Warning

This story is not suitable for readers under the age of sixteen. 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 27 – A Change of Plan

By Wednesday morning, the students were well into the spirit of Christmas, and had hoped that the same would apply to the teachers. Alas, this was not the case – and certainly not when it came to Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall had decided that a surprise test would be an effective method of keeping her students focused on work, and sprang this on them at the start of the lesson. Hermione, naturally, finished earlier than most, and was using the time to revise her notes (she was one of the few who didn't object to the teachers' unforgiving workloads), when the teacher leaned over to her.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall asked quietly, so as not to disturb those still working, "as you have finished your test, I wonder if you would mind slipping down to the dungeon for me? Professor Snape offered to supply me with some dragonfly wings, and I have not had chance to collect them from him."

Hermione smiled. How could she object to a trip to the dungeon?

The class of first years studiously measuring and mixing, under the watchful eye of the Potions Master, looked every bit as nervous as Hermione remembered being, in first year Potions. The mixtures in the cauldrons were mostly a deep mustard yellow, with the exception of the one in the corner, on which the teacher's attention was currently focused. The student responsible for the reddish, smoking liquid quivered visibly under Snape's glare, clearly wishing to be anywhere but where she was.

From her position in the open doorway, Hermione watched the scene, feeling incredibly sorry for the poor girl, who was wearing an expression remarkably like the one so often on Neville's face. However, she had long ago promised herself that she would not comment too much on his style of teaching. She had made her views known, but beyond that, felt that she had no right to interfere.

She studied him for a moment – those dark eyes, the hair down to his shoulders, the proud stance – he was not exactly handsome, but his appearance was striking, and just looking at him made her draw breath. As he spoke, his voice added to her arousal, rumbling inside her mind, exciting her with its throaty, resonant hum.

"Jenkins," growled Snape, "after more than three months of being in my class, you never cease to amaze me with your ever more fascinating ways of displaying your incompetence."

Hermione sighed. It was unfortunate (or maybe not, she reflected, wryly) that the words drew her thoughts away from his incredible sensuality. Miss Jenkins was looking miserably down at her feet, waiting for the inevitable deduction of house-points, and Hermione chose that moment to step in, drawing the cat's attention away from the mouse.

Snape looked up as she moved. "You are interrupting my lesson, Granger!"

They had long been playing this game in the sixth-year lessons, and Hermione met his less than warm welcome without expression. "I'm sorry Professor Snape," she responded composedly. "Professor McGonagall asked me to pick up some dragonfly wings for her."

He regarded her coldly, then turned to his desk, picked up a sealed package, and handed it to her. "Kindly inform Professor McGonagall that in future I would prefer not to be disturbed while I am teaching." Hermione was a little surprised. True, this was how they always acted during lessons, but she thought she knew his eyes well enough to see the glint in them as they battled. This time, there was nothing. She shrugged it off, lightly. He was getting too good at this game – he was beginning to fool even her.

"Yes, Professor."

Several hours later, Hermione was stepping back into the classroom, and paused at the doorway as she had done earlier. He was standing in much the same place as during their morning encounter, but this time with his back to her. She watched him for a moment, then spoke.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Professor," she said, stepping into the classroom, "but Professor McGonagall sent me!"

He did not turn. "I'm not in the mood for games, Hermione!" His voice was dispassionate. Cold.

Hermione's heart sank. This did not bode well for the lovely night they had planned – dinner, maybe a walk, making love in front of the fire. "Severus, what's wrong?" She closed the door behind her, and crossed over to him, placing a hand on his back.

He did not respond to the touch, acting as though he had not felt it. His arms were folded in front of him, and his back was rigid. "I see that you finally discovered the identity of the mysterious admirer." He still wasn't looking at her. "Have you been getting more roses?"

A relieved sigh went through Hermione's body. Was that all? If this was simply a case of misunderstanding, it should be easy to set the record straight. "Alistair told me last night, as I was leaving here, that he sent the rose. I told him I wasn't interested."

"You kissed him," he said, simply.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. I gave him a kiss on the cheek to thank him for the rose." She had no reason to lie to him about this – she genuinely had no interest in anyone but Severus. "It was a very sweet gesture, even if it was misguided."

Severus' resolute stance on this subject surprised and troubled Hermione very much. Surely he trusted her more than this? He knew that she loved him. How could he possibly suspect that she would even think of anyone else? Yet his body language showed no weakening of his resolve. Still he did not move, and, with his head held high, staring straight ahead, she could not even look straight into his eyes.

This was beginning to worry and annoy her. "What is going on, Severus?" she demanded. "Don't you trust me? You know that I love you. Why are you even questioning this?"

"I suppose Baddock is lucky that your friends weren't sneaking around when the two of you were kissing," Snape snarled. "He might have got the same reaction as me. He is a Slytherin, after all!"

Hermione's patience snapped. She turned away from him, disbelievingly, then whirled back to face him. "How dare you react this way to an innocent kiss?" she challenged. "If either of us has a right not to trust the other it's me! After what you did to me, I managed to put that behind us. I forgave you. I fell in love with you. How can you not trust me now?"

Snape had still not moved. She paused, unable to comprehend why he was doing this. "Do you know what I was thinking when I was talking to Alistair?" she asked him. "I was comparing him to you. I was thinking about how I could never even consider seeing him, when I'm so much in love with you." She took a deep breath, and calmed her voice, reducing it to the softness that he used as his weapon against the rest of the world. "Maybe I was wrong about you, Severus," she said softly.

Snape's eyes finally turned to meet hers, but they were black and unfeeling. "I think that now would be a good time for you to leave, Ms. Granger," he said, icily.

For a moment, she stared at him. "After what we've been through, I never thought that you wouldn't trust me, Severus," she told him softly, determined to keep her voice in check and not allow him to reduce her to tears in front of him. Fighting to keep herself under control, she left the classroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

Snape still did not move. Let her think that, he thought, coldly.

From the moment she had told him that she wasn't interested in Baddock, he had believed her without question. That was no longer an issue, and he had no doubts about her love. But let her think that. Let her believe that he was too jealous to trust her – too cynical ever to have faith in her. At least that would give her reason to hate him, and afford her some protection. It would be a less painful reason for her to live with than the truth behind his feelings. Or worse – less painful that allowing those feelings ever to come to the surface.

He looked down, and studied the red marks across his hand. They were healed inexpertly, but he really didn't care. He had deeper marks than these, although not all were quite as visible.

Their relationship could no longer be allowed to continue. That was certain. But he could never tell her why. The truth was more than she could possibly handle, and he would have to bear the burden alone.

Steeling himself against the waves of emotions that were threatening to drown him, he set his face into a mask of granite, and turned towards his rooms alone.

Harry looked up from the chessboard as Hermione passed through the Gryffindor common room. He was losing badly, as always, and his players were getting impatient, sensing the approach of their twelfth defeat in a row!

"Hermione?" he called after her, as she rushed by them. There was no reply, and she disappeared up the stairs. He hadn't seen her face clearly, but he was sure she had been crying.

Ron turned to look in the direction she had left. "What was wrong?"

Harry shrugged, concerned. "I suppose she and Snape must have had an argument."

He caught his friend's eye, and realized that he was struggling with the same feelings as himself. But no – Hermione had been happy lately – neither of them could possibly wish for things to go wrong, however much they hated Snape.

Ron looked around, and caught his sister's eye. She was across the other side of the common room, and had seen Hermione's quick run through. She mouthed something that Ron couldn't quite catch, but her meaning was clear as she set off up the stairs after her friend.

She was only gone for a few minutes, though, and returned looking downcast. "She's crying in her room," she reported, "but she won't let me in. She wouldn't say anything."

Looking at each other, uncomfortably, they had no option but to wait for her to come out.

The next day, Hermione went about her lessons as normal, refusing to talk to Ron and Harry about what had happened. "It will sort itself out," she told them, when they asked, then firmly changed the subject.

It was what she had been telling herself all day. She had cried herself to sleep, finally, in the early hours of the morning, then woken with a resolve to smooth things over. She would go to him after her classes, and force him to listen to her.

The time approached, and as she left her final class of the day, she hurried to leave her bags in the Gryffindor tower, then raced across the common room to go to his rooms. Before she could reach the portrait hole, however, she heard a snatch of conversation that stopped her. Two second years were talking excitedly in the armchairs by the fire.

"So Potions tomorrow is cancelled?" one of them was asking.

The other sounded like Christmas was early. "Yep!" she laughed happily. "My brother said that he left straight after their class this afternoon. He didn't have a class last thing today, and he's cancelled all his classes tomorrow."

They were practically jumping out of their chairs. "No more Potions until next year! Merry Christmas, Professor Snape!"

As Hermione reached the dungeon at a full run, she knew that she would find it empty. The classroom – deserted. His office – empty. His private rooms – she opened them with the spell she knew so well, but knew that it was pointless. She still had to check, though, before she could make herself believe it.

Severus had left without her.