Ch 7

"When I used to read fairy tales, I fancied that kind of thing never happened, and now here I am in the middle of one!"

-Lewis Carroll

Despite having a ladle in his hands as he stirred the potion in front of him, Severus still felt himself fumbling. He knew that he was finally being of some use to the cause and was contributing to the defeat of the Dark Lord. And yet now more than ever did it feel like it wasn't enough.

No doubt, this was what his companion in front of him had felt like for months. Hermione had her head down as she read a book she no doubt had already read a dozen times. And yet, if she had found a way to persevere with her optimism, then he could at least put in the effort to make it seem like this could actually work in the end. Though he seriously had his doubts.

He had never encountered a Horcrux before, and once this was all done, he was happy to never be in the presence of one ever again. And that definitely included Potter. In a way, it made quite a lot of sense. He hated Potter; there was never any question about that. He hated the boy the moment he heard his name. But Severus had some semblance of self-restraint. He knew when to hold his tongue in cheek, and yet whenever he was in his presence, he found his control slipping and his rage increasing. But his situation was different. From all that he learned and understood about Horcruxes, they were attached to objects, not people. And yet the Dark Lord appeared to defy that rule of logic by applying it not only to one living being but to two. It also didn't help that the Horcrux took root in Potter while he was still an infant. The magic has been tethered to him for over a decade. And no doubt if they were able to successfully separate it, he would be left reeling from the after-effects. But that would be another problem for another day. Right now, Hermione and him had to focus on a way to separate the two.

And that was where the problem began. Normally when trying to reverse a spell or potion, he would break down the components and reverse it. But the pair of them struggled with even trying to classify a Horcrux. Was it a dark artefact or a dark ritual? The distinction may seem insignificant, but the process, as well as the solution, depended on it. They had made several attempts at a solution, from spells to rituals to even specific plants and herbs. Now they were trying to work on several batches of potions. He was on his third attempt at a potion after scratching fourteen written possible solutions. Hell, at this point, he even considered the possibility of an exorcism. Though he had a feeling that would just make the situation worse than it already was. And that was saying something.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realise that the woman in front of him was attempting to gain his attention. It wasn't his intention to ignore her. However, he couldn't deny that since the little revelation two weeks ago, he had retreated back into himself.

She stood at a respectful distance-not too close, but not on the other side of the table. Her big brown eyes were looking at him with patience. They were growing tired again. He could see the beginning of dark circles take root underneath her eyes. And though she pretended to be her happy and cheerful self, he could see that her smile didn't always reach her eyes. It was a stark contrast from when he gave her the sword of Gryffindor, and she came back the next day with a huge grin on her face. Thankfully it seemed that in their excitement, Potter and Weasley didn't question her too much.

But that wasn't the same for her at that moment. She looked inquisitive. He realised that her hesitation didn't come from what to say but rather how to say it. It was a familiar pattern with her. "You seem to be taking all of this rather calmly. As if none of this affects you."

"I assure you it does. I am not that heartless."

He looked at her out of the corner of his eyes. She huffed in indignation. "I never said that you were." Clearly, she wasn't in the mood for games this evening. No teasing, no sarcasm, and none of his usual pessimism. Which meant that the conversation she had planned out in her mind was going to be more of a serious nature. "I just mean. I could never do what you do. I could never be strong enough to keep going after constant adversity." She looked down, trying to avoid his eyes. They both knew she was far from weak. But this was clearly a sensitive topic for her. A source of many of her insecurities. But she had nothing to be ashamed of. In fact, he was quite pleased that she was willing to confide in him while she was in more of a vulnerable state.

"You seem to be managing just fine," were the only words he could offer her to provide her comfort. It didn't seem fair. How she never hesitated in his moment of need to provide him comfort. And yet now, on a second occasion, he is incapable of reciprocating her actions. She didn't seem to mind if her small smile was any indication. But it still bothered him. After that night, he woke to find her hand firmly and yet softly collapsed onto his own. He has noticed a change within himself.

Despite the war raging on around him, he had never felt more comfortable in another's presence. He found himself less abrasive with her. Sometimes, on the odd occasion that she would brush her arm against his or she would place a hand on his arm, he wouldn't tear his arm away in reflex. He barely noticed the weight of her hand, and it was only when she took it away after she realised what she had done would he flinch at the loss of contact. But it was she who was more surprised when he moved behind her, and his hand came to rest gently on the small of her back as he came to pass. The gasp of breath she took at the contact sent a shiver down his spine and made his blood boil. But the feeling was far from unpleasant. He felt power and such accomplishment over being able to conquer this one aspect of his life he never saw as a problem before. He was rarely in the company of others and so physical contact was never really a problem. But now he knew what he was missing. Physical intimacy was not a requirement in relationships especially in non romantic ones and yet for him it was the start of him experiencing emotional intimacy. It was a huge learning curve but it was exciting. The way of just merely having skin to skin contact with someone could connect two individuals. It was as if their energy was transferring to one another in a shared balance. He was curious how a single touch could be both comforting and thrilling to the both of them.

And none of that, he told himself, had anything to do with the fact that she gave him CPR. He couldn't remember the act of her lips on his or her breathing life back into him. But he remembered the lingering taste of her lips. Peach. It was the taste of her chapstick and yet still her. What she did for him was not romantic or sexual by any means. It was a last-ditch effort to heal him when everything else she tried failed. And perhaps that idea alone scared him more than if she did kiss him in affection. She cared about him so much that she had become so desperate to heal him. Her. Hermione Granger cares for him. Severus Snape; the traitor, Death Eater and murderer of Albus Dumbledore.

Something about their relationship had changed over the past several months. Over that time, she didn't simply see their relationship as a partnership but rather as a friendship. And though he was hesitant to say it, possibly even beyond that. Though he believed friendship was the safer bet. Dumbledore's words, "You care for her," rang out throughout his head. And he couldn't deny that he, too, has become fond of her. Though he would never admit it out loud. She has been a good friend as well. And now it was his turn to be the person she turned to. Due to the amount of secrets, she wasn't able to turn to her friends, but he wondered if given a choice, would she still turn to him.

"You seem to be handling finding out that your best friend is a Horcrux rather well." Despite the fact they continuously worked on a potion to save his life, ever since they discovered Potter's situation, she rarely said his name. Even now, the mere mention of him made her look like a deer caught in a headlight. He couldn't imagine how she acted while in the boy's presence.

She closed her eyes and ran a hand through her hair. When she opened them again, she looked directly into his eyes. There was a softness to the brown and yet a sharpness as she drew her breath to speak. "I had this dream once. I was out celebrating with the Order on Christmas Eve. We were all laughing and smiling. Having fun. The war was over, and Harry had done it. He defeated Voldemort. We were all so excited to be together for the holidays. I hadn't seen Harry in a while. He was so busy with work and whatnot that whenever I tried to spend time with him, he would just say 'next time'. As midnight got closer and Harry didn't show up. I figured he was busy with work, so I stopped at his apartment. As I called out his name and teased him for forgetting, I ended up finding him dead on the ground, with a vial of poison in his hand. He killed himself. While we were all happy that the war was over, none of us noticed how much he was suffering. In the end, he just wanted to make the pain go away. And then I woke up." His lips separated in shock. Before he composed himself and closed his mouth. Whatever he was expecting, this was not it. "But the pain never went away. It just festered in my chest. I couldn't get the image, the idea out of my head." He could surely sympathise. He knew that feeling all too well. "Finding out Harry had to die felt like that." She looked away and fiddled with some loose parchment in front of her, but she didn't make any move to act.

All Severus could do was remain silent. He learned long ago that if he stayed quiet, the other person would continue to talk even. There was always more to be said. It didn't take long for her to find her voice. "I always hated the pressure Dumbledore placed on him. And the prophecy, for that matter. And now, the Order believes and expects that Harry is the key to defeating Voldemort. For there to be this epic duel. But no one really talks about what that means. They say defeat as though it simply means Harry will win and Voldemort will lose. But no one talks about how the only way to defeat Voldemort is to kill him.

"Harry is a lot of things. The boy who lived. The chosen one. He has so many amazing accomplishments and achievements. He has defied the impossible so many times and faced death more times than I can count. But he is not a killer. What he is, is a seventeen year-old boy. He may not be a child, but most adults couldn't handle taking someone's life." Her voice grew louder as she spoke. The air around them began to sizzle and crack with magic. Her hair seemed to get bigger as if coursed through with electricity. The heat and passion in her voice surrounded him and commanded that she be heard. He felt his lips getting dry, and he had to resist the urge to lick them as he continued to stare at her.

"The Order is asking him to kill someone when most of them haven't. When they choose not to because they can't handle the emotional baggage that comes with it or because they think killing someone will make them just like the Death Eaters. And yet they have the gall to ask that of Harry." She looked back to him, meeting his eyes. "I have known Harry since we were 11 years old. He is my best friend. Practically my brother. And I don't think he could do it. Not while surviving. Maybe he is as magically powerful as Voldemort, and maybe he could actually kill him, but he won't survive the aftermath." He wasn't sure about Potter's magical power, but he couldn't help but agree with her. He had the same argument with Dumbledore for years. But the man was stubborn and set in his ways regarding his elaborate plans. Plans he was rarely informed of. He also hoped that some of the Order members would put some sense into him. "Once the war is over, Harry will be riddled with guilt, and it will destroy what sanity he will have left." Severus could see the resolution in her eyes. If he looked hard enough, he could see a reflection of the images that plagued her mind. It was clear that she was haunted by this idea. "I want to win this war, but I don't want to have to sacrifice the people I love for it. It won't be a win then. Killing him is the only way he will lose, but I don't think that will mean Harry will win."

"Finding out that Harry was a Horcrux in a way motivates me. Just as it did when I had that dream. Two days after that dream, Dumbledore called me into his office and told me about you."

It was as if a lightbulb had gone off. Everything in his head suddenly made sense. "You agreed because you thought you could find another way." It made sense. Potter was ultimately her best friend, from what he could tell. She would no doubt follow him to the darkest part of hell if he asked. Even if he didn't ask either. Her loyalty was commendable. And in a way, it made him envious. He had been betrayed more times than he could count over the years. And so many times did he wish that someone would show such loyalty to him. Or perhaps it was her loyalty he desired to hold. She was compassionate to him, and he knew that she did trust him. And wasn't that what loyalty was. But if it was. If she was truly loyal to him, what did that say about her feelings about him? He suddenly found himself overwhelmed by the implication. He tried to keep his expressions passive not to reveal his inner turmoil.

All she gave was a simple, "Yes. I never understood why Dumbledore had you get so close to Voldemort and yet never asked you to kill him." Her eyes lowered, breaking the connection between them. "Now I know why."

"Perhaps with this potion, I may still have the chance."

"You could survive killing someone. You have in the past. It won't be easy, but you will make it through. Harry wouldn't." He wasn't so sure. His relationship with the Dark Lord was always so complicated. Make no mistake, he hated the man and couldn't wait to see the bastard dead. But without the Dark Lord, he would be nothing. His only purpose for the last twenty years was to spy. Who was Severus Snape without being a spy? Even he didn't know. The only thing that got him up in the morning was knowing how useful he was. But once he wasn't anymore, then what? Perhaps Dumbledore would have an idea if he was still alive. But Severus already killed one master, which only brought him pain and misery. That act broke him. Broke him in ways he already thought he was broken. But he was wrong. This, however, he knew. If he was the one to kill the Dark Lord, there would be nothing left. He would be just off an empty shelf as she perceives Potter will be.

But at the same time, her words made him pause and gave him strength. She believed that he could kill another person. But not for the cruel and sadistic reason others believed. She believed he could do it simply because he was strong and not by any physical or magical means. But because she believed he was strong mentally and emotionally. Just as he believed her to have the same strength.

He always struggled with words. The fact that he lied for a living didn't help him in any way. His actions had always been more telling anyways. On the other hand, she never seemed to struggle to know the right thing to say here at this moment. She knew well enough by his silence and by staying by her side that this was his way of comforting her. And to her, it may be enough. But it wasn't to him.

And so he gathered his breath and quietly said, "I'm not good at this. I never have been. I don't know how to say everything will be okay." He may not know what to say, but he was willing to try if she told him what she needed.

She didn't seem shocked by his statement, but he could see the way her eyes widened slightly at his willingness to try. For her. She shook her head, "You would be lying if you did." She gave a small laugh as a thought occurred to her, "I like that you're honest with me."

It was amazing that she was still able to smile after this.

Hermione had one of those beaming smiles. The kind of smile that seemed to radiate happiness. He couldn't help but feel a warmth inside as if he had just drank a cup of hot cocoa. He didn't even think she knew the effect she had when she smiled. When she smiled, it felt like pure joy, fun, happiness, and innocence. And yet when matched with the twinkle in her eye, it held a hint of mischief. But to him, it felt very seductive. With that smile, she could lighten up the entire room or bring any man to their knees.

Severus found he enjoyed making her smile. It wasn't something that often happened. Rarely was any person happy to be in his company. But it was in her eyes where the trust, the caring and the truth sang. Any time their eyes met. He couldn't help but feel as if the breath was taken from him.

He wished that he could avoid looking into her eyes. It wouldn't be very difficult to achieve, but he was curious. Curious whether her soul would be laid bare in front of him if he stared into them long enough. However, that would take too long, and she would no doubt shift uncomfortably if he stared at her for too long. So he would have to settle for the normal way of knowing a person. Talking.

"What do you think happens after death?"

Hermione was quickly startled. Her head snapped up in his direction. She was sitting at the table, but her head was down, and her arms were curled around a book she was reading. There wasn't much either of them could do now in regards to their potion. Based on their calculations, they had to let it rest for 16 days before stirring clockwise 196 times. After that, the potion would be complete. But whether or not it would work was another thing. The potion itself was pretty simple in theory. Its premise was to separate biological and magical matter in the body and break down any foreign pathogens. Therefore once Potter consumed the potion, the Dark Lord's soul would be distinguished from Potter's. Currently, the two were too closely intertwined; even Severus couldn't tell one from the other. But once they were separated, since the Dark Lord's soul was a passenger in Potter's body, so to speak, it would break down and die. Hence how he came to the topic of death.

Despite the fact that they were working on killing the Dark Lord and had discussed the numerous names of individuals killed during this war, they hadn't really discussed the topic of death itself, despite how eminent it was. And from the way she had to think of an answer, it was clear she hadn't given the subject matter that much thought either. "I know the biological breakdown that occurs after death. But if you are referring to our souls or spirits. I don't know. I want to believe that we don't just fall asleep one day and never wake up. That there is something beyond this world. Where peace remains," her voice trailed off slowly. Her eyes appeared glazed over at the thought of peace. It must seem like such a foreign concept now that she had been embedded in a war for several years. It surely was for him. Peace seemed like a myth after everything he had seen and done. It was a nice thought. But realistically. There could just be nothing. All of this would just fade away into the darkness.

"Are you scared of dying?"

He almost laughed at her question. Despite the fact that he had been close to death on several occasions, no one had ever cared enough to ask him that. Not even Dumbledore. "Yes, but I'm not afraid of death. Death is simply the end. Dying is a slow and painful process. A constant reminder that everything you hold dear is going to disappear. And there is nothing you could do to stop it." He realised that he was staring off into space and not really looking at her. He quickly corrected that error. "I imagine it's worse if you were in love. They would be left behind. It is probably worse that way." Thankfully he was alone. And the only person who would be left behind would be. His thoughts trailed off as he looked into Hermione's eyes.

She seemed confused. Her eyes tended to soften when she was unsure. It was a change from the sharp contrast of her bold dark eyes. But in times like this, her eyes had a hint of amber in it. "But isn't it better to have loved than to have never loved before?"

"It depends on the type of love. The Greeks had six different words for love. Eros, Philia, Ludus, Agape, Pragma, and Philautia." She nodded her head. It was clear that she was familiar with the concept and had heard the terms before, but with the way she tilted her head and bit her lip, it was clear she wanted him to elaborate. "Philia is the most common. It refers to a deep friendship. Ludus is often translated to mean a playful love associated with children and teasing. The first blossoms of love. Agape is simply unrealistic; it is impossible to love everyone. But you could give your love away for free." It was something he purposely tried to avoid. "Philautia, is an underrated concept. How can you learn to love others if you can't love yourself?" Something he also related to. "Eros is the type of love people used to fear. The feeling of losing control and giving in to your desire and sexual passion. And now it is the one people crave the most. Pragma is the most important. Everlasting love. The type that people work hard to maintain and to last for eternity." Typically when he lectured, he would recede to the depths of his mind. But all he could do was stare into the eyes of the women in front of him.

Somehow he was able to see the curves of her face and the rosiness of her cheeks, and yet his entire focus was on her eyes. It was as if everything else about her was simply an outline drawn in black and white. "If Pragma is the type of love worth dying for. Then I wouldn't know. I hope it is otherwise what is the purpose of living."

"We pretend like we don't know the effect we have on other people. When in reality, we do. We know exactly what we are doing. Even when we don't think we do. Subconsciously we are all fighting for what we want."

He couldn't help but arch his brow. Sometimes he wondered if she was a legilimence herself. If the way he was able to read him was any indication. "And what is it that we want?"

"To feel connected to someone." Her eyes seemed to pierce him in his heart. However, it had already made its way through his mind and soul.

His affections for her were growing quickly and vastly out of his control. By the time he discovered them, it was already too late. They had taken root, and now his entire being is controlled and dictated. It was obvious that he was attracted to her for many reasons and not just physically. Perhaps that is why it took him only until now for him to decipher his feelings for her. He became attracted to her intelligence first, his emotions came later. And now, whenever he saw her or his thoughts turned to her, which had begun to be quite frequent, his physical desire for her was obvious.

Despite his desire to be selfish with her and simply ask her if she had feelings for him, he knew he couldn't do it. For one, he wouldn't know how to ask. Then, of course, if he did somehow find the words, her answer would be puzzling and result in complications regardless of her answer. And yet he hoped that she would make a move, something concrete to indicate she was feeling something similar to him. He hoped she would be her brash Gryffindor self and take charge and say, this is what I want. You.

But luck was never really on his side.

Or perhaps she wasn't as blind as he thought.

One evening Hermione was commenting on how well they worked together despite the tension between them. Of course, there would be tension between them. There had always been tension, but he wasn't prepared for the type of tension she noted between them. She made note of their compatibility and how it was only natural for them to get along in such close quarters. And with their compatible personalities, it was evident that there would be some tension between them. They were thoughts he had considered before at great length. But he was curious about what she thought about it.

"What kind of tension?" He asked, feigning confusion.

"Oh, you know," she said, trying to draw out an explanation from him without having to say the words. She looked at him expectantly, but it was clear from his innocent look that he wasn't sure what she was saying. She sighed in half exasperation and half anxiousness. "The kind that just seems to translate to sexual because obviously there can be no other type of tension when it involved a man and woman." he couldn't help but be intrigued by her line of thought. "And obviously that is wrong," she said. "It's not like either of us are attracted to the other, right." A shiver ran down Severus' spine, and he had to fight the smirk trying to make its way onto his face. It didn't sound like she was making a statement. It said as if she was posing a question. "And I am going to stop talking now," she murmured as she shifted away from him.

The way she would stagger over her words when she was embarrassed or nervous. It was quite… endearing. Despite her being confident in her knowledge, her trying to explain the words sometimes meant that her confidence was lacking.

He wasn't sure how it made him feel. That she was comfortable enough in his presence to forget who he was that she had mistaken she was talking to a friend. Or perhaps she wasn't mistaken. She could have been comfortable enough with him despite not being her friend.

But he didn't think of her as a friend. Well, he did. Funny how things turn out. At first, he wanted nothing to do with her, but now he wanted more. He wanted her, desired her, and craved to possess her and mark her as his. But he didn't want to claim her. He wanted her to willingly come to him and want him in return. It was twofold. He wanted to be selfish, yet he couldn't be selfish with her. It was highly frustrating. To have something you want so much, with it right in front of you and yet never have it.

He wondered how she would respond to being kissed. Would she push him away and slap him before hexing him? Would she squeal in surprise? Tentatively respond after a moment of hesitation. Or, Merlin, would she moan and open her mouth enthusiastically and kiss him back with just as much passion and ferocity as he had.

Despite their conversation on the topic of love. It wasn't as if he was hit with a sudden realisation that he was in love with her. No, he wasn't in love with her. Though he wouldn't claim what he was feeling for her wasn't far off. It was heading in that direction. And he couldn't help but hope. His new penchant for hoping was entirely her fault.

If there was anyone in the world who could have romantic feelings for him, it would be her. She already believed and told him that he was a good man. So iniventily he stood a chance. But realistically, it didn't matter. He would never take it, Even if right now he found her lying on his bed. He wouldn't be able to do anything. Though the temptation was surely there and he had thought about it. Especially quite vividly in his dreams. It wouldn't be fair to her. Nor would it be fair to him to have something so precious and real for only a moment, only for it to not last.

He wasn't going to survive this war. He knew that from the moment Potter exited that damn maze with Cedric Diggory's body proclaiming that the Dark Lord was back. He knew it the moment he laid eyes on his old master and knelt before him. He has been in more life-threatening situations than he could count. And somehow, despite lying broken and bleeding out on the ground by some luck, he always woke up the next day. But after almost twenty years, he knew his luck was running out. Despite the hope and confidence he shared with Hermione, this potion will work, and Potter will live. He wasn't so confident about his own life.

And he couldn't leave Hermione like that. He couldn't leave her with questions and wondering what if. What if they could be happy together? What if they were romantically involved and she fell in love with him. What if one day she told him she loved him and then next he was killed. He couldn't leave her wondering if what they shared was real. Or just something that occurred because of the room they are currently in. He couldn't leave her with doubts about how he felt about her. Anything more than friendship would be a hasty spur-of-the-moment decision that would leave her living with confusion and possible regrets. He had no doubts that she would survive this war. So he hid the extent of his feelings for her. She can know that he cares about her, that he is concerned about her and even enjoys her presence. But she could never know that he was falling in love with her.

It was better to simply have her friendship and partnership. He could survive with that. It was more than he ever deserved. Or anticipated. And he was truly grateful.

But then it happened. He began to see hints that made him believe for a brief second that she reciprocated his feelings. The way their private talks would shift from death and horrors towards human connection and love. The way she would know what he was thinking and bring him the potion ingredients he would need. The way she bobbed her head along when he talked, easily understanding him. How she would know when he was tired and speak in a whisper not to aggravate his headache. Or how she would silently bring him a cup of tea when he was way her eyes lingered on him as he left the room. Or the way he felt her stare when he wasn't looking at her. The way her eyes would light up and a small smile would tug at her lips when he would say something that didn't warrant such a response.

And that made him angry. Typically others would rejoice at the thought that their feelings were reciprocated. No. For him, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. After he was finished dreaming, he became realistic. He could never be with her. Not in the way he wanted.

It was already too dangerous as it is.

When someone uses legilimency, they have access to a person's mind. However, feelings and emotions are always difficult to understand since they are multifaceted. Memories, however, were there for the taking. And though Severus was a master occulemens and could manipulate his own memories and not allow the Dark Lord to see any that he didn't want. There were still risks. No matter how mentally strong he was, his resistance would still weaken after six hours of torture.

The Dark Lord could find out about her at any point in time.

Most people, when suffering the effects of pain, hold onto something good. Something worth fighting for even on the brink of death. He couldn't allow her to be his fighting memory. He had to fight for himself or embrace his death. It was the only way he could protect her.

.

And if it was discovered, he couldn't bear the consequences. Death would be a mercy for the both of them, especially if they were ever captured. A shudder ran down his back. No, he couldn't allow himself to imagine Hermione in the place of all the other victims he had seen being tortured by the death eaters. Though the Dark Lord would personally question her. No doubt, blaming her for his defection instead of embracing the truth that he had long since betrayed him. Her fate would ultimately be left to the male Death Eaters.

They had never been closer together, but now he had begun to draw back. The fear of the consequence of the two of them having feelings for one another made him lash out.

It was slow at first. He would become quieter. Refusing to talk to her and ignoring her questions until he callously ignored her presence. Often bumping into her as if he didn't see her or he didn't care to. But it never deterred her. She probably blamed it as stress and kept moving on with her cheery disposition. And so, he had to resort to alternate measures of persuasions to distance them.

"I need away, not an excuse," he snapped at her one day. He thought it would be easy. Pulling himself away from her and putting distance between them. But it wasn't. He only felt regret and loss when he did it. The look in her eyes whenever he said something hurtful felt as if someone was clawing at his throat. That in itself made him angrier. He used to be in such control of his emotions but being with her has left him completely defenceless. And so, he allowed that anger to drive his words.

"If I wanted a stupid solution to a real problem, I would ask you."

"Merlin, have you always been this useless?"

He kept his intentions hidden from her. But like everything in his life, it all came crashing down. It wasn't long for her to figure out what he was doing. After a particularly long and painful Death Eater meeting, he dragged his tired and sore body into the lab only to find her perched on a desk. She wasn't surprised to see him in such a state which was odd since he didn't recall summoning her or having plans to meet with her. He knew by the look on her face that this evening was far from over.

"I don't know what your problem is lately. And I won't ask. But this is me telling you that it is going to stop. You can't keep pushing me away now that I have gotten so close to you."

He didn't reply. He couldn't. But that appeared to be the wrong decision since she jumped off the table and snapped. "God Severus. If you keep doing this, you will be killed."

He didn't think that those were the words she wished to say. She was just overwhelmed by his current state of being. Unfortunately for him, his head snapped towards her at her declaration. And he couldn't help but feel like he just gave himself away.

For a moment, they just stared at each other as fear swept over her face and seeped into his bones. "Oh god. You don't expect to live, do you?"

"No, I don't. I have lived a long life of suffering and pain and misery. Tell me, after all of this is done, how am I supposed to move on. To feel happiness again when the darkness snuffed it out a long time ago." He didn't mean to let this all out. To unravel each and every one of his secrets bare before her feet. But she had this effect on him. That made him want to be honest and truthful.

"I will hold your hand if I have to get you through this," Hermione stated. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if she kept her word on that threat. If things were different, he may even allow her. But it wasn't so simple.

"Hermione," he whispered, pleading for her to let this go. Let him go.

"No. I won't hear of this. I don't care what you do or what I have to do, but you will survive this war. I promise you that." She was breathless after her declaration.

"Careful, you also made me another promise," he replied. Her eyes grew as she stared at him before deciding that she had enough. She didn't bother to say anything else or demand that she help him, even to heal his current injuries. No, she had said what she had wanted and needed to. And for tonight, that was enough. She spoke, and he had heard every word loud and clear. But it didn't really change things in the long run.

All he had wanted for almost 20 years was for Voldemort to be defeated. But he was always doubtful he would ever live to see that day. It's why when he agreed to kill Dumbledore and go deep undercover, he never gave himself an escape route. She was right; he did expect to die. It was a damn shame. To fight for something so hard for so long only to not live long enough to see it. He felt like this was punishment. He wasn't a religious man, but if he had to say that there was a greater power, then this was his punishment for making a mistake when he was seventeen. It didn't matter that he spent years trying to be better. No one really gets a clean state even when they are given a second chance.

She was adamant that he was going to survive, and he was not. They were both clear on where they stood in the matter, and tomorrow they will continue to work together and ignore their personal differences. He didn't blame her for her staged intervention. In fact, he admired her for it. And in truth, he wished he could have been persuaded to join her side, especially if it meant exploring this relationship with her more. But Severus learned a long time ago that you don't always get what you want even if you fight for it. So in his mind, why bother fighting at all.

Hogwarts was built in a valley, to the south was a Great Lake and mountains could be seen from all sides. Even the forest, with its dark and twisted nature, was home to many dangerous creatures and, forbidden for all students, held a beauty that took one's breath away. It looked like it belonged in a fairy tale. Despite seeing the view for almost twenty-three years, Severus still found it mesmerizing. The only perk of being Headmaster was that he had a better view of the landscape than the brick walls he was subjected to look at in the dungeons.

Most days, Severus would stand looking out into the horizon. And today was no exception. He stood tall with his hands folded behind his back. He kept his eyes forward. But he couldn't help but let his mind wander to the past.

It didn't help that a portrait would poke his nose into his business whenever he desired to be left alone with his thoughts. But today, he was persuaded to take the old man's advice. Especially after being faced with the look of devastation on Hermione's face when she realized he might not survive.

"Severus? With everything you have seen, it's a miracle that you can still see beauty in the world. To still be able to see the good. Don't let your mind pull you away from your heart," said Dumbledore. Severus refused to turn around. To do so would involve him engaging in a conversation or force him to be lectured. Which he was not in the mood for. Severus was allowing Dumbledore to voice his opinion, and that was all. "It's okay to be happy. You deserve to be happy. And if Miss Granger is the one who can do that to you?" Severus had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Even in death, the man was a love-sick fool. And no doubt going to make some cheesy and unnecessary comparison to love being a fragile flower opening to the warmth of spring. "Here's some advice. Be selfish. There's only one thing I have ever wanted from you."

Severus couldn't help but ponder the words. Usually, he would allow them to sweep over him without an effect. But right now, they were seeping into his skin and giving him a newfound determination and courage.

"Have a good life, Severus."