Chapter Six: A Torrid Love Affair

Hermione breathed a deep sigh as she sat down in her usual seat at the staff table. She kept her eyes on her plate in front of her; she didn't dare glance around the room. She knew that if she did, he would be glaring at her. Her professor seemed to be angrier than usual today. Hermione closed her eyes and began to rub at her throbbing temples.

She'd just came from a session with two highly trained Curse-Breakers. Snape had been there too, scowling at her the entire time. The Curse-Breakers had started off with the simple counter-spells. Gradually, the magic became more advanced and their expressions more puzzled. Eventually, they had admitted defeat but promised to research the problem.

It was just as Dumbledore had predicted. There was no counter-spell. There was no escape. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind because if she dwelled on it too long it would consume her. It was a great, black abyss that was just waiting for her to slip so that it could drag her down into its darkness.

Hermione would not surrender. She had to have hope. After all, what else was there?

There was a thick tension settled over the staff table, and Hermione could feel Snape still boring a hole into the side of her head. She finished her lunch in silence. She noticed a discarded edition of The Daily Prophet lying on the table and she eagerly reached for it. Hermione hadn't had time to read today's paper because of all of the excitement.

She began to scan the front page. There wasn't really anything noteworthy, other than the Ministry catching another Death Eater that had been on the run. Several of them had fled after the war, and they were still working to chase them down.

Then, she turned the page and her heart stopped. Oh, no. She looked up at Snape in horror. Well, that would explain why he'd been so furious all day. And why no one else would meet her gaze.

She swallowed thickly and turned back to the paper. Staring back at her was a picture of herself and Snape. It was taken the day this whole mess had started. The day when Snape had led her out of The Hog's Head and they had been ambushed by that photographer.

In the picture, neither one of them was facing the camera. But you could clearly see the sides of their faces. Snape was his usual dignified self, but Hermione's face was etched with fury and her hair resembled something like a lion's mane. Above the picture was the headline, "Reformed Death Eater and War Heroine Secretly Meet".

Below that was an article that mentioned that they'd been seen leaving a pub together. The writer went on to say that he'd heard from certain reliable sources that the pair were actually dating and that they met in a different inn every week to carry out their intimate relations.

The throbbing in Hermione's head intensified. Just when she'd been absolutely sure that things couldn't get any worse. She was sure that the universe was having a laugh at her expense.

Why couldn't the newspapers bother someone else for a change? How was she going to explain this to Harry and Ron? And what was the Weasley family going to think?

She could feel Snape leering at her again, but, suddenly, Hermione couldn't meet his gaze. No doubt he blamed her for this like he did everything else. The words "intimate relations" seemed branded onto her brain. Hermione cringed inwardly as a fierce blush settled on her face.

The idea was simply absurd. Not that she didn't find him handsome. Ever since the other day when she'd seen Snape without his robes, there was something darkly attractive about him. Something forbidden and enticing. Something she couldn't shake.

So, it wasn't that she couldn't picture herself with someone like him. It was that he had never shown a romantic interest in anyone. It had only ever been Harry's mother. Snape hadn't just put her up on a pedestal. In his mind, Lily was a great monolith that no one could ever hope to reach.

But, Hermione had to admit, even if that hadn't been an issue, he still would have never chosen her. In his eyes, Hermione was just a silly child. An annoyance. Someone who had come into his life and wrecked it. Even if it wasn't intentionally.

Hermione glanced down at the picture once more and then pulled out her wand. With a whispered incantation, the newspaper was reduced to a pile of ashes on the table.

Hermione blinked as the sunlight was blocked by a frenzy of wings. Pigwidgeon was fluttering excitedly in the air above where she was laying. She rose from the spot by the lake where she'd been relaxing and took the letter that was tied to the bird's leg. Hermione chuckled as the tiny owl performed a flip and then flitted off.

She sat back down on the ground, staring at the letter with a sense of dread pooling in her stomach. She was sure that she knew what this letter would be about. Hermione didn't really want to open it. Heaving a deep sigh, she opened the parchment, instantly recognizing Harry's cramped scrawl.

Hermione,

I'm sure you've seen today's issue of The Daily Prophet by now. Ron is having a conniption, but I told him that it can't be true. After all, I know better than anyone what lies the papers can sometimes print.

But Ron insisted that I write you just to make sure. He wanted me to ask you what you were doing in Hogsmeade with Snape in the first place.

I wish there was time to visit you, but this Auror training is taking up all of our time. We really miss you, Hermione.

Harry

Hermione cringed. McGonagall had told her that she wasn't supposed to tell anyone. So, she would have to make up more excuses. She was beginning to feel suffocated under the weight of all these lies. Someone was bound to catch on eventually. And what then?

She pocketed the letter, intending to respond to it later. Hermione stared up at the pinpricks of stars that were slowly becoming visible. It was late evening and she could feel the pain starting to creep over her. She stood somewhat reluctantly and headed in the direction of the door.

After today, she was a bit hesitant to return to the dungeons. There would be nothing to save her from Snape's fury. Of course, he had every right to be mad. She just wished that he would stop acting like she meant for all of this to happen.

When she reached the painting outside of his quarters, Hermione stood there for a long time. Eventually, the pain forced her to whisper the password and scurry inside. Snape was sitting on the couch reading in front of the roaring fireplace. He didn't look up when she entered, even though she knew he must have heard her.

There was another moment of hesitation. She was afraid that if she spoke, he would turn his wrath on her. And that was something she didn't think that she could handle right now. She considered just continuing on to the bedroom, but she knew she wouldn't be able to cope with the pain. Not for very long, anyway.

She cleared her throat once and when he still didn't look up, she timidly moved to sit at the other end of the couch. Hermione didn't want to provoke him, so, instead of looking at him, she stared into the flames.

"Professor?" she said, offering her hand to him.

Without ever moving his gaze from his book, his fingers brushed hers. She felt the pain ease away and Hermione muttered a thank you. She leaned her head back on the couch and closed her eyes, the crackling of the hearth lulling her into a state of relaxation.

"I'm sorry," she said. Her eyes were still closed. This would be easier if she didn't have to look at him.

She heard the sound of a book closing. She imagined that he was staring at her again. "For?"

Hermione cleared her throat nervously. "For what they said in The Daily Prophet today."

Snape made a noise, something like unamused laughter. "It's not like they haven't said worse things about me."

Hermione couldn't disagree with that. During the war, the things they had printed about him had been vicious. "I suppose, but they still shouldn't pry into our personal lives."

"You mean our torrid love affair?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. She was immediately lost in his dark gaze. "I … well … yes."

She thought that she saw the corners of his mouth twitch ever so slightly. "Are you blushing, Miss Granger?"

"What? Of course not!" she stammered. "Um … if you'll excuse me, Professor, I should probably get to bed. It's getting late."

Hermione didn't wait for his response and practically ran to the bedroom. She threw herself down on her bed, burying her face in the pillow. She remained that way until the fierce blush faded from her cheeks and sleep took her.