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He watched her as she ate. Pushing back the information she knew, she smiled and laughed with her friends. She looked carefree but if watched close enough, you saw how her shoulders were slumped, looking defeated. Her eyes weren't as bright as usual and her mannerisms lacked her usual enthusiasm.

He loved her so much. He wanted her to be alive again. He hated himself for putting another burden on her shoulders, but if he hadn't told her she would have found out by the Headmaster or by Potter.

Severus couldn't remember the last time someone made his as happy as Hermione did. She was smart and beautiful. Her intelligence was matched by no other, except maybe his own.

She was a Gryffindor, but if you could get past that quality, she was perfect. Severus almost chuckled at the table. Others had thought their differences in House would have made it difficult to maintain a relationship, but her Gryffindor qualities were what he loved most. It was her strength and courage that made her wonderful. She wasn't afraid to fight with him. Even in class they would whisper their arguments to each other when he walked by her making sure no caldrons was ready to explode.

Not many knew of their relationship, just a few of the Gryffindors who Hermione trusted most. Harry and Ron had been shocked at first but in the end decided her happiness was more important. The staff of course knew, but kept it in secret so the ministry had no idea of what happened behind closed doors. Minerva had even been supportive of Severus, though she had threatened to castrate him if he dared hurt her favorite student.

Sometimes, when Severus thought very hard, he could recall the exact moment his feelings towards Hermione changed. Honestly though, the change had been so gradual that when it occurred it wasn't the momentous occasion he sometimes imagined it to be.

Remembering, he could picture her sitting in his Advanced Potions class. She sat in the front, as usual choosing the seat closest to him though at that point he didn't know why she chose to sit so close. On her left was Potter and at her right was Weasley. Somehow Longbottom had managed to get into his 7th year potions class and was seated behind Malfoy on the right side of the room. Why he didn't sit closer to Hermione he didn't know, since he was guaranteed to need her help.

She looked strangely confident, a brave smile on her face as she sat ready to take notes and brew the assigned potion. She was ready.

He stood in front of the class and with a sharp glance he caught their attention. With their shutting mouths, he glared smugly to each of them. "Get you ingredients and begin!" he practically shouted.

He remembered how her eyes watched him as he strutted back to his desk. It had felt somewhat creepy, like she was studying him more intently then her potion. Turning to meet her gaze, she had turned a slight pink and quickly turned away.

After that day, he had noticed her staring more and more. In the halls, he would feel her gaze burning into him, at meals, she looked to the head table more then she looked to her friends. Slowly he began looking more at her, constantly meeting her gaze. Sometimes she would send a smile, other times she would giggle and blush. He had been appalled at her first smile. Why in Merlin's name would she, Hermione Granger, Gryffindor know-it-all, smile at him? But, strangely enough, he liked it. He liked the way her smile met her eyes and how she would turn a cherry sort of pink when she became embarrassed. He liked how she didn't care that her hair was a little messy and that she wore no make-up. He even liked her ink stained fingers from her 10 feet parchment long essays.

After a few weeks, it became more of a competition. Who would turn away first? Most times, he won but only because she was forced to turn away and look back to her friends. He found himself thinking about legs, long and slender, which were partially hidden from her uniform as she kept the shirt length to her knees. He thought, no fantasized, about her hands. He wanted so badly to have them roam around his body or just to hold her hand in his. He thought about her face and how he could get lost in her eyes. Her hair, while still curly, had become more tame. Most days she held it high in a tight bun, exposing her slender neck. Oh, how he wanted to kiss that neck and rub his face in her hair. He was falling and he had no idea why.

There were nights when he would lie in bed and he would dream of her. She would lie next to him, holding his hand, kissing his cheek and he would smile. Severus Snape would actually smile. Other times, he would see her come into his quarters wearing nothing but her outer robes and she would climb into bed with him and kiss him with a fire he had never felt. His body would burn where she touched and he was sure he would wake with marks the next morning. Sometimes, his throbbing was so painful he was sure that no matter what actions he took, it wouldn't be contained.

In the morning, he would be disgusted with himself because, she was after all his student. Feeling such things would never be allowed. Yet he allowed himself some hope that maybe, just maybe, the reason she stared at him so much was because she felt the same things that he was.

Two weeks before Christmas break, the unbelievable happened. She had received a detention for helping Neville and even though she arrived right on time, she wore a scowl. She had been told to clean that day's cauldrons. She began her work with no remark.

He watched her, his eyes never leaving her form. He watched as sweat creased her brow as she shrugged off her robe to get comfortable, as one piece of hair constantly fell in front of her eyes. After about the fourth time of her pushing the hair back behind her ear he couldn't take it anymore.

He had startled her when he stood up from his chair. She had even let an out a little squeak when he threw the cauldron to the side, wrapped his hands around her neck and placed his lips on hers. He was on fire. She was on fire. Every image he had thought about came rushing into his head and he didn't want to let her go.

That incident had sparked something in them both and many evening after he found her knocking on his office door. She would come in and sit down, never saying a word, just basking in his company. During Christmas break he was miserable. She was gone and he missed her terribly.

The night she had returned, he hadn't even been able to say "Hello," before he was called to a Death Eater meeting. The pain in his arm so great that he had barely made it to the Headmaster before grabbing a portkey to leave the grounds. The usual fun was had that evening and when Severus returned he was torn and beaten. She had been there. She had been sitting patiently in an armchair waiting for him. She had coaxed him into bed with a glass of warm milk and then gently took off his out layers of clothing. While marveling his bloodstained clothes, she still said nothing. After helping him get as comfortably possible she had climbed into bed with him. He had said nothing when she snuggled against him, noticing for the first time she was in her nightclothes, a white tank top and boxer shorts. She put her head on his chest, content to hear his heart beat. Even through the pain, it was the best night's sleep he could remember.

Every night after that, he found her climbing into his bed. Sometimes she would come right after curfew, other nights she wouldn't climb in until after midnight. How she knew the passwords to get in, he didn't know, but he had a feeling Albus had something to do with it. Not surprising, the old man had been happy when he went with Hermione to him one Saturday to explain themselves. He had smiled his usual smile, his eyes filled with his bright twinkle. He had even congratulated them and wished them happiness...

And happiness was what he had. He wouldn't lose her at the final battle ... no matter what.