A/N: Full transparency, my life is going to be quite hectic in August when I go back to work. To prepare for that, I'm going to try to write as many rough draft chapters as I can, so that all I will need to do in order to upload would be to edit them. If you don't get an upload from me next week, rest assured I'm just writing ahead. I have a chapter and a half written beyond this one, and quite a lot planned!
As a fun side note, I just added it up, and with this posting I have 17 chapters and over 100k words added on this story since I picked it back up- and seeing that progress shook me! If it weren't for your support I don't think I would have worked quite so hard, so thank you all so much for reading and keeping me motivated! I hope you enjoy this next chapter, and all that is to come.
Chapter Twenty-Five
When Minerva stepped through the floo, arms laden with deliveries, she was met with a sight she did not anticipate: Hermione Granger, wrapped in a blanket, was curled up on the sofa with her back towards the fireplace; Severus Snape, bare feet propped up on the coffee table, was asleep in a tall wingback chair; and two tumblers sat between them, dregs of whiskey ringing the bottom of each glass.
So shocked by what she was seeing, it was a moment before she had her wits about her. Dropping all but the Prophet on the floor in a heap, she smacked the man on the head with the rolled up paper.
Severus jerked in his chair, his feet coming dangerously close to kicking the tumblers to the floor as he flinched awake. Blinking confusedly around him, his sleep-blurred eyes found purchase on her face and he scowled. "What the hell was that for?!"
She shushed him, pointing to Hermione. "Firewhisky?!" she hissed, swatting him with the paper again. "What on Merlin's green earth were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that this was my house," he grumbled, snatching the paper from her and tossing it onto the table, "and that she's an of age witch, and that it's my whiskey to offer to whom I please!" Standing, he cautiously leaned over the sleeping witch in question before gesturing to the hall and the kitchen beyond. "If you're going to keep pummeling me," he whispered, "do it out there."
Pausing only a moment as he stormed out of the room, she soon followed in a similar ferocity. "Severus Snape," she started once she crossed the threshold, "I did not vouch for your trustworthiness in her care so that you could liquor her up and-"
He spun at her, casting a quick silencing spell as he did so. "You didn't 'vouch' for anything, Minerva! You all practically forced her on me! If you disapprove so much, find other arrangements for her; otherwise, trust me to see to her as I see fit."
"As you see fit?" She slammed her palm against the island counter in fury. "Explain to me how that is in her best interest!"
"Will you stop shouting at me long enough to let me explain myself? Not that I owe you anything." He leaned back against the counter, arms crossed, glowering.
When she only glared back, he asked tersely, "Did you know her dreams are worse now? I was brought to this knowledge last night, when she was crying out in the midst of a nightmare. She had gotten one, maybe two hours of sleep before that- and was quite convinced that she wouldn't be able to sleep again after such an interruption." Rubbing his still bleary eyes, he explained, "I offered her a small amount of firewhisky to calm her nerves. As you can see, it helped."
"Why not just give her a potion?"
He shrugged a shoulder. "She refused."
Minerva blinked. "What? Why?"
"Does it matter? She didn't want it. I wasn't about to force one on her." Shoving from the counter, he stifled a yawn as he began prepping a pot of tea. "Do you still find fault in my actions, or would you prefer to dig your claws into my back some more?"
"How much did you give her?"
"No more than a few fingers. I wasn't sure she had ever partaken before."
"I can't imagine she would have had the time." Backing over to the table, she pulled out a chair and sank into it. "I still don't like this, Severus."
Setting the kettle on the stove a bit too harshly, he leaned forward, his hands braced against the counter's surface. "What do you think I would do to her? Do you think so low of me that you fear I would take advantage of someone under the influence?"
"It's not you I'm worried about." At his blank stare, she rolled her eyes. "Oh come on; you really expect me to believe you're that blind to what's in front of you?"
"What are you talking about?"
"You honestly haven't noticed?" When he only frowned, she tapped her fingers against the tabletop. "Well, this puts a spin on it."
Leaning back against the counter once more, he rubbed his temples, grumbling. "Are you going to explain yourself or am I going to have to assume your age has finally caught up to your mind?"
Sitting back in her chair, she crossed her arms and smirked. "All those years as a spy, and you can't see when someone has a crush on you?"
The man before her froze; she had never seen anyone so still without the use of magic. His eyes stared unseeing at the floor before him, his hands still at his temples, and she was sure he'd halted his breaths. Not a hair on his head had even dared to shift. "You mean to tell me you really had no idea?"
Finally shaking himself free of whatever petrification he had been under, Severus whipped his head in her direction. "You're wrong."
"It doesn't take a Seer to see how badly she cares for you."
"Caring for me is one thing," he sputtered, unnaturally shaken. "What you're insinuating-"
The kettle's whistle startled him, and he flinched at the noise. Rarely had she seen this man so sensitive to the world around him. Minerva rose from her seat, gesturing towards it as she moved to the stove. "Go and sit before you fall over. I'll finish the tea."
She had expected an argument. She would not have been the least bit surprised if he had grabbed her arm and dragged her back through the floo that instant. She was therefore quite taken aback by his silent obedience, and stared as he moved past her, claiming the seat she had just vacated. He rested his elbows on the table, burying his face in his hands, as she removed the kettle from the flame.
Busying herself with preparing their tea, she cautiously watched him out of the corner of her eye. When he lifted his head, it was only to wipe a hand down the length of his face, lingering over his mouth. His bare foot bounced up and down under the table, and his shoulders were painfully stiff. He really had no clue, and this revelation of hers scared him.
Perhaps she was right about him, too.
Setting a steaming cup before him, she placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Why does this frighten you so badly?"
He tilted his head to glare up at her. "You tell me that my nineteen year old former student, who is living in my house, has a crush on me- and I'm supposed to take the news calmly?"
Sitting across from him with her own cup, she replied, "I'm telling you that your of-age friend has a crush on you, and yes, I expect you to calm down. Drink the tea." He ignored the cup, and she knew he would, but took a generous sip herself before continuing. "A crush is innocent, Severus. Being the youngest faculty member in a school full of hormonal teens, surely you have faced your fair share of them."
"This isn't Hogwarts. I can't just snarl at her and deduct points-"
"You can stop snarling at me, first of all." Ignoring his icy stare, she leaned back in her chair and gestured towards the living room. "I really cannot fathom how you've missed the signs. She practically fawns over you when you aren't antagonizing her."
"When has she ever fawned over me?"
"Well, she knows better than to make it obvious to you, clearly."
Head falling into his hands again, he groaned. "What am I supposed to do about this?"
He looked tired- defeated. Like he was warring with himself, and losing. I have to be right. There's no way I'm wrong.
"What do you want to do about it?" she asked casually. When he looked up at her with wide, incredulous eyes, she smirked.
"What is that supposed to mean?"
She pushed her teacup to the side and leaned against the table. "Do you want to dissuade her?" When his brow furrowed, she added, "Or do you wish to encourage her?"
"No!" he shouted quickly, then more softly, "No, I do not wish to encourage her. Heavens above, Minerva."
She held her hands out in surrender. "Far be it from me to tell you how you feel, Severus, but sometimes I wonder about you two." Before he could retort, she continued, "If you wish to dissuade her from her feelings, you must do so gently. If she's fighting these emotions, she obviously doesn't want you to know about them yet. Act as if you don't know, but make decisions against what could encourage her. And for goodness sake, don't give her more alcohol. Denying her feelings sober is one thing, but if you put that on her when she's vulnerably buzzed-"
A cough rang out from the other room, and Severus was on his feet in an instant, marching towards the doorway. Lingering just inside the hall, he peered at the sleeping form of Hermione for a long moment before returning to the kitchen, silently assuring her that she was still sleeping. "Perhaps you should take her somewhere else," he sighed, sitting once more. "It would be easiest to dissuade her from a distance."
"I cannot force her to leave," she told him. "How would we go about convincing her?"
"I suppose I could..." he trailed off, scratching at the wooden tabletop. Inhaling, he sat up straight, and as if he had gathered his strength, he said, "I could tell her I no longer wish for her to be here."
"She would be hurt." At the ill-concealed flinch around his eyes, she jutted her chin towards the other room. "She doesn't have to be removed for you to set a clear boundary. I know her friendship means something to you- if you send her away, you run the risk of damaging that. Is holding her at arms length worth the loss?"
"She'd be bet-"
"Don't you dare tell me she'd be better off without your friendship," she snapped, shoving a finger in his face. "I'm not having a melodramatic discussion with you again- by your request, mind you- so don't even start with me."
He shoved away from the table. "Fine," he snarled, beginning to pace. "So she stays, I pretend not to notice anything unusual, and when she comes to me with these feelings, I'm supposed to somehow turn her down in a way that doesn't embarrass her enough to leave?" Running a hand through his hair, he said, "The only difference between asking her to leave now and making her feel like she should leave later is the amount of time I have to pretend to be clueless. The end result will be the same."
She watched him pace for a while longer, noticing how the lack of billowing robes and bare feet made him look more vulnerable than she had seen him in a long while, even considering his recent hospital stay. "You know," she said, "she probably won't bring it up unless you give her a reason to."
"Yes, that's very comforting," he muttered, continuing to pace.
Smirking, she picked up her teacup and added, "Of course, if you think about it, you are well suited for her."
He stopped then, dead in his tracks, before spinning around to glare loathingly at her. "This isn't a laughing matter, Minerva!"
"I'm not laughing." Sipping her drink, she leaned back casually and looked him up and down. "It's a bit unorthodox, but-"
"It's completely inappropriate!" Storming over to the table, he braced his hands on opposite sides of his teacup and glared down at her. "She is twenty years younger than me! I taught her as a child! She is a guest in my home, and- and we don't even know if you're right about all this!"
"Yes, the age difference is more significant than is typical," she agreed, carefully not mentioning the fact that none of his arguments had anything to do with who she was as a person. "I must admit, however, that I have a hard time seeing Hermione with a man her own age. You're familiar with her best friends- can you blame her for falling for someone older, more mature?"
"Do not compare me to those idiots," he growled, throwing himself in his seat once more. "Maturity aside, Minerva, it's still twenty years!"
"Twenty years is not so unheard of in our world, as uncommon as it may be. Do you remember the McElfins? Twenty-three years apart, if I remember correctly, and happily married a decade later."
He scoffed, dismissing her words. "I cannot believe you'd even fathom this as a good idea. It was hard enough imagining us as friends-"
"And yet now you are. When is the last time you've seen her as your student? I imagine it's been a while, since you're on a first name basis with each other." When he only scowled, she leaned forward. "I'm not telling you to instigate anything. I'm not even telling you to feel a certain way. I'm only commenting on my own observations- that you two seem to be well suited to each other. If that stops at friendship, or if it goes further, only you two can decide."
He sat before her, silently staring at the table between them, for a long moment. She sat back, letting him think, watching his furrowed brow twitch with each passing thought. "You would truly approve of such a thing?"
"Under the right circumstances." He glanced at her, and she elaborated. "Assuming both parties were in agreement, and they were happy and well treated, I could be swayed to find many situations approving."
Once again, Severus buried his head in his hands. "Oh, this is a nightmare," he moaned.
"Yes, a young woman likes you enough to fancy you," she smirked behind her teacup. "Let me grab you a dreamless sleep."
When Hermione was finally roused from her sleep, it was to the smells and sounds of eggs and bacon being cooked. Eyes heavy, she slowly sat up and looked around. She must have fallen asleep on the couch- and she had a feeling a certain someone had planned for her to do so.
How much sleep had she gotten? She looked towards the clock, but its time meant nothing to her when she wasn't sure when she had actually fallen asleep. Perhaps five hours? If it was three in the morning when she initially woke up, and it was ten thirty now...
How long had they talked? Her mind was groggy, her recollection slow as she attempted to remember the previous night. She knew what had happened- it wasn't likely she would forget such personal conversations, such vulnerability- but what she was having a hard time with now was the flow of it all. How had they even gotten to talking about... that?
Oh, right. The mist began to clear as it all came back to her. I asked him. And he answered me. With hardly any hesitation, he spoke of his past, spoke of those awful things his father did to him. She could scarcely believe he had been that open with her. Had he done it to make her feel better? After finding her once again broken from the aftershock of the war, had he simply taken pity on her? Or had he meant what he said- that he trusted her? Severus Snape, Master Spy, trusted her with his secrets? She shook her head; trying to make sense of it all was going to give her a headache. It was far too early to be so confused.
Standing, she grabbed her blanket and pillow and returned to her room upstairs. She made up the bed, ignoring her desire to slip back under the covers, and moved to the bathroom. A shower would hopefully clear her mind of this lingering fog.
Freshly showered and dressed with her hair pulled back in a simple braid, Hermione entered the kitchen in time to see the Headmistress, not Severus, filling three plates with a hearty breakfast. "Professor?"
McGonagall glanced up from the plates and smiled. "Good morning, Hermione! I didn't hear you leave the living room."
A blush graced her cheeks as she approached the chair the elder woman pointed to. Sitting, she accepted the plate of eggs, toast, and bacon with a smile before asking, "When did you get here?"
"Oh, about an hour ago," she answered, checking her pocket watch. "You were both still sleeping in there when I arrived." She nodded towards the other room.
Wondering how she had slept through it all, she chewed on some bacon before asking, "Where's Severus? I didn't see him when I woke up."
"I sent him off to get freshened up." Setting a plate down across from her, McGonagall walked over to the counter to grab the last one. She placed it to Hermione's left, sitting at the 'head' of the table in a chair she must have transfigured. "He'll be out in a moment, I'm sure," she told her, before spearing a bit of egg on her fork.
They ate in silence for only a few minutes before a door opened and closed in the hallway, and a fully dressed Severus entered the room- frock coat, robes, and all. Frowning at his extra layers, Hermione's eyes followed him as he approached the table stiffly, jerkily pulling the chair out and sitting as if he wished to be anywhere else but in this room. "Good morning," she greeted him, and he nodded once in return.
"Forgive his rudeness this morning, Hermione," McGonagall told her, nudging her arm with an elbow. "I'm afraid I've put him off his good mood."
"Has something happened?" She looked quickly between the two of them, setting down her slice of toast, and noticed a muscle tense in Severus' cheek.
The Headmistress patted her hand reassuringly. "No more attacks, if that's what you're worried about. I'm afraid I have irritated our poor Potions Master into a sour state, is all."
She stared at Severus, sitting ramrod straight, as if ready to flee the table at any moment, and grew frustrated when he so obviously avoided looking at her. "I take it I'm better off not knowing?"
"For the time being," McGonagall replied, at the same time Severus barked, "Yes."
Trying not to smile when the dark man across from her sent a scathing glare towards the Headmistress, Hermione turned back to her plate. "Has anything happened, though?" she asked after a moment, reaching for a glass of water. "With the case, I mean."
Wiping her mouth with a napkin, McGonagall shrugged. "There's been more activity in Knockturn Alley as of late, and whispers of an influx of magic to the south, but nothing of note that our aurors can pin down."
"Where is 'south' exactly?" Asked Severus, stabbing a large bit of egg more aggressively than necessary.
"Off the western coast. Nearest anyone can pinpoint it is Weston."
"That's near Bristol," he pointed out, and McGonagall nodded.
"It's been noted."
Hermione looked up from her plate. "Bristol- where the couple was attacked?"
"The very same," the older woman confirmed.
"What's the significance in that?"
"There might not be one," Severus answered, focusing on McGonagall instead of her, and she pushed down her annoyance for the time being. He was trying hard to ignore her, it was obvious, but she could figure out why later. "It might be a coincidence, as there are a fair number of wizarding families in the area. However, it is worth checking out."
"Could there be a hideout there?" she asked McGonagall.
"There could be, and it's been considered, but there's no use hypothesizing before they send a team out to investigate." She paused to take a drink, and added, "Speaking of investigations, the Forbidden Forest has been searched thoroughly, via magic and on foot. I don't have the information on their findings, but Kingsley had asked me to pass along a letter." Reaching into a pocket of her robes, she extracted a ministry embossed envelope and handed it to Severus, who slid his finger under the seal and began to read immediately.
Hermione watched him, watched his eyes as they darted across the parchment and his brow as it furrowed in contemplation, until he sighed and set the letter face down next to his plate. He picked up his fork, and Hermione exhaled in annoyance. "Well?" she snapped, and his eyes briefly glanced up at her. "What does it say?"
"A bit of space they believe to have been their campsite was discovered a short walk from the forest's edge," he told his plate, "as was a discarded invisibility cloak in the bushes at the attack site."
When he didn't elaborate, she rolled her eyes. "Can I read it?" she asked, gesturing to the letter, and he simply shrugged.
Shooting the Headmistress a questioning look, she reached towards the letter. McGonagall gave her a reassuring smile before standing up to rinse her plate. Hermione gave one more confusing glance towards Severus before looking over the letter.
There wasn't anything else of note in its contents. The two discoveries were the only interesting bits of information he had to share. The rest of the letter was questions the Minister clearly hoped Severus had the answers to, and complaints about the state of the auror's department. "They're looking for a new Lead Auror?"
"Evidently," was all he said.
Frustrated with his lack of communication but unwilling to push the matter in front of McGonagall, Hermione focused on finishing her food.
He was silent throughout the rest of the meal, and had holed himself up in his lab immediately after. Later, when she was collecting her new assignments from the Headmistress, Hermione asked, "What happened this morning? I haven't seen him that stand-offish in ages."
McGonagall rolled her eyes, putting Hermione's finished essays in her satchel, before replying, "I apologize- I didn't mean to make things awkward for you. I'm afraid I didn't react well when I saw you both asleep in the living room with the firewhisky out."
She could feel the burn of the flush in her cheeks. "He didn't push me," she said hurriedly. "I drank it by choice. And it wasn't even that much, just to help me-"
McGonagall put a hand on her arm. "I know, Hermione. He explained. Though I must admit I find myself quite protective of you."
"You must have really laid into him if he won't even look at me."
The Headmistress laughed. "Give him time to lick his wounds; he'll come around. I'm sure he'll be back to his usual snarky self by dinner."
With that, she patted Hermione on the shoulder. "I should head out. I'd much prefer to visit longer, of course, but I'm afraid I'm busier than ever these days." After a brief farewell, she turned to the fireplace and activated the floo.
Alone in the living room, Hermione flipped through her new assignments. This was to be the last batch of essays due before semester review would begin. Normally, review would take up the entirety of December, but due to the nature of her remote learning, she would only be doing a fraction of the work. At most, she was looking at two more weeks of classwork to keep her occupied, which meant she would have most of December free to do as she pleased.
The problem was, she didn't know how she would fill the time.
Yes, she could study, and she still had plenty of the books Severus had lent her to enjoy, but even she couldn't read all day for weeks on end. Perhaps there was something she could do around the house. She had noticed a bit of dust on a few surfaces lately- maybe she could do some deep cleaning around the common areas. It was possible that Severus would have a project he might trust her with, as well. She would just need to build up the courage to ask.
A door opened in the hallway, and she heard his footsteps as he exited the lab. "Severus?" she called out. The footsteps stopped, then continued. She listened in bewilderment as the back door opened and closed, the following silence somehow more offensive than the blatant disregard he paid her during breakfast.
Okay, I know he heard me. Setting her papers aside, Hermione stood and walked determinedly out into the hall. Time to find out what's going on.
A strong bout of wind blew past as she stepped into the back garden, and she tucked her exposed arms to her chest. A light sprinkling of snow covered the ground, and the wind picked up the flakes and carried them across the lawn as goosebumps spread across her skin. Why did she always come out here without a jacket?
He was crouched by the planter boxes, his back to her, showing no indication that he knew she had followed him out despite the door being mere feet away. "Severus?" she called again.
He didn't turn, didn't even halt what he was doing. "I'm busy, Hermione." His voice was soft, but there was a warning edge to his words.
"Can I help?"
"No."
Pinching her lips together, she shrugged at his back. "I'll just relax on the bench, then."
She heard him sigh, saw his head fall forward. "It's cold. You should be inside."
Walking over to the bench, she brushed off the small snow buildup and sat. Her thighs instantly felt cold and wet, and she cringed a bit at the feeling. "I'm tired of being inside," she told him. "It's about time I get some fresh air."
She smiled at his grumbles, and settled more comfortably on the bench. "I heard McGonagall chewed you out over the firewhisky," she said conversationally. When he didn't reply, she asked, "Is that why you're wearing your layers again? To intimidate her?"
"Nothing intimidates that woman," he muttered as he stood, holding a small basket of cuttings in one hand. He turned, then, and finally glanced her way. "What do you think you're doing?!" he all but shouted, looking her up and down.
She blinked at him owlishly. "I'm sitting. What are you doing?"
He rolled his eyes, waving an arm in her direction. "It's freezing, about to snow, and you're out here without so much as a sweater!"
"Is it?" Looking to the grey sky above, she held her hand palm up in front of her. "Going to snow, I mean."
Glowering, he took the few steps to the bench and grabbed her above her elbow. Pulling her up, he tugged her towards the door. "If you're going to freeze to death, you'd better do it on your own time. I'm not getting a lecture because you decided to catch snowflakes in a t-shirt."
He shoved her through into the hallway, slamming the door behind him. "Are you trying to catch a cold?" he scowled.
"I was trying to get you to talk to me," she replied, grinning. "It seems I was successful."
He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, shoving past her.
"Wait!" she called out, reaching for his arm, but he was too quick. She hurried after him into the kitchen, where he was placing the basket on a hook in the pantry. "What's wrong?" she asked. "Why won't you talk to me? Why won't you look at me?"
"Nothing's wrong-"
"Don't lie to me!" His head tilted, turning her direction, though he didn't turn to face her. She crossed her arms tightly in front of her. "Did I do something last night? I thought I remembered everything, but if I-"
"You didn't do anything."
"Then why are you acting like I've offended you? What's wrong?" She stepped forward, further into the kitchen. "Did McGonagall upset you that badly?"
Squaring his shoulders, he turned abruptly, jerking back when she was closer than he had expected. She looked up into his face, saw the lines of worry around his eyes, saw something that looked an awful lot like fear reflecting back at her, and took a small step back.
Letting out a long, defeated sigh, Severus leaned back against the pantry doorframe and rubbed his eyes. "You didn't do anything," he repeated.
"Then why-"
"Because I needed time to think."
He wasn't looking at her, but rather frowning at the floor. "What did you need to think about?"
It was a moment before he answered. "It isn't anything you need to worry about," he told her, his voice distant. "Just give me some time." He met her eyes then, all his uncertainty, all of his fear and unease, open for her to see. "Please."
A chill washed over her, and it wasn't from her brief trip outside. Something had changed between them. She could feel it like a punch to the gut. "Okay," she whispered, nodding. Her eyes prickled with unshed tears, and she wondered at the sudden feeling of loss sweeping through her. "I'm sorry," she said, not sure why she said it, before turning and fleeing the room.
Her footsteps could be heard on the steps as she rushed away from him, to the safety of her rooms where she could shed the ill-held tears that had quickly filled her eyes. Severus groaned, hitting the back of his head against the doorframe. "Damn you, Minerva," he snarled, shoving off the wall and storming into his bedroom. The door slamming behind him, he looked around the room and realized this wasn't where he wanted to be at all.
His reflection caught his attention in the tall standing mirror, and he stared at the reflective surface. His high-necked frock coat and robes hung off of him with a sort of warm familiarity, but donning them this morning may have been a mistake. He had felt so exposed, so vulnerable after his talk with Minerva, that he had practically rushed to cover himself, but in hindsight it had been an obvious sign to Hermione that something was wrong.
Of course she would notice. He hadn't been trying hard to cover up his discomfort, so wrapped up in panic as he was. If Minerva was right, if Hermione did... feel that way towards him, and he was feeling... a similar way towards her...
Oh, what a mess this is. Unclasping his robes, he tossed them at the foot of the bed and began unbuttoning his frock coat. He was ashamed to admit that shock hadn't been the only feeling he had felt that morning; he had also felt a good deal of hope.
But that only made him all the more foolish. A crush- that was all it was. A crush brought on by close proximity and a friendship unlike any she had known before. She would move on after all this, and graduate, and make her way into the world- and realize that there were dozens of wizards much more suitable for her than he could ever hope to be.
His frock coat hanging open, he leaned against the door and rubbed his face. This was the right choice, wasn't it? To hold her at arms length. Or was that not far enough?
He didn't do crushes. He was an all or nothing sort of person. It's what made this situation so terrifying for him. He knew that he would fall, and fall hard- in fact, he was already falling. If he gave in to this, this growing desire of his, he would be ruined when it inevitably ended. And it would end. There was no way she would stay with him, not after she saw just how thoroughly he was weighing her down.
She deserved to be loved, and he would worship her, if only she let him. But he would hold her back in the end. His reputation would mar her own, preventing her from moving forward in her career, in her friendships- in her life. She would come to resent him, to despise him for it. His numerous flaws, so easy to ignore in friendship, would become her burden to bear. If he changed her, it would only be for the worse.
Knowing all this didn't make him want her less. He was selfish, he always had been; he wanted what he could not have. But he so often went without, that to reach out and take it... He endured, that was all. But could he endure this?
What choice do I have? The thought was bitter, angry in his head. I don't have it in me to send her away. Not yet. I'm too selfish to do what I know is right.
Damn you, Minerva. It was always the Gryffindor witches that were his undoing. That had to mean something. But what, he did not know.
