Thanks to AMRA1 and Larilee for their proofreading and continued support.
Chapter Four
Severus woke early the next morning, leaving before Hermione came out of the bathroom. He had placed her gift where she would find it easily, but he didn't yet have the courage to face her when she discovered it. What if she rejected him? It was a thought he couldn't stand; and so, he pushed it away, trying to distract himself, with upcoming Potions exams.
But, for most of the day, he found himself distracted. Had she found his offering yet? What did she think? Would she like it? It was no small wonder that he had never really dated in his life. It left a person much too vulnerable and open to rejection. He wondered, if this was how Hermione had felt, when she had pursued him. But, she had always seemed so confident.
"I always knew it, you know," she told him, one night in bed, curled up next to him.
"Knew what?"
"That we would be together."
"Always?" he asked, skeptically.
"Always," she repeated, an impish grin on her face.
"From the moment you saw me, as an eleven year old child, you said to yourself, 'That is the man I'm going to marry.'?"
"No!" she cried, grabbing a nearby pillow and hitting him with it. He growled and pulled her closer. Tickling her in the ribs, he ignored her squeals for mercy.
"Then, it wasn't always," he argued when she finally stilled, her breathing ragged.
"But I knew."
"And, here I thought you held a contemptuous disdain for Divination," he teased. But secretly, he was amazed at her diligence. She had known. She had planned. And, she had succeeded, despite his best efforts to dissuade her.
Anxiously, he entered their rooms, after dinner. She hadn't been in the Great Hall; and, he hoped that she had skipped eating because she had been working hard, reading through the files; not wandering the castle, having forgotten her name. To his great relief, he found her sitting in front of the fireplace, with an open file and a half-eaten sandwich, on a plate, sitting on the table next to her.
"Interesting reading?" he asked.
"Quite," she said, without looking up. He frowned. She clearly didn't want to be bothered. He grabbed another file from the pile; throwing himself into the chair opposite her. But he couldn't concentrate. Either, she hadn't found his gift or she had, and didn't like it. There could be no other explanation for her ignoring him like this. Throwing the file to the side, he decided he needed a drink, somewhere away from her. Just as he moved to get up, she put aside her reading.
"Sorry about that," she said. "I was near the end and wanted to finish." He eased himself back into the chair, nodding at her.
"Did you find anything useful?" he asked.
"Not yet, but it's been slow going. Instead of just skimming them, I end up reading the whole case file. They're fascinating."
He smirked at her.
"This one involved a very complicated poisoning. The man was slowly killing everyone around him. He probably wouldn't have even been caught, except that his boss, wife, and brother all became ill around the same time," she explained, motioning to the file she had just laid down.
"I remember that case." She looked at him, puzzled. "I'm the one who helped you figure out what poison he was using."
"I suppose I talk about my cases a lot."
'Ad nauseum sometimes,' he thought, but he didn't say it. In the past, he had snapped at her to talk of something else. Now he thought he might miss the nights by the fire, listening to her discuss a particularly complicated case. She was always very grateful when he could help; and it was the least he could do, after she listened to him moan about his students and their exploding cauldrons.
"You did love your work," he said instead. She nodded, looking meaningfully into the fire.
"I did find something else though," she said shyly, turning back to him.
"Oh?"
"Yes," she said, pulling out the medallion, from under her robes. In the glow of the firelight, he could read the inscription he had charmed that morning—'Hermione Snape, lifelong do-gooder'. He noticed the note, lying on the table, next to her sandwich. He had written it in red ink, unable to find anything other than his correcting quill that morning. Had she taken offense to seeing his red spiky scrawl, remembering only the insidious insults that had riddled her Potions essays? He had kept the note short and to the point, You make a difference in me. Love, Severus.
"Is it true? Have I really made a difference in your life?" she asked.
"Yes, Hermione," he breathed. How to tell her, that without her there would be no purpose to living; that in fact, without her, he would have no life to speak of? The words were on the edge of his breath when she spoke again.
"It's so odd to see my name like this," she said, fingering the necklace, turning it over and over again in her hand. "I always thought I would keep my name when I got married."
"You did keep your name," he told her, with a smirk. "It's an ongoing joke." She looked at him puzzled, so he explained. "We had a rather large row, when we first married, about you taking my name and, in the end, I could do nothing but give in. However, even though you insist on remaining Hermione Granger, or Hermione Granger-Snape when you are feeling particularly obnoxious, I routinely give you things with either, your name or initials, but as Hermione Snape. Usually, you charm them to read the name you prefer, but the challenge is to find something that is hard to change and preferably something that will be seen or worn in public."
"You want your 'mark' on me? You want others to know, I belong to you?" she asked indignantly.
"You do belong to me," he said. Seeing her face turn an angry shade of red, he quickly continued, "And I belong to you. That's how a marriage works. Besides, I told you, it's a joke."
"It sounds like you do it to irritate me," she said.
"That's just an added bonus." She harrumphed, turning back to the pile of files. "You do things to annoy me, as well." She looked up sharply, her mouth pressed into a thin line. He could tell instantly that she was angry.
"Then why did you marry me?" He kicked himself mentally, for pursuing this line of conversation. Of course, she knew that he thought she was irritating. Hadn't he told her so, every chance he got while she was in school? And, that was the only time she remembered. He would have to tread very carefully, choose his words with care. "Because, I find many of your annoying habits endearing, as well."
She looked at him, surprised. "Such as?"
"You insist on clinging to me when you sleep, despite the fact that I have told you, over and over, that I find it suffocating."
"Well, that shouldn't be a problem any longer. We can sleep in separate beds, if you'd like." She sounded much too eager at that prospect. He needed to put his foot down.
"No, you will sleep next to me, like you have for the last seven years," he told her.
"But you just said…" she argued.
"That I find it endearing. I couldn't sleep while you were gone; and, now that you're back…I find myself…missing…your close proximity."
She nodded slightly, paused, and then asked another question. "What else do I do?"
"Your incessant chatter drives me batty at times." She opened her mouth to protest, her eyes flashing again. "But, I much prefer it to the stony silence that filled my nights before."
"Oh."
"Hermione,"—She started at the sound of her given name, used to nothing but sneering Miss Grangers from him; he made a mental note to use her name more often—"I understand that this is difficult for you. You remember nothing but a cold, embittered, sarcastic man, who insulted you every chance he got. I am still not a kind man. I will never be jovial, happy, or even pleasant. But, I have little in life that has ever given me pleasure; and, when I find something that does, I cling to it for dear life."
He had his potions, he had had taunting Potter, while Harry was a student, taunting Black, before he got himself killed, and then he had Hermione. It wasn't much and until Hermione had come along, nothing had filled the gaping hole in his heart.
"I'm trying," she whispered, sounding desperate.
He wanted to argue with her. No, she wasn't, not hard enough anyway. She didn't talk anymore. She did all her talking to Molly Weasley and Professor McGonagall. She didn't laugh and tease him, didn't pepper him with questions about his day or his Potions research. And she no longer touched him. He had never been a very tactile person, hiding beneath his layers of robes, but she always sat next to him on the couch, the whole one side of her body grazing his. She often pecked him on the cheek, as she passed; and he thoroughly enjoyed the times she lay in wait, pouncing on him as he came out of the shower or back from class. But he didn't argue. He just nodded his head.
"I know. So am I," he said. "I can answer any other questions that you may have."
"You want me to ask questions?" she asked incredulously. He chuckled softly, which seemed to surprise her even more.
"Further proof that I am completely besotted with you," he said wryly. "What do you want to know?"
"I don't know. I—I can't think of anything at the moment."
"If I had known this is all it would take, I would have offered much sooner," he teased. She blushed, looking away, but he noticed that she still fingered the necklace.
"You could finish the story you started yesterday." He nodded and began where he had left off.
"I talked to Professor Moody," Hermione announced, immediately after coming through his fireplace.
"No hello?" he snapped, angry at having his quiet evening interrupted by her once again. He had hoped to spend the night in his chair by the fire, reading his new book.
"Hello, Professor. How are you this evening? Did you have a nice day?"
"My evening would be better without your irksome presence; and my day was miserable, as I once again tried, unsuccessfully, to impart important knowledge into the ever-growing vacuous spaces of my students' minds."
"So, pretty much a normal day, in the life of Severus Snape."
"Indeed. What do you want, Miss Granger?"
"I talked to Professor Moody."
"He never taught here; he doesn't deserve that title."
"Of course," she said irritably, throwing herself into the chair opposite him. "Do you intend on letting me tell you what he had to say or would you rather continue berating me on every little thing?"
He didn't answer, but went back to his book.
"One might think that you would rather go to Azkaban, than let me help you," she said angrily.
"They wouldn't be far from the truth," he responded snidely. But, when she stood up to leave, he knew he had gone too far. He didn't like her helping him. Not because he didn't like her, but because he didn't like anyone's help. The fact that he was slowly coming to find her…intriguing, that was the best word…did not help his attitude towards the whole damned situation.
"Sit down," he ordered. "What did he have to say?"
"He said that you weren't the only one that received a serious injury that night."
"He's referring to the Entrail-Expelling Curse that I managed to throw at him."
"You did what?" she exclaimed in horror.
"Gaping has never become you, Miss Granger. It hardly mattered, since my wand had been broken. His insides poked out a bit from his stomach, but it was nothing they couldn't handle at St. Mungo's."
"I see," she said, nodding, but looking distinctly uncomfortable. "I also talked to Remus and to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They all remember you being without your wand that week."
"Fine. Where does that leave us?"
"I think we have enough to prove to the Wizengamot that you aren't guilty. But, I wish we could find who did this to you, in the first place. Who would want to see you in Azkaban?"
"You said it yourself. I have made few friends and many enemies. The list is quite long, especially if we add disgruntled students to the mix," he said, frowning.
"I'm not giving up on this," she declared. His chest tightened when he saw that she was serious. He didn't know if he was afraid that she would continue to pursue the matter, further invading his solitude, or afraid that she might not.
He stopped there for the moment. Standing, he crossed over to her.
"I have papers to mark. You should keep looking through those. Or, if you need a break, there is the latest edition of Hogwarts, A History. I picked it up the other day, thinking it might help you catch up. That, and I know it's your favorite." She looked up at him and smiled.
"Thank you…for the necklace and the book."
"You're welcome," he said, before he left for his office. It had worked, just like Minerva had said. Flushed with success, he marked his third year exams with a never before seen enthusiasm and magnanimity—he only mildly insulted their dimwitted capabilities, refraining from questioning their heritage or comparing them to house-elves.
Hermione was already in bed and asleep, when he finally finished his grading. But, like the night before, he kissed her gently on the forehead before settling in, a smile playing on his lips as he drifted off to sleep.
He woke early the next morning, with a feeling of contentment. Hermione lay on her back, while he lay on his side next to her. Her hair engulfed his face, teasing his nostrils with its lavender scent, and sometime during the night, he must have pulled her closer, his arm still thrown over her. In fact, his hand had somehow ended up beneath her camisole and had worked its way north.
"Oh!" she said, with a surprised squeak. While he had been drifting somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, stroking her satin skin, she had awoken abruptly, to find herself being fondled. Her cry woke Severus up fully and he pulled his hand away.
"Sorry," he said, moving away from her. "I forgot."
"That makes two of us," she said, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. She looked lovely, with rosy cheeks and disheveled hair, while she attempted to pull her nightshirt back down where it belonged. She retreated to the relative safety of the bathroom. He got out of bed, shaking off the last remnants of sleep before getting dressed. The dull ache that he had become used to sharpened, as he recalled her stricken face at finding him touching her. Was it so unbelievable that he would want to touch her, to make love to her? Probably not. But to her mind, what was truly baffling was that, at one time, she had wanted him to. Slowly, he got dressed and went out into the living room to eat breakfast. Hermione never joined him.
She stayed so long in the bathroom that Severus had to eat without her. He left for class angry with himself for losing control. He had meant to seduce her, to convince her that he was worthy, but he had ruined it. Would she ever trust him again? She apparently couldn't stand the thought of seeing him this morning. Last night, he felt that he had finally made some headway. They had discussed their relationship, both past and present. He had managed to tell her how he felt, in a manner of speaking. And then, he had fondled her this morning. Never mind that it happened in a hazy, half-asleep state; it had still been a breech of her newly constructed barriers. Wondering what he was to do, he stormed into the staff room.
"I need your help," he growled, in a low voice to McGonagall. She motioned for him to sit down, and Severus was happy to note that Sinistra and Flitwick got up, leaving the two some privacy.
"What's wrong?" Minerva asked.
"I did what you said. I gave her a gift and told her how I felt, but…"
"But?"
"But, I think I pushed her too far, too fast. She wouldn't talk to me this morning." He tried to be as vague as possible, not relishing the idea of providing gossip for the rest of the staff.
"Then tell her that. Apologize for moving too quickly and ask her what she wants to do."
"But, what if she wants to leave?" he protested. After her reaction this morning, he felt certain this would be a likely possibility.
"Then, convince her to stay. You always did have a nice turn of words," she said, standing. "I have an early NEWT class this morning. Good luck." And then, she was gone. Severus glanced at the clock. He had his own class to get to.
He taught his class in his usual manner, but for all the thought that he put into it, he was lucky that he knew the lessons by heart after so many years. Instead, he worried about Hermione and what he would say to her that night. Would she even still be there when he returned?. In their past, she had felt the same sting of rejection from him. Although, when he pondered it, he decided what he was feeling was definitely worse as she had never known his affections before. When he rebuffed her, it had been a natural and predictable response. There had been the sneering and insults of her school days, the barbs questioning her intelligence as they brewed potions for the Order, and the not-so-subtle hints to leave him alone as she worked on proving him innocent.
They were poring over law books, Muggle and Magic alike, when she did it. Her head bowed over the pages, she didn't even look up as her hand shot out and grabbed his forearm. He inhaled sharply as her hand rested right over his Mark.
"What are you doing, Miss Granger," he demanded, glaring at the offending hand.
"I think I might have found something!" she exclaimed, giving his arm a squeeze before finally letting go. She looked up to meet his glare, "Don't look at me like that. I think it's really something this time." He ignored the fact that she had completely misinterpreted his meaning.
"It hasn't been anything other than rubbish, the last three times; so forgive me if I withhold judgment."
"Withhold judgment," she snorted. "When have you ever done anything of the sort?"
Except, of course, that his not-so-subtle hints had been for naught. She either, could not take a hint or she willingly ignored them. He remembered becoming increasingly comfortable and uncomfortable in her presence. He couldn't wake up or go to bed, without thinking of Hermione Granger. And, for every time that he ejected her from his quarters, she reappeared the next day, just as eager as the day before.
"Miss Granger, go home!" he demanded. He had left her, thinking they were through for the night, only to come back from his office, where he was grading papers, to find her dozing over her law books.
"J-just five more minutes."
"No! I may accept that I require your help in this matter; but, I refuse to accept you as my bloody roommate. Go home!"
"Fine," she snapped, as she came fully awake. "I'll see you tomorrow." She said it every night and it worried him every time.
"And, eat something before you come back. I'm tired of listening to McGonagall comparing me to a slave driver." She nodded and left, but he thought for certain, that he heard her mumbling something under her breath that sounded like, "You are a slave driver." He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, before dragging himself to bed.
She had persevered and had finally won him over. It may not be easy, but nevertheless, he was committed to this relationship. He would not, could not, lose her.
A/N: So this story, like so many other stories is AU, although if we're honest with ourselves HG/SS has always been AU. I actually like the canon 'ships the way they turned out, but I will not be jumpingthis ship just becauseof HBP. No worries, I won't be abandoning this story. I have too much invested in it to do that. Cupid's Arrow will befinished eventually as well. I hope you keep reading and please leave a review. I need the pick me up.