Chapter 28: Heart-to-Hearts

"Now, don't forget to revise the ingredients of the Fire-Breathing Potion and the Strengthening Solution for next week's quiz!" Hermione called out to the second-years as they shuffled out of the dungeon classroom. "They will definitely be on your end-of-year exam, so you might as well learn them now!"

Severus watched in amusement as a collective groan came from the children. Yes, his pupils may always breathe not so silent sighs of relief whenever they walked in and saw their upperclassman standing next to their austere Potions professor. But they were certainly mistaken if they thought that having someone as swotty and tenacious as Hermione as their instructor would make their lives any easier. Whilst it was true that she tended to be more patient and a lot friendlier than him, she was just as unrelenting when it came to the material they needed to know.

Once the last student had finally exited the room and the door had fallen shut, Severus walked up to his apprentice.

"You did well today," he muttered as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, nuzzling her hair, and the witch instantly relaxed against him. "You are really improving as a teacher."

"I don't know. They're just so unruly at times. They don't listen to me like they do to you."

"You just need to be a bit stricter with them. Show authority."

Hermione pulled away from him somewhat and bent forward slightly to tidy up her notes, which were strewn about his desk. "Easy for you to say, Mister 'I Can Instil Fear In Anybody With Just One Quirk Of An Eyebrow'."

"I will take that as a compliment," Severus joshed as he reached out and stilled her hands with his own. He made her drop the papers and turn around to face him, whereupon he proceeded to coil a lock of her hair around his forefinger. "But you are really not giving yourself enough credit here. You are as good a teacher as me; I've just had a lot more time to practise my commanding presence."

Hermione let out a sarcastic guffaw at this subtle interjection of self-laudation, and he smirked right back at her. What he had left unsaid was that the main reason she was having trouble keeping control over her younger peers was due to the fact that the lower grades nowadays generally contained a lot more students. As a result of the baby drought caused by the First Wizarding War, previous years had been much smaller, hers included; and of course, it was considerably harder to wrangle forty children than it was twenty. He himself sometimes struggled to maintain a suitable learning environment with so many students in one small room. But he thought it better not to mention this to her. He did not want her to dwell on the dark times any more than she already did.

"It's almost lunch time," he related instead. "Shall I escort you to the Great Hall?"

She shook her head. "I don't feel like having lunch today."

Severus gave her a worried glance. He had to resist the immediate urge to bring the back of his hand up to her forehead. "Is everything all right? Are you feeling sick?"

"No, no. I'm just not really hungry, that's all."

He thought for a moment. "How about some tea and pastries then?"

Hermione smiled. "Sounds perfect."

"Great. You go ahead then and order some from the kitchens. I just need to have a brief chat with Filch about tonight's detentions before I join you."

The sitting room was completely still and quiet with the exception of the crackling sound of the flames which were contorting themselves gracefully within the confines of the fireplace. The air was filled with the enticing aroma of freshly brewed tea and the sweet scent of sugared confectionery.

For what felt like the fiftieth time now, Hermione looked at her wristwatch. It had been almost 25 minutes, and yet Severus was still not back. Slowly but surely, she was beginning to feel restless. Over the past few weeks, this had become a recurring pattern for her. It did not matter whether it was the wizard running late for one of their secret meetings or merely someone giving her a strange look in passing; whenever something even just vaguely out of the ordinary happened, her mind would immediately go into overdrive. Her thoughts would taunt her with one nightmare scenario after another, trying to make her believe that they had been caught, that somebody had already reported them and that at that very moment, Severus was sitting in Professor Dumbledore's office, getting sacked. The idea of it alone was enough to make her sick with paranoia, causing her to spend hours pondering about whether or not someone could have possibly overheard one of the many hushed conversation she had had with her redheaded confidant over the last couple of months.

In an attempt to distract herself from this crushing feeling of doom, she applied another static charm to the polished teakettle sitting on the table in front of her. But all that took was one experienced motion of her wand, and so Hermione was soon back to fidgeting anxiously in her seat on the sofa.

Kneading her fingers, she let her eyes wander around the room. She took in the many tomes which lined the walls – titles of an abundance so great that she had yet to look at them all – and as if pulled by an invisible string, her legs carried her to one of the bookshelves. She let her fingers run along the spines, feeling their uneven textures, as she slowly walked the length of one bookcase and then another and then another. Like that, she travelled the world and even time, each author whispering promises of knowledge and a new place far, far away from the dread which was following her like a shadow in the here and now. She only came to a halt when this literary chain was abruptly broken by a black, wooden door.

Hermione stared at it. Even though she had never opened it before, she knew what must lay behind it. After all, she had already seen both his bathroom and his private laboratory – which only left his bedroom. That must be what was so poorly hidden behind that hinged barrier. Severus' bedroom. Where he slept. Where he got undressed. The very room which so often featured shapelessly in her most private thoughts and haunted her sleepless nights.

Before she knew it, her right hand had already reached for the doorknob, taking hold of it in a tight grasp. She knew she should not do it, should not unwantedly invade his privacy like that. But it was hard to deny the overpowering impulse to finally satisfy that curiosity which had been steadily building inside her for months now. She tightened her grip on the metal sphere nestled in her palm. Just a quick peek, she thought. A quick peek wouldn't hurt anybody. Just a few seconds and then she would be back on the sofa, waiting dutifully for Severus to return. She turned the doorknob and gave the door a cautious push. It was not locked.

The room which presented itself to her was not really remarkable in any way. For its relatively large size, it was sparsely furnished: a bed, two nightstands, a mirror, an upholstered bench, a dresser. The only light being offered by two candle sconces encased in glass, the furniture's dark brown, varnished wood did little to brighten the space. But despite that ostensible bleakness, the room felt strangely warm still. It was clear that it had been designed with functionality in mind; however, it still looked lived-in enough to not appear clinical. The bed was unmade, there were some discarded pieces of clothing thrown carelessly on the dresser, a few dangerously high stacks of books crowded the floor here and there, and a half-empty glass of water could be found on one of the nightstands.

Having somehow already forgotten her intentions to keep it at a fleeting glimpse, Hermione walked up to the bed – his bed – and let her hands delve into the messy sheets. The fabric felt soft against her skin. Her head swirled at the idea of finding herself caught in the linen, with him, touching and caressing and exploring. She imagined his fingers curling around the carved headboard, his raven hair splayed out against the white cloth, and could feel herself blush. She knew that she needed to leave this place before her thoughts would completely disconnect her from reality.

But against her better judgement, she did not head for the door. Instead, she turned to her right and allowed one of her fingertips to skim the brim of the glass placed on the nightstand in search of the invisible spot where his mouth must have touched it. She licked her lips. Ever since their little trip to Porto, Severus had begun to be a lot more affectionate with her. Little touches here and there, even the odd peck or two sometimes – though it somehow never got nearly as passionate between them as it had at the ball. To Hermione, it was rather obvious that he was still apprehensive about well and truly crossing those tacit boundaries between them, no matter how blurred they might have already got. He always made sure to be overly respectful, never touching her in indecent ways or asking her to stay the night. And whilst she wanted nothing more than to transcend those unspoken limits and have him – really have him – in any way he would let her, she tried her best to be patient. She did not want to push him; not when he had already been so reluctant to give into their mutual attraction to begin with.

Sauntering over to the dresser, Hermione carefully picked up one of his discarded dress shirts and brought it up to her nose. It still smelled like him – rich and earthy and a bit musky. For only a moment, she permitted herself to wallow in his ambrosial scent. Then, she dropped the garment back in its place and finally made to leave.

But right as she was about to turn towards the door, something caught her eye. There, protruding just ever so slightly from underneath the dresser, a flat object lay on the floor. A piece of paper, maybe? Hermione looked over her shoulder – nothing. The sitting room was still as silent and deserted as she had left it. Unable to resist temptation, she crouched down and pulled at what she soon came to realise was a magical photograph.

It was a portrait of a young woman, certainly no older than thirty. She was very thin – emancipated almost – and had sallow skin and a long, sour-looking face. Her ebony-coloured hair was pulled back into a classic French twist, and she was wearing a long-sleeved dress made of dark blue cotton, which she had accessorised with a pair of pearl earrings and an inconspicuous, silver locket. She was staring at the camera with a blank countenance on her sullen face, the sole movement in the image provided by an occasional blink of her black eyes. She was certainly not pretty in the conventional sense; however, there was something beautiful about her nonetheless, something ageless. But what stood out the most was the sadness that radiated from her. A sadness which was so evident yet indescribable, so all-encompassing, so completely and utterly –

"What are you doing?"

A bloodcurdling shriek escaped Hermione's lips. She whirled around only to come eye to eye with the Potions Master's dauntingly impassive face.

"Severus!" she gasped as she clasped her hands behind her back, the photograph still clenched between her fingers. "I-I … I'm sorry! I know I shouldn't be here, I –"

At her panicked spluttering, his expression immediately softened. "If you'd wanted to see my bedroom, you could have just asked," he said, his puckered brows growing smooth. "I do not mind you being in here. What is mine is yours."

He took a step towards her, his arms held open in invitation. When she did not draw back, still too unnerved to move, he went to pull her into his embrace but then suddenly stiffened.

"What do you have there?" he inquired, abruptly pulling the picture from her hands.

Hermione tried to stop him, tried to grab onto it with all her might – but it was to no avail. The grip of her fingers was no match to his strong hands, and so she had to simply watch as he lifted the image up to eye level, looking at it with what could only be described as great bewilderment.

"I found it on the floor, sticking out from underneath the dresser," she quavered. "I wasn't trying to snoop, I swear!"

"I know."

"Really, I –"

Finally tearing his gaze away from the portrait, Severus gave her a weak smile. "Hermione, it's fine. I am not upset with you, just a bit surprised. I have not seen this in a very long time." He frowned. "I … I thought I had misplaced it."

Hermione cocked her head. She did not like how dejected he suddenly seemed. "Do you mind me asking who that is?"

One of his thumbs rubbed against the photograph almost tenderly. "My mother," he divulged in a gravelly tone. "Eileen."

He twisted his wrist so she could see. Now that she knew who the woman was, Hermione thought that she could definitely see some familiarities in their facial features. They had the same downturned eyes and the same pale complexion clashing with charred-black hair.

"She's beautiful," she whispered.

"Yeah," he sighed. "She was."

"Was?"

"She died a long time ago."

"Oh." His words knocked all wind from her lungs. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"It's all right," he said, turning towards her and pulling her back into a hug. "It's been many years."

He pressed a soft kiss on her forehead, the shape of his lips ghosting across her skin, and Hermione hummed approvingly. They stood like that for a while until Severus ultimately mumbled, "I should thank you for finding this. It is the last photograph I have left of her, you know? I threw away all the others."

"Why?"

"It was the only one I could find from better days. From a time when my parents were still at least somewhat happy with each other." There was a short pause. "From before they had me."

The self-disdain dripping from his voice was so palpable that it hurt. Hermione lifted her head and was shocked to find his eyes swimming with tears. The sight was like a kick to the teeth. She wanted so badly to disagree, wanted to force him into her brain just so that he could see himself in all his glory through her own eyes. But in the face of decades' worth of bottled-up emotions, she found herself unable to think of anything helpful or worthwhile to say. So instead, following an instinct, she resolved to wordlessly show him how much he mattered to her.

Raising her chin, she moved in for a kiss. His mouth felt stiff and hard against hers, though that tension did not last long. It only took a heartbeat before the muscles in his jaw finally loosened, and he kissed her back. Their lips brushed against each other only lightly at first, but that soft and delicate dance was still enough to coax a small shiver of pleasure out of her. Hermione leaned forward and opened her mouth, allowing their warm breaths to mingle as her tongue darted out and traced the seam of his bottom lip. It was a silent request, but he understood it nonetheless and gladly granted her access. She delved inside his mouth to taste him, and he did the same, both of them moving in perfect sync. Their bodies melted against each other, and Hermione thought that she could feel her brain go foggy when she sensed his fingers slowly trail down her spine. They eventually came to a rest at her hip, drawing her towards him; and in response, her hands, with a mind of their own, found his long hair, tangling and twisting and gently beckoning him closer.

She had not intended the kiss to be anything more than a simple, sweet act of reassurance, but now the sound of his laboured breathing was beginning to stir something curiously unknown inside her belly. The lost-and-found photograph fluttered back to the floor as Severus unexpectantly turned the two of them around, forcing her against the wall. Trapped between bricks of stone and his broad chest, Hermione's body flushed with desire. His lips were demanding, and she was all too willing to give them what they were seeking, desperate to show him just how much he meant to her, how deserving of love and affection he truly was. Her hands travelled lower and tightened around his ribs as she pushed herself against the length of his body, deepening their kiss.

An involuntary gasp escaped her when she felt his knee nudge itself between her legs, the rough fabric of his pants feeling heavenly against her bare thighs which had been previously hidden beneath her skirt. His pelvis was pressed against her stomach, and an almost unbearable heat began to curl deep within her. She wanted to protest when he suddenly withdrew from their kiss, but the words got stuck in her throat when he proceeded to nip a trail of burning love bites down her neck. Tingling sensations radiated from the spots where his lips touched her skin. He kissed her until he reached her clavicle, and then he switched sides and worked his way back up to her jawbone, warm and wet – though whether that was by virtue of saliva or rather tears she did not know. Soon, his mouth was back on hers, and Hermione happily surrendered.

He only stopped her once her inexperienced hands clumsily attempted to open one of the many bottoms fastening his robes together. Pulling back until merely their foreheads were touching, his breaths were coming quickly against her skin as he rasped, "Hermione, we can't."

"What? Why?" she asked frantically, the yearning sensation between the junction of her thighs feeling almost painful.

He cupped her cheek. "Please. We can't. Not now." He planted a gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. "Not like this."

"But –"

"Please," he repeated firmly, and the iron grip he had on her shoulders prevented her from moving any closer. "Let's just take this slow, okay?"

Her hands went limp against his front. "Fine," she relented, trying hard to disregard that novel ache in her very core as she stared directly into his still reddened eyes.

"Don't you sometimes think I am too old for you?"

This was what Severus asked about half an hour later as the two of them were laying in his bed, their upper bodies propped up by some pillows. The last sparks of arousal were still running through his veins as he watched Hermione draw lazy circles across his chest with the tip of one of her fingers. Her head was resting on his right shoulder, and there were two cups of tepid tea as well as a plate of half-eaten scones with clotted cream and jam floating in the air next to their entangled forms.

"No."

"No?" He raised his eyebrows in surprise. "There are 20 years between us. That is not an insignificant age gap by any stretch of the imagination."

"Twenty years … more like 19 years, eight months and eleven days," she mumbled defiantly.

A hearty chuckle erupted from deep inside his chest. "Come on now! At this point, you are just arguing semantics."

Hermione rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. "But it's honestly not as noteworthy as it may seem at first glance. Wizard life expectancy is around 140 years at the moment, so almost double that of Muggles – which means that that twenty-year difference is more of a ten-year difference, really. Plus, I'm really only eighteen on paper. So it's not like –"

"Wait," Severus interrupted, taken aback. "What do you mean you are not eighteen?"

She bit her lip. "Well, remember how I took all those classes in third year?" He nodded. "The only way I was able to do so was because Professor McGonagall managed to persuade the Ministry to let me have a Time-Turner."

"That much I figured." Severus had always suspected something along those lines. After all, there would have been no way she could have possibly attended multiple classes at once without some sort of magical interference. However, no matter how much he had tried to probe, both Albus and Minerva had always stayed frustratingly tight-lipped about the whole affair, and so now was the first time his inklings were undoubtedly proven right. "But a few extra hours in class should not have added more than a couple of weeks to your age. If anything, you being petrified during second year should have been enough to cancel out any of that."

Hermione visibly squirmed. "But I didn't just use it for class," she confessed, hanging her head in shame. "After about a month or two, I was starting to feel burned out from all the added workload, and so I began using the Time-Turner to give me some additional time to study. At first, it started out with just a few extra hours here and there to finish an assignment or to give me enough time to catch up on my reading. But I soon got so stressed out that I started to think of even just eating or sleeping as wasted time. It got to the point where I was doubling or sometimes even tripling the hours in my day. And then Harry and I also used it to save Sirius and Buckbeak, of course."

Severus was aghast. It sounded so unbelievable to him that someone like Hermione Granger would ever behave in such a way. Time-Turners were highly regulated, and their misuse was a grievous offense. If caught, she could have easily had her wand snapped in half or – worse – been sent to Azkaban. After all, the Ministry was not known to go easy on juvenile offenders, especially not in incidences where they themselves could cast them in a bad light; and in the eyes of the public, willingly giving such a sensitive magical device to a young teenager would definitely be one of them. He was so genuinely floored by her admission that his mind did not even register how she had just openly disclosed her involvement in Black's mysterious escape from punishment by Dementor's Kiss.

"How much?" he asked in a gruff voice. "How much did you age?"

She did not answer.

"Hermione," he pressed in his stern teacher voice.

"I'm not quite sure. If I had to guess," she ultimately said, looking up at him with a frown. "A year and a half … two, maybe."

"Merlin," Severus mumbled despondently. He was aware of the fact that logically speaking, he should feel relieved that she was not truly as young as he had thought, that their age difference was not actually as great and thus abhorrent as he had always believed it to be. But at this exact moment, all he could think about was how foolish she had been to commit such a dangerous and grave transgression, how close she had likely been to permanently messing up the global timeline. "How could you have been so unbelievably empty-headed?"

Her face fell in an instance. "I don't know …" she conceded quietly as she promptly turned around and got out of bed. "I think I'll go now. History of Magic's starting soon."

Severus felt a pinch in his heart as he too got up and followed her into the sitting room. He had not intended his words to come out in such a harsh manner, but he knew that they had hurt her all the same. True and unfeigned regret filled him, yet he could not bring himself to explain, to ask for her forgiveness – he still struggled to allow apologies, however small, to pass his lips.

So instead, he asked, "And what about your parents? What would they think of you bringing home someone their own age?"

Bending down to grab her things, he could see her tense up for a second before she straightened herself up again and faced him. Her expression was indecipherable.

"My parents aren't your age. They're in their late fifties. They … they had me rather late in life," she replied in a hushed tone as she slung the strap of her bag across her body. "After dentistry school, they spent many years establishing themselves in their careers and working on expanding their practice before they decided to start a family."

"Still, I cannot fathom any parent being fine with their daughter having any sort of a relationship with one of her teachers."

"Maybe." She let out a deep sigh. "But be that as it may, it's not like you'd ever meet them anyway. So don't worry about that."

It was like a punch to the gut. Ashamed – that was the only word going through his mind. She was ashamed of him. Ashamed of being with an old grouch like him.

"Why?" His voice was but a whisper. "Would you rather not be seen with me?"

"No! No, of course not!" she was quick to tell him, her eyes big as she grabbed his hand. "I would gladly show you off to the entire world if I could, trust me. It's just that you cannot meet them … for reasons that are out of my control."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Look, it's … it's hard to explain. I don't really want to talk about it right now, but I promise it has nothing to do with you. So please, just take my word for it and let it go, okay?"

She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before she turned around and made for the exit. As the portrait swung shut behind her, the last thing he heard her utter under her breath was, "It's no good crying over spilt potion, anyway."