She was packing everything very carefully. She put the books down first – there weren't many. Then, she folded each shirt just as her mother taught her and smoothed away any wrinkles. She was slow, methodical, and robotic. She zipped the duffel bag. She put it on her shoulder.
There were five weeks of school left and she was reemerging into the castle. Snape had been withdrawn and moody since that night and morning spent together. They'd stayed in bed pretending to sleep for half the day before she had crept away to find breakfast waiting. He'd come out soon after and they'd eaten their scones and sipped their tea in silence. He was afraid to look at her.
"It's okay," she said finally. "We didn't do anything wrong."
"Luckily I don't need a sixteen-year-old twig of a girl to teach me about morality," he snapped and left his chambers – probably for his private lab where she could not go. She tried not to take it personally. She knew he was just pushing her away, preparing them both for the time when they would not be together. When they would go back to the strict and unforgiving student-teacher relationship that he shared with so many others. She would not be special.
She was finished packing. Harry sent a letter down, telling her they were throwing a celebration that she was returning. His letter sounded tentative though. Would nothing be the same? Was three months really long enough to change everything forever? She walked out toward the exit of the dungeons. When the quarantine was still in place, she would feel the tingle of magic as she approached the boarders of the dungeon area to which she was confined. If she got too close, the tingle turned to a burn. Today, she just felt normal. She could go. She was better and the horror was behind her.
Snape wasn't there to bid her goodbye. She left her bag at the stairs and went to find him. He was in his office, the room was that connected to his classroom. He was sitting at his desk, doing nothing.
"Goodbye, then," she said, trying not to feel hurt.
"You are still my student, I hardly think that I am rid of you completely," he said. This was professor Snape, not the man who cared for her, talking.
"Thank you, anyhow. There is no way to repay what you've given me," she said, honestly. "Under the circumstances, I did enjoy my time here, with you."
"How very likely," he muttered. She walked closer to him, until she was right by her chair. She leaned down slowly, giving him ample time to stop her. She was going to kiss him, kiss his thin lips softly, but she chickened out and kissed his cheek. She walked out, before he could do anything and walked out of the dungeons wiping away tears furiously. She would not see her friends after all this time crying.
oooo
The castle was almost too deserted. It was Saturday, though, and maybe her return had followed on a Hogsmeade weekend. Still, she saw no first or second years either. She saw no professors, no ghosts, no anything. She made her way towards the great hall. The light from the windows hurt her eyes, made her squint. She'd been below ground for so long. She was used to Snape being pale, but now she had that same unnatural whiteness about her skin as well. Too pale.
She opened the doors to the great hall slowly; had she ever seen them closed?
"SURPRISE!" Practically the entire school was there, waiting, with a big banner that said, 'Welcome back, Hermione!' She smiled, and dropped her bag, running into the arms of Harry and Ron who were waiting at the front of the crowd. When Harry had mentioned a celebration, she had thought that he meant after curfew in the Gryffindor common room. Ron held on long after Harry had taken a step back to get a good look at her. Most people had already stopped looking at her and had started eating. It was the true reason they were there, after all. Weekends at Hogwarts consisted of brunch and dinner and so any extra meal drew a sizable crowd.
Dumbledore laid a knowing hand on her head and moved slowly up to the head table. Even professor McGonagall gave her a brief hug once Ron unglued himself, though she quickly let go and slipped back into her stern exterior, glaring at some third year Hufflepuffs who were on the brink of starting a food fight.
Looking around, Hermione tried to take it all in. Most of her professors were there but there was not a Slytherin in sight. She wondered if they were in their common room, welcoming back their head of house. After all, he had been gone too… but she could already hear the complaints of students through mouthfuls of food – grumbling about how Snape would be back in potions class on Monday. How they had hoped he wouldn't be back in time to proctor exams. Harry was leading her to the end of the Gryffindor table and Ginny was putting chicken legs and heaps of potato salad on her plate. They were all talking a mile a minute and she felt – suddenly – totally on display. So many pairs of eyes on her, so loud after such a long time in solitude. She felt anxiety rise in her throat. She felt her shoulders tense. The bite of chicken in her mouth turned to sawdust. She struggled to swallow. She picked up her goblet of pumpkin juice and noticed her hands were sweaty and shaking. She wished Snape was there, at least across the room or something. Just being able to see him would give her some sort of stability in this abrupt transition.
"Well?" Harry asked, looking at her expectantly, then worriedly.
"What?" She asked. She'd not been listening in the slightest. "Sorry."
"I asked if you wanted to come to Quidditch game. It's Ravenclaw versus Slytherin," he said. She didn't want that, but she thought he might go, since it was Slytherin. They had been apart barely an hour and she already found she didn't know what to do with her hands with out him there to instruct her in that gentle voice.
"All right," she said. Ron carried her bag back to her guest room, where all the rest of her belongings still were. On the table was a big bouquet of wildflowers, with a crudely written note from Hagrid. She smiled at them. She opened her trunk and found her Gryffindor robe. It would keep her warm in case there was a breeze so high atop the pitch.
"Ready?" he asked. She nodded and they walked down to the front doors. At the doors she paused, right on the brink, upsetting the flow of people behind her.
"What's wrong?" Ron asked, loudly, pulling her along and out of the way of the crowd. She looked down at the grass beneath her sensible shoes and the expanse of blue sky above her head. No one had said a thing about her boyish, cropped hair cut but she could see the surprise in everyone's eyes.
"I just haven't been outside in so long," she whispered, feeling overwhelmed and infinitely tiny.
"It's a beautiful day," Ron said, obliviously. "Look, there's Harry!" She felt his hand on her arm, pulling her back into the crowd of students. The pitch came into view and she could already see players shooting up into the sky on the brooms, circling the pitch, getting ready to play. She felt like a stranger here. She sat sandwiched between Ron and Harry and most of her year in one of the Gryffindor stands. She could see the brilliance of the sun against Ginny's hair the next stand over. Across from her directly was the staff stand. She couldn't see anyone very clearly. She could tell Dumbledore with his white beard and McGonagall always sat next to him, and there was a new announcer now that Lee Jordon had graduated. It was an exuberant Hufflepuff girl and she was loud, if not good.
Dean Thomas clutched a pair of binoculars and she asked politely to borrow them. There was nothing to see yet, as the game had just started and everyone was still getting the feel of the day, but he dutifully handed them over. She lifted them to her eyes and adjusted the focus a little. She'd been right about Dumbledore and McGonagall. Professor Sprout was there too, as well as Professor Vector. She'd determined him to be absent from the stands and was just about to lower the binoculars when she saw him emerge from the staircase and situate himself in the upper left hand corner of the stands, watching dutifully his team.
She felt like she'd tried to swallow a rock, staring at him. She knew that whatever they had shared was over and she needed to move on but the memory of her lips against his slightly stubbly cheek and the way he'd lean into it was fresh in her mind. She could look at him for just a little longer, if she wanted. But then Dean was asking for them back and when she looked up again, he was just a charcoal dot against the blue of the sky.
oooo
She couldn't sleep, tired as she was. She'd gone to Madame Pomfrey who'd fixed her arm for good and it felt a little fragile without Snape's splint. She wanted to sleep. In the morning, she had a meeting with McGonagall to organize her schedule for the remaining month of school. She would try to make up as much work as she could. Then what? Hogwarts always closed for summer but Harry had already told her that Dumbledore insisted he stay within the grounds for the summer.
"I thought you had to go stay with the Dursley's every year, no matter what?" she had asked.
"Dumbledore doesn't want anything to happen to me," Harry said. He didn't think to question it, he was just happy to not have to go back to Surrey and to his horrible family. But Hermione knew this to be a sign of danger, closer than she would have thought. She would probably be staying as well. She turned the pillow over to the cool side and contemplated going down to the dungeons and crawling back into bed with him. If anything she could claim sleep walking. She had her slippers on and was half way down the first flight of stairs before she realized what a bad plan that was. She turned to go back up and find her portrait when she saw the light of a wand bobbing towards her. She knew then that it wasn't Filch and so she relaxed a little. She squared her shoulders, waiting for the person to come close enough so that they could recognize one another. She figured it was some professor on rounds – it wasn't yet that late. In fact it was prime hour for students sneaking out, and most students were especially happy because Slytherin had lost.
"Hermione." She'd not expected that it would have been him. "What are you doing out of bed?"
"I… couldn't sleep," she said. It was barely a whisper. He dimmed the light of his wand to a soft glow. He stepped closer to her so he could hear her better.
"You shouldn't be wandering at this hour," he chided gently.
"Everything is different, suddenly," she admitted. "Everything smells different and everyone is so loud."
"You'll be fine," he promised her. She could see that he hadn't yet shaved. His eyes were dark, and his breath sweet. Like dessert or fine alcohol. She longed to kiss him properly this time, not to chicken out. She tilted her head a little, unconsciously. He cleared his throat and stepped back. She searched for conversation.
"I'm sorry Slytherin lost, I saw you watching," she said, and then realized that the sounded strange. She didn't want him to think she was stalking him, or anything.
"I saw you too, but somehow I don't think you're sorry my house lost, he said, almost laughing.
"I used to care but I hardly feel a part of any house now. I guess I'm indifferent," she said.
"I'll walk you to your rooms," he said, putting his long fingers on the small of her back and applying some pressure to get her moving.
"Thank you," she said quietly. It wasn't far and they were there faster than she would have liked. She was nervous and didn't know what to say.
"I know you'll have your own make-up schedule until the end of the year, but you can always come down to the dungeons if you need to. I wouldn't mind a competent aide every now and then," he said, handing her the sentence like an olive branch. He was apologizing for being so cold earlier. She realized he didn't know how to deal with the separation either. They stepped through the threshold and the portrait swung closed behind them, a loud click startling them both. They were alone.
"I would like that," she said. She fished her wand from her pockets and pointed it at the fireplace, lighting it. He put out his wand. "I was going to the dungeons," she blurted out and then immediately regretted it. Why did she always have to tell the truth around him?
"I know," he said. They were close again. He was leaning over her, bending like the whomping willow to be able to reach her. "Hermione," he began, bringing his hand up to her shoulder. His fingers had a mind of their own, though, and were creeping up her neck and scratching at her hairline. She felt dizzy.
"Yes, professor?" she asked, in a high voice that wasn't her own. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
"Go to sleep now," he said, straightening up. "A good rest will do you wonders." She watched him push the portrait open and relight his wand. She stood in the door frame, watching him stalk away, his shoulder hunched. She felt like crying, but swallowed it down. Knowing the sleep was now impossible, she lit all the candles she could find and set the sconces ablaze. She let the light warm and wash over her. She sat at the desk and decided to start a letter to her parents, informing them that she was better, cured, and out of quarantine with Snape. Everything would soon be back to normal. She didn't finish the letter, though; she wanted to see what McGonagall had to say first.
She decided to run a bath. She'd been taking quick showers since the fall. Partly because bath tubs reminded her of that uncomfortable incident and partly because she wasn't supposed to get her arm dressings wet. Those were gone now, though, and so she filled the tub to the brim with hot water and sweet pea oil to make her skin soft. Her cheeks were a little red from sitting in the sun at the Quidditch game, and she looked like she was always blushing. At least that had probably hidden the fact that around Snape she was always blushing. Her body nearly sighed with relief sinking into the water. Her skin turned bright red immediately. She could see the sweet pea oil floating hazily on the surface and she ran her fingers through it. She could see the steam against the candle light and it calmed her down. Her heart stopped thumping, her blood stopped racing around her veins. She could feel herself becoming rational again in Snape's absence.
She knew what she had to do. She had to stay away from him. The man was twice her age, and he was a professor. What exactly did she think could happen? She dunked her head, closing her eyes tight so she didn't have to think about anything. Still, in the dark behind her eyelids, she could see his face.
oooo
McGonagall had given her a very full schedule for the remaining days of school. She had several binders of missed assignments and each of her professors would spend an hour a week with her after classes had ended, helping her catch up. She would stay for the summer – another awkward ending to the letter to her now firmly bitter parents – and in late August, she would take the exams her classmates were all furiously studying for now. McGonagall had hinted that if she just wanted to take the exams now, she would probably pass if not with the highest marks. It was tempting, but Hermione had standards for herself and she knew that a crash course summer would be just what she needed to take her mind off things.
She walked back to her rooms feeling good about things. Harry would be staying for the summer, too, and they would have the run of the castle. Ron and Ginny had both been ordered home by their mother but he promised he would visit. Besides, Hermione imagined that order members would be in and out of the castle all the time. It would be much like summer at 12 Grimmauld Place, just a different setting. She imagined Hogwarts to be beautiful in the summer time and she looked forward to getting some sun – getting used to the outside again.
She looked at the schedule in her hands. She started that afternoon, with professor Flitwick. She saw Snape's name in the Thursday box but she refused to let her heart jump into her throat like it wanted to. She would be the picture of professionalism. She would learn potions and they would speak about nothing else.
She set about reading the material McGonagall had given her and even starting a few essays while everyone else was in class. When the last bell rang, she slipped on her school robes and made her way to the charms classroom. She was nervous she wouldn't be any good but after 20 minutes Flitwick was assuring her that everything would be fine and that she was still well ahead of her peers, even after three months of missed classes. That was a nice little boost to the ego and so Hermione was pleased when she went in to dinner and sat with her Gryffindor friends. She had promised herself she wouldn't look to the head table… that she wouldn't look for him. She didn't and she knew that it would only get easier.
Except for that Thursday came at an alarming rate. Breakfast and lunch whizzed by at breakneck speeds. The hours that she spent at a table in the library – her quill scratching studiously – felt like minutes and when the final bell rang, it seemed to mock her. Each squeak of her shoe seemed to eek out his name and her destination alternately. Of course, she didn't go to 'their' wing of the dungeons. That was much further in. His classroom was right there, and she knocked lightly.
"Enter," was his gruff response. She shifted the bag on her shoulder so she could use her weight to open the heavy door. She saw Neville at the sinks with a huge row of dirty cauldrons waiting to be washed and she sent him a sympathetic look. He probably didn't even do anything wrong and was nothing but an excuse for Snape not to have to be alone in the room with Hermione. Had she thought of it, she might have rigged up something of the same, dragging Ginny along or something – but as it were he had taken care of it. Neville gave a half-hearted wave but didn't risk more and as he did, he flung gray suds onto the front of his robes.
"You're late," he snapped. She rolled her eyes, she wasn't late but she decided to play along.
"Sorry, professor," she said. "Shall we get started?" She would be cordial but she wouldn't be intimidated by him. She sat at the student work bench closest to his desk and pulled out her binder amiably. She ignored the frantic feeling of her heart throwing its self against her rib cage in a very unstable fashion.
"We will not brew in these sessions," he said. "If you learn the theories and steps well enough, you shouldn't have to practice brewing. It should work on your first try," he said. For someone like Neville, it was immediate failure, not practicing brewing a potion before an exam but for Hermione, theory was usually enough. He wanted her to protest.
"That seems fair," she said, neutrally. He snarled.
"Furthermore, I expect an essay every session, until you are caught up with the rest of the class," he said. She reached into her bag and took out three neatly rolled pieces of parchment.
"Here are the first three," she said. He took them, crinkling them in his fist and dropping them on his desk. She couldn't see his eyes very well, for he was hunched over and his hair hung in his face. It was greasy again – she'd long ago suspected that had more to do with leaning over cauldrons all day and less to do with personal hygiene – though it looked better evenly trimmed.
"I will also assign you your own research worksheets as homework and review," he said, thrusting a sheet of paper at her. His writing was small and spiky and she tried to read what the worksheet said but instead the words seemed to spell out, "Mr. and Mrs. Granger, I have news on your daughter's condition" which was how each of his letters began to her parents. She quickly placed the worksheet in her binder.
"I understand," she said. He nodded, and waved his wand. The blackboard filled with writing and she quickly started to take notes. When the dinner bell sounded, he barked at Neville to leave and Neville wasted no time in grabbing his school things and leaving. "He practically left a trail of fire behind him," she said, laughing.
"You may go too, Miss Granger," he said. He straightened his posture.
"It's been very interesting," she said, motioning towards the blackboard. "I'll look forward to Thursdays now."
"I will, as well," he said, softly. His face looked stricken, like he had admitted something that he shouldn't have.
"Are you coming to dinner?" she asked, gathering her school things and hefting the worn leather bag onto her left shoulder.
"Not tonight," he said, and left her alone in the room, closing his office door behind him. It was too swift an exit and she was suddenly worried. Snape had been at dinner every night and every night she didn't look at him on purpose. In fact she wasn't even sure the head table was still there, she avoided turning her head in that direction so well. Without the challenge, she decided to skip dinner herself and just ask Wally to bring her a sandwich later, if she felt hungry. She went back to her rooms intent on working on her transfiguration essay that was due the next day. She settled herself in the window seat with her quill and text book when something caught her eye. The sun was setting that very moment and she tried to talk herself into believing that what she was seeing was a play of the light – nothing but the war between the stars and the sun over the territory of the sky. But when she closed her eyes and opened them again, she saw Snape walking briskly toward the forbidden forest. It was the sun catching the reflection of the silver mask under his arm that had grabbed her attention.