in Severus' behavior toward Hermione. His hand could often be found on her shoulder or the small of her back while they worked in the lab. He no longer flinched if their hands brushed up against each other, (if anything, this seemed to happen with more frequency than before.) And if he came across her in the drawing room reading, instead of leaving or ordering her to do so, he would sit and discuss what she had read.
Hermione didn't mind that Severus wanted to take things slow. She was of no mind to walk down the aisle to the tune of wedding bells just because some parchment Lavender had told them that they should. But she wished he would hurry it up somewhat, come to some sort of conclusion. He had turned from the sarcastic bastard who flinched when he merely brushed up against her in the lab, to the same sarcastic bastard who now purposely brushed up against her in the lab. But that was hardly something she could base a relationship on, however much she wouldn't mind a repeat performance of that night, minus the copious amounts of alcohol. She debated on bringing up the matter herself when he finally said something one day while they worked.
"You're too young. I'm robbing the cradle," he said abruptly, not even bothering to look up from the roots he was cutting. It took Hermione several seconds to determine exactly what he meant. Ah, their potential romantic relationship.
"Well, you're too old—one foot in the grave," she retorted.
"Glad we got that conversation out of the way," he said sarcastically. She looked up to see his lips twitching in an almost smile. She knew he liked it when she could match him wit for wit.
"What's next on the list?"
"What will Potter and Weasley think?" he asked with a scowl.
"They'll hate it." And they would too.
"Good." She frowned at him. He smirked back.
