Chapter 7

The door closes behind her and the change happens instantly. His eyes lift to the door to confirm that she's really left as the angry mask on his face begins to slip away. He has no way of knowing what's showing on his face, whether rigid lines or dying colour that were buried underneath the mask, he only knows that without her there to witness it for herself, there's no longer any need to hide it.

It's potent, much like a sour potion that goes down with an unpleasant kick to the stomach, his fear is, and as it rises like a thick wave from his chest, from the deepest part of his soul, the effect on his body is a shuddering shiver that's made quite evident by his shaking shoulders. For a moment, he loses himself to his own bodily weakness, allowing himself to brave through the physical burst of fear.

He's done it before; it's nothing new to him, he can surely survive it.

When a thick hand was raised above his smaller frame, he allowed fear to wash over him, feeling his body shake while it waited for the strike that was sure to come and hurt him. When a group of bigger boys waited for him along the path to the river close to his house, he refused to turn back the other way, even when his bones quaked with dread, knowing that he would be pushed around.

He knows how to accept fear, if nothing else about it. Because of that, he thought that this bout of fear wouldn't be any different from fear felt before, except, it is.

The moment to lose himself has come and gone, he's shaken off the shiver from his body, and he's closed his eyes to remember himself once again, to remember that he may feel the emotion and then bury it deep inside, but the feeling isn't going away. He tries that regular pattern of his again, embracing the wild thrumming of his heart, the blackness in front of his closed eyes, the oh-so intimately familiar dread of not knowing what's to come and so prove that he isn't a coward who runs away from his fear, who instead feels it and remains exactly where eats at him the most, but the fear still isn't going to its resting place.

This close he came to being summoned to attend to her in the infirmary, his mind loudly feeds him. One wrong move on her part, would've had her lying unconscious and he –

His eyes snap open at once, his breath snapping out of him in the same manner, leaving him momentarily scrambling to catch it. He finds it, but the damage has already been done, causing him to now breathe in an odd fashion that he doesn't care to rectify at the moment, when his eyes are now looking at the desolate surrounding of his office. To feel ambushed by the fear that he thought he had under control and then to see nothing but the ambience specifically chosen to match his tone of life, is a stab too deep to bear that he sharply turns away from it, moving his entire body to face the other way, only to find the same bleakness mocking him where his eyes land next.

Damn this office!

He bites down, clenching his teeth so hard together that a light pop is drawn to sound out. Deeming it inconsequential, he continues to keep his teeth pressed together as his eyes search around his office for something, anything, to quell the feeling.

What's in here to help him find comfort from the fear?

There's no light, the sort of light that his Patronus shines through to him, relieving him in the dreariest of moments. There's no reminder of her safety, especially knowing that she's outside of his reach, to placate the associated fright. There's no lick of comfort at all in this place, not one -it's terribly deficient. Although yes, in here, he could sit, he could reflect, he could busy himself with reading, he could even have a meal, those things wouldn't distract him from her absence, which in turn would keep his fear alive within him.

Only her presence would have made his fear stay hidden, he is realising. With her here, he would've worn his angry mask with stubborn determination, insisting on one thing or another as an excuse to keep her with him. Close to him, he would've been assured that she was out of harm's way, where he could shield her from whatever dark object made its way to her proximity.

If only he hadn't been soft to hear her plea and kept her locked inside his office; he never would have let her ever leave then!

Oh, yes, she comes to his office whenever she pleases in any case, never considerate of the time, so what difference would it make if she stayed here for the remainder of the year? He'd, for one, never have to worry about Draco taking advantage of her teacher-trustee status to send her with cursed objects for Albus. And for certain, she wouldn't mind being confined in here, not if she could easily use the secret entryway to his rooms and reside in there.

Reside, did he think?

And just what in magic's name is he thinking?

Despite his other emotion, he frowns at himself, not at all pleased with how easily his thoughts ran away from his control. He'd certainly not meant to think that he could live with her, only that he could keep an eye on her closer to him. She would for certain be safer with him than off by herself or with her troublesome friends, but the pair of them living together? That should be the fear dictating his thoughts, it cannot be him. If his fear was wise, though, educated even, it would rather direct his mind to focus on remembering what she does, and that way see what measures he can take to ensure her safety.

Besides coming to him, what else does she do?

She brews with Horace -he could easily give the man specific instructions on how to deal with her, so that she doesn't get herself into trouble. She frequents the library –that he could remedy if she would compile a list of the necessary books; he'd fetch them for her every day, if she wanted. She visits Rubeus -could he dare to advise her to not go at all? She'd fight him on that one, he's certain of it, but if it will keep her far from harm, he'll insist, resorting to threats if necessary. There's the kitchen-

'Lefa!' he suddenly calls with urgency even knowing that he won't have to wait longer than a second for the elf to appear.

Upon his timely appearance, Lefa questioningly looks up at him, 'Sir?'

He hadn't thought further than getting his questions answered when called for Lefa, but seeing the creature in front of him, he's suddenly struck by the fact that this creature, for probably different reasons, he has in common with her. Whoever of the two of them came to know him first, he doesn't care to know, because it will make no difference really; were she to reside in his rooms Lefa would be an excellent one to assist her in –

And there he goes again, thinking inappropriately unrelated things. Just what is the matter with him? It's more than a little irritating that his thoughts have strayed again, so he clears his throat, as much cleansing his mind as readying himself to speak.

'Does Miss Granger still frequent the kitchen for food?'

Not one to speak many words, Lefa meekly nods his answer, which he greatly appreciates along with not having to explain who Miss Granger is.

'When?' he asks not too calmly.

Knowing her, he hopes to magic and all that's glorious that she doesn't haphazardly go to the kitchen when the need comes over her. A pattern like that would make his plan very difficult.

'On the Saturday before she goes to the library, sir,' Lefa quietly provides, his eyes shifting lower than they ought to be.

Though the action is a tell that Lefa has some reservation about giving out that information, he isn't in the mind to assure the creature that he isn't doing anything bad by giving it to him.

'Thank you,' he dismisses Lefa instead, his mind already concluding that he will have to start going back to the kitchens for danishes on Saturdays.

He'd stopped that tradition since the beginning of term, but it looks like he will have to take it up again. Before that, however, he can't remain inside his office this way, clouded by a fear that doesn't know what to expect and when to expect it and thus won't leave him.

He will go to Minerva rather, he'll speak to her, even knowing that he'll only hear her untrue speculations and precisely what she doesn't know. Compared to feeling smothered by fear, possibly to the point of imagining her to be falling into some sort of trouble again, seeing Minerva will be better. When Minerva grows tired of him, he'll pay Rubeus a visit, accepting the tea and rock cakes offered to him, because refusing the offer would mean less time spent in the man's company -that's precisely what he doesn't want; unoccupied time.

Once he finishes with Rubeus, he'll detour to Horace to entertain the laziest of talks, perhaps even discuss Draco as a subject and Potter as an afterthought, if it comes to that. Now if Horace makes him leave, he'll trek to the infirmary to perform more spells on Miss Bell, engage Poppy with Minerva's speculations all over again, bringing each one up only for the purpose of occupying the waiting time between the evening lesson when she would come to him again. After Poppy, he'll see how best to avoid his office, only that for now, he must leave this office.

26Chapters

Albus watching him with careful attention is nothing new to him. He especially likes to do it when it's only the two of them with the Dark Lord as a topic of discussion between them. At the moment, however, he suspects that Minerva's 'awfully silent' comment about him, followed by her wonder if he was able to get something more from Miss Granger after leaving with her, is the force behind Albus' trained watch.

A message by Patronus from Albus brought him here, subjecting him to a rather long staff meeting, which he made no effort to participate in, only thankful that he wasn't being forced to be alone with his fear, but surely that doesn't give Albus the right to feel entitled to an explanation from him. The input that he didn't make during the meeting, he does not have, and Albus ought to tame his eyes; his stare is too demanding, too impatient to allow him the time to lag in his response.

'Nothing more than she recited to you,' he delivers to Minerva without fixing his eyes on her.

Because of that, he looks on as an interested Albus adjusts his posture in his seat, slightly leaning forwards to ask, 'You spoke to Miss Granger alone?'

'Yes,' he answers as evenly as needs to, without flinching a muscle too; every bit of composure is crucial to this.

Between the two of them, there is no fool, and if anyone is unwise to the shift that has happened from the previous banal conversation about students and their safety, it's only Minerva. Minerva knows nothing more than that Miss Granger has lessons with him, whereas Albus, who's been completely silent about it since, heard and then interrupted part of a sensitive conversation between him and Miss Granger.

Student safety is no longer a point of importance between them, least of all anything of interest to Albus, not with that waiting glint in his eyes, or the testing, 'And?' that breathily comes from his mouth.

Albus Dumbledore is a shifty one. He clearly heard the answer to Minerva and yet there he is, digging for more so that he has another piece to add to the ones in his head. The expectation from Albus is there, for him to falter in a way that betrays a piece, vital or small, but he will not expose it, neither in word, nor in action.

'You allow Potter too much freedom, Albus,' he deliberately responds with. 'He goes wherever he wants, always stirring up trouble while there.'

'We can hardly keep the boy from going around the school, Severus,' Minerva says as though it's a laughable matter, immediately taking away whatever response would have come from Albus. 'Are we to bind him to his bed when he isn't eating or in lessons?'

'Perhaps,' he answers with his eyes still on Albus.

He isn't challenging the other man, far from it, actually, he is simply saving himself from being studied. Knowing that Albus had stood behind the door for some time, listening to their conversation before he barged in with a certain look on his face only to never mention it again, he cannot trust Albus to simply have put it behind him. It is too unlike him to not have some form of brew inside his mind.

'I appreciate your concern for the boy, Severus,' Albus speaks at last. 'You make a fair point about Harry's tendency to find trouble, however, his confidence in Miss Granger is astounding.'

There's more to come, he can read it on Albus' face. Most likely, the pause from him is a trap in which he is to fall at the mere mention of her name, but he is nothing if not aware of how Albus tends to conduct his search for clues. Determined to, he will remain as he is, giving nothing away, come what may from Albus.

'What has that to do with anything?' he wonders as if he doesn't know where this could be leading.

'I would wager that she, out of everyone would have the better influence in keeping him from too much trouble,' Albus continues. 'And you, Severus, being her teacher, could easily persuade her to advise Harry to be cautious about where he goes.'

'Would she listen to me, do you believe, Albus?' he challenges, absolutely set on not falling into any trap.

'She appears to have great respect for you, Severus,' he says, turning to Minerva to ask, 'Doesn't she, Minerva?'

'She has great respect for all of her teachers, Albus,' she agrees with a nod, 'but I don't believe for a moment that he would be exceptional to her particularly. Forgive me, Severus,' she faces him, 'but I rather see myself, Fillius or Septima, to have a far better influence on her in that regard.'

His mind, for a fraction of a moment, turns off, causing his heart to miss a beat. The distinct stillness of his heart overpowers him only for that small moment, leaving him as though hit with a stunning spell.

Them over him? To her?

The recovery happens soon after, his heartbeat picking up again and sense fills his head enough to command him to react to Minerva by drawing his eyebrows together and looking at her rather quizzically; is she out of her mind to make such false assumptions?

'See what you've done, Minerva,' Albus says through a chuckle, which brings his attention to the man at once, 'you've disturbed Severus! I'm quite sure that he does have much influence over Miss Granger, hence his reaction.'

Curses to himself!

Curses for being so foolish as to react to a blatant attack on his place in his dealings with Miss Granger! Up until then, he'd been able to evade Albus' trickery, but when openly subtracted from Miss Granger's regard, he is a fool enough to respond.

He's done himself in like a fool!

He's given Albus a clue that could, in the long run, mean one of many things. It's the fact that Albus has been silent that has him quite bothered by why Albus is gauging him –there's no telling what could happen and when it could happen. He'll have to be careful, and that begins with him saving himself.

'Discuss me while I'm here, will you, Headmaster and Deputy?' he scoffs as he shifts in his seat, it being the immediate save that came to his mind with denying that he is something to her.

Albus laughs in response, infecting Minerva to send a teasing smile his way, but behind the laugh and Minerva oblivious to what just happened, there's something unknown and he will do well to remember it always.

26Chapters

Never did he imagine that arriving early for the evening lesson would be a gnawing thing that would have him looking at the door every ten seconds, expecting to see her cross into his office. It never occurred to him either, to wonder what went through her mind when she arrived early, as she never made it seem as though the time in between was hard to weather.

Even though her face always read welcome and relief when he found her, he always attributed those to her impatience to learn more, something that pleasantly amused him. Having gone through waiting himself, however, he'll make a point to never be amused by it again; it's quite a nerve-wracking thing to wait for someone who's taking their time to arrive.

Now that she's arrived, he immediately tells her, 'You're late,' to accompany her first step inside.

She's perfectly on time, only, considering that he's been waiting for longer than the twenty minutes that she usually abides by, to him, she is late. Has she any idea what the waiting did to him? And has she any idea what finally seeing her after she left would have had him say instead of that?

'What happened to Katie wasn't my fault, Professor,' she begins, completely ignoring what he said, her feet leading her to him while he directs his hand to close the door behind her. 'I didn't follow her either. None of us did. We only saw what happened. I really don't like you being angry with me for something that had nothing to do with me.'

Finishing her piece, instead of going around to her chair, she comes to his side, looking down at him in his seat. He understands that it would probably be better if he got onto his feet to put him at a height advantage over her, only, he's quite all right looking at her from this angle. Where her face is appearing to him an oddly accentuated image quite a pleasant sight to his eyes, he would rather not move from. It could simply be his relief seeing her in that light, but what harm is it to feel that way in anyhow? For a little, he's only going to take her presence in with his eyes.

'I also don't like that you never just tell me yes for anything, Professor,' she complains, his silence being the cause, no doubt. 'You expect me to know what you mean all the time.'

'Do you ever not know?' he returns, adjusting his head to his right for absolutely no reason at all -he is simply basking in her presence, whatever that may have him do.

'I –' she appears to want to argue only to change to, 'That isn't – Professor, would it kill you to just stop being angry with me?'

'I fail to see how you came to believe that I am angry with you,' he coolly responds, 'when you haven't given me any chance to speak.'

And if she would like to know, he was never angry with her. Not really. The news that she'd been near the incident made him angry beyond normal reason that she would be as careless as to be close to such a big thing as a curse, but that had been the only point where his anger reached. Where that anger ended, began his fear, which he couldn't have communicate to her, not when he'd seen how nervous she'd looked and how she hated recounting what happened with Miss Bell.

'You were upset this afternoon,' she reminds him, a light frown appearing on her face. 'I haven't been able to stop thinking about it, Professor.'

That small tone, he notes; she's saddened, if not lamenting the fact. He puts his head into position again and pushes up onto his feet as a feeling of kinship comes to life within him. It's a feeling similar to what he felt when he summoned Lefa, only this time, Lefa is not the common thing between them.

It's that like him, her afternoon hadn't been a carefree time spent with her friends. Although not delighting in knowing that she's been plagued by a mask that he wore, the fact that she was disturbed, makes him feel connected to her in that they shared in terrible emotions during the same time while they were apart. Someone should tell him if that is a twisted thing to take a little pride in, because he isn't convinced that it is.

'In the afternoon, yes,' he finally says to her.

'And now?' she expectantly wonders, to which he remains quiet.

As hopeful as she sounds to hear him say that he isn't, she should know what he means by not saying anything. Or would she like to hear that her presence, which really means her assured safety, has already quelled his fear? Word for word would she like to have him say it?

'Just say no, Professor,' she cries out through a small laugh. 'It's not that hard.'

As right as she may be, he will simply not say it. If he does, the next time she'll want him to say that he enjoys teaching her in private. He sees no point to saying things that are clear.

'Saying it won't add to its strength in any way,' he maintains. 'The word isn't a spell whose full impact is determined by its vocalisation.'

'I actually want to hear it,' she confesses, her eyes pleading more than her words are. 'It'll make me feel better.'

'I was upset only this afternoon,' he tells her as a matter of fact. 'What more do you want to hear?'

'Just say it, Professor,' she says, just about ready to jump from her body.

Has she no shame adding Professor onto her demand as though it isn't exactly that? It's no matter, however, seeing as he is more concerned with making sure that he doesn't smile at her amusing behaviour. Looking at her now, it's nearly impossible to believe that before she disrupted his life with requesting to brew more than two years ago, he used to think of her as the show-off best friend to a braggart Potter. This current Miss Granger is someone who he never imagined to ever witness, and yet here he is, amused by her and enjoying it.

One thing is to enjoy her presence and another is to give it away that he is. He'd rather not outright let her know by smiling at her, because that would be equivalent to saying the very word that he's refusing to, and so to avoid doing it, he quickly moves around her. He takes on a dramatic duelling stance aimed only to warn her that he is challenging her, when he has no real intention of duelling her tonight.

'Perhaps after you successfully disarm me,' he points his wand her way, 'I will be inclined to say it to you.'

Though visibly frustrated with his evasion, she smiles, not bothering to take on his faux challenge as she responds with, 'You always say perhaps, but never do tell me or teach me. You hate me.'

'Perhaps,' he shrugs, only, she's properly shocked by it.

Her immediate reaction, as unpleasant it is to witness, what with her saddened eyes looking away from him, and then hanging her head as though defeated, makes him feel good. Good, because knowing that she would dislike it if he hated her, is greatly affirming to his ego; that he has some degree of power over how she feels. Again, someone should tell him what a twisted thing it is to feel, because he can't see it being so.

'I do not, Miss Granger,' he softly tries to rectify her reaction.

Nothing different happens on her end, which is why he straightens, taking only a long step to her before waiting for her to bring her head up to him again. He will wait for her, simply because he is able to. He did, after all, come earlier tonight and then waited for her.

'That was a mean thing to say,' she whines, barely lifting her head.

'And you believed it, why?'

He's pressing not only to know her reason, but also to get her to fix her eyes on him. It works, making her look at him and then give her answer.

'You said it.'

Although a fair response to give, he still raises his eyebrow at her for even thinking to say it. He's said things similar to that in the past, and she never took it to heart as far as he could tell. Unless her mind is still stuck in the space of believing that he is angry with her for the situation with Miss Bell, she has no reason to believe something like that. If there's something that she should focus on, it's what he told her in the afternoon.

'I also said that you were to learn diagnostic spells, and yet you've shown no interest in that.'

'I am interested, Professor,' she says, quickly pulling out her wand. 'I read about three today. Can I show you?' she asks with evident excitement.

Her change in mood is good, he appreciates as he turns his hands out, gesturing that he isn't opposed to what she may choose to do. Seeing his permission, she conjures a small object from the air, closes it inside her hand for a moment before she holds it out towards him.

'Could you curse this, please?'

That's an interestingly deliberate choice of an object, he observes it closely – she's certainly thought well about this. His eyes travel to her face and for a moment, stunned by her request, he's only able to look at her, asking himself if she, who is very able of cursing that Muggle lighter by herself, is openly thrusting her trust towards him? It's the strangest thing that he will ever encounter in his whole teaching career, being told to curse an object by a student, although, it's acutely touching.

So touching in fact, that he has to lightly bite inside of his mouth while reconciling with the fact that she trusts him to make it harmless enough for her touch, while also making it dangerous enough to do harm when necessary. He will do it, nonetheless, quickly recovering to choose a light curse that will only activate once the lighter is turned on, not upon first contact.

Drawing out his wand, he makes to take the lighter from her hand, but like he imagined that she would, she draws her hand away from his touch.

'I need to show you the spells,' she explains, but he is already using his wand to remove it from her grasp to float in the air between them.

After speaking the chosen curse onto it, he floats it into his free and open hand, then telling her, 'It remains in my hand.'

It's final, he stares at her intently, and he will not entertain an argument with her. He would sooner deduct three hundred House points from her than allow her to take this cursed lighter from his hand; the former hurt to her, he would handle with ease, unlike the latter. It will not be on account of him that a scare like what happened with Miss Bell takes place again.

With a firm nod, she accepts what he says and gets to waving her wand over the object with only two words leaving her mouth. Allowing a little space of time between, she says the second incantation, and then the third a little afterwards.

'See?' she beams up at him. 'All three spells showed me that you used a flesh paralysing curse.'

Not giving her a reply, he at first closes his hand, trapping the lighter inside it and then takes a few steps to stand behind her. Because he usually likes to see how she reacts to him being behind her when she's supposed to be doing a spell, he often takes this position behind her. It serves him well in noticing any distraction on her part. He moves himself closer than he ever has to her, his intention being to extend his arm and that way have the lighter close enough for her to see.

'Professor?' she wonders, surprisingly not turning her head to him.

'Remain as you are,' he replies as he opens his hand to reveal the lighter. 'Keep your eyes on the lighter. I'm going to show you a more effective spell than the ones you just used.'

'Is it your own spell?'

Smiling at her predictable question, only because she won't see him do it, he replies with, 'It's modified.'

He tends to modify spells for the simple reason that he has the ability to be different in how he does magic. Albus can always count on him to counter dark spells when the man himself is well superior in how to combat the dark arts for that every reason. He's always prided himself on not being like the rest, even though he's never said anything about it to anyone.

He begins to adjust his head a little, lowering it to be closer, only to quickly learn what a mistake he made. Free of loose and hanging hair, the exposed skin of her neck now dangerously next to his nose, gives off a lovely scent that's hard to ignore. Whatever perfume, potion or lotion she's dabbled onto herself tonight, is too enticing a scent to turn away from. He inhales it in again, appreciating its effect on his senses and wondering what it is.

Why has he never smelt it on her before?

With that question, his sense returns him, reminding him that this is the first time that he has been this close to her. It's a new experience, he thinks, and as it always is with new experiences and things, he got distracted. The irony really, that he turned out to be the one distracted instead of her.

'Pay attention,' he breathes, speaking to himself, but if she takes it to be for her, let it be.

'Yes, Professor,' she replies.

Once she's answered, he realises again that he's made a grave mistake in standing behind her. If he is to show her anything at all, he will have to close her into him, something that he hadn't realised when he took this place behind her. As chagrined as he is at his own foolishness, he makes as though this had been his plan from the beginning, carefully rounding his wand arm to meet his open hand. Even though he feels her gather closer into him, he carries on as though nothing about it makes his breath stop for a second, pointing his wand at the lighter and saying the spell right after.

The lighter then begins to float up, leaving his palm, vibrates a centimetre away from his flesh, to then emit a single wisp of cloud which he quickly wraps around his wand. The magic having now left the lighter, it falls back into his hand and when it lands, she gasps, immediately grabbing hold of his arm. Although instantly startled, his heart beating out of his chest, he instinctively knows to wrench away from her hold, in turn dropping the lighter to crash to the floor.

With his foot, he pushes the object far away from them and then swiftly rounds to her, roughly following that with a steady hold on her arm. He leaves no time to think, only react when his other hand pulls his wand from the hand holding her, to quickly run the spell that he just used on the lighter. In a different circumstance, he would have used the spell from the afternoon, but he needs to know if his hand became contaminated somehow and in touching him, she took on the curse.

The first run gives him nothing, except for one thing. Quite sure that he's made a mistake, he frowns before running a second wave and again, the same result comes back to him, which forces him to look at her questioningly. As he looks at her, his mind tries to dig for a suitable explanation, one that he's likely to accept, but it fails.

'Miss Granger,' he breathes, wanting to ask her, but changes his mind at the last moment to instead run his wand over her one last time.

Getting the same result, he releases her, taking a step back from her as well, and just to be safe, points his wand to the lighter, lifting its curse from it. His mind is convinced that without flicking the lighter on, the curse wouldn't have been activated, and yet it can't put together why his diagnosis came out the way that it did. With the strongest sense of incomprehension, he turns his eyes to her.

'Did something happen, Professor?' she wonders, watching him carefully, concerned even.

'Explain your reaction to me,' he calmly asks, tracing his eyes over her body.

Did he make a mistake?

'I was only amazed,' she says. 'I didn't mean to distract you.'

'Amazed,' he repeats, because his mind still cannot comprehend what the results showed him.

How is it possible that he missed it? Of course, he knows why he missed it, but that doesn't make him feel any better about it.

'Did you touch Miss Bell's necklace?' he asks with urgency, desperately needing the answer to be no, but also yes, in a small cling to hope that he didn't make a mistake in the beginning.

'I already told you that I didn't,' she shakes her head.

'Could you accidentally have scraped it?'

'No.'

Watching her in a way that's characteristic of Albus, he says, 'Then tell me why you no longer have your protective shield.'

Even saying it aloud, his inside pounds deeply. It's possible that his hands are shaking, because he doesn't feel like himself one bit. Worry and doubt, now that he's vocalised the results, are what he feels. At what moment did she lose it? And just how long has she been walking around unprotected? Without his knowledge, at that.

'I don't know,' she shrugs nonchalantly as if it's nothing serious.

Does she hear herself? Simply being able to perform diagnosing spells, doesn't exempt her from curses without her shield. She shouldn't be so fast to think of herself as capable of protecting herself without a shield around her. She shouldn't be so flippant about something this dire.

'You have to know,' he harshly insists, the harshness in his tone directed at her nonchalance. 'Were you cursed recently?'

'No, Professor.'

Again, there's no urgency in her answer, indicating that she's not taking this seriously. More than that, however, is the conclusiveness in her answer. He refused to think like that at first, telling himself that she wouldn't, that she didn't even have a reason to do it, but now, with this, how can he deny it?

'If you weren't cursed, then you removed the shield yourself,' he tells her flatly.

She removed his shield, that's what it is. His shield, one willingly given with no expectations in return, she simply shrugged off her like it was something insignificant, like she didn't need him to care for her in that way.

It's not a nice thing to come to terms with.

It hurts him, actually.

He gave her a gift from the heart, and when he turned his back, she didn't hesitate to throw it away, because she didn't want it.

Feeling stripped of strength, his eyes study her face as his feelings tell him to put space between them, because apparently close to her, he's not wanted. Not even when she abandoned him for Horace, did he feel this struck in the throat and swallowing to remedy the blow.

'I didn't do that,' she says, frowning. 'You didn't even tell me what the shield was.'

Hearing her words, his mind tells him that she may be right, only, his feelings don't easily accept that when she clearly no longer has his shield.

'The only other reason would have been my death,' he mutters mostly to himself, 'and unless I am a ghost and unaware, please enlighten me.'

His spell had been very detailed and specific. When he told Albus what he hoped about his protection lasting, he was referring to his own mortality, nothing else. Apart from that, if not removed by a curse, only one other thing would have taken his shield off; he made it perfect that way.

'I really didn't do anything, Professor,' she pleads, sounding sincere about it.

Only keeping his eyes on her, he remains silent to measure her sincerity. How is he supposed to believe her when it would've taken only her not wanting the shield and nothing else?

'How could I have removed it, when I didn't even know what it was?' she breaks the silence to ask.

'It's simple,' he says dismissively, losing so much inside. 'It wouldn't have required a spell.'

And that is all that he'll say on the matter, because at the moment, everything, absolutely everything is weighing him down. It's all too much for him, and knowing that he's surrounded by a bleak office, hearing her questions and her not realising what she's done to him, he no longer wants to be in here.

'Then tell me what,' she begs. 'Maybe I can remember something.'

Lightly, because his throat is starting to close in, he shakes his head; he's hurting in a way that's draining him, tiring him. He can't know how he looks like to her, if he's displaying any of what he feels on his face, he only knows that it's quite hard for him to stand close to her at all, and even worse, looking at her, understanding that she refused him. Just in the afternoon he gave himself away, reacting to a comment made by Minerva, when in reality, that comment was right; she has no regard for him.

Oh, but that hurts. It hurts him so much.

'You should leave, Miss Granger,' he whispers, barely pronouncing the words.

Her head sharply turns to the door and then she asks, 'Is Professor Dumbledore knocking?'

'No,' he says after clearing his throat. 'I would simply like you to leave.'

'But you were going to teach me diagnostic spells,' she argues, bearing a stunned expression that does nothing to move compassion within him for her.

'As you once had my shield,' he states and then turns away from her to add, 'Things change, Miss Granger.'

They hurt while at it too, but things do change, no matter how much he'd prefer that they didn't.

'I didn't touch your shield,' he hears behind him.

It sounds like she's about to start crying -she should please not; he wouldn't know what he would do with that. To avoid being around if she does start to cry, he begins to walk towards his fireplace. As he walks, he hears urgent steps follow him and then suddenly, he's cut off from his path when she plants herself in front of him. The only other time that she's done something like that, was the very first day that she ran after him to ask him to allow her to brew. He didn't like it then, just as he doesn't appreciate it now. Doesn't she understand that there's something about her proximity that he doesn't trust?'

'Please leave, Miss Granger,' he insists, turning his face away from her.

'Please, Professor,' she tries, going as far as to hold his arm.

At her grasp, he stiffens, feeling quite sensitive to her touch. His throat is closing in all over again as well, and as he's forced to set his eyes on her, he only wants to pull himself free from her. It hurts him, looking at her and knowing that she removed his shield.

'Leave, Miss Granger. And do not come back,' he tells her, harshly pulling free to move away from her.

Forget the fireplace, he'll no longer use it. He'll rather take the secret entrance that leads to where he can get to his rooms. Not caring that she's seeing it, he passes through it, leaving her behind.

26Chapters

The first thing that he does as he crosses into his sitting room, is darken it completely, conjuring his Patronus immediately after. In the bleakest of moments, he likes to look at it and then watch it prance around until it has breathed enough soothing light into him. Because his heart is hurting in a way that it hasn't since he learned of Lily's death, he badly needs his Patronus tonight.

Only it will make this hurt go away, he knows.

As it begins to appear from the tip of his wand, he waits for the familiar feeling of relief to come to life inside his chest, only for nothing to happen. Usually, the mere knowledge of its impeding emerge is all he ever needs to spring into life, but tonight being extremely different, he can accept the tardiness.

It's all right, he soothes himself, he will wait until it's out in the open.

In the following second, when it fully leaves his wand, he waves his wand to make it move around the room for his eyes to savour and then soon soothe his heart in return, but still, nothing happens. Unsure why it's so, he carefully watches it move around, willing himself to connect what he's missing.

It can't have been the memory, otherwise it wouldn't have appeared at all. Why then, in the name of sacred magic, that instead of feeling that initial joy at seeing it, followed by an appeasing comfort, he only –truly- feels disconnected from it, like it's separate from him?

His heart… There's a break in connection.

Slowly, his hand crosses to his chest, over his heart, quietly looking to feel it there. It's beating, he finds, and it's still hurting, still remembering what was done to it. But why isn't the Patronus doing what it's supposed to? Would it like to have him dig inside his chest, pull out his own heart, for it to see how it's hurting, and then measure that hurt, so it can turn on its charm?

It confuses him so, that his trusted companion is failing him at such a moment when he truly needs it. There's never been a break with it before. Neither has he ever watched it and wished that he was looking at something else that would bring him joy -something tangible maybe, he doesn't know. If his Patronus isn't soothing him and somewhere beyond his secret entryway is the person responsible for hurting him, where can he turn to?

What is he supposed to do now?

'Mghrrrgmhhfg!' he heavily groans from the deepest of his soul, the anguish carried within being the prelude to the tears now falling from his eyes; not only is he rejected, he's also truly left alone with nothing to turn to.

26Chapters

He so wanted to guide his affairs with discretion, never requiring a confrontation with her and simply going back to the life that he's known, but she has been adamant in trying to corner him.

Twelve times in total, excluding the letter that she had Potter's owl deliver to him right in the middle of today's breakfast at the staff table, she's tried to stop him in three days. Twelve times in total, that he's come close to breaking and allowing her an audience with him.

It took all of his courage not to cave to her pleading face, a face that he's seen enough times to be moved by it.

Three separate times, she came to the staff room looking for him, thus unceremoniously forcing him to leave through the other emergency exit. If only she knew what seeing her while surrounded by his unaware colleagues did to him. If only she understood how meeting her eyes and knowing that whatever excuse she would use for being there, was far from the truth, made him want to do his colleagues, just so he could be alone with her and then beg her for an explanation.

Being hurt by her did that to him.

It tore him apart in different directions.

At every opportunity that he saw her, his heart plummeted while his head told him to stay put and simply ask her why she removed his shield.

The two times during Defence Against The Dark Arts that she raised her hand, the first time to ask about shielding charms and the second time to ask how to treat wounds and reactions caused by cursed objects, he redirected her to find out for herself in as flat a tone as he could muster. He was careful not to be short with her when the other students could see him be so, seeing as the last time that he did it, she accused him of turning everyone against her.

But how he wished that he could've asked her to stay after class.

Only to beg for a reason.

Only to know when, after the first three weeks of school, did he treat her badly that she flung off his shield.

Six separate but very continuous times, she came to his office and classes. He had to stop as low as to threaten her with the loss of House points if she didn't stop coming to him announced, and all that did was make him long for the times when he would find her waiting for him in the evenings or simply coming to him when she felt like it during the day.

It would've been so easy to thrust her inside his office and question her then.

It was even worse when leaving Albus' office for a meeting last night, he found her waiting outside. His face probably broke enough for her to see, that he found no other way out than to slip back into the Headmaster's office; he stayed in there until he believed that she was gone.

It's been the hardest thing to feel hurt by her. It's harder, because he strongly misses engaging with her. He wants the little things back, magic, the little things, he needs in his life. Her smiles, her reactions, her questions, her choices, he wants it all back, and though her insistence to see him could prove that she does want him, he doesn't want to give her the chance to hurt him again.

Say he were to let her explain herself to him, and it turned out to be a valid excuse, how long would it be before she did something to hurt him again? And what's to assure him that her explanation won't hurt him even more than now? What if her reason is something that validates his fear that no one would ever truly need him for just him, not because he could do something for them?

He would rather avoid her than confront her, as to do that without the comfort of his Patronus to fall back on, is too risky a thing. After all that she made him feel and experience, it would tear his heart from his chest, he swears that it will.

26Chapters

'Have a seat, Severus,' Albus gestures to his chair from the door.

Although a bold invitation for Albus to make in an office that's not his, he moves to his rightful seat and does as he was instructed. Albus needn't have bothered to knock if he's going to be the one directing him inside his own office.

'Is something the matter?' he presents to the man now closing the door behind him and making his way to take a seat.

'Nothing,' is the reply that he receives. 'I was only wondering, you've taken it upon yourself to tutor the girl, have you?'

Of course, Albus' late visit isn't simply a casual call -he should have known. Albus must think himself overly clever for making his observation sound like a question. He is not as clever as he believes, if he for one moment thinks that he will fall into the trap.

'The girl, Headmaster?' he feigns incomprehension as the other man makes himself comfortable in the chair across his.

'Albus, please,' he urges. 'I am here as a friend tonight. And I am referring to Miss Granger. That said, is there anything you would like to tell me, Severus?'

As a friend, he says. Supposing that Albus is being friendly and nothing else, he'd like to determine that on his own with the lengthening of the conversation, and until then, he will say nothing that is not drawn out of him.

'I believe not, Albus,' he says, lightly moving his head from side to side. 'I assume that you already knew about the lessons. Was it not you who forced her to act as an amusement pacifier between Potter and I during Occlumency?'

Nodding, Albus says, 'Occlumency, yes. She had been brewing potions back then, am I correct?'

He could scoff at this entire thing between them, really. That, he supposes is the question of a man who is not being clever? He will sooner believe the Dark Lord to own a pet dog than this pretence. Had Albus enquired about his lessons to her from the beginning of term or even made a comment about it, he wouldn't be this hesitant to properly answer the man. Time spent with this man has taught him that Albus never does ask things for the sake of asking.

'She still is, with Horace,' he readily supplies, because that isn't something to condemn him.

'I see,' Albus nods thoughtfully. 'So then there is nothing that you wish to tell me?'

With those eyes keenly set his way, and those ears itching to catch every cadence of words that leaves his mouth? No, there's nothing that he wishes to tell the other man. Much less concerning her at this particular time –the subject of her is too sensitive a topic to speak about with anyone else. He cannot get into it.

'No, there isn't,' he answers.

Chuckling a little bit, probably reading the reluctance to share, he appears to accept what he's told, saying, 'Very well. As you say, although I must admit that I never realised that you would grow used to teaching her. When did that change, Severus?'

'Even I don't know, Albus,' he answers honestly as he feels that there is no other way around the question.

'Hm,' Albus makes the short sound, giving off the impression that he doesn't believe it. 'And still there's nothing of importance that you believe I should know?'

'Be clear, Albus,' he softly demands.

He is in no mood; this being sneaky in his search for information is not welcome. Also, the more that he evades to answer about her, when he's never had trouble discussing students with Albus before, the more that he will be giving away.

'Very well,' Albus sits back. 'When you didn't deny caring for the girl, I had no idea that you cared in this considering way, should I say? Had I realised it sooner, I would have put a stop to your interactions.'

The old man's eyes gaze into his as if trying to get behind them and extract all that's hidden there, but the sharp dropping of his heart overshadows his will to Occlude, if indeed an attempt is being made. Behind closed lips, he sucks on his tongue, trying to get rid of the tart taste inside his mouth, except, only a faintly wet and squishy sound out.

That is unfair.

Silently, with the same tangy taste spreading to his jaws that he has to flex them, he doesn't shy away from Albus' gaze. If he wants to look for something inside his mind, then as a barrier to greet him, he'll wonder if truly, Albus has such control over his life that he should put a stop to even the most innocent of things? What problem is there in him teaching her?

'Say something, Severus,' the old man urges, his gaze unwavering. 'It's the least that you can do.'

Excuse him, the least in a series of what other things that he hasn't done or agreed to do in the name of Albus? Has the man before him gone mad?

'And what should I say?' he lightly snaps, feeling himself begin to heat up. 'I am tutoring her, you know that already.'

Exempting the days that followed the Sunday of Miss Bell's accident, of course.

Albus places both of his hands on the table, looks down at them as he joins them together, before looking up to say, 'Now is not the time for that, Severus. You know very well what I mean.'

'Would you be specific?' he provokes, leaning back in his chair for a change, which is rewarded with an offended look.

'All right,' he agrees. 'Why do you care as you do? Was it not mere months ago that you showed me your Patronus and your motivations?

He is stunned for a moment. Rightfully so, he believes, seeing as everyone can care about more than one person in their life. Should he take Albus' words to mean that he isn't permitted such a thing? If so, according to Albus, Lily should be the only one of substance to him?

'Or rather, do you no longer feel the same about Lily?' he presses with just the right amount of accusation.

Not for the reason that it should, that question disturbs him so. Even he hasn't dared to question himself about Lily since he realised that his Patronus could no longer do anything to bring him peace. He is suddenly enraged that Albus dares to bring it up when he doesn't reserve that right.

'You believe that I sought this?' he harshly spews, retaliating against the intrusion by quickly getting onto his feet. 'Do you think that I knew what was happening? Do you think that I easily chose to let go of-'

'Let go of what, Severus?' Albus pushes after his abrupt stop.

Damn Albus! Had he wanted to end that sentence, he would have done so. In no way does he appreciate the way in which he is being force to tackle his private feelings in front of his employer. Albus is in the deepest ocean of insanity if he believes that he somehow orchestrated the shift that happened.

'Let go of what, Severus?' he repeats, getting up from his seat as well.

That, he will not tell Albus. What he can supply him with, however, is, 'My Patronus.'

'What of it?'

It was a whisper, but just as desperate as the hungry look on his face, ready to eat up whatever answer he receives. But how is he supposed to tell the man everything about his Patronus? No one should ever know that his Patronus has kept him together for all these years; it's not their place to know. Besides, since that Sunday when it failed to comfort him, he hasn't dared to cast it again. Mostly, he's been afraid that he'd cast it to find it changed to a shapeless wisp, representative of the detachment that he feels towards it.

Albus waits a little more, but concluding that he won't be answered, he presents the question again, 'What happened to your Patronus, Severus?'

His tone is at least calm now, not as demanding as the whisper before it, but even so, he isn't willing to open himself up to Albus. It's not right, it's instead equivalent to assault. His Patronus is a private thing from within him, and he won't allow his secrets to be known, whether he was the one to bring it up or not.

'Severus, forgive me for questioning,' he tries again, 'but I trust that the lessons with Miss Granger are exactly as they appear? It is, after all, no secret that you could never be bothered with the girl before. She has grown up, don't you think?'

That is insulting. Albus should know him enough to be sure that he is a man who knows how to reign himself. Potter being the exception, where he chooses not to do so, but otherwise, he knows how to perfectly reign himself.

'Don't insinuate anything, Albus!' he sharply lets out. 'Trust my words that whatever else I lack, or whichever horrendous traits I cling onto, I would never work towards damaging her chance at education. It is her pride.'

Contrary to what he used to believe about her, she doesn't thrive on showing off. There are quite a number of things that she knows, that he hasn't heard her spew out for no reason at all. In the right setting, she provides information as needed. With some to spare even, but he has come to accept that about her. He cares far too much to do her any harm.

After a short moment of Albus simply looking at him, as though weighing what was revealed and what wasn't, he nods at last.

'As you say, Severus,' he accepts somewhat dejectedly. 'I trust that I can take my leave now.'

The message is quite clear, Albus has gathered enough information for tonight, although, the intrusion is far from over. He's already threatened to put an end to their lessons, probably on the basis that he is getting too close to her.

Pushing through his anger, he looks at Albus to really wonder how this man sees him. It seems to him that Albus views him for the use as the need arises, to then be pushed aside when remedy has been found. When gathered with how he believes Miss Granger treated him and then his Patronus disappointing him, he must know his true value in this life.

'Did you falter to choose me?' he asks before the man can leave.

Pulling a perplexed face, Albus asks, 'Excuse me?'

'Did your decision to make me the one who kills you, come from hard nights of hesitation?' he carefully delivers his question to make sure that no word or emotion is missed. 'Did you perhaps think of alternatives, faking your own death with my aid, for insistence?'

Why does he care about this now? Simple, really; Albus led him to this point. The uncalled for attack on his private life mingled with four days of not seeing her outside of class has him feeling alone with no escape from his own misery. He'd like to know just how much more worthless he is, for once and for all.

'What sort of enquiry is that, Severus?' Albus wants to know, walking around the table to be close to him.

'One which I've been wondering about lately,' he replies.

'Would how I respond make any difference?'

'You haven't yet responded to me, Albus. You've only met my questions with questions of your own.'

Cleverly, he's done so, evading what he knows are unfavourable answers when answered truthfully.

'Because I fail to see what any of what you are asking does,' the other man urgently whispers, seemingly not understanding.

'Let me be clear, then,' he begins. 'I want to know if you still would have come to choose me, if I had a wife or a child. I have been wondering if you only chose me, because there would be no one to mourn my death and because I haven't lived in the way that most people have. Is it because I haven't acquired anything for myself, neither have I amassed anything in life? Had I lived a different life, would you easily have chosen me then?'

There's only a tight second of quiet, which is enough of a hesitation as far as he can put together, before Albus responds with, 'No one else would have fitted perfectly.'

Loudly, disbelieving as well, he scoffs at the chosen reply to then ask, 'Should I take that to mean that your decision was not difficult in the least?'

'No,' Albus says, his face betraying his impatience. 'You should take it to mean that you are in a place of privilege and advantage. Many would kill to be in your position.'

The nerve!

'And have you approached those many?' he taunts, knowing all too well what the answer will be.

Albus does not answer him immediately. He first takes a good look around the office, as though looking for something, and apparently not getting whatever he wants, he holds out his open hand between them just in time to catch a rather small item inside it. Following that, he points his wand to it and the item floats from his hand, beginning to grow as it reaches his head. In front of his face, the object becomes a moderately sized mirror reflecting his image back to him.

'Would you care to look yourself in the mirror, Severus?' Albus coldly advises. 'I daresay that you have forgotten who you are.'

He catches only a glimpse of his dour expression, but it's enough to irritate him. It has come to this, has it? Vexed that Albus believes him only to be a certain way and no other, he pushes the mirror away from his face, causing it crash and shatter on the floor. Only to prolong the time in between, he does Albus the favour of clearing up the mess, mending his mirror and sending it back to the man's open hand and only then returns his eyes to him.

'I know perfectly who I am,' he ascertains.

Admittedly, he has been out of focus, feeling confused and hurt like he never has before, but at the core if it all, he knows who he is.

'Are you certain that you haven't changed?' Albus argues in disbelief. 'The Severus that I knew never doubted me. He understood my requests and he answered my questions.'

That Severus never meddled, because meddling was what got him into servitude in the first place. That Severus made it a point to never complicate his life more than it already was. It should not be taken to mean that he fully accepted Albus' requests.

'I have been observing you, Severus,' he continues and if that is supposed to be a warning, it's not a very good one.

'I wasn't aware that you ever stopped,' he returns only to take a jab at the man.

'You are well aware in what regard I hold you, Severus. Though I entertain your jests of me despising you, I believe you to know how much I value you. If I did not care for you, I wouldn't be as I am with you. I have begun to observe you, because you are changing, Severus. You are changing, because of Miss Granger.'

And so what if he is? How about Albus tries living his life believing that he was never going to be cared for before he can think to make his change sound like a bad thing. Of course, he wouldn't expect any better from a man who just last year had a league of children ready to fight on his behalf. Someone who has always been admired could never understand the importance of even a morsel of care to someone who's never lived in that way.

'Am I not permitted to change?' he wonders, his eyes narrowing with waiting.

As far as he knows, he's still the same with everyone else. No other student will be able to say that he's changed.

'No, no,' Albus uses his hand to demonstrate his dismissal. 'You may do as you very well please, Severus, however, you cannot begin to question me on subjects which have already been concluded. Now I trust that we will no longer come to have this conversation. Just as I trust that your lessons with Miss Granger are what they are. Do have a good night, Severus. We shall see each other in the morning.'

26Chapters

According to Albus, he's changing. For quite a while now, he's known that changes were beginning to happen to him, he's only not taken the right moment to consult himself in depth. Before he goes to bed, however, he needs to put his thoughts in order.

'Expecto Patronum' he utters to the darkness of his bedroom, hastily closing his eyes before the animal can appear.

Like that, with his eyes closed, his hand heavily grasping the wand and his heart racing in anticipation, he wants to hold his breath as well, but he would rather not suffocate before he confirms his Patronus.

He's afraid, if he's being honest.

He's sure that his Patronus has taken shape by now, but he keeps his eyes closed for a little longer. He would like that it please doesn't change as Nymphadora's has. That doe and all that it represents, helped him through so many lonely nights in his life, it kept him in his right mind so many times when he thought that he wouldn't make it past another night.

It can't change. Please.

He is loyal. He is a cruel man as well – he's done enough terrible things to know that he's at least a good enough person to regret them, but he is loyal, above all. He can't simply discard his Patronus as though it never meant anything. He may feel an odd break from it now and it though it no longer brings him comfort, he wants it exactly as it is; useless and all, he wants it exactly like that.

The power lies with him; he can control how it appears, because he knows how to make it appear. If he didn't know how to make it appear, it wouldn't have life to begin with. Yes, he may be changing, but he is who he is, and if not that, that doe is bound to be the only good remaining thing about him soon enough.

With that in mind, he slowly opens his eyes, tightening his hold on the wand in preparation. If his will to keep it the same wasn't strong enough, he'll wipe it away as soon as his eyes see it. He takes one final steadying breath and then looks in right in front of him. Relief, characterized by quiet warmth within him shines through as his free hand reaches out to touch it, even being aware that only weightless air will meet his fingertips.

'The same,' he breathes, strangely unable to smile despite his relief.

His relief is only that it hasn't changed, not that he's glad to see it.

It's true then, he really can't get what he used to from his Patronus anymore, even though it's still there. The only thing to do with it that he can think of is that she'd recognise it as his. In her own words, she told him that she'd recognise his Patronus from Potter's and damn it, that's the only good thing about it now. Damn it, because now she's the only important thing attached to his lifelong companion, but he isn't talking to her.

How did he allow this to happen?

She's all that remains for him, it seems. How can he deny it, when she effortlessly floated into his mind, to give his Patronus a purpose?

26Chapters

He's kept his time perfectly to make sure that he crosses into her path at this very moment, intercepting her journey with her friends before the school day is over.

'... It isn't that hard, Ron,' he hears her approach closer. 'If you only paid attention, you'd-'

As she breaks off, he moves back, narrowly avoiding a collision with Potter who's put her between himself and Weasley.

'Sorry,' Potter scrambles to say while moving out of the way.

For his part, Weasley gives him an apprehensive look before stepping closer to Harry and then they both look at her. He doesn't know why he follows their direction, but once he's fully got his eyes on her and his heart recognises her, he's glad that he did.

Oh, he never fully reconciled how distracting she is to him until now -five days after avoiding her. He wants to be near her, closer than he is standing and he wants… Those eyes of hers are pleading to him, and yet so patient to wait for him, he never wants them off him ever again.

'See you, Hermione,' he hears Potter say, but he doesn't look away from her.

'Bye,' she returns with her eyes only on him.

That right there, her readiness to make time for him, is one of the reasons that he wants it all back. She's not even bothered to follow her friend's movements, her eyes are only for him, it appears.

'Assure me that you didn't remove my shield,' he quietly asks before she can say anything to him.'

It doesn't even matter anymore, he reminds himself. Whether she got rid of it or not, it just doesn't matter anymore. The moment that she looked up at him, ignoring every reason that she has to avoid him, he pardoned her for hurting him, the scar from it disappearing as well. He needs her to assure him, however, because he wants her word to mean something to him. He needs it to -she's all that remains, and that includes everything to do with her.

'I swear to you that I didn't, Professor,' she evenly begins pleading. 'At least not on purpose. I could only think of one thing that happened when I was convinced that I wanted nothing to do with you. It has to be that, but I didn't know what it was at the time. I only thought that it was a side-effect of coming of age, because I don't know much about witching customs. I couldn't have asked Ron either, because he's not a girl. He knows a lot about wizarding tradition, even more than Harry and I, but I don't know if that was your shield that came off me, so I didn't think to ask him. That's all I could think of, Professor. I promise you that I didn't do anything to your shield on purpose. Please believe me.'

Patiently, he waited for everything to come from her mouth, allowing her the need to fully explain herself. He must admit, hearing her speak is soothing him like nothing has all week. But, why isn't she nearing him? When she speaks like that, her tone pleading and expectant, she usually reaches out to touch him. No matter, he tells himself, he'll step closer to her if she won't do it. Maybe once he's made the first step, she'll reach out as well.

'Do you need me to say that I do?'

He still remembers their very last conversation; she apparently wants him to just tell her yes, instead of remaining quiet.

'Yes,' she replies with a faint smile.

'Well, I won't say it,' he tells her. 'If you don't show up for tonight's lesson, that is up to you.'

It'll also make him feel rejected, but the choice remains up to her, whether or not it makes him feel something.

A bigger smile breaks out on her face, seeing him off as he steps around her just and he feels a small smile of his own, thankful and looking forward to tonight, change the position of his lips. If she saw his smile, she saw it.

26Chapters

'You'll be learning how to remove curses from objects, but make a point not to touch them until you've successfully removed the curse,' he greets her at the door.

As she steps in, sending a somewhat measuring look his way, he notices that she hasn't tied her hair as she usually does. That smell from her neck is also stronger to his nose than it had been the other day.

That's interesting, he thinks as he manually closes the door after her.

26Chapters

'Should I leave?' she asks, her eyes drifting towards the door.

A dull pang hits his chest at her question, because while she clearly doesn't want to go just yet, he's rather transported to when he told her to leave and never come back. That memory, if he could, he'd take from his own mind; it makes him feel ashamed of himself.

'No,' he answers, moving his head a little bit, 'but I won't be teaching you anything else tonight.'

He hopes for his no to be his redemption for what he did, because he's not proud of it. After all, with the ease that she accepted him, overlooking his behaviour as she did, he must do his part of atonement. Not only that, he also just wants her to stay a little longer.

'Could I do my homework here, then?'

'I will not be the one to answer your questions,' he lightly refuses. 'Do something else if you choose to stay.'

'I don't have anything else to do,' she tells him, her lopsided head quite amusing to witness.

'Then sit in silence,' he gestures to her usual seat.

Not wasting a second, she moves from where she is to sink into the chair as if she's been waiting all this time for the invitation to come. In truth, watching her settle into her seat unsettles him. When ever has she needed him to invite her to do anything in this office? That much, he's ruined part of her confidence around him?

'And you, Professor?' she casually presents to him, breaking him away from his thoughts and tickling him unexpectedly.

'If I'm to sit in silence in my own office?'

He's only a muscle twitch away from bursting into a short laugh, pleasantly taken aback by her playfulness. He doesn't know if she meant to be playful, he only knows that she's a wonder, a forgiving, forgetting wonder, who's quite dangerous to him. Recognising that dangerous aspect of her is one of the things that tame his laugh to remain inside, the other thing being her own laugh -rich and sincere, he'd rather enjoy the sound of that, then shadow it with his own.

'Only if you want to,' she responds through her laugh with one of her hands flying to cover her mouth afterwards.

Well, that's definitely her being playful; he likes it. He likes it so much, that he'll surely dissolve into someone he doesn't recognise, if he doesn't level their balance. To start the journey to restored balance, he moves close to her chair, in part leaning and in part sitting on the table while his legs leisurely stretch out in front of him.

'I rather think that I should ask you questions for a change,' he says with a raised, challenging eyebrow. 'You've asked me enough to last a lifetime by now.'

'But I wanted to ask if you will be going down to the match tomorrow,' she explains to his waiting stare.

Dangerous, he said.

For certain, she'll have him laughing like a fool by the end of the night if he's not careful to guard himself against her agenda, because clearly, she's got it in her mind to have a light-hearted time while in here. But magic, he'd be a liar if he said that he wasn't enjoying all of it. It could just be the consequence of letting her back in after shutting her out, a recompense of sorts, but oh, he's going to indulge in it heartily.

'Are you truly asking if I will attend a match between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw?'

'I'm going,' she lets him know with a shrug.

'And I should suffer the same, for the reason that?'

To answer, she only shakes her head, which he doesn't mind. Pressing her for answers is nothing if it means that she will stay a word longer, engaging him in silly things that aren't duties and burdens. He wouldn't be bothered in the least if she'd decided to spend all night talking to him about nonsense. If this is her way of making up for their rift, even just for herself, he does not object -he's grateful for it, in fact.

'Hm?' he urges.

'Well, no, Professor,' she replies with a smile, 'you don't have to suffer. I'm only going because Luna always goes out of her way to support us. She made this lion for our first match and I think that it would be nice to support her House as well.'

'Miss Lovegood,' he thoughtfully acknowledges. 'She is one who doesn't seek the approval of others. Neither does she allow being an outcast to break her. She is quite a character.'

'She's a frie- I don't know,' she seems to change her mind. 'She's like Neville and Viktor.'

'And I?' he raises his eyebrow at her again.

How does he fit into her invitation? For they are clearly not friends. Something else, perhaps, simply student and teacher, unlikely, but friends, no, definitely not. The idea that he, Severus Snape, could be as Potter and Weasley are to her, is more ridiculous than Sybill being his friend.

'I just thought that you would be going,' she says, not giving him the answer that he asked for.

'Hmpf,' he lightly huffs. 'Was I meant to be your excuse from the match?'

Not that he is complaining, he is simply wondering, now that he's considered what him not attending the match could mean.

'No, Professor,' she quickly replies. 'I'll go to the match. I was only asking.'

No, she was only striking up a conversation. She won't tell him that, but he knows, because she never just does ask for the sake of it. She only looks at him after that, leading them to sit in complete silence for a moment.

He wonders, what could she be thinking about now?

There are quite a number of things that he could say to her, but how does he begin? Yes, he was wrong to have left her like he did and yes, he was wrong to avoid her, but where does he begin to tell her that he regrets his manner of handling things?

'Will you tell me something, Miss Granger?' he nervously tests for a start.

In all honestly, this, what he is attempting, is a new experience to him. Lily never gave him the chance to get to this point, so now that he is here, he feels strangely nervous. Beneath his clothes, his skin appears to be damp with sweat, and if he's right, his breathing has changed to something faster.

'What would you like to know, Professor?'

Her eager perkiness makes him even more nervous, causing him to shift his weight on his feet, wanting nothing more than to turn away from her for a moment.

What if she hears him and still chooses not to forgive him? What then?

Does he even know how to say words that he's never truly said aloud?

'Were I…' he begins, pausing to regulate his breathing. 'Miss Granger if I – I mean to know something.'

'What is it, Professor?' she asks, carefully leaning towards him.

So as not to lose the moment, with her a little bit closer to him, he goes right ahead to evenly ask, 'Were I to ask you to excuse my behaviour since Sunday, would you?'

And his eyes simply wait for her. Without blinking and his whole body frozen, his eyes stay pinned on her face, waiting for a reaction from her. For the immediate instant after his question, her face doesn't change, but a moment later, her light-hearted expression disappears, making his heart drop in tune with it as another expression decorates her face.

Heavy regret comes over him, attacking him with disparaging words. He might as well have shown her his bare buttocks, a part that isn't normally shown, the way she's apparently struck to impassivity and then to look down at her knees as though embarrassed for him. He makes to move away, accepting that he's made a mistake, but then she looks up, soon after rising to her feet and his attention is held by pure curiosity.

Just what will she do and say next?

He averts his eyes, of course, preparing himself for the worst and once prepared, he looks at her again. He can bear it, he believes. He deserves it too, he knows. In what seems like a delicately slow manner, however, she takes the only step to the side, bringing her flush into him, that he sets himself into an upright position from the table.

It's not the closeness that's making him uncomfortable, it's that he can't read her face at all. This Miss Granger he has never seen, and it's nearly as though she will transform into another creature right before his eyes. The transformation doesn't happen, because as he is lightly swallowing, thinking to ask her to give him a clue, her arms go around his middle, slowly joining at his back and her head comes to rest on his chest.

His heart explodes right then.

Or the world stops.

He isn't sure which.

A stunning spell couldn't even begin to render him like this.

If he dares to move his head, it will surely touch the top of her head. And his body… If he makes even the slightest of movement, he will surely disturb her position. He shouldn't move. He doesn't even think that he can. She, however, doesn't seem to share in his predicament, because ever so gently, she shifts her head, lifting it up to nestle between his cheek and neck, releasing a warm rush of breath to brush on his neck which in turn elicits a sporadic shiver from him.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

His heart is beating like it never has.

She's snug against his skin, breathing against him, touching him in that way, her arms tight around him as though to absorb him into her, and he simply cannot help himself. Wholly, he breathes her in, tightly wrapping his own arms around her; one keeping her steady against him by her shoulder and the other pressing her back further into him with a vigour that he never even knew was allowed to use on another person.

Oh, heavenly magic.

His fingertips dig into her body where they can, his eyes remain closed to enhance the feeling, he takes deep breaths to inhale her scent, he allows his heart to rush along with hers, not thinking to discipline it to behave, he savours in the warmth of her embrace, he reminds himself that he's missed her oh-so very much and just…

Everything. He swears that he wants everything.

He would give all of his power to know what she's thinking right now, so that he may always know it. What she means, so that he will never disregard it. What she wants, so that he may give it to her, no questions asked. How she feels, so that he will strive for as long as he can, to always remember to make her feel that way. In the absence of not knowing any of that, however, he's only certain that he will never again hurt her, even if she hurts him first.

Build-up, heavy and tight forms inside his throat as he marks that into his head; he is so very sorry for hurting her. How could he have ever hurt this one whose arms are around him, keeping him close to her?

'I will never again, Miss,' he softly yet earnestly apologises, holding onto her even more than before. 'Do you hear me?'

He feels her head move in a nod, the effect a soothing scrape against him, and though pleasant, it's not enough for him. It simply isn't enough, he needs more, which is why although it pains him, he moves his arms to draw her away from him. His arms unwinding from her body is the worst thing that he will see today, and he wishes that he could close his eyes to lock it out, but he can't. It's important that he sees her face.

Moving away from him, she tries to hide her face, something that he doesn't understand until he lowers his face to look into her eyes. They're welling up, he finds and simply because he can't think of anything else to stop her, he gathers her head into his neck again, softly keeping it there with his left hand as soft sobs begin to leave her.

He's made her cry at last then.

Never in his life has he had to comfort anyone. No one has ever been vulnerable before him, except this one girl who can shout at him at the top of her lungs. How someone so strong be so willing to be weak in front of him, he cannot reconcile into his understanding, and because he can't, he plants a soft kiss onto her hair. And then another; he is sorry.

'I swear to you that for as long as I live, I never again will,' he whispers into her hair.

Through sniffing, she nods her answer again, and again, it's not enough. She doesn't understand, he's not waiting for her to accept his word that way. He needs a word of oath, something that he will always have heard.

'Have you understood me?' he poses, desperate to the core to hear her respond, but again, she only replies with a nod. 'You will have to vocalise it, Miss,' he breathes.

This time, she's the one to move away from his hold, resulting in his hand sliding to her shoulder while she brings her head dangerously close to his.

'You see?' she sobs out, tears shining in her eyes. 'It matters to say the word.'

Not now. She can't be right now; she should please just say it.

'Don't, Miss,' he begs, leaning close enough for their heads to touch.

If not for the urgent need to look into her eyes, when she finally does answer him, he's not sure that he would've kept his head from touching hers.

'Sorry. Yes,' she says at last.

Appeased, he relaxes his hold on her shoulder to apologise one last time, 'It will never happen again.'

On his life, as worthless as it is to some, he will make it his mission to never hurt her again. She is, even with everything that he went through because of her during the week, extremely important to him. If his Patronus has ever invoked such feelings or protection and settlement as these, he cannot remember now, neither does he care to. This moment, he will never trade for even a glimpse of his Patronus, if it came down to making a choice; it involves him too much, his feelings too deeply and his appreciation much, much too sincerely.

'Okay,' the word accompanies her nod, and just like that, he knows that things will never go back to the way they used to be between them.

He isn't troubled by that thought in the least.