Chapter Eight
Severus still hadn't kissed her. There had been one moment when Hermione thought for certain he would, but Ron had knocked on the door and Severus had pulled away faster from her than if she had cast a Blasting Curse. She had taken to kissing him goodnight on the cheek before she left the lab each night in the hopes of encouraging him. If she were to put her lips that closely to his, eventually she hoped that he would take the hint and kiss her. She finally got results on the third night.
"Goodnight," she whispered, tilting her head up slightly and pecking him on the cheek. She started to pull away, but he grasped her arms and pulled her close again. Hesitating, they took a moment to arrange their noses so as not to bump them. And then his lips were on hers, a gentle pressure, a slow rhythm.
"Goodnight," he said with a smirk when he released her.
"They always are when I'm with you," she whispered into his ear in what she hoped was a seductive tone. He looked momentarily shocked, and Hermione knew she had achieved her aim, but he quickly recovered.
"That's not what you were saying last week," he said sarcastically. She frowned at him.
"I refuse to argue with you anymore about the efficacy of belladonna in restorative potions."
"Because you know I'm right," he said before kissing her again. She had wanted him to kiss her, but not if he planned on using it as a tactic to win arguments. She never won as it was, and she never would at this rate.
"I'll never admit it," she argued.
"If you insist on being wrong then I suggest you go to bed," he said wryly.
"Yours or mine?"
"I need to finish this potion," he answered. He kissed her lightly on the tip of her nose, and then pushed her towards the door, the one that led to the hallway and her bedroom, not the one that led to his room. Despite that, she made her way to bed with a dreamy smile.
The smile stayed plastered to her face as she put on her pajamas, brushed her teeth, and climbed into bed. It was even there when she woke up in the morning, as she dressed and made her way down to the kitchen for breakfast.
"Hermione, we need to talk to you," Harry said to her after they had finished eating. Ron stood next to him, looking serious and shaking his head in agreement. Nodding, she followed her two friends into the drawing room.
"We know about Snape," Ron said with no introduction.
"Know what about Snape," she said, trying desperately to hide her surprise, the smile suddenly gone. She was still adjusting to the idea that she was snogging her former Potions professor, and she wasn't sure she was quite ready to share that information with anyone else, especially Ron and Harry. What if it didn't work out? And to be honest, this was Severus Snape she was talking about here, so the possibility of either her hexing him into oblivion for some insensitive remark about her hair, friends, or potions, or him throwing a few silencing charms her way when she asked too many questions was very high. These sorts of things were not the things one built successful, healthy, and long lasting relationships on.
"Lavender told us about you two visiting her," Harry explained.
"And we figured it out from there," Ron said.
"Figured out what exactly?" she asked.
"Well you've been acting funny lately," Harry started.
"Staring off into space, grinning goofily, and you've been spending a lot of time up there in your makeshift lab," Ron listed. "We thought maybe you were under the Imperio Curse."
"But Ginny laughed, and said you were acting like you were in love," Harry said. "And after what Lavender told us, we logically assumed it had to be Snape."
"Okay, you're right," she admitted, amused to see their shocked faces. For all their 'detective' work, they had in their hearts, she guessed, hoped they were wrong.
"Listen, Hermione, that game of Lavender's is a hoax. We had her do it for the two of us and I ended up married to Bellatrix Lestrange, living in a mansion with 18 kids," Ron pleaded.
"And I'm supposedly going to marry Professor McGonagall," Harry said with a grimace.
"You would need a mansion for 18 kids," Hermione joked. But Ron didn't laugh.
"The point is that you don't have to do this," he argued. "You deserve better than Snape."
"I am not romantically involved with Severus because a stupid Divination parlor trick told me I should. I happen to enjoy his company."
"Does he like you back, and how could you ever be sure?" Harry asked. She bristled at his implication and contemplated giving him an earful. But then inspiration hit. There was one thing she could tell them that would convince them, she just hoped they would keep their mouths shut.
"I know because he lets me call him Sevie," she said conspiratorially.
"What!" they gasped.
"That's right," she said, "I called him that at the Leaving Feast as a joke. He threatened to hex me into next Tuesday then, but since we started working together he's loosened up a bit and every once in awhile I can get away with calling him that."
"Bloody hell, Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "It must be love." She didn't tell him that Severus called her Hermie. She didn't want to give them any ideas, certain that they would use the awful nickname to torment her.
"Or something like it," she said, shrugging her shoulders. So, her stomach turned flips when Severus looked at her, and she looked for excuses to spend more time with him, and she thought he was handsome despite the hooked nose and greasy hair, she still refused to become a giggling goose of a girl over it. There may be no logic in love, she had decided, but she would slip no further towards Parvati and Lavender's regrettable behavior.
Besides, it was a nice change from her constant worrying. N.E.W.T.s were over, and as a result the fight against Lord Voldemort and his death eaters played heavy on her mind. Nightmares had plagued her in the months following school. This romantic relationship, this flirtation with Professor Snape, whatever it was, had been a welcome distraction. She didn't know if it would last or even if it was right to think like this, but she planned on enjoying it while it did, because at the moment it was the only bright spot in her otherwise shadow filled existence. Although, she briefly wondered if it would be as appealing now that other people knew. Part of the charm had been its inherent secrecy and danger of being caught. Only time would tell.
"Do you want to explain to me why Potter and Weasley are snickering as I walk by?"
Hermione stood cutting ingredients, and she tried hard not to cut off her finger when Severus stormed in and started asking questions.
"No," she said meekly, not looking up from her knife. If she looked up, she was dead. He would know instantly that she was lying, if he didn't know already.
"You told them, didn't you?"
"I may have said something," she said so softly it was a miracle that he even heard her. But he had taught for years, training his ears to catch the slightest hint of illicit conversation in his classroom that might distract a student from a dangerous potion.
"Something?" he bellowed.
"We never agreed to keep it a secret," she said, growing more indignant.
"No, I just thought that was common sense."
"Why? Why is that common sense?" She grew frightened. Was he ashamed of his attachment to her? Did he just want to use her? But that didn't make sense. If that were the case then he would have made some sort of move by now. He would have tried to take her to bed, but he had taken ages to kiss her again, and even now only occasionally took any sort of liberties with her person. She rather wished he would stop being such a gentleman. If she was the least bit experienced in the art of seduction, she wouldn't leave it up to him, but she was young and her experience only included notes passed in class and quick snogging sessions in abandoned corridors.
"Has it not occurred to you that this relationship," he motioned between the two of them, "might be considered inappropriate? That there might be those that would look down on the idea of a teacher seducing a recent student? That some might assume that we started this before you graduated?"
She looked at him surprised. Honestly, it had not occurred to her. She thought people might be more upset that it was Snape, a sarcastic, often cruel man who also happened to be a former Death Eater. The inappropriateness of the teacher/student relationship had never dawned on her.
"I never thought…"
"Clearly."
"But it isn't true!"
"No, its not. But we're in the middle of a war, if you haven't noticed, and we have little time for distractions such as these."
"Distractions as in people finding out, or distractions as in the relationship altogether," she asked, her voice more shaky than she would have liked.
"I don't know." It was all he said.
"So, what? Is this the end? What about the…the game?" she asked desperately. Resorting to mentioning the game, she knew she had reached the edge. No, not the edge, but the bottom. She had already fallen for him, she realized, stepping out over a deep ravine when she first allowed herself to call him Sevie. It had been a mistake. She had gone straight from formality to intimacy. She had reached the bottom, and he wasn't there to catch her.
"You said it yourself, it's a farce," he hissed, turning away from her. She gasped, dropping the knife on the table. He might as well have taken it and stabbed her.
"You didn't believe that. You played it twenty times. Are you admitting you were wrong and I was right?" She knew she had hit the mark when he turned angrily around to face her again.
"Fine, let's see what it has to say now. Get some paper."
She stared at him in disbelief. Surely, he was kidding. Did he really want to resolve this argument like this, with a stupid game? But she wanted him to believe in it, even if she didn't. If he did, he would stay. He would wrap his arms around her, kiss her again, and she would feel safe. She went to find some parchment.
Minutes later, they sat at the desk shoved into the corner, ready to begin.
"Are you going to give me names this time, or shall I write 'lonely bastard' again?" she asked pointedly.
"You, McGonagall, Pomfrey, Pince, Hooch, and Sprout."
Hermione felt an unwanted stab of jealousy. She thought he couldn't think of anyone he could stand more than five minutes, let alone marry. He had come up with these names awfully quickly.
"And you talk about the inappropriateness of dating a former student, what about a colleague?"
He ignored her, going straight to the next category, "0, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5."
She didn't bother to comment on his unoriginality, but started calculating his 'future.' It wasn't long before she realized her dilemma. According to this, he would marry McGonagall, have 2 children, and live in a house. She paused.
"Well, what is it?" he demanded. She looked at him. She had a decision to make. Was this a casual fling, meant to get her through the lonely nights of this war? Or was she committed to seeing it through to its natural conclusion—I do's, children, and a life together?
"What do you want it to say?" she asked.
"I want it to say what it is supposed to say," he growled, looking daggers at her. He didn't want to answer that question, just like she didn't want to answer it, she realized. They both were trying to protect their hearts. They would get nowhere like that, and so she took a chance. With determination, she struck a line through McGonagall's name and circled her own. Besides, Fate had relegated McGonagall to Harry. She wouldn't dream of ruining his chances for happiness, she rationalized. And it was just a stupid game after all. Handing him the parchment, she waited for his reaction.
"This doesn't negate the need to be discreet," he snarled, meeting her eyes.
"I'll talk to Harry and Ron," she said, reaching her hand out to take his. She smiled as he let her. "If I mention that you threatened to poison their afternoon tea, I think the snickering will stop."
"It better," he said, but his lips curled up slightly.
"So, tell me, how long have you and Sprout been secretly pining for each other?" she asked playfully, changing the subject and the mood. He dropped her hand, frowning.
"I have potions to work on. Some of us have jobs to do," he said, evading the question. She stood up and followed him over to the workbench. He picked up her knife and started where she had left off.
"We used to wonder why you always prowled the halls at night, but now I see that you were on your way to moonlight trysts," she teased. He looked up from his ginger roots and scowled.
"As smart as you are, one would think you would know better than to tease a man holding a knife."
"I'll be terribly jealous the next time I see you talking to her, you know."
"Get out," he ordered, pointing the knife at the door. She moved closer to him, reaching up, and kissing him lightly on the lips.
"I'll see you downstairs later for tea."
"I'll make sure to remember my fastest acting poison. Something slower might be more painful, but knowing Potter he would somehow find a way not to die, and he would certainly make it melodramatic," he said before kissing her again.
"You're incorrigible," she accused him, heading for the door.
"You're insufferable," he called after her.
A/N: This would have been up sooner but I couldn't get it to upload, (I've been trying for days now.) Make it worth my frustration by reviewing please.
