Disclaimer: Anything you recognise belongs to the immeasurable genius of JK Rowling; I just like to borrow them and play with them.
Chapter 36
In the next week and a half, Hermione saw very little of Severus at all. It was two nights after Draco took the Vow before Hermione was even able to talk to him alone; by that time, whatever effect the removal of his Vow had on him, it had been carefully concealed, even from her.
The full moon was approaching again; as well as making the Wolfsbane variation from the previous month, Severus was also making numerous other adaptations of the original. Lupin had made contact with others of his kind who were eager to have the burden of their affliction lessened in exchange for assisting the Order; now they wanted proof of the potion's ability to help them. Hermione was still brewing for Madam Pomfrey, too, but he had asked her to work around the nights he was in the lab.
The Wolfsbane was still very much experimental - and possibly volatile - and he wouldn't risk her presence if something went wrong. She argued that she should be there for that very reason, but he would not be moved. Consequently, she did her brewing in the lab alone, the door to the sitting room closed while Severus worked with Malfoy.
Hermione hadn't asked what they did in their long meetings, and he hadn't spoken of it voluntarily. After the initial shock of his discovery, the Head Boy had realised his anger at his former Head of House was misplaced, and also that Severus was quite possibly the only person who could adequately guide him through the delicate situation he now found himself to be in. She assumed Occlumency would be a major part of the lessons – if Malfoy's father took him before Voldemort again, revealing what he now knew would have far-reaching consequences for them all.
Hermione only hoped the lessons were more productive than those Harry had toiled through with their former Potions master during fifth year. There was an element of trust involved, Hermione supposed, to make one's mind vulnerable enough to learn such an art, and the lack of that trust had undoubtedly been the root of Harry's failure.
It was different with Malfoy, though. He had always held Severus in high regard, and now, after learning of the dangerous game the older man had been playing for nigh on two decades, that respect had increased exponentially.
Though it had been far beyond his control, Snape was guilt-ridden over Malfoy having been forced to take the Mark, and had taken it upon himself to prepare the Slytherin for whatever he might have to face in the near future. Hermione shuddered to think of the topics they would be covering in those preparatory lessons, and she wondered if he was recounting his own experiences in order to strength Malfoy's defences against the horrors he would undoubtedly have to face?
One morning, before breakfast, Hermione went down to the lab to bottle and then retrieve the now-cooled potion she had brewed the previous night. As she took out her wand to unward the lab door, something shimmering caught her eye, and she turned to see a Pensieve in the middle of the desk. She stepped closer, recognising the bowl filled with memories as the same one Severus had used to view her memory of the first altercation with Goyle, so many months ago. The silvery contents were rippling slightly – whether they were Snape's or Malfoy's memories, she didn't know - and she checked her curiosity to move closer still, unpleasant recollections of when Dumbledore had taken her into his Pensieve resurfacing.
Still, as she turned and opened the door to the lab, she couldn't resist one last glance over her shoulder at the silvery allure of the shimmering substance.
Returning to the room not five minutes later, she resolutely ignored the bowl on the desk and crossed to the door of the hidden passage, balancing two large phials of the potion in one hand as she reached for her wand again.
Just as she was about to leave, though, she heard a noise and stopped. Listening carefully, she realised it was the muffled sound of running water coming from the bathroom. A fleeting image of Severus, head bowed, hands braced on the tiled wall of the shower as the water cascaded over his back, came unbidden into her mind.
She flushed, a tingling warmth spreading throughout her body. Hermione wondered briefly – though it was a crazy notion she would never have the courage to put into practice – what he would do if she joined him in his current... activity.
She closed her eyes, imagining the surprise on his face turn to appreciation – and anticipation – as her intentions became clear to him. Hermione licked her lips unconsciously and imagined letting her gaze travel down his pale, wet torso to settle on...
Her imagination failed her there, though, for she had yet to lay eyes upon anything below his waist... save for his feet, of course. She had felt more, though. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of the mornings she awoke to find him melded close behind her...
The clink of the phials in her hand brought her back to reality, and she shook herself, trying to tamp down her riotous hormones.
By the time she had delivered the potion to the Hospital Wing and reached the Great Hall for breakfast, she had managed to calm down by talking to herself quite severely. Honestly, she scolded herself. You're acting like some randy teenage boy!
Despite her self-scolding, though, throughout the day she found it increasingly difficult to banish thoughts of Severus from her mind... especially the kind of thoughts that caused her to blush hotly in the middle of class. She was thankful they were practising particularly difficult charms that afternoon, as she could at least blame the redness of her cheeks on effort and concentration.
If she ever thought not seeing Severus would be easier than seeing him but not really being able to be with him, she was wrong. She had shared his bed once in the whole week and a half since the night Malfoy followed her, and even then she had fallen asleep before he had joined her. She had woken up the following morning to find him beside her, his head buried in her hair, sniffing unconsciously as the frizz irritated his nose.
Other than that, she had hardly seen him, and never alone.
She missed the evenings in his sitting room, studying at his desk or curled up next to him on the couch, reading; she missed being in the lab with him while he brewed, explaining the next step to her, or why a particular ingredients was used instead of another. She missed the spontaneous kisses she never knew he was in the mood for until he left her breathless with one, and she missed waking up next to him in the soft grey light of the early morning, warmth radiating from his body.
At first, she had resolved not to complain - the time he spent with Malfoy could very well save the Slytherin's life if he was called before Voldemort in the near future – but her tolerance of their relationship as it now stood was quickly fading. She knew it was selfish, but how could she be expected to just push her feelings for him aside, when they had been so close to taking that final step?
Her physical yearning aside, there was still just a simple desire to spend time with one she cared so deeply about. Every week that passed brought them nearer to the inevitable confrontation with Voldemort, and though Severus was no longer bound to Dumbledore's wishes by magic, being free from obligation had seen surprisingly little change in his life so far.
Though she hadn't had the chance to raise the subject, she had always known there was more depth and honour to Severus' obedience of the Headmaster than just the Vow. She knew, deep down, Severus would still do whatever Dumbledore required of him to help win the war. Things could go badly for either of them, and though she had utmost faith in Harry to fulfil the prophecy and defeat Voldemort, the thought of the confrontation terrified her.
The night after the Vow, Hermione, Harry and Ron were called to the Headmaster's office, accompanied by Professor McGonagall. There had been a tense moment of absolute silence when Severus Flooed in with Draco close behind him, and then Harry had exploded. To his credit, Malfoy had remained silent while Harry shouted, stamped and pleaded with the Headmaster that it was all a grand scheme of Voldemort's. Severus watched the scene with an impassive expression, though Hermione noticed his right hand was tensed to pull his wand from his sleeve if Harry turned on the Head Boy.
He didn't though, and seemed to lose momentum when he realised no one – not even Ron, to Hermione's surprise – seemed to agree with his accusations. Finally, he had slumped down into his chair and allowed Dumbledore to calmly explain the circumstances and Malfoy's Vow.
Harry had been silent, eyeing the Slytherin with distrust, but there was no denying the validity of the Vow. When the Headmaster insisted, he had grudgingly shaken hands with Malfoy, still eyeing him with distrust. To Hermione's surprise, and unasked by Dumbledore, Malfoy had then extended his hand to Ron, too. Her red-haired friend had been sitting silently since Malfoy had arrived, not joining Harry in his accusations, but neither trying to calm his fellow Gryffindor.
He did accepted Malfoy's offered hand, though, and Hermione saw McGonagall and Dumbledore exchange an approving glance.
On the Thursday night of the week following the confrontation with Malfoy, Hermione was sitting in the common room with Ron. They were both attempting to read over her Transfiguration notes from sixth year, but neither could concentrate. Harry was with Dumbledore again, and he had been growing more restless as the days went by. He was hardly concentrating on any of his classes except Defence, and on more than one occasion Hermione had caught him reading books full of Dark spells instead of revising for his NEWTs. She had no idea where the books had come from; they looked advanced beyond even those in the Restricted Section of the library, and she very much doubted the Headmaster would have supplied any student, even Harry, with such materials.
Against her better judgement, though, she told no one else of the books except Ron. Something had changed in Harry; he was meeting with Dumbledore almost every night, returning to the common room silent, but with anger flashing in his eyes. Hermione and Ron had finally discovered what was wrong, though their friend's explanation had done nothing but increase their concerns. Harry had decided, with Malfoy on their side, they could use him to find Voldemort – find him and finish him once and for all.
His stony resolve, when he had told them he wanted to make the first strike against the enemy, frightened Hermione. She was glad the Headmaster had refused to act, but what if Harry took it upon himself to act outside the Headmaster's wishes? It wouldn't be the first time, and as reckless as it would be, how could she or Ron not follow him on whatever fool's errand he chose to take?
Hermione was already worried for Harry, Ron and Severus if it came to a carefully planned confrontation with the whole Order behind them. If Harry chose to act first, who knew what would happen?
She kept her worries to herself, though; she was afraid to show Harry anything less than full support for his ability to defeat Voldemort – alone or otherwise – and Ron had enough to worry about with his entire family in the Order. Previously, she'd been able to go to Severus with her worries. There were no illusions about the way he still felt about her two best friends, but he listened to her concerns impartially and kept his snide comments about Gryffindor recklessness and stupidity to a minimum.
Just having someone to talk to eased the confusion of worries and feelings in her mind, but now there wasn't even the opportunity for her to talk with him. She didn't want him to reassure her with false words of comfort; she just needed someone to know – to notice – how much everything was getting to her. Perhaps it was selfish wanting to share her concerns with him when he had so much to deal with already, but she honestly felt that if she didn't see him - and talk to him - that night, she wouldn't be able to hold herself together for even another day.
Muttering something about going for a walk to clear her head, she left Ron and made her way out into the corridors. She could have Flooed directly from her room, of course, but then Ron would have deduced where she was going. Her red-haired friend had gone so far as to mention he was glad for the time they had spent together in the last few weeks, and so she was loathe to admit she was leaving his company for another's.
Halfway down the many flights of stairs to the first floor, she met Malfoy. The Head Boy glanced around and, seeing they were alone, asked, "Where are you going?"
She raised her eyebrows in what she thought was a knowing look and simply said, "The first floor."
Malfoy's eyes narrowed and he frowned.
"He's brewing tonight; he told me not to come."
"I won't disturb him," she said, annoyed at his interest. As he eyed her contemplatively, it wasn't the first time whether she wondered if he had deduced the extent of her relationship with his former Head of House?
The night he had followed her, he had probably been too shocked with the realisation Severus was alive to register what she had been saying... propositioning, she thought with a blush. He'd seen them interacting since then, though, on the sparse occasions they had all been in the same room together, and he was nothing if not perceptive.
She doubted whether he would have been so bold as to question Snape about it, nor was she sure what the older man would have said if asked, but she still got the distinct feeling he knew more than he was letting on.
"I won't be staying long," she finally said. "I left a book I need in his sitting room."
Malfoy shrugged, then, and stepped back from her, seeing a group of first-years ascending the staircase towards them.
"Just thought I'd warn you," he said quietly, too low for the approaching students to hear. "He doesn't like to be disturbed when he's busy."
She drew herself up, fixing her face with the haughty expression she usually graced him with in public.
"I think I know that, Malfoy," she said. The first-years, who had reached the landing on which the Head Boy and Girl stood, stopped their conversation; the animosity between the two older students was palpable.
Malfoy glared at Hermione, the meaning of her words not lost on him, before turning and continuing on upstairs. Ignoring the younger students still looking at her, Hermione continued downstairs to the first floor, resolving to also ask Severus just what he had told Malfoy about them.
If she had been hoping to talk, though, she was wrong. From the moment she opened the lab door, it was clear he was in no mood for interruptions, and she bit her lip, wondering if she should have heeded Malfoy's warning after all.
"I'm rather busy," he said tersely, barely sparing her a glance as she stood in the doorway, her hand still on the doorknob.
"Can I help?" she asked.
"No."
"Do you mind if I stay, then?" she persisted.
"I'd rather you didn't," he said, picking up another phial and emptying the contents carefully into the steaming cauldron.
She remained in the doorway, watching him with a mixture of confusion and disappointment. Everything she wanted to say to him was bubbling just under the surface; she was tired of not being able to talk to him, and tonight might be her only chance for another week and a half, if things continued the way they had been. She didn't think she could keep herself together for that long.
Her eyes snapped back to him, startled, as he set an empty jar down on the workbench with more force than necessary, and his own eyes flashed his annoyance at her.
"Don't just stand there," he snapped. "If you insist on staying, sit down and keep quiet. Otherwise, and preferably, leave. I have no time for idle chatter tonight."
He turned back to the potion without another glance in her direction, and she stepped back out into the other room, closing the door behind her. She was stung by his abrupt dismissal; normally, his terse words didn't bother her and she retorted in kind, but tonight, with everything weighing so heavily on her mind, they were simply too much.
She didn't know why she was feeling so emotional lately; it wasn't like her at all. She was usually so level-headed and in control, but in the last few days the slightest ill-thought remark had her close to tears.
Worse than the confusion of emotions running through her, though, was the realisation none of her friends had noticed. Not Harry, not Ron, and not even Severus seemed aware of her distress in the slightest. As far as the latter was concerned, she had been glad at first. She hated showing weakness in front of him, believing it to be a reminder of how young she still was.
Now, though, all she wanted was some sympathy, most especially from him. Despite snapping at her tonight, she knew he wasn't uncaring of her worries; he simply hadn't seen enough of her to realise anything was wrong. She resolved to wait for him tonight, though, in the hope that when he finally came to bed he would be in a better mood, good enough at least to lend an ear while she vented her frustrations. It felt good, she had already discovered, to be able to talk to someone who simply listened without offering false words of comfort or unnecessary advice... though she would gladly take comfort from him, too.
Pacing aimlessly, she found herself in his bedroom. She estimated she had at least two hours to wait until the potion was complete and he could join her. The best thing to do while she waited, Hermione decided, was to try to get some rest, in the hope of gaining some semblance of control over her unruly emotions.
Kicking off her shoes and shrugging out of her outer robe, she curled up in the middle of the soft mattress, dragging one of the pillows from what had become Severus' side of the bed across to rest her head on, as she tried to ignore the tears that were again smarting at the corners of her eyes.
Instead of comforting her, being there in his room, alone, was only a reminder of how little she had seen him… and how much she missed him.
Breathing in the deep, earthy scent which clung to the pillow, she clutched it more tightly to her chest, hating how something could smell so much like him yet feel so different.
After setting the magical timer floating over the cauldron for forty-five minutes, Snape sank down onto the nearby stool, tiredly rubbing the bridge of his nose.
Glancing towards the closed door leading to the sitting room, he wondered if Hermione was still there. He had spoken to her rather harshly, he thought with a grimace, but she rarely interrupted him while he was brewing; she knew better, especially given the increasing importance of the Wolfsbane.
He wondered why she had risked his ire tonight to see if he could talk – or listen, she had amended, when he had first rebuked her request. She had looked... distressed, now he thought about it.
Her silent exit was unusual, too. On previous occasions when he had snarled at her in a fit of temper, she had done one of two things. If she was in a mood herself, she had met him with equal anger, reminding him swiftly she was no longer his student to be intimidated. Or, when she was in a more placating mood, she would watch him with mild eyes until he grew uncomfortable with the scrutiny and told her what was really bothering him.
And tonight there was much on his mind. Lucius Malfoy had again requested the presence of his son at home, and on a school night, no less. Again, the Headmaster had seen no choice but to acquiesce, leaving Snape to tell the boy he would quite possibly be facing the Dark Lord within the week.
Truthfully, he was worried sick about young Draco and what Dumbledore was asking of the boy. There really was little choice now, though. He would have to go home as requested in order to satisfy his father and not arouse suspicion that anything was amiss.
The Headmaster knew as well as Snape did that Narcissa's birthday was merely a convenient coincidence to lure Draco away from the school; the last day of April held a special significance for Voldemort, and Snape was convinced he would not let the date pass unnoticed.
Snape had said nothing of this to Hermione, though; he hadn't seen her to speak of it, and she would undoubtedly worry if she knew. While the Head Boy and Girl had been careful to maintain their frosty distance in public, Severus had been pleased to see Hermione extend the hand of friendship to her Slytherin counterpart on the occasions they had both been in his rooms.
Hermione's Gryffindor friends hadn't been so readily accepting of Malfoy, but that was to be expected. To his surprise, the Weasley boy had seemed more accepting of their new ally than Potter. Still, six years of animosity were hard to overcome, and he knew Hermione was more forgiving than most. She had, after all, forgiven him for six years worth of insults; forgiven, but not forgotten.
He had been surprised and dismayed to learn how much his comment about her teeth in her fourth year had hurt her. He hadn't given it a second thought at the time, but he felt a sharp pang of guilt when she had recounted it to him one night not so long ago. It was, she had said, the only time she had ever truly hated him. Most of the remarks he sent her way in class were backhanded compliments, from a certain point of view; there had been nothing backhanded about the four words he had spat at her that day, though. With the return of the Dark Lord close on the horizon, he had been on edge already, and the quarrelling Gryffindors and Slytherins had only antagonised him further. His comment to her had been made out of pure malice and spite, and though she laughed it off now, it bothered him that it was still there in the back of her mind.
And now, tonight, he seemed to have spoken too harshly again.
He sighed, cursing himself for speaking so abruptly; he should have realised she wouldn't disturb him while brewing but for something of great importance, and he hadn't bothered to find out what it was before dismissing her. He had seen so little of her already, since his lessons with Malfoy had begun to take up so much of his evening time, and now, when she came to him, obviously in need of something, he had turned her away without a second thought... it wasn't her fault he was already distracted from his work by unpleasant thoughts.
Eyeing the magical timer again, Snape noted there were still thirty-five minutes until he had to attend to the potion again. Time enough to make amends, he thought. Checking the flame beneath the cauldron to be sure it wasn't too high, he went into the sitting room to find Hermione.
The room was empty, but then his gaze fell on the bedroom door, slightly ajar; he knew he had closed it behind him that afternoon. Crossing the room and stepping just inside the door, he spotted her curled up in the middle of the bed, facing away from him, a pillow clutched tightly to her chest.
With quiet footsteps, in case she was asleep, he approached the bed, eyes widening in confusion as he realised she wasn't asleep.
She was blinking quickly in an effort to hide her unshed tears from him, but nothing could disguise her bloodshot eyes, the shiny tracks down her cheeks, or the wet patch on his pillow where her tears had fallen.
Dismayed, he sat gingerly on the edge of the bed behind her and leant over her, bracing one hand on the comforter across the other side of her body.
She stiffened and turned her head further from him, her unruly hair falling forwards to hide her face.
"Hermione?"
There was silence for a moment, and then his other hand reached for her shoulder, pulling gently to encourage her to turn over to face him. Reluctantly releasing her grasp on his pillow, she rolled onto her back and finally met his eyes.
"What-" he began, but she cut him off.
"It's nothing," she whispered hoarsely. "Don't worry about it."
"Don't worry?" he echoed. "Hermione, I'm sorry if I was abrupt before, but-"
"It's not that. I shouldn't have bothered you... I just... I'm just having a bad day and I just wanted to see you," she finished softly as another tear escaped one eye and ran down her temple into her hair.
Her confession brought a sudden, dull ache into his chest and he stared at her wordlessly for a moment. Even after everything that had happened, the idea that someone just wanted to see him was still foreign, as was the realisation, one evening after Draco had left earlier that week, that he very much wanted just to see her. He had even considered calling her through the Floo which connected their rooms, and had the powder in his hand before he noticed how late it was; she would likely be sleeping.
Such realisations also made him feel even worse, if possible, for turning her away so harshly when she had arrived tonight.
Spoken apologies on his part always seemed insincere and inadequate, in his eyes, though, and so he did the only other thing he could think of that might help.
He shifted on the bed, sitting so he could lean back against the headboard, and pulled her into his lap. She turned gratefully into his embrace, burying her head against his chest and snaking her own arms about his back. He could feel that she was crying again, trembling, but there must be more to her distress than a simple need to see him. Until she told him what else was wrong, though, he could do little more than hold her, one hand rubbing comforting circles on her back.
She quieted after some time and then pulled back to look up at him, an apologetic expression on her face.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be so-"
"You have nothing to apologise for, Hermione," Snape said, firmly but gently. "It is I who should be apologising; it seems my earlier callous dismissal of you has only compounded your distress, but would you care to enlighten me as to the other causes of it?"
"I don't know," she whispered uncertainly. "It's just… everything."
"I think you do know," he said, shifting slightly so she didn't have to tilt her head back at such an awkward angle to meet his eyes. "You cannot possibly be so distressed over not having seen me, bad day or not."
"No, it's not just that," she admitted. "But I have missed you."
"Don't change the subject," he said, though had he been a more openly expressive man, he might have returned the sentiment in kind.
She sighed and rested her head against him again, gazing across the room.
"I don't know where to start," she confessed. "I feel selfish even bringing up my worries when everyone has their own to deal with, so I guess I've just been keeping them all to myself."
"Not a good idea, for a start," he chastised her, ignoring the voice inside his head that suggested he take heed of his own advice.
"I know," she sighed, "but there's just no one to talk to. Harry has far too much to deal with on his own; now that Malfoy is on our side, he thinks it's a way to get to Voldemort, that Malfoy can lead him there. Professor Dumbledore won't hear of it though – he says the time isn't right – and so Harry is getting restless. I'm afraid he's going to do something stupid if he isn't allowed to take action soon."
"He learnt the hard way what rushing into a situation achieves," Snape reminded her, his lip curling as he recalled the boy leading his friends on such a fool's errand near the end of their fifth year.
"Yes," she countered, "but he just seems to have almost reached his breaking point, though, only he's too proud to be the first one to crack. Ron and I are trying to be there for him, but he's got his own problems – his whole family is out there, vulnerable... and I've got other things to worry about, too."
I've got you, was unspoken, but he knew she worried constantly about him, and about the role Dumbledore wanted him to play.
As though picking up on his thoughts, she murmured, "At least you're not bound to do everything he says anymore."
Snape sighed. He knew the conversation would eventually turn to this, and while he wouldn't lie to her, she wasn't going to like what he had to say.
"It was never just about the Vow, Hermione," he said quietly. "Albus gave me a second chance. When all that lay ahead of me was a dank cell in the bowels of Azkaban, he fought to give me a chance to right my wrongs. I can never hope to repay him that debt, and I will do all he asks of me in this war, Vow or not."
She looked up at him again, her already-bright eyes on the verge of spilling over again.
He met her gaze evenly, remorsefully, and she finally whispered, "Even if it means your life?"
"If it comes to that, yes," he said softly, looking away from her. He didn't want to see the pain in her eyes, though he couldn't block out the small sob that broke from her throat.
He hated hurting her more than he already had tonight, but an illusion of hope would be far worse in the end.
"It may not even happen, Hermione," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "You said yourself, we'll find another way, and besides, everything had changed now with Draco a part of our side. It's not worth dwelling on something that may never come to pass."
"I just seem to have so much time to dwell on it, though," she said. "I'm always busy, but there's always time to think. You're never in the lab when I'm brewing, so I can't talk to anyone. I can't help but let my mind wander to whatever is bothering me. I can't talk to Harry; one minute he's depressed and the next he's in a fit of anger, so I never know how to approach him. I feel like he's holding himself together because everyone else around him is, because he doesn't want to be the first to break, and so if I fall apart, so will he."
"I just can't keep it together anymore, though," she went on, her voice catching on a sob. "I hardly see you these days, either. I know it's selfish of me, but this time with you is the only time I can stop worrying for a while. It helps that you let me just prattle on about all my worries for a while even if you can't do anything about them, but now that you're so busy with Malfoy and the Wolfsbane, there's hardly time for me to see you at all. I feel as though I'm being pulled in every direction – I know I'm not the only one, but I seem to be the only one who can't handle it. I want to see you, but there's no time, and I want to help Harry, but he doesn't want to listen. There are still the NEWTs, though they seem such a folly amongst everything else, and I can't neglect my Head Girl duties or my other friends..."
"There isn't time for even just... this," she said finally. "And I need this."
Hermione buried her head against him again, and he felt the warm wetness of her tears soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt.
He berated himself for not realising how much of a toll everything was taking on her; how could he not have noticed? She was more heavily involved – would be more affected – by this war than possibly any of them, because she had the most to lose. Her two best friends would be at the front line of whatever climax the war finally reached, not to mention all her other friends and acquaintances at school and in the Order. And then there was him, her... whatever he was to her. Everyone she knew about or cared for would be involved in some way. Was it any wonder, as the end drew nearer, she was beside herself with worry?
"I think we're all rather ragged around the edges at the moment," he murmured eventually. "It is unforgivable of me to neglect you as I have, after all you've done for me. If anything, you've been keeping me sane these past few months, and I am appalled with myself that I did not think to return the favour."
She shook her head against him. "You weren't to know. I wanted to come and talk to you, but I didn't know if you'd be busy, or if Malfoy would still be here..."
"You don't have to stay away each time Draco is here, you know," he said. "Much of the time we are merely talking, and many of the things I am telling him you already know of, anyway."
She didn't say anything, and the thought occurred to him that perhaps she didn't want the Head Boy to see her with him in case he realised the extent of their relationship.
"Unless," he added after a moment, "you're concerned Draco might discover our... feelings... for one another."
"No!" she exclaimed, sitting up and fixing him with a startled look. "I mean... I thought you might not want him to know."
"I see no need to voluntarily offer such information," he said cautiously, "but I would not deny it if he were to ask."
She nodded, but then bit her lip, still looking uncomfortable.
"It's just..." she added finally, "I don't know how Malfoy would react, and I wouldn't want him to think what Goyle said that first time... that I'm just..."
He cut her off before she could finished the sentence, recalling the insinuation the wayward Slytherin had made all those months ago, and grasped her shoulders tightly.
"Never say that," he hissed, eyes flashing. "You insult me and degrade yourself, and what we have is nothing like that. Nothing."
"I know, I know that," she said quickly. "I just don't want him to get the wrong idea after what he heard me say to you the night he followed me."
Frowning in thought, Snape recalled her... well, it really was nothing short of a carefully-worded proposition... when she had appeared in his sitting room that night, unaware of Malfoy close behind her. Strange, he thought now, that the Slytherin hadn't mentioned it.
"I think," he said at length, "that Malfoy was too shocked by the discovery I was still alive to even register what you were saying."
"I thought that, too," she said uncertainly, "but he must have realised something is going on."
"If you believe it will help, I will talk to Draco," he offered. "It is, perhaps, better that he is told now, rather than finding out of his own accord in the future."
"What will you tell him?"
He eyed her for a moment. What would he say? Draco, I'm in love with the Head Girl, Dumbledore knows and doesn't care, and you interrupted what was promising to be a most pleasant night when you followed her?
He snorted inwardly. Admitting it in his head was easy enough, but how could he explain it to anyone else when hadn't even said the words aloud to her?
Perhaps this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought.
Realising Hermione was still waiting for an answer, he simply said, "Only what I must; details are not his concern."
She nodded in agreement, and then settled back against him with a soft sigh. He resumed rubbing slow circles on her back; it was as soothing for him as it was for her, and after a few minutes he realised how much he, too, had missed this quiet time. There was no need to speak, nothing that needed to be done immediately... they could both just be.
The peace and quiet didn't last long, though, and after some time a shrill, magical alarm sounded from the next room. Snape cursed softly and tried to work out how best to extricate himself from her embrace.
"What was that?" she murmured, clearly not wanting him to leave.
"I'm sorry, I have to see to the potion," he said, managing to stand up and smooth the wrinkles in his shirt. On second thought, he held out his hand to her and said, "Come."
"What?"
"We haven't finished our discussion," he said, "and I won't have you soiling my pillow anymore if I leave you to your morose thoughts."
She looked at the wet patch and smiled sheepishly, but took his proffered hand and allowed him to pull her up and lead her out into the other room.
Once in the lab, Snape guided her to sit on the stool at the opposite end of the workbench from where the cauldron sat, and then moved around the bench to the already-prepared ingredients.
She turned her head aside and wiped away the remains of her tears as he stirred the steaming cauldron half a dozen times and then reached for the closest ingredient. Hermione was watching interestedly, and he realised he had the perfect opportunity to distract her from her thoughts.
"Moon sugar," he said suddenly, holding up the phial after he had added the contents to the cauldron. "Added in an infusion of pomegranate juice. Why?"
"I, uh..." she faltered, searching for the answer.
"Quickly," he said, making steady revolutions with the glass rod. "The next ingredient is added in twenty-eight stirs."
One eye on the potion, he watched as she thought back through the thousands of potions ingredients and their properties she had learnt from him in the past seven years.
"Moon sugar lengthens the efficacy of whatever it's added to, but the acidic properties drain the endurance of the drinker," she said finally. "The pomegranate juice is alkaline, so it will neutralise that effect but still allow the potion to last longer."
"Very good," he murmured, reaching for the next ingredient. She leant forwards, trying to catch a glimpse of what the darkened jar contained in order to anticipate his question, and he smirked. The distraction from her thoughts was clearly working.
"Wickwheat," he said. "Forty-three stirs. Chopped or sliced?"
She had more time to think on that one. It was a lesser known ingredient, though, and after thirty stirs with no viable answer, she guessed, "Sliced?"
He raised his eyebrows in askance for a more complete answer, and she shook her head. "I don't know."
"Wickwheat," he lectured, "primarily restores health and fortifies willpower, but in larger quantities it has been known to cause paralysis, which would be fatal during a transformation such as the one the werewolf undergoes. By slicing instead of chopping, the portions are thinner and all but absorbed by the time the brewing process is complete, with only the more prominent – positive – properties withheld."
By the time only a single ingredient remained on the workbench, Hermione had moved to the stool next to him so she could better see what the reaction of the potion was each time he added something new. He questioned her on each and every ingredient, and she commented that it was far better revision for her Potions theory NEWT than any of the reading she had been doing.
"Hypha facia," he intoned, scraping gills from the underside of the mushroom-like fungus into the cauldron. "More commonly known as Bungler's Bane. One hundred stirs."
Hermione frowned, watching the potion slowly darken to a charcoal grey as he stirred. He could almost hear her mind working to find the answer. Halfway through the required number of stirs, though, she gave up with a sigh and looked to him for an explanation.
"Any white flesh of the fungus is deadly," Snape said. "The gills, however, exhibit less potent effects. They drain strength and speed, and increase fatigue."
"But..." Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. "Increasing fatigue won't be viable if the potion is to last longer, will it?"
Snape shook his head. "As a property of the original Wolfsbane, the purpose of the hypha facia was to subdue the transformed wolf into slumber for the duration of the night. This potion, when charmed, disperses itself throughout the body evenly over the period of a month. The drinker will likely feel some fatigue at all times, though nothing that should impede everyday activities, since the same quantity of the fungus is dispersed over that longer period of time."
"Why add it at all," she questioned, "if that's its only purpose?"
Instead of answering, though, Snape held up his hand to silence her. This was a crucial stage of the brewing and had to be absolutely precise. In the space of a bare instant, he stopped stirring at precisely the northern point of the cauldron, doused the flames underneath with his wand, and cast a modified stasis spell over the steaming brew.
"That is all I can do tonight," he said. "The potion must rest for forty-eight hours before I can add the last round of ingredients and work the charms."
He watched as her brow furrowed in thought again, and waited until she formed her thoughts into words.
"This is the Wolfsbane, isn't it?"
He nodded.
"I thought you could only brew it on a certain night... Tuesday just past, if I remember from last month?"
"I seem to have discovered a way around that," he explained as he cleared away the empty phials. "A cheat, of sorts. The only element of the potion which requires preparation on that exact night is the moon sugar infusion, and the other alterations I have made this month require the two days' rest time before the final charms are worked. I made another batch of last month's variation on Tuesday night, though, in case this one is unsuccessful."
"Oh."
He closed the door to the cabinet after putting away the phials, and turned to regard her. She, too, had turned on her stool and was leaning back against the workbench, watching him.
"Now," he said softly, folding his arms across his chest in what he hoped appeared a casual way. "That discussion we were having. I believe there is one... topic... we haven't addressed yet."
She fixed him with a look of mild confusion, though he suspected it was feigned, as she suddenly began twisting her hands together in her lap.
He moved closer to her, stopping only when her knees were a hairs-breadth from his thighs, and waited until she looked up at him.
"Hermione, what do you want?"
It was the only way; he needed to ask, he needed to be sure... and he wanted to hear it from her.
"We don't have time for what I want," she murmured softly. His hand came under her chin for a moment to tilt her head so she could meet his eyes.
"Then we will make time," he said firmly.
"What about Draco? He needs you."
"And you don't?" he countered.
"He's more important," she conceded. "I can't expect you to devote time to... to me when there is so much at stake. I'm not that selfish and I... just forget-"
He favoured her with a reproachful look. "I will not forget it, Hermione. Do you honestly think I've forgotten the purpose of your visit the night Draco followed you?"
She blushed and looked away, but he would not be deterred now. He had to know.
"What should have happened that night has been playing on my mind almost constantly."
Her gaze snapped back to his, clearly not expecting him to make such a pronouncement. Her eyes were suddenly alight with hope, though, and he saw her swallow before she asked, wide-eyed, "It has?"
He nodded, chuckling softly, and then raised one finger to slowly trace her bottom lip. He saw her eyes darken and a flush creep up her cheeks, and then he lowered his lips to hers, his tongue gently following the path his finger had traced moments before.
"Tell me what you want," he whispered in her ear when he drew back.
Their faces were inches apart, and he saw her lick her lips unconsciously. She drew a shaky breath and finally met his eyes; the mixture of desire and shyness in her own was endearing.
"Just... just to be with you, Severus," she whispered, her gaze dropping from his as a flush crept up her cheeks again.
He dropped his hands from her back to brace either side of her on the workbench, inadvertently moving even closer to her as he did so. It might have appeared suggestive, but he suddenly found he needed the extra support to remain steady on his feet.
When was the last time someone had said that to him? He could barely remember, and never had it been said in such a shy, unassuming and yet hopeful way.
Her innocence was a part of what had been holding him back for so long, unwilling to make the first move lest his forwardness drive her away. Now, though, it seemed that innocence was to be his undoing.
"And I you," he finally managed to respond, feeling her tighten the embrace even as he spoke.
After a moment, though, she sighed and drew back from him again, regret clear on her face.
"I just wish we had time," she said softly. "I feel so self-centred even thinking about such a thing, but I don't want to push it aside."
"Nor should you have to," he said. "We are only human, Hermione, and in the current circumstances our needs and wants matter just as much – if not more – than were things different and... normal. We appear to have established tonight that we need – and want - each other, and that we have both been holding back."
She nodded, and he gently took her chin in his hand once more.
"Therefore," he said, feeling her breath on his face as she exhaled shakily, "we will make time."
He felt her shiver as she held his gaze. There was nothing more he wanted at that moment than to pick her up from the stool and take her to bed, but he held his impulse in check. She was still overwrought tonight, had class tomorrow, and he was tired. They had waited this long; one more night would be a small price to pay to finally be together.
"In fact," he continued aloud, "even without this conversation, I was hoping I would be able to spend some time with you tomorrow evening. The potion will still be resting, and Draco has other commitments with the Quidditch match against Ravenclaw on Saturday."
"What about Professor Dumbledore?"
"I will tell him," he said with a smirk, "that short of Voldemort himself storming the castle tomorrow night, if he values my contribution to this war, he will not disturb me."
She laughed, and though the threat was in jest, he would make sure the Headmaster did not disturb his evening.
"Is that... acceptable?" he asked, raising one eyebrow as she blushed hotly again and looked away.
She nodded, her eyes flickering back to his, darker than usual, as she said, "Tomorrow night, then?"
Severus Snape wasn't known for expressing himself verbally at the best of times, and so, murmuring, "Tomorrow night," he lowered his lips to Hermione's again in a kiss that promised more than words ever could.
To be continued
A/N: Finally! I hear you say. It's about time, isn't it? Unless Voldemort storms the castle, of course... oh, come on. Would he be that brazen, and would I be that cruel:P
Moon sugar, wickwheat and hypha facia (Bungler's Bane) are potion ingredients from the The Elder Scrolls: Morrowmind
Eternal gratitude to Potion Mistress for her awesome beta-reading skills. This story is so much better because of her input.
The next chapter I post here will be somewhat edited, since the complete version would be pushing the maximum rating allowed on this archive. If you're interested in reading the full (uncut – lol) version, you can find it at OWL right now.
Edit
15/1 - if anyone is wondering why you received an update alert for
Chapter 37... it's here. I can see it in my account, but apparently it
takes '15 minutes' for a new chapter to appear to everyone else.
Funny... that was 14 hours ago. I'm trying to upload it again, so if
you get another alert and the same result... sorry! (The next two
chapters are on OWL now, if that helps)
