Chapter Twelve
Two months of slow torture. Two months of no touches, no conversations beyond what was absolutely necessary to get along in their brewing. Two months of failed potions, failed charms and spells. Two months of pain and nearly sleepless nights. Though they both knew it was unhealthy, Severus dutifully doled out vials of the Sweet Dreams syrup for Hermione to give to Harry, though he never took it again himself. He didn't touch the elven journal, either. He was too afraid it would show him another entry from Hermione's diary, or something even more invasive.
Hermione. He couldn't go back to calling her Miss Granger, not after everything that had passed between them. They were not friends but were more than teacher and student; colleagues, he liked to think. Peers, almost. She equaled him in the art of potion-brewing and could someday, with the proper training, surpass him, he thought. As he restrained his thoughts about her body, he admired her intellect and skill, the way her slender fingers deftly handled the tools and ingredients. The glow from the cauldron fires illuminated her face, usually etched with shallow lines of concentration. At night his nightmares of the past were mixed with confusing dreams from the present. Severus watched himself hold Hermione in his arms many times. It was never more than that, always just holding her, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in his bed, sometimes in unfamiliar places. She always looked content and told him she felt safe. Those dreams helped him survive.
They had concluded, in their research, that Voldemort had somehow found a way to breed a dementor and a dream-boggart, creating a creature (or, more likely, a host of creatures) able to slip into the minds of those he sent them to and give them nightmares. After even more research, they were able to find (after several experiments) a way, they thought, to defeat the creatures. Now at last their prototype was ready. A cauldron full of cooling liquid sat on the table before them. It was a variation of the dream-boggart antidote combined with a protection potion; a spell for security was also said over it at the proper stage in brewing. "I'll test it." His were the first words spoken for over an hour and they reverberated around the empty classroom.
"Are you sure? Harry would – "
"No," he answered. "I'll do it." His tone brooked no argument.
Nevertheless, she tried. "Severus," she began, but he stopped her with a hand held up.
"Don't. Hermione, please don't." As if this exchange had not transpired, he went on. "As it is Friday, I shall test the potion tonight; if there are any adverse effects, which I do not anticipate, I shall have the weekend to recover."
"I'm sure you'll be fine," she answered softly, ladling enough for one test dose into a glass vial. He hadn't seen her eyes, really seen them, for so long.
"If only," he breathed to himself. She did not hear. "Hermione," he said at the same time she said, "Severus…"
"Go ahead," he acceded.
She flashed him a small smile. He thought she looked tired. No, more than tired. Weary. "It… it has been a pleasure working with you."
"I highly doubt that."
"No, I mean it," she insisted. "Your knowledge and wisdom in the art of potions-making is…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Amazing. Truly, Severus. I'm… I'm glad to have known you."
Ah, Merlin. She was breaking his heart! "Thank you, Hermione." It was all he could do not to sweep her hair back from her face and pull her to him in a gentle embrace. "I feel the same about you." Bugger, that hadn't come out right. That brought back memories of their arguments over… No. Best not to dwell on it. "That is to say, you have been a most excellent pupil. I couldn't ask for a more apt student or capable partner. Thank you."
"Thank you," she responded, holding out her hand. Her soft, small hand, imbued with so many fantastic abilities. Severus took it in his own hand, worn rough and calloused from decades of brewing caustic potions, years of nicks and cuts, scrapes, scars, burns and abrasions. His life was written in his hands, and it was so much longer than Hermione's. She was so young, still so innocent. "Good luck, sir. Severus." Their eyes met and he could hardly bear to let her go.
When he did at last, she blushed deep red and hurriedly packed the few things she'd brought and spread out over the work tables. "Well."
"Well." Lovely, Severus, so eloquent, he thought. This felt like the end of something. He supposed it was; if the potion worked, they would have no more reason to meet. There were weeks of school still left. He wasn't sure he could stand to only see Hermione once a week in Advanced Potions class. They had been working together for so long and despite all the pain and confusion and heartache, he wouldn't trade those months for anything. "Come here tomorrow after the noon meal; I'll go over the results with you then." Another long pause. "Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Severus," she said in almost a whisper. Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to the door. "And good luck." The look in her eyes was completely earnest. Those eyes haunted his thoughts long after the door had closed behind her.
x.x.x
Hermione noticed Severus was not at breakfast the next morning, but that was not unusual. There was no cause for worry. Indeed, there was no reason the potion shouldn't have worked perfectly. Weeks of research, careful planning, extensive research, all culminated in this potion. It was pale mint green with the opacity of milk. A bit darker and it would be a perfect Slytherin colour. Hermione smiled a little at the thought. Amazingly, Severus had stepped back and let her do the greater part of the work these past months. It wasn't through laziness on his part; she knew he wanted to see her succeed, to do it mostly on her own. He had acted much like an assistant and the role-reversal confounded her for a time. Once she became accustomed to it, Hermione realized that it was partly an act of penance for him. He was trying to make up to her for the way he had acted the past few weeks.
Physically shaking these thoughts from her mind, Hermione turned her attention back to her Transfiguration essay. In a few more hours she would know if all their hard work had been successful.
He was at lunch! Their eyes met three times during the meal, sending shivers through her whole body each time: once when he entered and sat at the head table, once when Hermione, bored with the boys' endless Quidditch talk, had glanced around the room, and once just as she finished eating. This last time he nodded to her, an minute movement of the head, and rose to leave. She gave him a few minutes to get to the classroom, then excused herself. Ron and Harry barely heard her, but for once she was glad of their neglect. She arrived at the classroom without seeing a soul and opened the door slowly so as not to startle him, even though she knew he was expecting her.
"Good afternoon." He rose from his desk to greet her, one of the many polite gestures she had become accustomed to from him these past weeks. He treated her as an equal now. She watched him come around to the other side of his desk and she approached him almost shyly.
"Afternoon." She couldn't stand it any longer. "How did it go?" Hermione hoped her voice wasn't too eager.
He paused as if in thought. "I shall say first, as you seem keen for the answer," she detected a hint of sarcasm – or was it amusement? – in his voice, "that our potion," Our potion! Hermione thought, "did indeed work. I slept my first full night in months without a single nightmare." A small smile painted his thin lips and she grinned at him. "However, as this marks the end of our… our work together," he seemed to have trouble speaking, "I… would like to invite you…" Merlin, he was really struggling! Hermione smiled encouragingly. "To, ah, well, to discuss the results in full in… my quarters. With tea." The last words seemed tacked on as an afterthought but she knew he must be exerting a great effort to phrase his invitation carefully.
Against her better judgment – who knew what could happen in his private rooms? – Hermione said, "I would like that." He relaxed visibly, the muscles in his neck and shoulders dropping down to their normal positions. He held the door for her and, as was his habit, locked it behind them. She was thankful that most students were still at lunch; not that anything bad or wrong was going to happen, but it wouldn't do for someone, especially a Slytherin, to see her following Professor Snape to his rooms.
As his door opened inwards, he preceded her into the room. Hermione hesitated for just a moment, then followed him in. He shut the door after her and she took in her rich surroundings. It was just as she remembered it from when she had come to get the first Sweet Dreams Syrup for Harry: books everywhere, a few cabinets full of potions, a desk, two armchairs facing the fire with a low table between them. "Please, have a seat," he said softly. As she took the chair with its back to the door – the other faced it at an angle – Severus hung a heavy kettle on a hook in the fireplace, lit a small blaze with his wand, and sat opposite her.
"So." She swallowed, a bit nervous at being alone with him. She'd been alone with him often recently, but never in such an intimate setting. This was quite different. "How did it go?"
"Exactly as we thought it would," he replied as he sat in the chair opposite her. "I took the potion just before I went to bed and slept the whole night through without a dream, though in the middle of the night I had the sense of something being destroyed. That would be the creature as it tried to enter my mind. The potion poisoned it, according to plan. I'm sure there are more either in or around the castle or elsewhere under the control of the Dark Lord, so Mr. Potter and I must take the potion every night for at least two more weeks to make sure we dispose of them all. If there are any that linger, or if the Dark Lord gets more, at least we have the recipe to brew a new batch."
"Thanks to you," Hermione smiled proudly.
"Mostly to you." Severus looked even more proud, in his cool, reserved way. She was glad he wasn't moping anymore. Not only had she felt bad for him, it made her feel awful for being the cause of his pain.
The kettle chimed gently, obviously the work of a spell. "I hate that shrill whistle," he said as he stood to levitate it off its hook and make it pour into two black mugs. After setting it on a trivet on a shelf near the mantle, Severus dunked two teabags into their cups and brought them along with cream, sugar, spoons and biscuits on a tray which he set on the coffee table. She took some of all and sat back with her hands wrapped around the mug for warmth. No matter how much time she spent down here, Hermione would never get used to the cold dungeon air.
Severus apparently noticed and built up the fire with a flick of his wand. "Thanks."
"Hermione," he said abruptly, setting his mug down on the tray.
"Mm?" She looked up at him.
"I am truly, deeply sorry. For everything."
"Severus, there's no need – "
"Yes, there is," he insisted. He was leaning forward a little, hands on his knees. "I had no right to pressure you to… What I mean to say is…" Severus squinted his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.
"Severus," Hermione repeated even more softly. She reached out and lay her hand on his hand that still rested on his knee, but when his head snapped up she drew her arm back as if she'd been burned. "Sorry."
They sat in silence for a full minute, both caught up in their own thoughts and desires. "So no ill side-effects?" Hermione asked.
He blinked as if drawn back from someplace deep inside himself. "Hm? Oh, no. No, I'm fine, thank you."
Another minute of silence. The awkwardness manifested itself as a physical pain in her chest.
"Exams soon," Severus said. Hermione nodded. "Do you know what you want to do after graduation?"
"Something with Potions," she said quickly. "I'm thinking of…" She got quiet. "You'll think it's silly." She drew her teabag from the mug and lay in on the side of her saucer. The tea was still a bit weak but if she added a little more cream and sugar it wasn't too bad.
"I assure you, nothing you think is important is silly."
Goodness. "I… I want to sort of… experiment with combining potions and certain things having to do with Muggle medicine. Maybe."
"That sounds interesting," Severus said. "I was never very concerned with Muggle medicine, but I'm sure you'll do well with it."
"Thank you."
"Stop saying 'thank you.'"
"Sorry."
"And for Merlin's sake, stop saying you're sorry!"
"I'm s – All right."
"We are equals, Hermione. I look on you as a peer. Such formalities have no place between us, especially after all we've been through." He gave a bitter laugh, surprising her with his bluntness. "Don't look so surprised. I've been thinking it for weeks and so have you. Problems never go away if you ignore them. In my experience that usually only serves to make them worse."
She sipped her tea, sucking in air along with the hot liquid to cool it in her mouth. "Then by all means, let's get it out in the open." Hermione set the mug back down, crossed her legs and gazed levelly at him. Two could play this game.
x.x.x
Bugger. She had called him at his bluff. He had only said that in a desperate attempt to get her to leave and have no desire to return. It seemed the safest way – to hurt and embarrass her – but he should have known better. It hadn't worked before and it wouldn't work now.
Fine. If she wanted it that way, he would oblige her. Slytherin stubbornness would win over Gryffindor pride. "I want you." He lowered his voice a little; in this castle if you weren't being spied on by students or even faculty, you were often overheard by a painting or a suit of armor. He had neither in his rooms, but one could never be too careful. "I've wanted you for some time now and my longing has been fueled by the knowledge that you want me too, and not just as a potions-brewing partner."
Hermione sat in stunned silence. Well, he had succeeded. "S-Severus," she began, but he interrupted her.
"Your turn." His tea was forgotten as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Merlin's beard, she wasn't going to cry, was she? That wasn't what he had intended at all, though by the shining light in her eyes it seemed a very real possibility.
He saw her jaw clench for a moment. She was drawing her strength. Good. "I know you do. And I know that you are aware of my… feelings for you too. However, as there is no way we can act upon them, we have no other choice than to…" her voice rose half an octave, "to forget about each other. I'll be gone soon and we'll… move on."
"Indeed." Severus' voice was heavy and low; his game had gone too far and she was hurting. "Hermione," he said, kneeling at the side of her chair. He didn't touch her (though there was nothing in the world he longed to do more) but set his clasped hands on the armrest. "I'm sorry."
"Stop s-saying you're s-s-sorry," she managed to get out, struggling to keep her breathing even. He admired her for her control; not a tear had fallen nor a sniffle sounded. She even managed a weak, half-mocking smile.
"All right." Gods, he couldn't stand it. As he took both of her hands in both of his, two tears squeezed out from beneath her squinted eyelids and trailed beautifully down her smooth cheeks. A sob escaped her throat but she held the rest back, keeping her eyes shut against him, against the pain, against reality. "Hermione…"
"Don't." She shook her head vehemently, eyes still closed, brown curls flying. "Please don't." She gripped his hands tight, her skin soft on his. He would remember this feeling for the rest of his life: the heat radiating from her flushed face, the chill in her slender fingers, the delicate bones in them, the single strand of hair that lay across her lips, rising and falling with her breath, the way the collar of her blouse was just a little crooked, the feel of the rug beneath his knees.
He wasn't sure how long they stayed like this, he kneeling beside her and drinking in every detail, she with her eyes closed, struggling to keep back tears. "I should go," she said at last. He nodded dumbly but did not release her hands as she stood. He rose with her, rubbing his thumb over the back of one of her hands. She didn't move. "Maybe some day," she said, letting the statement hang in the heavy air.
"Maybe," he agreed. Could it be possible?
Hermione opened her eyes at last, staring up at him with a melted chocolate gaze. His guts dissolved at that look. He would do anything for her. "Goodbye, Severus," she whispered. As if in slow-motion, she stepped closer to him, wrapping her slim arms around his waist. His hands fell easily to the middle of her back, comfortable there. Her little body pressed gently up against him. This is heaven, he thought. What could be better than this? It was what he had been longing for. Don't leave, he wanted to beg. Don't leave me alone again! I need you! Soon she would be at university or in an apprenticeship and he would still be stuck in this school with the same idiots. Sure, he got new idiots each fall but they were all the same. She was different than all of them. She was special.
When at last she pulled back it felt like a part of himself had separated from his body; a hand, an eye. "Goodbye, Hermione." He couldn't turn and watch her go out the door. He barely heard it click shut behind her. All he heard was her soft breath against his shoulder, a sound only in his memory.
x.x.x
Author's Notes: Wow. It's almost done.
…
Weird.