Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of seventeen. It contains sexual content, including some non-consensual, and may offend some readers. If this subject is offensive to you, please do not read this story.

Chapter 4 – Waiting for the Axe to Fall

It was a long night for Snape. A night of reflection on his history - things long gone and things recent. His tormented mind raced with visions of past horrors, pains and dark emotions. Apart from his dealings with Dumbledore and the school, there was very little in his past that could cast enough light into his personal darkness to banish the demons that lurked there. The flicker of something brighter - which he had glimpsed only briefly a few hours ago, holding Hermione in his arms - was too overpowered with the darkness of his actions to stand any chance of shining.

All night, he sat alone in his office, not knowing when the knock on the door would come, that would signal the end of his time at Hogwarts. Dumbledore's face would not show anger, but disappointment in the man in whom he had put so much trust. When he arrived, Snape would be here, calm and accepting, ready to admit to all that Hermione had accused him of. He had no right to deny any of it - he had to show her that much respect. He sat, expectant, watching the door.

Waiting for the axe to fall.

He awoke gradually, stiff from where his head had fallen sideways against the wings of the chair. He had been sitting there since not long after Hermione left, and it was now - he glanced at the clock - a little after seven in the morning. He remembered still being awake at after four, so he couldn't have had much more than a couple of hours' sleep. It didn't matter. What he remembered of it was not relaxing, but a nightmare continuation of his waking thoughts and memories.

He shuddered and stood. He hadn't left the room since Hermione left, but now returned to his private rooms to shower. His eyes closed as the water splashed over his body. Why was he still here? If Hermione had gone straight to McGonagall after leaving his office last night, it would have been an hour or two, at most, before Dumbledore confronted him. Why had that not happened? Perhaps Hermione had needed some time to deal with her ordeal before having to re-live it by telling anyone else.

That must be it - she would be talking to McGonagall this morning, or maybe she already had. Dumbledore could be on his way.

He stepped out of the shower and dressed. If he was going to be leaving the school, he should make sure that things were in order before he left. He had, long ago, banned the House Elves from the dungeon, so the smashed vials and scattered papers from his desk (his stomach clenched at the memory) needed to be cleaned up. There were scrolls to be marked and ingredients to be obtained - from the list of deficiencies that he and Hermione had identified - to keep the stores sufficiently stocked. Again, he tensed at the thought of her, but forced it out of his mind as he focused on his new task. He realized with a jolt how much his teaching had come to mean to him. His pride couldn't allow him to leave his department in a mess - he would never have imagined that he could feel this way about it.

As he worked, one thought kept coming back to his mind over and over again. Why had Dumbledore not arrived to confront him?

Waiting for the axe to fall.

It was late in the morning, and Hermione sat on the edge of her bed, with her torn shirt in her hands. She had woken a few minutes earlier after a long and deep sleep. Her night had, at first, been plagued by dreams - half frightening, half exciting - filled with mixed up images from the evening, but her sleep had eventually slipped beyond the reach of dreams, giving her the rest she needed after her emotionally draining night.

Her body was stiff as she moved, and she thought with mixed emotions of the reasons why. She had reached for the shirt - a very physical reminder of Snape's strength and passion - and simply sat, staring at it for several minutes.

Outside, the rain beat on the window, the stormy weather seeming strangely appropriate to go with the turbulent emotions running wild at the moment. Hermione stood to gaze outside. The view from the Gryffindor tower covered a lot of landscape, both inside and outside the castle grounds, and towards the hills in the distance. She gazed, unseeing, through the rain, until something moving in the grounds caught her attention. The only person she could think of who would be out there in this would be Hagrid, and she absently followed the figure's path. But it was too small to be Hagrid. Black robes were crouched at the herb gardens behind the greenhouses, and it was only when they straightened that she recognized the form of Snape.

Her heart pounded. How was she ever going to face him again? The memory of what he'd done to her, and her realization that she wanted him to do it again, was constantly in her mind. How could she now face him in their next lesson? What would either of them say? Maybe she could make herself ill on Monday. Put off the encounter for another week. Maybe she should attend the lesson like nothing had happened. But if she did that, would she be able to keep the longing out of her eyes? When she was in his presence, would she simply go to pieces?

Unable to take her eyes off the figure in the rain, she stood, clutching the ripped fabric of her shirt, as the tears rolled once more.

"Hermione?" Harry's voice accompanied the knock on her door, a little while later. "Are you awake?" She quickly turned from the window and wiped her face.

Coughing, to check her voice before she spoke, she called, "I'm just getting dressed. I'll be down there in ten minutes!"

"Okay." Hermione, shaking herself to pull herself together, quickly hid the shirt in a drawer and headed for a fast shower. The cool, fresh water felt good on her skin, and she dressed feeling a little better and hurried down the stairs to the common room. She really didn't want to do much, but spending some time with Ron and Harry would at least help to take her mind off things.

"What happened to you last night?" Hermione froze at Ron's question. What did he know? "You still weren't back when we went to bed." She relaxed. Ron accepted her explanation of going to the library without question. "Should have known!"

"We're going to go and see Hagrid before lunch," Harry informed her. "Ron got news about Norbert from his brother, so we're going to show Hagrid the letter. Coming?"

"Sure." After everything that happened last night, it felt good to be doing 'normal' things. Nothing could completely take her mind of Snape right now, but she had to try. Together, they headed out of the portrait-hole and towards the front door.

It was only as Hermione's mind wandered back to her window and the figure in the rain that she realized the possibility of their paths crossing. She didn't know if she could deal with that right now. All was clear as they approached the door, but as Harry lifted the heavy latch and opened it, they met Snape face to face.

The world stood still for a moment, even the rain, as Hermione took in his appearance. He was soaked through, carrying a basket overflowing with plants. She had never before considered his physical appearance to be attractive in any way, but now his mere presence had an effect on her. Her heart fluttered at the sight of his dark eyes, and at the thought of the lean body his robes concealed. Severus! Their eyes met for a moment, but she found it impossible to read anything in them. She looked away, not knowing what else to do.

Harry was standing immediately in front of him, and received Snape's usual snarl, as he seemed to recover himself. "Out of my way, Potter!" He pushed roughly past, and into the castle.

"That's unusual," muttered Harry. "I'd never have pictured Snape as a gardener!"

Ron snorted. "Did you see the mark he had on his face?" Hermione had noticed it. A prominent scratch across his right cheek where her nails had drawn his blood. She said nothing, and followed Harry and Ron in silence, fighting the urge to look back before she closed the castle door behind them.

Under normal circumstances, Professor Snape would never have dreamed of collecting potion ingredients himself, but today he made an exception. Professor Sprout might object to anyone else harvesting her precious crops, but that was simply too bad. He wanted to make sure his stores were complete before he had to leave them, and the rain might do him some good.

He took his time in the garden, consulting his list to make sure he got everything, and stopping occasionally to put his head back and allow the cool drops to splash into his face and run down his neck. There were only a few items that he couldn't find in the garden, and would need to ask Professor Sprout to replenish for him from the greenhouses, as usual.

Mentally, he planned the treatments needed for each item for his stores, as he headed back to the castle. Most simply required drying and crushing, but others needed special preparation. He hoped he would have the time. He reached the door, but before he could reach for the handle, it swung open.

Hermione! Her face looked pale as she stared back at him, then she turned away. Who could blame her, after what he'd done? It wrenched his heart to see her face, so disgusted that she couldn't bear to look at him. He resorted to his only mechanism of defense.

"Out of my way, Potter!" He pushed roughly past, and into the castle, fighting the urge to turn to watch the girl.

He didn't get much further before he was stopped again.

"Severus." He turned at the sound of Minerva's voice. This was it. It was all about to start - the accusations, the disgust. "It's about Hermione Granger." He braced himself. "I know that we don't always see eye to eye, but I was so pleased when I heard that you'd approved the project she's working on. It means so much to her."

He was shocked by the sudden realization that Hermione had not told McGonagall about last night. Recovering just enough to avoid suspicion, he managed to respond in the way she would expect. "I'll be expecting you to see to it that she doesn't let me down or waste my time, Minerva." He hurried off.

If Hermione had not told McGonagall, then whom had she told? And why had Dumbledore not been to throw him out of the school? Was it possible that Hermione had not told anyone? He could barely believe that, especially after her reaction to him at the door.

What was going on?

He tried to think of any reason why she would be keeping this to herself, but the only one he could think of was so painful it made him almost wish she would tell. Maybe the whole thing was so painful to her that she couldn't even face talking about it.

His work during the day had given him something to focus on, certain in the knowledge that he would soon be gone, and resigned to that fact. Now this gave him a whole new situation to consider. Maybe he would have to continue teaching here - teaching Hermione. To try to carry on as though nothing had happened was incomprehensible. How could he ever face her again?

Hermione was trembling as she once again stepped down into the dungeon. It was close to eight o'clock in the evening, and her whole day seemed to have been spent working up the courage to do this. Her reaction to him that morning, and her constant worries about the next Potions lesson had convinced her that she could not allow their next meeting to be in a lesson. It would be impossible to deal with that. Her only option was to confront him now.

The decision, once she had made it, had been a relief, but finding the nerve to carry it out took all the strength she had. The alternative was to go on torturing herself until Monday, and at this rate, she would be a nervous wreck by then. She braced herself and knocked softly on Snape's office door.

Sitting in silence, alone in his office, Snape startled at the sound. Dumbledore?

"Come in," he growled.

The door creaked open.