Chapter 8
Quite rarely, she's ever unprepared.
It simply isn't like her to not prepare herself with a list of things that might or might not happen when she decides to do something. Her very nature demands her to be thorough in her planning, although once in a very long while, she falters in her planning and is then caught by surprise.
'Oh!' she exclaims, her feet prematurely coming to a stop as soon as she sees him.
He's here, her mind registers what her eyes are seeing. She's surprised at first, because she didn't expect to find him here. And then, accepting that it's really him, a wild flare of excitement fills her, because she didn't expect to see him here; what a different sort of surprise.
'Professor!' she says, nearly out of breath. 'I didn't know that you were here.'
'I can tell,' he quietly returns, apparently reading her faltering reaction accurately.
That he's become this good at reading her, would otherwise be an endearing thing to realise, if it weren't for the fact that something about his unmoving face suddenly takes her back to last night, to when he'd looked her in the eyes while she cried. She can't recall now just how seriously he'd looked at her then, but she can remember how urgent he'd sounded. And that she'd cried; that part.
Like a small child, she'd cried in front of him, into him and it coming back to her memory now, causes her stomach to drop immediately - she didn't prepare for this to happen. Had she done her part in properly remembering what happened last night, and then just as properly apportioned her feelings on the things that happened, she never would have carelessly stepped around the castle without putting herself in order first.
Just what must he think of her after last night?
'I -Professor, I...' she tries to say something, only to come up with nothing fitting.
It feels as though her heart stops, but that can't be right, not when it's loudly banging against her chest as if it wants to leave and take her with it. She wouldn't mind that, to be honest; she rather prefers that it dragged her out of here than keep her where she's just about to die, suddenly attacked by the shame of what she did in front of him.
'You?' he evenly encourages, going as far as to set his fork down, which can only mean that he's invested in hearing her answer.
She could sink right into the ground, that's what, she answers him in her head as her mouth remains partly open and her left foot takes a step back. Seeing him face to face so early in the morning, so unexpectedly as well, and suddenly remembering that she cried while holding onto him, she could die right here where she's standing. She cried into him for goodness' sake! What could be more embarrassing than being confronted by his presence before she's had the chance to tackle that wrong?
Granted, he looks commonly uncaring over there, regally seated at the small round table with his boring looking breakfast before him, but unfortunately, that's nothing to assure her that she didn't look stupid to him last night. What if he's looking at her now, with the very image of tears running from her eyes and her making a fool of herself like a child in front of him? She really should've cried in private, after they'd held each other.
'I'm waiting,' he says to her, his voice patient.
He's incredible, really, she thinks as she does her best to keep her shame to herself; how does he make it seem like he's forgotten last night? He'd seemed present in what happened, and yet this morning, there's no trace of last night's remnants in his demeanour. If that's truly the case, then she'd best not draw attention to herself, to give herself away.
'I only came to ask something of Dobby,' the lie quickly tumbles from her mouth as she looks around for nothing. 'It's to do with Harry!'
When she follows her lie with another step back, he, not even letting a breath pass by firmly calls, 'Dobby!' on her behalf.
Brilliant, this precisely why people are advised against telling lies – they create difficult situations.
'It's all right, Professor,' she tries to dissuade him, now scrambling for anything that can save her. 'It's not that important. I could retu-'
'Master Snape,' Dobby responds to the call with a short bow, effectively cutting her off from saying more.
With haste, though very thankful for Dobby's quick appearance, she searches her mind for an appropriate excuse to tell Dobby before the lies that she's told up until now expose her.
'Hi, Dobby,' she warmly greets as an attempt to direct his attention to her before Professor Snape has the chance to speak to him.
'Hallo, Harry Potter's friend,' he replies, bowing his head in respect.
'I need to speak with you,' she says, beckoning Dobby with her hand, and then deliberately not looking at Professor Snape, says, 'I'm leaving now, Professor, thank you,' just as she quickly turns away from him.
This is ridiculous, she realises, but what else is she supposed to have done? She couldn't have allowed herself to stand there longer with him and be consumed by her shame, imagining all of the things that he must think of her now. No, she couldn't have done that – it would've killed her.
Walking away with Dobby following her, she'd like to believe that she's put an end to their interaction, and yet, experience with him has a greater part of her expecting to hear his voice calling for her to stop. He tends to allow her as much as he will tolerate and then reel back her when she's not all that prepared for it, and now shouldn't be any different. It is, however, she finds out when her steps away from him increase and he still doesn't say anything.
It's a good thing, she supposes, only, considering the other things from last night, he's really not interested in keeping her in the kitchen with him? What, he's not even going to pretend that he isn't finished with her? She's in half a mind to stop in her tracks and demand him to – Well, she can't demand anything of him, can she? It's a little bit frustrating, though, that he's not even doing anything to keep her with him. Has crying in front of him really changed his view of her that much?
Brilliant, not only has she made a fool of herself in front of him, she's also changed his opinion of her. Just brilliant.
It doesn't matter.
It's a lie, one told to soothe herself and fool herself into believing that it means nothing while pushing her to keep on walking, only, the unease is there; she feels it. She can try and trick her mind into thinking that it's for the better that he doesn't stop her, but her heart knows the truth - her feelings speak it very clearly. What she should do, however, is organise herself into place, because there is no logic in feeling two things at once; she's either ashamed of how she behaved with him last night, or she wants him to want her to stay back in the kitchen with her, but it cannot be both – that isn't logical.
'Could you do me a favour, please, Dobby?' she asks, deciding to focus on getting her thoughts away from Professor Snape for a start.
'It would be Dobby's honour,' he responds, looking up at her to show her a smile.
'Thank you,' she smiles back at him and then choosing that they've walked far enough away from his sight, she crouches down to his level. 'Could you conceal a few biscuits and bring them to me in the library, please?'
Eagerly, Dobby nods, moving her to touch his shoulder in gratitude as she pleads, 'And please don't let Professor Snape find out, all right?'
'Dobby won't tell Professor Snape,' he assures her with a hand over his heart while she straightens onto her feet again.
Faintly, even as she nods her acceptance, she wonders if she's inadvertently binding him to servitude simply because he's an elf, but as hurried as she is to leave, she doesn't give it more thought than necessary. Going her separate way from Dobby, only then does she consider it strange that Professor Snape is in the kitchen to begin with. It's been too long since he was last in here, and suddenly today, the morning following last night, he comes?
It's something to wonder about.
Given that he didn't even keep her back, can she wonder if he was waiting for her? She obviously cannot, but can she confirm that he wasn't?
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Taking the cue from her mind that's no longer able to pretend that it's concentrating on the text to her immediate left, her hand stops moving, heavily dropping onto the open page of her notebook. With a quiet sigh, she resigns to the fact that she's going nowhere, try as hard to concentrate as she might. At least twenty minutes have gone by, Dobby has brought her biscuits and left, but all she has to show for it are the two words on paper.
Professor Snape, her private notebook reads.
Her eyes run back and forth the two words, doing so as if they didn't read correctly the first time and then realising that nothing about them will change, she sighs again. She should be doing her research, but she's only read the same opening sentence five times, filling the space in between with thoughts of how she cried in front of him, making a complete fool of herself.
How will she ever face him again?
Maybe if she hadn't seen him in the kitchen, she wouldn't be like this; embarrassed and ashamed to see him later tonight again. Although, if she's being completely honest with herself, seeing him in the kitchen isn't the real problem. The real problem is that she didn't think about how the consequences of what crying in front of him could look like. Had she done even a little bit of thinking last night, she would've kept herself together, simply leaving it at holding onto him as he embraced her.
But, oh, that hug, her heart feels weightless just remembering it. She could sit here all day, keeping her mind focused only on that, because what else is she supposed to do with a pleasant memory? She wouldn't even feel guilty for not reading another academic sentence again today, if it would mean remembering that hug. It wouldn't be fair to keep it hidden away in the deepest part of her mind when it could bring her warmth whenever she remembers it.
It had been really, really nice; he held her so well, even better than that one dream where his hands travelled to her bum. It had felt like he knew how to hold her and how to accept her into him from experience or from memory even - that genuine his embrace had felt. Thinking back on it now, she supposes that was why it had been so easy for her to break down in front of him, behaving as appallingly as she did. It would be a lie to say that she didn't feel safe when he held her, which in turn inspired her to feel weak for him and yet protected by him.
What a way to be made to feel.
And still, that doesn't quite compare to how she felt when he apologised to her. Then, oh, she would've fainted if his hands hadn't kept her steady. His apology remains possibly the loveliest thing that he's ever done for her, and not only because it cut her off from sobbing out that he should never push her away like that again. So unlike him and completely unexpected it had been, that it touched her inside, transporting her that close to the edge of blurting out that he'd really hurt her by refusing to see her. The moment had been so ripe to pour out her feelings in response, but like a much-needed saviour, he stopped her from making a further fool of herself.
Imagine if she'd said that to him on top of crying!
In the kitchen, he looked unaffected, like himself on a normal day, and though she knows deep down that she can't use that as a mode of measurement, she can't help it think that maybe he's come to think less of her for crying like she did. Considering that he didn't even try and stop her as she left, she's most likely gone from being the sturdy girl who shouted at him to a silly and highly emotional student to him. That's just brilliant, then, being painted in a bad light to a teacher. Worse still, that she admires him, likes him, to be specific.
How horrible!
Who ever wants to be embarrassed in front of the person that they like?
Because she does like him.
A small gasp escapes along with the thought, leaving her breathless for a moment; she really does like him! Professor Snape!
She'll die, she'll die, and then she'll die some more. She likes the meanest, strictest and most private teacher that she could ever know, and, oh, does he like her too, in the way that she likes him?
He might, she quickly reasons, her mind suddenly a racing thing. He apologised to her, so he might. He even called her only Miss, so he might. Maybe it was just in her hysterical, emotional state that it sounded like a special way of addressing her - not quite as personal as her name, yet not quite as professional as Miss Granger. It rather sounded like a safe alternative. That, or he simply found Miss Granger too long to say during an urgent moment.
The latter would be a shame, though, she thinks with a soft sigh. His Miss sounded special to her, as ordinary a word as it is. But just to think, if he had meant it in a special way? And if he does like her like that? That would make it real, wouldn't it? It'd change everything, especially their lessons. She'd have to wearing her hair loose on the days that she wanted him to notice the difference. She'd also have to stop putting on perfume, just like she'd have to stop showing her happiness when time has passed and they haven't seen each other. So much would have to change, because they could get distracted during their lessons and...
He'd make a comment about her hair, noticing that she hasn't tied it and she would maybe blush, giddy that he's noticed. The picture is clear in her mind, so clear that it could pass for a memory, but she should stop this! There's anyway no factual evidence that he likes her back and she won't be as stupid as to think that she can confront him about whether or not he likes her. She may be a lot of things, pushy, bossy, able to go after what she wants, but Professor Snape is still a teacher and everything about telling him that she likes him could go very wrong. If she offends him, he could call her a silly schoolgirl at best, or worse, he could put an end to their lessons.
That's the absolute last thing that she wants.
She'd rather continue to like him in silence than risk having to learn from him at all. It's all so different for her now, because just thirty minutes back, she'd been looking to get away from him, pressured by shame and now here she is, thinking about him. The last time that she was like this, distracted enough to neglect her books, she was thinking of ways that she could get Ron's attention in time for the Yule Ball. That can't compare to this now, and so seeing no point in pretending any longer, she looks down to close her notebook as well as the textbook, only to realise that she's been writing in it this whole time.
Shocked at the messy lines of words, her eyes quickly read the scribbles that she's made, bulging out in response as a small butterfly-like feeling enters her stomach. In retaliation against the involuntary writing, she springs to her feet as if that will make the words go away.
'Brilliant!' she groans at her written words before hastily tearing out the page and just as hastily scrunching it up in her palm, aiming to throw it to the nearest rubbish bin.
After she launches it, only then does she notice McLaggen advancing on her and before she can register all of him, she watches as his eyes catch sight and follow the flying ball of paper, that for some eerie reason swiftly changes direction to land at his feet. Panicking for a moment, gathering together that he could've used his magic to redirect the ball to him, she remains glued on the spot as he bends down to pick it up.
'Hmm,' he remarks, to which she frowns in disapproval.
Strangely, as much as she's now deathly clutching her notebook in her hand, afraid that he'll do something to rip it from her, her body doesn't know how to do anything other than remain absolutely still where it is; he better not be thinking of reading that page.
'Well, well,' he says as he straightens and then looks at her for a second, a devious smile appearing on his face and then returns his attention to the ball of paper in his hand.
'Is this a personal confession?' he asks, tipping his head to the notebook in her hand.
If there was ever a way to communicate to her that he has every intention of reading what she wrote, it's that.
'Don't,' she warns in panic, afraid that if she moves from where she is to him, he'll do something rash like run out with the page and read it in private.
He's annoyingly persistent with her, that she knows, she only doesn't really know how much capable he is of disrespecting her when given the chance. It's an odd thing, knowing that she can overpower him and get her page back, but being deadly afraid that in the unlikely event that she fails, she'd expose herself. It's fear and panic of possible failure, even as small as it is in comparison to her magical ability, that's making her vulnerable to him. He could probably ask her to kiss him on the mouth and in this state, she'd take a moment to consider it, albeit begrudgingly. She's never really been in a position like this, where the minimal possibility of failure has her as a prisoner.
'Why?' he asks, all playfulness clear in his voice. 'Is it about me? I know that you like me, Granger.'
'It's not about you,' she pleads, the words a little bit strangled.
He doesn't listen to her, instead beginning to the straighten the paper in his hands, saying, 'We'll see.'
Sheer panic, mingled with desperation to keep him out of her life, pushes her to fight past her fear and act speedily instead and so bringing out her wand in one hasty move, she points it to his hands, aiming for the ball of paper to catch fire. Although aware that she could burn his hands in the process, it's all in self-defence; she'll apologise for it afterwards.
'What you do that for?' he exclaims, jumping back at the same time as he lets go of the now flaming paper.
The fire dies before the little burnt apart particles reach the ground, to her immense relief. Not satisfied with the ashes being on the ground, however, she disperses them so that no one will ever be able to put them together and read them. Afterwards, she vanishes every single particle.
'What was that?' he asks, his eyes wildly begging for an explanation.
'What?' she shrugs nonchalantly, 'I told you not to read it.'
Shaking his hand free from any remaining particle, he says, 'Yeah, well, you should've told me again, not try to burn my hands off.'
As sorry as she is for nearly burning him, she decides that no, she's not going to apologise for it. Does he have any idea what she would've done to him had he read her secret? Nearly burning his hand is the better alternative to an obliviated mind. She's never attempted the spell herself, but she's seen a failed attempt by Lockhart and that -if she made any mistake - would've been him.
'Don't be dramatic, McLaggen,' she tells him. 'It's your own fault that you just barged here, what did you expect?'
'I expected you to be nice. I just wanna talk to you,' he produces a fake-looking sweet smile. 'You're in the library, anyone can find you.'
'I will never want to talk to you, McLaggen,' she tells him seriously. 'Why won't you understand that? I'm sorry, but I just don't like you that way. Please leave me alone.'
'I can't leave you alone,' he tells her. 'I like you. Just be my girl, come on.'
My, what an idiot he is. How many times now has she told him that she's not interested in him? He could tell her that he likes her until he's turned blue in the face, but she will not take to believing him. It seems just too unlikely that he really likes her. She likes to think of him as how she thinks Lavender feels about Ron; they think that they are prospects, and they want to try them out. She won't be anyone's potential girl, when she can be with someone who really appreciates her.
'No,' she answers sternly. 'Just leave me alone, please.'
She doesn't like how she's constantly being forced to use her magic as a threat against him, although when it's necessary to, she'll keep using it for her own safety. It's in that mind, that she passes by him nearly certain that he won't do anything to stop her when she's got her wand out.
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A good supporter doesn't do what she's doing, floating in and out interest to do with the match, but she can't help it be distracted. Between her own life and a match between Houses that aren't her own, she's properly allowed to give herself more importance, isn't she? She'd normally give her entire attention to watching the match otherwise, observing to find errors and injustices against the team that she is cheering for, it's only that she has a much bigger concern to go over in her mind.
She likes her teacher, she quietly reminds herself – as if she needs to.
She really, really likes her teacher, that she's sure of. It's not just a crush, that too, she's sure of.
What she felt towards Lockhart couldn't even begin to come close to this with Professor Snape. Her feelings for Ron can't compare either, no matter how genuine and thorough they'd been. Viktor, in spite of all that being noticed by him, spending time with him and P with him induced in her, will never be able to claim that he made her feel like this either. This, for Professor Snape is a uniquely crafted feeling that even she can't name well.
At the very least, she knows that she likes him, if everything else concerning him and her is too intricate to pull apart here in the Quidditch pitch, surrounded by fellow students.
And just how does she know that she actually likes him?
Because he's good with her, she answers herself, a certain feeling of delight filling her up within.
Quite simply, he's gotten the hang of interacting with her, just about having mastered the tact of bringing her to certain points of curiosity, of expression, of reactions, of expectation, that she nearly always looks forward to being with him again, just so she could be brought to those points again - over and over. That's always been a secret inside of her, one that she never even dared to think to herself about, lest she fixated on it, and sooner or later exposed herself to him with.
She also knows that she likes him, because he interests her so very much.
To her, he's like a book, a certain looking book with an interesting, attractive title that she can't read, let alone open. Yes, she's touched the book, both out of habit learned from years with Harry and from the spring of her own character, but up until now, she hasn't been able to immerse herself into it to learn everything within it. It's been no hindrance either, that he neither encouraged nor discouraged her occasional touches.
Gosh, she wants to know everything about him – that's also another reason.
Thinking about him now, remembering him where she sits, seeing his unsmiling face, recalling his concentrated expressions and nearly hearing the things that he says to her, she just wants to be near him again. Yes, she's still ashamed that she cried in front of him, but she also wants to be close to him again; it's... She isn't sure what it is.
When he shut her out, ignoring her every attempt to talk to him, her spirit had firmly held on, pushing her to follow after him, so as not to repeat what happened at beginning of the term. Although he ignored her, showing her that he didn't want her, she couldn't simply accept it as the end, when she still had to know what she did wrong, making him not want her to come back to him anymore. Remembering that he never turned her away when she came to him before, made her push harder to see him. As well as recalling that he became sensitive when she assumed things about him, it was very easy to understand his rejection and therefore forgive him later on. That she wanted him to believe her, that she didn't take anything away, also helped in-
'All you all right, Hermione?' Luna's voice breaks through her thoughts.
A little distractedly, she turns to her side and then seeing the concerned look on Luna's face, she tries her best to pull herself together at once. She needs to get Professor Snape as far away from her thoughts as possible, otherwise what happened with McLaggen in the library will repeat itself, only this time with no page to write on, she'll find herself out loud about things that she's not supposed to.
'I'm uh…'
She has no idea what to say to Luna, because the thought of even admit that she's got something else on her mind is a little dangerous to admit to another student.
'You don't want to be here, do you?' Luna asks with a small smile. 'I can tell. It was awfully kind of you to come, but you don't have to stay if you'd rather be with someone else.'
Oh no, is she that transparent? Isn't it getting dangerous now? How long before she exposes herself today?
'I'm sorry, Luna,' she says, beginning to get up. 'I did want to be here, but I… I'm sorry.'
She really wanted to support Luna, but this is getting terribly unsafe for her. She's usually well accommodated in herself, very secretive, but she's never been torn up concerning feelings for a teacher. It all seems like the biggest thing that has ever happened to her and her mind can't just shut it out.
'It's all right,' Luna nods. 'Thank you for showing us some support, even if you did miss our first goal.'
'I'm sorry,' she apologises one last time, feeling like a terrible person and then makes off out of the seats.
Something must be done about this already; her being distracted while surrounded by people could cause her to reveal what she isn't supposed to, and once someone knows that she likes a teacher, it could go very badly for her.
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'Madam Pince, could I perhaps borrow one more book?'
Like she knew would happen, the librarian looks at her in the same way that she always does when she begs for more books than she's permitted to have; with tired disbelief. If only the madam would accept once and for all that this is bound to happen for as long as she's a student at Hogwarts, they'd never have to repeat this conversation again.
'You've already borrowed the allowed six, Miss Granger,' she's tiredly told.
'This one is really important, Madam. I will return it by tomorrow morning.'
Even with there being a slot to slide the books in over the weekend when the library is closed, the madam still shakes her head as if to say that she doesn't believe a word of that, but still asks, 'Which is it?'
'The teacher's Code of Conduct,' she quickly supplies and then only holds her breath in waiting.
Her anticipation is rewarded with fitting interest, the librarian peering over her much like she's waiting for something foreign to spring out at her.
'The student's Code of Conduct, you said?' she asks, probably thinking a mistake was made.
'No, Madam Prince. I'd like a copy of the teacher's Conduct of Conduct,' she replies with a firmness that's meant to convince.
In her first year, she read the student's code of conduct to learn the rules. At the beginning of this year when she started her prefect duties, to familiarise herself with the rules, she read it again. It's a small book, barely even eighty pages long as it details the offenses, their severity and then attaches the fitting disciplinary code to it, but one of the graver misconducts that she won't ever forget listed in there, is the one prohibiting students from having sexual relationships with each other in the castle. Knowing that, she's nearly certain that teacher and student relationships are forbidden; she only needs to confirm it in written form.
'Whatever for?' the woman wonders. 'Is there something going on that the headmaster needs to hear about?'
'No, Madam,' she shakes her head. 'I only want to familiarise myself with the rules. I'm looking into career options.'
Of course, she's doing that in her spare time, but to Madam Pince it's an utter lie. She can't very well tell the woman that she needs to confirm just how harmless her feelings for Professor Snape can be considered when and if accidentally discovered by someone else.
'Of course,' the woman agrees, 'One moment.'
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When she was with Viktor, he never even mentioned sex to her. Her mind didn't wander on the subject, bringing it up here and there, even when she kissed Viktor, but look at her now, wondering what it's like. Obviously, she can't rely on those romance novels that she read when she was just ten; they already lied to her about kissing, making her believe that – never mind that now.
For now, she's curious about sex.
Now that she likes a man who's obviously lived longer than she has, one who might be accustomed to having sex, even if he is unmarried, she's curious about it. There's no harm in thinking about everything, she convinces herself. In fact, it's only right that she prepares her mind for an eventuality, because say that he does end up liking her in return, would she be willing to kiss him, or do that with him?
The simple thought makes her a little hot.
Legally, she's of age to start drinking and get married, but just because she can do those things, is she willing to? Especially if he were to require it of her? He wouldn't, would he? She's barely got breasts, and she's read that men like breasts on women. Would he find her attractive enough or would he take one look at her naked body and be disappointed?
Oh gosh, where would they even do it?'
This castle can't be trusted. The stairs move around as they please. The ghosts are able to see wherever they want – and they speak, on top of it all. And Peeves! Professor Snape would for certain never let her into his private dwelling place, not when he refuses to answer even the simplest of things about himself.
But why is she even going so far in her thoughts, when she doesn't even know how he feels about her? Oh, she's a mess. He could very well be betrothed to another woman while she's adding him to her daydreams. At the very least, she should continue to study the Code of Conduct and then take it from there.
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The teacher's Code of Conduct is very clear on the subject, there's no way around it.
Her heart can clench all that it wants to, and it can feel disappointed all that it feels entitled to, but it won't change the rule that should she engage with her professor in a relationship that isn't one of teacher and student, he would lose his job, and she would be expelled.
It's straightforward and she should accept it.
If she so much as lets him know that she has feelings for him, and then he, for whatever reason decides to go accept her feelings and express his own, they could very well get carried away in one of their lessons.
She would hold his hand for far too long and he would step too close into her. Her eyes would search his and the words on her mind would die inside there, never making it to her mouth, because he would stoop down like those 'ideal' men in films and kiss her like it was the only thing that he wanted to do in the world. She would lose her breath in the process, accepting his lips to touch hers, and if his fingers found a way to caress her face while they kissed, she'd become mushy in his hold and then-
Dumbledore would probably burst into the office then!
He'd walk through the door already beginning to say, 'Severus, could I interest you-' and then harshly break off just the two of them quickly break apart. Her heart would stop in fright, her eyes widening as Dumbledore would give Professor Snape a filthy look and her, a disappointed one. Both of them would stick close together, understanding that they'd been caught, but they wouldn't let the other be scolded alone. And when Dumbledore would express his disappointment verbally, they would hold their hands together, ascertaining that they simply got carried away, that it was the first time ever, but he wouldn't have any if it.
He would tell Professor Snape to pack his bags immediately and if she wanted a chance to redeem herself, because she was Harry Potter's friend, she would remain silent about what happened but would have to cut all ties with Professor Snape. Dumbledore would then leave them alone to say their goodbyes, and she would turn to him, realising that she is the curse that befalls him, the one that chases him away from Hogwarts forever. Her heart would break knowing that she cost him his job, and he would call her especially softly, assuring her that it wasn't her fault, but she wouldn't hear it.
'But Professor Dumbledore trusts you,' she would insist. 'He wouldn't just fire you, would he? Couldn't you speak to him to keep you?'
He'd only answer her with a look typical of him, not willing to dash her hopes and break her heart even further.
Oh, how dreadful.
She'd cry for days, refusing to speak to anyone and she'd feel terrible. Dumbledore would never look at her the same way again, and he'd probably tell her parents, who would be so, so disappointed in her breaking such a fundamental school rule – would they ever look at her the same way again?
It would be horrible.
Even now, knowing that she's only imagining a daydream, her throat is heavy and tears are waiting in her eyes, ready to fall when she blinks.
The hate mail that she received in her fourth year would be nothing compared to what people will say once it's let slip that she likes her teacher. They'd call her names, blame her scholarly achievements on indecent interactions with her teachers, and she'd be accused of destroying a man's life by chasing him away from his job.
Everyone will be so disappointed in her.
Her parents will be very disappointed that she would throw away her reputation like that, when she could have waited until she was finished with school. The Weasleys, Professor McGonagall, Harry and Ron, just everyone look at her differently; they'd go back to believing what was written in fourth year about her. The Daily Prophet would write a sensational story about her, probably making up false claims to paint her in an even worse light.
Just how will she ever face him later tonight?
Will she really be able to look him in the eyes and carry on as though she hasn't been thinking about him all day?
And her possibly being the curse that happens to him at the end of the year, how will she prevent that from happening if she already likes him?
26Chapters
Although the door is wide open for her to walk into, she still raps her knuckles on it, remaining just outside the threshold. To her knock, he responds by looking her way to then say nothing at all. It's not that she expected him to tell her to enter, it's that she's not prepared to be here. From the time that she fixed her day's outfit in preparation for the lesson, her heart wouldn't stop pounding; she's been afraid to come here at last.
'Good evening, Professor,' she says to him, still not making a move inside.
'Are you certain that you want to be here?' he asks her seriously, his face mirroring his tone.
Without answering him, she holds her breath, feeling like she'll start shaking soon. He once said that he knows her, and there he is, looking at her as if waiting for her to confirm that she isn't sure that she wants to be here. Deciding that she's going to brave this out, she steps into the office, ignoring to answer the question and choosing not to close the door behind her. She comes to take a seat, doing her best to keep her eyes on his.
'Are you sure that you wouldn't like another day?' he presses, leaning back in his chair as though to have another view of her. 'Don't think that I haven't noticed what you did this morning. What I don't know is why.'
'I…' she nervously stammers.
'Are ashamed?' he provides quite seriously. 'Embarrassed? Appalled?'
She can't tell him, that's what. She can't spell out her embarrassment, just like he never just comes out and says the things that he means. Besides, her embarrassment from the morning isn't so much of an issue and her current revelation is.
'I'm fine now, Professor,' she moves her head as well take three steps inside. 'I don't need more time.'
She does, and she knows it; honestly, the lies that are coming from her today. She needs at least a whole week to get over the fact that she made a fool of herself by crying in front of him, and also that she could be the reason that he doesn't come back. She needs that time to be all right with herself and maybe decide if wanting to spend time with him is worth not seeing him the next year.
'Are you certain?' he asks, suddenly closing the door.
A little startled, she jumps at the sound of the closing door, and though the moment of fright passes, her heart continues to thump wildly at the idea of being enclosed in this office with him. Her daydream scenarios always began with a closed door and...
'Yes,' she says the lie, fully expecting him to tell her that he doesn't believe her.
'I do not believe you,' he says as if reading her mind. 'I will, however, advise you to take note of what I'm about to tell you.'
For a moment, he quietens as though to give her the time to ready her ears and just when she starts to wring her hands together with nervousness, stealing one glance at the door, he begins speaking in his usual tone for delivering something important.
'What occurred, did,' he begins. 'It occurred as it did, and now we carry on from it. You will not treat it as something other than what it was. Neither will you make as though it never occurred and certainly not less than it was. Is that understood?'
Resisting the urge to clear her throat, she lets out a strangled, 'Yes, Professor,' to which surprisingly, the faintest of smiles appears on his face.
His smile is barely visible, but the way that the corners of his mouth slightly turn up, she can see that he's smiling at her answer, not really her. If there's one thing that she appreciates about his smile, is the assurance that came before it that he doesn't think less of her for crying in front of him.
'Now...' he says, gesturing to her to rise as he gets up from his seat, 'if you would stand there, I'm going repeat the shield on you.'
Oh, the shield.
In her ponderings during the day, she'd forgotten about it. He steps around the edge of his table, quickly crossing to her and taking hold of her forearm to guide her away from her current place. With her eyes on his hand on her, she allows him to place her where he wants her, all while she focuses on keeping herself together. There's suddenly a heat to her that she's not comfortable with, and whether it's the result of how her daydreams looked like all day or the simple fact that he's the one initiating the contact for a change, she can't be sure. She only knows that she needs to distract herself before she starts getting carried away in her thoughts.
She could barely keep herself together when surrounded by her peers during the day and now in the presence of the person who's been on her mind, a person who's become very good at reading her, she's bound to expose herself.
Cleverly, she needs to distract herself, using as much logic as possible. Besides, she has had experience with liking someone in silence before. As she did it with Ronald, she can do it with Professor Snape as well; she's Hermione Granger, of course she can do anything that she sets her mind to. Also, the stranger that she behaves in front of him, if she deviates from the usual Miss Granger that he's come to know, he'll point it out to her again, pushing her to answer him.
She must pull herself together. She must be normal. She can manage it.
'Will you tell me what it is?' she asks him, hoping that her voice sounds normal enough.
Seemingly with amusement, letting go of her, he then eyes her, soon after assessing her whole being, to then take a step back from her before remaining silent after all. Really, did she expect him to say yes? Doesn't he always do this to her when he doesn't want to answer her positively?
This man.
'Did you use it on yourself?' she prods as he draws out his wand.
'Tell me that you expect me to answer you,' he says to her, his eyes set on her neck for some reason.
She wouldn't ask him if she didn't expect him to, would she?
'I actually do,' she tells him with no shame, feeling rather bold now. 'It doesn't make much sense does it, to shield me, but not have it on yourself? I already know that you have it.'
After hearing the words come from her mouth, it hits her how easily she's slipped into her usual self. It's as if she wasn't, just some seconds back, timid in her interaction with him, unsure of what to do and afraid of giving herself away. Now, she's become her old self, all thanks to his behaviour. How odd that he's able to draw her out of herself just by being himself. A part of her wants to smile at that, but instead she waits for him. While waiting, from her upper body, his eyes cut back to hers and one of his hands reaches out to take her left arm, gently moving it to a bent position.
'You don't know what you are talking about,' he assures her, his eyes going back to her arm, 'and if you keep talking, I will change my mind.'
'Fine. From now on, I'll only keep quiet when I'm here,' she tells him, testing to see how much of her silence he really prefers.
Also, that is something that she would've said in the past, isn't it?
He lets go of her arm a little too fast, she notes, but when he runs his wand over her, muttering some words that his voice carefully conceals, she takes to understanding that he released her for a reason. If she's supposed to feel something wash over her, however, she doesn't, but then again she never felt anything when she woke up in the infirmary either.
'Did I say that you couldn't speak?' he asks her at last, putting two steps' distance between them to assess her one last time.
'Sort of,' she says.
'Don't say things that aren't true,' he returns, returning his eyes to her as well.
His stare sets it in for her, instantly making her settle into their routine. She's often wondered how he remains so unaffacted by anything, but considering that she came in here believing that it'd be a tormenting thing to be with him while her thoughts ran wild and realising that it's nothing like she thought it would be, she's marvelling at him. She appreciates that he's able to make her feel at ease to be all the way from rude to weak in front of him without serious repercussions. He's carrying on like nothing ever happened between them. If this is how it's going to continue being with them, there won't be a problem with her being the curse that gets him away from Hogwarts.
'Take a seat and listen to my words carefully,' he tells after the brief silence. 'Take note of the rhythm of my words, watch how I move my wand and make sure to write it down if you will forget.'
Nodding, she goes to her seat and finding some parchment ready on his table, pulls it to her.
'Could I ask you something, Professor?' she asks, her eyes following him to his seat.
'Have I not told you that you could ask me what it is that you wanted to know?'
'You did,' she confirms. 'I wanted to know, Professor, at the beginning of term when we weren't speaking, and I –' she stops just like that, his expression being the reason; he looks too relaxed and maybe expecting her question to be something different. 'Can I really tell you?' she wonders, a little unsure of whether to.
'Why is it that your actions tell me that you trust me, and yet your words prove your doubt of me, consequently resulting in your terrible habit of making me repeat myself?' he asks her, nothing on his face changing.
'It's – I don't do it on purpose, Professor.'
And she really doesn't. Sometimes, she just needs that extra confirmation from him - she can't really explain it.
'Then tell me,' he evenly encourages.
'I wanted to know why your shield was important for me to keep,' she says and then waits for him to say something.
It's something that she constantly thought about when he refused to see her, but he's only looking at her now, silently urging her to go ahead and explain herself in detail. It doesn't look like he'll ask her for anything.
'It's only that I was remembering how angry I was those first weeks of term,' she volunteers an explanation. 'Everything felt irritating and I didn't want anyone mentioning you to me. I hated that you wouldn't talk to me and make me understand what I did wrong, because I didn't know. When I found out that you spoke to Professor Slughorn, I was even more confused and angry, because I didn't know what you wanted. I didn't know how you really felt. It seemed like you were angry, but you also seemed not to care. It made me feel like I didn't matter and I didn't want to ask you. I knew that I didn't do anything to you, so I didn't want to be the one who came to you.'
Crossing his arms, he asks, 'That's why the shield came off?'
'No,' she shakes her head. 'That happened on my birthday. Ron had just told me that everyone was afraid of me, because you were being horrible and they all believed that I had done something to upset you. That's how I decided that I didn't want anything to do with you anymore, and then this bout of warm magic blew off me. That was your shield, wasn't it?'
She already knows that it was, but she still feels better when he confirms, 'It was,' to her.
'I didn't know,' she confesses, because had she known, she would have questioned him about it; what it was and why she had it in the first place.
'It's no matter now,' he tells her. 'I've made sure that you can never fling it off again.'
'That's also what I've wondered about, Professor,' she begins to explain. 'Harry's mum's love was what protected him from Voldemort -the Dark Lord, and I only wondered if she would have used a similar shield to the one you placed on me. Mine obviously wouldn't be a shield made from love, but protection is a bit like love, I think. I know that you only wanted to protect me from curses, but I wondered why you wanted me keep your shield if I could have removed it. Harry didn't have that choice to remove his protection, but if I understood you well, you made a way for me to remove it. But then you didn't like that I removed it. That isn't clear to me. It's like you gave me a present that you expected me to throw away, but when I did, you didn't like it.'
'What is your question?' he simply asks, which frustrates her a little, to the point of a small frown.
She said all that, explained herself very clearly, using as many words as possible, and that's all that he has to ask? How irritating.
'Why?' she questions nonetheless.
'It was mine,' is all that he says to her; his voice not wavering, no part of his body moving, but that is all that he says to her.
'I don't understand that, Professor.'
If it's significant more than she believes his protection to be, she wants to know how.
'If you understand how I felt about you not having it anymore, then you understand enough. There are things that you are never to know, and are not yours to understand.'
'But-'
'Equally,' he uncrosses his arms to lean down on his table towards her, 'I could ask you to tell me why you felt the need to tell me about Thestrals when you did, but I would assume that you wouldn't be willing to tell me.'
'I would be willing,' she replies defiantly, 'or else I wouldn't have mentioned them to you.'
'Oh?' he raises an eyebrow. 'Perhaps you'd like a drawn up list of all the things that you have mentioned and never since elaborated on?'
'No, but I did want to tell you about the Thestrals, Professor.'
Then, she'd felt a pull towards him. The way that he cared for her in the infirmary made her feel vulnerable to him and she just wanted someone to hear her. Harry was grieving Sirius, he wouldn't have done. Ron, wouldn't have been a good choice either, which left him as the only fitting person at the time.
'Tell me now,' he invites.
He's serious, that much she can tell. He's not even demanding her to tell him, he's simply asking her to tell him, but she just doesn't understand why it's important for him to know now.
'You want to know?' she wonders, not seeing his reasoning.
'Would I have asked if I didn't?'
No, she supposes that he wouldn't have.
Did she mention that she likes him? Because this, her heart smiling at his warped declaration of readiness to know, is a perfect example of why she does.
26Chapters
The weeks before now, mid-December, have been preceded by varying lessons.
On some nights, they would get straight into what he had planned to teach her, while on others, he allowed her to begin speaking only then to redirect her questions into conversations where she mostly spoke and he mostly made her speak by asking her questions that were disguised as mockery.
Her feelings, she's managed to keep hidden, only here and there looking at him a little too long, or wanting too much to impress him when she got something right on the first try. He didn't notice, of course, or if he did, he didn't care to acknowledge her achievement; he simply carried on as he ever was.
She isn't complaining, though, she rather finds that she wouldn't change a thing.
26Chapters
Since he began dating Lavender, Ron's strangely become very generous with touching her. It's not so much that she's complaining about it, and that's not to say that he does it often, but she'd still like it if he didn't put so much weight into when he drapes his arm around her.
'Say, Hermione, can't you tell Snape not to give us essays from now on?' he asks.
As closely draped to her as he is, she still manages to look at him without their faces touching. She couldn't have expected more from him, she supposes – he's always looked for any excuse to get out of schoolwork. Honestly, if he had the choice between staying at home and coming to school, he'd probably stay at home.
'Let go, Ronald,' she scolds, looking at Harry for assistance.
While Harry does look their way on the other side of the small table, he says nothing to discourage Ron who doesn't remove his arm from her. She considers Harry for a moment, wondering if something's bothering him, but suddenly remembering her own thoughts to do with Professor Snape, she changes her mind about mentioning how quiet he's been since they sat down to work on their essays. She'll won't ask any questions, when she's got troubling thoughts of her own; it's only fair.
'And I will do no such thing,' she says to Ron instead.
'Oh, come on, please,' he begs, tightening his hold around her as by pulling her closer into him. 'It'll help us loads.'
No, it won't help them at all, she thinks as Ron looks at Harry, who in turn looks at her. It's frustrating how lazy they can be, when they're very capable of doing their own schoolwork.
'If you want something from Professor Snape, then maybe you should ask him yourself,' she tells them before returning to her work.
'He'll listen to you, Hermione,' Harry tells her. 'He likes you.'
Stunned, she quickly looks up at him, realising too late that her reaction would have given her away to a wiser, nosier person. Rather than giving him an answer, though, she only frowns at him, because the truth is, she can't even deny that Professor Snape does seem to want her around him. He seems to tolerate her more than just for their lessons, never turning her away whenever she goes to him outside of their schedule. What Harry doesn't know is the amount of times that she has to ask him for things before he finally gives in. They wouldn't be so quick to assume that she can easily get what she wants from Professor Snape if they knew the truth.
'She never denies it these days,' Ron remarks about her silence.
She can't deny it, because the truth is that she wishes that he liked her as well. Is it so bad to want the person that she likes to like her back, even if they can't do anything about it? For years, she waited in vain for Ron to come around to liking her as well, and she really doesn't want to go through the same with Professor Snape; it's too discouraging to like someone who doesn't like her back.
'No,' she says at last. 'I'm not going to be the accomplice to your failure in class. You have to do the essay. You do realise that being an Auror isn't all about spells and physical action? You're basically detectives who have to understand the mind of criminals, and know how to combat things with plans and strategies. You can't win every situation with spells and magic, you know. That's why we all have brains; we have to use them.'
Mocking her strict answer, Ron yawns, implying that she's boring him with all that and then Harry begins laughing as she removes Ron's arm to smack it lightly.
26Chapters
Several days before Christmas break, she arrives a little later than she usually would to his office and finding it open, believing that he's inside, she begins to smile only to lose her smile when she sees who's inside the office.
'Oh,' she recognises. 'Professor Dumbledore, good evening, sir.'
Smiling at her, he accepts her greeting with his own, 'Good evening, Miss Granger.'
'I'm supposed to have a lesson with Professor Snape,' she tells him, suddenly feeling the need to explain herself to him.
She can only blame him for that urge, seeing as he seems to be patiently waiting for something. For all she knows, tonight's lesson will be cancelled. Sometimes, it slips her mind that outside of Defence Against The Dark Arts and his lessons to her, he has other duties, not only including the Order, but also Head of House and other teacher things. Simply, she'd like to know if she should leave.
'Ah, yes,' the old professor remarks. 'I shall be leaving shortly. But as I am here, how are you, Miss Granger?'
'I'm fine,' she responds tentatively.
The headmaster's interest in her since that week when he watched her, is strange to her. He has every right to worry about his students, but it really only seems strange to her that he's asking about her. She doesn't understand why, but something within her is keeps telling her that something about him is going on. That she's imagined him to catch her in the act of something inappropriate with Professor Snape isn't helping her now either.
'Are you enjoying school?' he asks again, his eyes studying her.
'I am.'
'And brewing with Professor Slughorn?'
'That too,' she answers.
She wishes that this would end soon. There's no real substance to their conversation and while the headmaster is only doing his part of being interested in how school is going for her, she's not all that comfortable talking to him like this. It's all too polite and not important.
'And the lessons with Professor Snape?'
'Yes,' she nods.
Following her answer, for a moment, he only peers at her, and just when she's about to look away from him, he asks, 'And Professor Snape?'
Her heart seems to skip a beat at the question, and yet she weathers through the irregularity to ask, 'What about him, Professor?'
'If he treats you well, I suppose,' she's told. 'He is not particularly fond of students at all times, and I wondered if the two of you get along fine. I seem to remember you confessing that Harry's lessons last year didn't go quite so well.'
'He's nice,' she hastily says, mentally kicking herself for saying that.
Professor Snape nice; she's a bumbling idiot.
'Of course,' he nods appreciatively. 'And, forgive me for insinuating, but you're not giving him any trouble, are you?'
'Not that I'm aware of, Professor. He usually lets me know if he's upset with me or if I've done something to him.'
'Hmm,' comes from the headmaster, his finger lightly stroking the side of his face.
More than his response, she doesn't like the look on his face. It's not suspicious enough to alert her of anything, neither is it innocent enough to not make her wonder what he means by it.
'Did he say something to you about me, Professor?'
'Not what you have just mentioned,' he replies, making her curios as to whether what she said is important or not.
Will it get her into trouble, if he thinks that she deliberately upsets one of his teachers?
'Don't worry yourself about it,' he speaks again. 'I'm simply curious to see how my students fair with my teachers. Nothing else. Will you tell Professor Snape that I stopped by?'
He won't wait for Professor Snape? That's strange.
'I will, Professor,' she promises, slowly moving to take a seat while he leaves.
Settling in, she pulls out her usual book to begin reading while she waits for Professor Snape to arrive. After a reading three paragraphs, she hears the door closing and looking that way, she meets with his form.
'Professor Dumbledore was here,' she tells him at once.
Stopping shortly, his face suddenly takes on an irritated look as he asks, 'What did he say to you?'
'Nothing,' she answers. 'He only asked if I was rude to you or if you were mean to me. Nothing, really.'
'What did you tell him?' he urgently wants to know.
'Nothing. Only that you aren't unhappy to give me lessons.'
She watches him, and though he looks to be thinking, there's something unhappy about him. He never tells her anything anyway, so she will not push him to tell her if he's also suspicious about the headmaster like she is. But in the spirit of sharing, if he's going to be unhappy about the headmaster's visit, she might as well get the other piece of news out of the way as well.
'And, uh, Professor Slughorn wants us to have a dinner next week before we leave for Christmas break,' she announces to him, secretly hoping that he'll forbid her from going.
He looks disturbed enough to deny her.
26Chapters
'Ron,' she turns to him as they do their nightly prefect duties, 'do you know if your mum invited anyone from the Order for Christmas lunch?'
It's rather bold of her to assume that they'll have some sort of lunch at all, when they could easily have dinner, it's only that she has to know before she makes her decision about where to go for Christmas.
'No,' he shrugs, not particularly showing interest in the idea. 'She'll probably only invite Percy, the idiot.'
'Will he be coming then?'
She watches him carefully, wanting to see how he reacts to the idea of Percy showing up for lunch. She may only be looking for the information that she needs, but she also cares about his feelings. He's already called his brother an idiot, but who knows, maybe he'll be glad to see his brother after some time of not seeing him.
'I doubt it,' Ron answers her, pulling a disgusted face. 'He's a real piece of work, that Percy. He thinks he's better than the lot of us since he's with the Ministry now.'
About Percy, she'll keep quiet.
There's already the thing going on with Fleur, and while she doesn't do anything to defend Fleur, deep down, she's never really okay with how they're treated. Percy, for example, only does what the law says, even if goes against what his family wants – she can't blame him for being obedient. Whereas Fleur has never really done anything to prove that she doesn't truly love Bill; it's not as though he's rich and as handsome as she is. She's guilty front not defending the girl, but who is she to be in someone's home and tell them how to behave towards their own guests? She laughs at Ginny's jokes when in truth, it's not a very nice thing to be ganged up on; she knows that.
'But you'll be coming with us for Christmas, right, Hermione?' he asks, sounding too hopeful.
'I don't know yet,' she tells him honestly.
26Chapters
'Are you remembering to be careful?' he asks before she steps out of the door, making her turn back to him. 'It's no secret that beginning at around this time of the year, the girls especially begin experimenting with love potions.'
Incredulous to think that he'd believe her capable of such a thing, she nearly marches back to him. She doesn't, instead, she places her hands on her hips.
'You think that I would make one?' she cries from the door.
'Mr. McLaggen seems to have taken a liking to you,' is his crisp answer to her, 'and while it's no concern of mine what he does, he should not break the rules.'
'He wouldn't slip me a love potion!'
He apparently doesn't care to believe her, because he says, 'If I were to be called to the infirmary for an antidote for you, surely I'll feed you another dose instead. You cannot take these things lightly. I have taught long enough to know which potions interest students the most.'
'What sort of warning is that?' she heartily cries, her feet carrying back to him. 'You couldn't just tell me to be careful around McLaggen?'
'I did,' he confirms, looking at her intently, 'and you confidently replied that he wouldn't.'
'I don't think that he would,' she explains herself, not at all liking how he's making it seem like she's to blame for actions that haven't been made by McLaggen yet. 'He doesn't look like the sort.'
'The Dark Lord was once a very prestige and outstanding student; a charmer and quite well behaved I am told. He was trusted by everyone.'
What a comparison to make.
'McLaggen is annoying, but he isn't capable.'
'As you insist,' he coolly returns, 'however, my words remain as they were said. I should not be called to the infirmary on behalf of you.'
'They wouldn't call you while Professor Slughorn's the Potions teacher,' she responds bitingly.
She doesn't understand this man sometimes. He has such a way of being himself that just frustrates her.
'Like I said, I will feed you another dose if you happen to find yourself poisoned with that rubbish.'
'You can't do that!' she exclaims, her eyes pleading with him. 'I'd be infatuated with two people then, wouldn't I? That would be horrible! I wouldn't be able to focus on my studies. I'd only be daydreaming about-'
Quickly, she clamps her mouth shut, catching herself before she can tell him things that he doesn't need to know.
'It's completely avoidable if you heed my warning to be careful around that boy, if he is to accompany you to the dinner,' he says to her. 'As well as Draco, might I add.'
'Draco?' she's surprised that he'd even say such a thing to her. 'He'd never want me to be infatuated with him.'
His face changes suddenly, taking him from the stolid picture to one of impatience.
'Mi-' he begins, apparently changing his mind immediately afterwards to say, 'Would you stop contradicting me as though I know nothing! My eyes see far beyond what you are aware of and my ears are keen beyond your realm of hearing. Hear what I say to you and do well to remember it for as long as you are alive.'
Of course, she wants to protest that she also knows things, that he's not the only one who knows everything, except, there's a finality to his words that's not to be argued with. But why must he have such a complicated way of telling her the simplest of things?
'I'm not even going to the dinner with McLaggen,' she tries to assure him that she's not bound to find herself close to McLaggen anyway.
'I am quite aware of what he's been trying to do,' he rebuts with the tiniest of frowns.
'I don't like him,' she replies a little too aggressively. 'And anyway, whose love potion were thinking to give me?'
'You revere Potter so greatly that perhaps you'd be glad to be infatuated with him,' he answers.
Irritated and disbelieving at the same time, she spares him a fitting look of annoyance before she turns around and leaves his office. Harry of all people! If she wanted to be infatuated with Harry, she would have made her own love potion and given it to him long ago!
26Chapters
It has to be tonight, no later, she says to herself as the last pushing force before she softly raps on the office door. Tomorrow night will be dinner with Slughorn and it'll be too late of a request to make, so it has to be tonight.
'Come in,' McGonagall's crisp voice invites and without wasting time, she carefully opens the door to step inside.
'Good evening, Professor,' she begins to say as she closes the door behind her, only to realise that her Head of House is not alone. 'Oh! Professor Dumbledore!' she softly exclaims her surprise.
'A good evening to you, Miss Granger,' he greets with a warm and inviting smile.
She'll accept his inviting smile, only because finding him here has her feeling a little caught out and she doesn't want the feeling to eat at her. If not for that, she'd still think that there's something about him to do with her that she's not quite able to put together. Lately, he seems to be in all the places that she doesn't need him to be.
'Good evening, Professor,' she greets him this time.
'You'd like a word with Professor McGonagall, or should I flatter myself and believe that you'd like an audience with me?'
He's teasing, and she supposes that he's got every right to do such things, only, that doesn't make her feel any less caught out. McGonagall's the natural choice for her to come to, being her Head of House, but maybe she should have gone to the school head first.
'I'd like to request something, Professor,' she says to him, but she shifts her eyes to McGonagall.
Rising to stand beside the headmaster on her side, a greatly exaggerated thing actually, she asks, 'What is it?'
She'll talk to both of them, she decides, she'll move her eyes from one to the other, that way both of them will feel included in her request, as though she's speaking to each individually.
'I'd like to get a weekend away from the castle in February,' she tells them, doing exactly as she thought to do. 'I'd like to take a Muggle test that's much like Apparation, but it's to do with cars – Muggle transport. I'd like to take a test for my license, Professor.'
'It cannot be done during the holidays?' it's McGonagall who wants to know, the smallest of frowns on her face.
Understandably, the question makes sense, seeing as the day after tomorrow, she'll be leaving for Christmas break.
'The offices don't work during the weekend and holidays,' she explains. 'They won't be open during Christmas break.'
McGonagall, as though taking in what she heard, remains absolutely mum and then after a short moment of silence looks at the headmaster.
'And yet you are requesting for a weekend?' he asks, something unrecognisable in his tone.
'Yes,' she nods. 'I was wondering if I could be excused from classes after lunch one Friday.'
She looks from one professor to another, and then does something silly to weather the waiting time as Dumbledore looks thoughtful and McGonagall seems to ponder; she crosses the fingers of her right hand together in a useless attempt to garner herself some luck.
'How were you thinking of getting to your appointment?' it's Dumbledore who finally asks her, breaking the long silence.
At least he hasn't asked about her missing classes after lunch. She can be grateful for that, if nothing else.
'I wondered if you could make me a portkey, Professor.'
Her eyes are directly set on McGonagall, and no, she doesn't want to inconvenience the headmaster when he must have so much to do, but if he feels it up to him to grant her wish, then she won't refuse him.
'While at this school, you're still under our care,' McGonagall says, lightly shaking her head. 'I'm afraid that I cannot allow you to leave unsupervised. It isn't wise.'
'Could you go with me, then, Professor?' she wonders, but really hoping that she can be accompanied to her test.
'I must be here while Albus is not,' McGonagall tells her, to which the headmaster quietly nods. 'One never knows what could happen with so many students.'
'Please, Professor,' she begs, 'I'll be careful. I won't use any magic. I promise to not get into trouble.'
All three of them know that she has been trusted by both of them with a time turner when she was just fourteen, so this trip should mean nothing serious. Although, with the Dark Lord most likely around, she can agree that they're justified in being worried about her leaving the castle alone.
'I will think about it, Miss Granger,' she is assured at last, but not after a communicative exchange of looks has happened between the professors.
26Chapters
Stopping and turning to him, already starting with, 'Profes-' she abruptly stops when she notices that he's simply looking at her.
'Yes?' he coolly invites as if she didn't just cut off.
As though, as well, he isn't still watching her in the most different of ways since she started meeting with him. He's never looked at her this way, not that she knows of anyway, and because he hasn't, her immediate thought is to wonder if she's done something wrong. It can't be that, though, she reminds herself, remembering that he just asked her to finish what she has started to say.
She can't continue, however, it's too difficult to when she doesn't know what he means by looking at her like that.
For one thing, she feels too exposed to his eyes, resulting in her feeling self-conscious enough to hide by looking down at her feet. For another thing, she forgot what she wanted to say. From painlessly reciting defensive spells a little distance away from him, to finding him watching at her as though he's had his eyes pinned on her while she was busy and unaware, she's fluttering with nervousness to the point of losing track of her thoughts.
'Tell me,' he repeats in the same encouraging tone as before.
No. He should be the one to tell her rather; what was he thinking as he looked at her? Was it something good or bad? Was he deep in thought about something else and he just happened to have his eyes on her once she looked up? What is he thinking still, that he's not interested in changing his manner of looking at her?
'It's nothing, Professor,' she shakes her head, still keeping it hung down.
It's truly unnerving not knowing anything about him looking at her, when it's very different how she found him looking at her; she's finding that she can't simply look at her. It's no secrets that he's very able to deduce her intentions from her actions, and yes, he once told her to never be ashamed of what she chooses to do, and of course, he's bound to catch on that she's trying to hide from him, but she isn't very pressed to care at the moment.
It's all his fault, really; he's completely thrown her out of balance, taking her unaware and bringing her to a place where she doesn't even care to continue reciting her spells anymore. She'll be too nervous to do anything now, knowing that he'll keep on watching her like that, in a way that she's never seen him do
'Then look this way, would you?' he says simply. 'I prefer to determine that for myself.'
He sounds so soft, too inviting and very relaxed. Alluring, really, she should say. There's something about his mere words, excluding his tone and cadence that's just alluring and pulling her to hear his words, look his way and bare herself to him.
She does it, as it turns out, at once feeling like she's opening herself up to him as her eyes come up to lock onto his all that distance away from her. Eye to eye, there's a beckoning to his stare, a sort of silent call that's looking to draw her closer to him and know her internally that for the smallest moment, she's frightened; her heart seems to rush wildly and even the ground beneath her feet seems to be unstable.
It comes from nowhere suddenly, leaving her just as fast as it came upon her, and though no trace of fright remains anymore, her mind doesn't recover from the incomprehension of it all; from him watching her, to her feeling exposed and to now, feeling afraid of what, his eyes on hers? She has no idea what just took place, except maybe that she needs to leave.
'Will it be all right if we end here, Professor?' the uncertain words leave her. 'I – There's some reading and...'
And she's a liar, one who is unable to recognise anything about herself just now – whether she is feeling exposed, afraid or confused. To her immense relief, however, although nothing softens on his face, he inclines his head towards the door, giving her the permission to leave. In her state, she needs no more than that to quickly summon her book from his table, acutely aware of his eyes on her and then moves in a rush to towards the door once it's safely in her hand.
'One thing,' he calmly announces just as she is reaching the door.
Her breath stills right on its way out, but she miraculously manages a quiet, 'Yes, Professor?' despite it.
He'll only be able to tell her falter by the still in her step, nothing else – she hopes. She won't turn around, however, even if the sound of his shoes tapping on the floor means that he is approaching her. In truth, the sound of silence, even an air of measured waiting would have been better than hearing him carefully make his way to her, no more aware what's on his mind now than what was on it before.
'Professor?' she questions, carefully listening to how close he's getting to her.
After the night that he apologised to her, he's never stood behind her again, something that he used to do quite often during their lessons, and for that reason, she's nervous about him doing it now. If he does stand behind her, what should she do?
'Mistletoe,' he says deeply, his feet coming to a stop then.
Curious and surprised, she spins around before she can properly think about what she's doing. She finds him at least three steps away from her, but she still looks up to see if there's really mistletoe between them. Finding nothing, she then partially shrinks into herself, feeling silly for even thinking that he'd be interested in telling her about mistletoe between them. Just because she's wondered about possibly kissing him, it doesn't mean that he's thought about it as well. Still, if there had been mistletoe between them, they're too far apart to do anything; she's being silly.
'Sorry, Professor?' she asks, finding no other option than to drag her eyes back to him.
It's bad enough that she feels silly for behaving so poorly and predicable in front of him, but to see that he hasn't changed his way of looking at her isn't a very welcome thing to her. There's just something about it that's unnerving; it's nearly as though he's looking at her right through to her bones. Luckily, he then lifts his wand arm, pointing his wand upwards and giving her a small distraction away from his eyes. With curious wonder, she watches as he, with a seemingly deliberately slow swirl, conjures up the mistletoe plant between them, leaf by leaf, attaching branch to branch.
Even she could have done what he's doing, and yet she's amazed at what he's able to do. It's so much more that he's the one producing mistletoe – mistletoe for the love of magic – than it is his magical ability at all, that she stops watching him gently swerving and swirling his wand to watch his face. She didn't know that he was capable of something so soft, romantic even. It's such a simple thing that he's doing, but he's still Professor Snape - her heart wants to stop beating just reconciling those two things together.
What more does he do that's soft and unlike his usual character?
His kiss, she wonders, dropping her eyes to his lips, would it be something soft as well? If she could cross the three steps, charming the mistletoe to follow her and then hang over them when they're finally close enough, would the first touch of his lips to hers be gentle?
'Mistletoe, as I was saying,' he says, abruptly pulling her from her thoughts and making her concentrate on the plant between them again, 'is easy to conjure up and taking into account that your year mates have no sense of consequence, I am counting on a few of them to make foolish attempts with it. You fail to heed my warnings, always trotting after your troublesome Potter, so naturally, I expect you to find yourself trapped under it with whoever chooses to enchant you underneath it. It isn't unheard of for a student to particularly enchant mistletoe for their benefit beyond the usual requirement, tomorrow being the last night especially. Obviously, if I find you victim, I will charm mistletoe to follow you wherever you go.'
Apparently finished speaking, he banishes the plant altogether, the regret of seeing it disappear hits her unexpectedly that she quickly cuts her eyes to him.
'I-' she begins, only to realise that she has no idea how to tell him that she wasn't finished with the presence of the mistletoe.
'Goodnight,' he bids, clearly not looking to hear what she has to say.
It's confusing, if she's being honest.
She's wondering, wanting, maybe curios, or wishing, she doesn't know, especially not now that he's sending her away without speaking her name. Even so, she gains herself enough to take the cue; should get some sleep to clear her mind anyway.
'Goodnight, Professor.'
26Chapters
Waking up, or rather, fully settling into her true reality, she slowly opens her eyes to find darkness waiting for her. Even so, her breathing remains a soft rhythm of sound as she keeps her eyes open, staring out into the dark and seeing nothing, at the same time tugging her blanket closer and protectively snuggling into herself. Her head moves further into the body of her pillow, looking for a firm yet softly inviting stability to keep her.
It was only a dream, her heart calmly accepts in tune with her breathing.
It seemed so real, though, quite vivid too, that her now calmly accepting nature must be a work of soothing magic itself, sedating her to this state. But goodness her, it felt so real when she was inside it; all of it felt very real:
When he came to her, slowly getting closer as though his feet were fighting his heart's will, looking completely shattered and yet strongly supporting that same air around him; that all felt so poignant.
As she bit inside her mouth upon registering his countenance, her own way of keeping herself in place to allow him to fight his own battle and succeed; that also felt incredibly hard to bear.
And then, nearly stumbling into her, far from looming over her as his height was so terribly reduced by his own shattered air, when she silently accepted him into her chest, tucking him close just as the first of his trembles erupted from his body through a strained sob; that especially tore at her in a way that not even her deepest imagination could conjure up.
Nothing felt forged about his arm desperately strung around her, holding onto her with his fingers digging deep into the flesh of her shoulder. Or when she felt his mouth open against the soft fabric of her blouse and a low inhibited groan made its way out of him. How could she, of all things, create a world in which he cried as much reservedly as painfully, and all she did was hear his cries, listening to him sob as though he was being forced to at wand point?
Where was her sense of justice, when she could only close her eyes, blocking out her own ache for him, so that it wouldn't get in the way of him expressing himself, instead of using her hand to soothe him and her mouth to speak words of comfort to him? It had felt so unbelievably real, quite possibly the rawest dream that she's ever experienced, and yet this is her aftermath; calm acceptance with no remnants of the feelings from the dream.
How is this her response?
Swallowing lightly, she closes her eyes, simply that for a moment, opening them again to the same blackness and pulls herself closer into herself.
Why did she have that dream?
Divination and soothsaying are a complete waste of time; she doesn't believe in that form of rubbish. Omens and premonitions are just as terrible as well, but what was that dream?
Goodness, it felt so real.
Did she conflate her long forgotten embarrassment at crying in front of him together with her feelings for him, to create this dream? Was that dream her soul's subconscious form of retribution or was it her soul's hunger to be closer to him, reaching out for him in her sleep? Last night with him can't be the reason behind the dream, can it? He'd looked at her differently and then warned her about finding herself under mistletoe with a schoolmate, but that had been about her, not him.
So much, she wants to know more about him, longing to be closer than ever to him, although the puzzling thing about that, is that it's not even a physical need that she has. It's nearly as though her hormones were extracted from her, taking with them her desire to possibly kiss him one day, her ponderings on sex and him, as well as even just embracing him for pleasure's sake. Her dream had been devoid of that – in there, it was her heart that was aching for him, longing for him, to be there for him.
But, is she even allowed to do that?
Knowing what she does, and suspecting that she could be the curse that chases him away from Hogwarts, is she supposed to long after him at all?
Unsure and questioning, she turns onto her back, finding at once that it doesn't feel right laying like that, and so returns to snuggling into herself, letting out a soft breath through her lips.
That dream felt so real.
She wishes that it was real; not because she wants to see him torn like that, but because she's never felt anything quite as impassioned as that. What book she wouldn't neglect for an afternoon to feel it, to live through it, to know it.
Oh, how she longs.
Maybe later today, tonight, she could...
Or should she rather stay for Christmas break?