The feelings he was experiencing, the attraction—frightened Severus to his core. It unbalanced him so much that he wanted to stop himself from feeling them. His interactions with the fairer sex had boiled down to his unhealthy fixation on a childhood friend and fending off unwanted attentions from those he had no interest in. Fame chasers and sycophants with aims to seduce him for the glory of it. Those encounters had only reinforced he was content to spend his time alone.

But Hermione was not attempting to seduce him.

Why would she?

He was a man nineteen years her senior, her former professor, and an acquitted murderer. Surely she would laugh in his face if she ever knew that he had any inclination toward her.

But when he looked at the sketches that he had done so far, his pulse would jump; his heart would quiver. It was worse when he thought about her smiling at him, telling him that he deserved happiness. He'd considered the moment, and she had meant it. There was no deception or unspoken joke in her eyes. Granger had earnestly believed he should be happy, and it had endeared her to him.

It had stirred some strange awakening within himself, a siren's song drawing him toward this beautiful witch, who for all intents and purposes was unattainable.

He'd considered never returning to St Walter's.

He considered closing the shoppe, packing up and moving to the european continent.

Severus had mulled over every option at his disposal to avoid the feelings threatening to riot right out of his chest. As his workday progressed, he grew more irritated and tense; his neck hurt from how tight his shoulders were.

By midday, he told himself he absolutely was not going to go to the museum.

And when the shoppe closed, he went anyways.

And he continued going.

A new pattern arose out of their meetings at the museum. Hermione would wait for him at the entrance of the museum, a hot tea with light cream for him, and her coffee with two lumps and a splash of cream. They would stroll through the garden, discussing any and every topic that came to their minds, occasionally halting so that he could make a sketch of her. Somehow, Severus had been able to conceal his actions with his growingly flimsy excuses. When they had walked the whole of the gardens, they would go inside and look at the art before finally standing before her favourite piece, Ophelia.

Hermione had known little of the history of art, and Severus himself was a beginner, and so they had agreed to start learning together. Her passion for learning was infectious, and Severus had made time to read nightly solely to bask in that enthusiasm each day. They were each reading on it and then discussing it the following day.

As this time passed, his feelings for her grew. His affection and attraction grew, crawling over his uneasy heart like ivy in search of the light of her radiant smile.

Hermione seemed to smile all the time with him, laugh, and even cheer him when he had an inane day at the shoppe.

Every afternoon with her was both the best and worst all at once.

They had become—friends.

He mulled it over in his mind often. We're friends. We're—friends.

Nothing good ever came from having feelings for one's friends. He knew that, and that put his traitorous heart into check. So he shoved it down as far as he could, and continued to sketch her, seeking to capture that spark that made her so breathtaking. If he could do that, maybe his emotions would fade away, and he could continue to have her in his life as a friend.

Merlin knows, he had few who would call him such, and fewer still he considered in the same regard.

Severus settled for the time being to simply enjoy the minutes with her in the botanical gardens, drawing his unknowing muse.

The sun streamed through the leaves of the trees in the arboretum as they ambled quietly. Severus had noticed she was more withdrawn today than normally. Hermione's greeting as she handed him the cup of tea was muted and her eyes were swollen. Severus had inquired about it, but she'd shaken her head and told him that she was fine.

As it was, he was content to wander quietly as he tamed his own troubled thoughts. Severus was starting to be distracted by Hermione as he worked. More than once, he'd found he was wondering what she was doing, how her day at work was going when he should have been counting stirs. He'd ruined three batches of the same tincture that was in fewer days. She was in his thoughts constantly, her bright smile having taken residence in his psyche, and nothing he did seemed to shake it.

He was out of his league, his depth, his capabilities.

Even the idea of asking her for coffee somewhere else, aside from the museum, made him queasy. His palms sweated and his heart fluttered any time he thought about her and how beautiful, smart, and enigmatic she was.

Then he would quickly remind himself that he stood no chance, that he should feel privileged she even considered being his friend. That he was unworthy of her in every possible way, and that if she ever knew that he harbored those feelings for her, she'd run and never come back.

Hermione stopped, wrapping her arms around herself as she glanced up at one of the garden statues. The classically carved marble statue showed two lovers embracing, the male planting kisses to the jaw of the female in a moment of romance.

Severus unfolded his sketchbook and started to capture her in that pose.

"Sometimes I wish I was made of stone," Hermione breathed out quietly.

Severus chuckled, "It would be difficult to get around."

She glanced back at him, a fake smile creeping over her lips before she turned back to the statue. "But I would never suffer a broken heart."

He tilted his head, looking at her for a moment. Her lips were sunken into a frown, her eyes puffy once more as she gazed at the statue. The emotion was something he understood, he felt it himself. Longing filled her brown eyes to the brim as her soft profile was turned up at the garden statue.

His heart squeezed, knowing that the longing in her eyes was not for him. "Statues break too, sometimes"

"Not you," Hermione whispered quietly.

His eyebrow arched at her, not understanding her meaning. "Pardon?"

Her arms dropped to her side, and she turned to him, the full focus of her attention on him. Hermione looked at him in a way that made him feel nervous as she spoke. "You are chiselled in marble, unwavering, unflappable. I find I am made of paper, flimsy, easily torn and damaged."

Severus opened his mouth slightly, replaying her words quickly as he gazed at her. There was something between those words, something in her expressive eyes that made his heart thump loudly in his ears. The longing, the desperation, and fear of rejection that he felt in his chest was reflected back to him in her eyes.

A nervous whisper escaped him, "we are not talking about art anymore, are we?"

"I suppose not." Her face dropped, and she wrapped her arms around herself again, gazing at her feet.

Impossible.

Severus knew there was no way that he was reading this right. He swallowed, watching her reactions. "What are we talking about, Hermione?"

"Nothing, just nonsense." She waved her hand at him, turning to start moving. "I shouldn't have said anything."

Shutting his sketch book, Severus caught her arm, stopping her exodus from him. His hardly felt like he could breathe. "I want to know, Hermione."

Her free hand rubbed across her eyes, and her lip quivered as she glanced up at him. Her voice wavered as if she were in the brink of tears. "You would never want to see me again, Severus. You would never forgive me."

Concern, worry, and fear joined the emotional powder keg within him. "What has happened Hermione?" Severus stared at her, searching her face for a sign, an answer. What he saw made him suck in a deep breath, not needing to read her mind to understand. Her unshielded eyes were screaming it at him.

Her eyes widened. She knew that he'd witnessed it now too. She shook her head, pulling her arm from his grasp. "I—I should go."

Before he could stop her, she was running away from him, back toward the museum.

Stunned, his mind reeled.

He saw it.

There in her eyes was the same longing he felt, but also the same feelings.

Hermione had feelings for him.

Feelings that she was afraid to show him for fear of his rejection.

His rejection!

Merlin, if the woman only knew how he felt about her.

Before his mind could fully register what he was doing, Severus was running along the cobblestone path as fast as his legs could take him with his sketchbook clutched to his chest. He could not let her go without knowing, without asking if he'd seen what he thought he did. Severus had let every good thing in his life slip through his fingertips, and he was not about to allow history to repeat itself now.

"Wait!" Severus yelled after her as she turned through the greenhouse. "Hermione, wait!"

Making the same turn, he found Hermione had stopped just inside the green glassed house. Her back was to him, shoulders shaking as she breathed heavily. "I'm sorry."

"There is no need," he tried to explain as he caught his breath. Severus reached out for her shoulder, turning him to face her.

"I should not have said anything!" Hermione cried, jerking from his touch.

The sudden movement was unexpected, and Severus lurched forward, his sketchbook when flying from his arm. He watched in horror as it landed at her feet, flipping open to his most recent sketch of her in soft lines staring at the statue.

Hermione leaned down to pick up his book, only to freeze as she beheld what was on the page. Her eyes rose up, meeting his. Severus could discern the realization on her face of what he'd been doing.

A panic started in his chest as her fingers closed around the sketchbook. She would see it and think he was a freak, and any chance that had been would end there. Severus prepared for the worst as she flipped through the pages, seeing that all his recent work was of her. It had been a long time since he'd drawn anything but her in those pages.

She stood, her jaw slack as she gazed at him. "You drew these?"

"I did." He admitted, swallowing back against his nerves.

"These are beautiful." Hermione breathed out, glancing back down at the sketches. "Why did you choose to draw me?"

That she did not immediately reject him, startled the hell out of him, and an unexpected burst of boldness came to the fore. Severus reached for her hand, stepping forward.

"Because you are the greatest work of art in this whole building," he answered, shocking himself at the words that fell from his lips.

Hermione let out a half-sob, her fingers curling around his as she pulled his sketchbook to her chest as if it were something treasured. "That is—does this mean that you—like me?"

"I do, very much so." Severus nodded, feeling drawn closer to her. It was some untapped well of courage that led him to ask the same question of her. "Do you," he said, hesitating as he attempted to untie his tongue from the Celtic knotwork it was attempting to emulate in his mouth, "like me?"

"Very much. So much that I come here every day just to accompany you," Hermione admitted, tears in her eyes.

His chest burned as he heard her words, her confession to feeling the same as he had. This magnificent, gorgeous woman liked him. Severus could hardly believe it, and his own emotions were soaring through him. He reached up and pushed away a tear from under her eye. "Hermione."

"Yes?"

He searched her face, hoping his luck would not run out with this request. "Might I kiss you?"

"Yes," she gasped out, closing the distance between them

Severus bowed his head down toward her, unsure of his own movements in his inexperience as he cupped her face. His lips brushed her softly, and he felt a tingle of elation rush through his body. Pressing his lips against hers more, she responded with a hum that went through him like lightning. Pulling her close to him, he didn't care if his sketchbook was crushed between them.

Hermione slid her arm around him, her hand cupping the back of his head as she kissed him back.

From the top of his head to the tips of his toes, Severus felt a new sensation. It was almost like he was buzzing, vibrating from the contact with her. He leaned back, opening his eyes to gaze at her.

She was beautiful.

Even though she looked undone from the running and the crying, all Severus could see was how stunning she was—how perfect.

"Don't move," Severus breathed out shakily, taking the book from between them in his hands. "You are perfect, let me draw you, please."

Hermione nodded, a smile setting on her just kissed lips.

Severus had to still his own hands from shaking as he slid the pencil along the page, creating her visage from shape and shadow. He worked as quickly as he could, feeling the pressure of having her know what he was doing.

Gazing at it, Severus felt a swell in his chest. He'd done it, her hair was perfect, that spark of something else had finally translated to the page.

"Here." Severus handed it to her nervously.

She took the sketchbook in her hands and let out a soft gasp. "It is beautiful, what will you call it?"

Severus had never been in the habit of naming his art, so he stopped for a moment thinking intently on it. After a moment, a mental image of the relief came to mind, and he nodded, smiling at her hopefully. "I think I will call this one 'My Ophelia'."

"Will this story be a tragedy?" She worried her lip between her teeth.

"No." He shook his head. "I believe my Ophelia is too clever for that, and she did not sing as they tried to drown her, but fought back, and won."

Hermione seemed to doubt him, shaking her head as she handed him back his sketchbook. "Hamlet goes mad and dies at the end of that play?"

"Perhaps," Severus felt emboldened by the whole encounter so far, so he took her hand in his, bringing it to his lips before he spoke. "Perhaps, this Hamlet did come back to life and make amends for the many grievous things he said and did to his Ophelia."

"You've nothing to make amends for," she explained, squeezing his hand in hers. "That Severus is not you, that is a different man, the mad prince of Denmark who is in the past."

He felt a smile curl at one side of his mouth. "Splendid, then we can get to the part where we change this story to a romance instead?"

"I'd like that," Hermione agreed, reaching up and pulling him down for another kiss.

The world around them faded away as a new masterpiece began together.