She could hardly feel the pain in her heels due to the words of her Professor catalyzing a rush of blood through her veins; she could hear it echoing in her ears. Hermione did not dare risk going out in the halls, and there was no way that she could make a dash for the Gryffindor tower in her condition. There was no Harry with a magic cloak to hide her, no Ron to make light of the unnerving situation. Her eyes sought reassurance in the Potion Master's, yet they offered no hints.
She swallowed as she decided on a course of action, "If you will allow it, sir." She said in a dry voice. Was she correct? Would she be punished for her assumptions?
He did not appear glad; he did not seem angry, simply indifferent with a light sneer on his face. Years of wearing the expression had worn a line between his brows and beside his thin lips. "I'll show you to your 'room' then." He replied and began walking to the wooden door she had seen him stop at so many days ago. He turned again, "Just to make things perfectly clear, this is not occurring for any reason other than dire circumstances. I do not favor you Miss Granger, in fact I have persistently found you quite the annoyance."
She bristled. Good, that was a reaction he was used to.
He continued, "You are not to touch anything without my permission, and you are not to tell anyone of this night. Do you understand?"
She nodded, curiosity overriding her frustration. He spoke a password under his breath, so low that she could not hear. The door swung open and he strode inside a dark room, steeped in the soft glow of candlelight. She felt cemented to the safety of the floor she had known and walked for many years. "You can sleep on the dungeon tables if you like." Came his deep voice from inside the chambers. She glanced at their hard, cool surfaces and contemplated the action before acknowledging how unforgiving they would be. She decided to take a chance, and inched forward into Professor Snape's chambers.
The air seemed to change, along with the typical feeling of oppressiveness. It smelled of cedar and shoe polish, unusually clean and masculine. She could smell flames and looked to her right to see them crackling in a vast fireplace. 'Her' Slytherin-colored couch was in front of it, seemingly long enough to fit three people, though she doubted that her Professor entertained. It seemed comfortable enough. While he was in the bathroom, she couldn't help but glance around. There were no frames on the walls, and everything was kept rather tidy. Bookshelves held a vast supply of magical knowledge. And there in the middle was his king sized bed with plush sheets to match the décor of the couch. Beside the bed there was a book with something like a page marker sticking out of the middle. Questioning what topics piqued her Professor's interests, she looked at the binding for a title yet there was none. She decided to pick it up to open to the cover page, when something small and white and fragile fell to the floor.
"Did you not hear my rules or did you just chose not to abide by them?" Snape's accusing voice was in her ear. She nearly dropped the book, but put it quickly back on the bedside table. She turned and was caught between his body and the bed. He bent over to pick up the object, a pressed flower, was it- a lily? He placed in the table drawer.
She could go off of that to distract him, "I just wanted to see what you seemed to be researching. By chance, does it have anything to do with the magical properties of flowers?" Her voice was shaking.
He chuckled at first, which grew into a dark laugh. Looks like she made the wrong choice. He held up the book, "This, Miss Granger, is a novel on the illegal uses of unicorn blood throughout history." A pause. "But, since you are so interested in other topics," He tossed the hardback aside, landing with a thud, pages splayed. "Yes." He continued. "Flowers are very magical things." He was pressing towards her and she tried to step back, but her body was against the frame of the bed. "Very beautiful, intoxicating, fleeting. They bud, they bloom and they die. Yet, that is their purpose." She sensed that he wasn't talking about a garden. "You can nurture them all you want, but as soon as a single virulent spore takes hold, there is no hope." There was a torrent of emotions seeping out of a face that was often a blank canvas. It was disconcerting. "They wilt, they wither, they turn to dust, and you struggle to remember how stunning they truly were in vivacity…" Her elbows were bent to hold her up and her back was arched over the edge of the bed.
On the bed, his hands where outside of hers and his face was very close. He was breathing heavily and fighting to place all of those images, those feelings in the back of his mind, at the bottom of his heart where they would always remain as he had promised.
Hermione's face was riddled with fear and other emotions he didn't wish to decipher. He stood up and took a step back, taking the time to straighten his robes. She was able to stand now, but her knees were weak. It was a girl. He was talking about a girl, someone he must have loved or deeply cared for. She felt it couldn't be a family member, not with his passionate speech. Perhaps most important of all, she had been gone from the world for some time now, but the pain was fresh and tangible. She cautiously reached out for his upper arm, fingers shaking.
He could feel her warm palm, and flinched at her touch. He looked at her in anger and confusion. He was dealing with a Gryffindor; so he could easily read her expression. That witch knew. She had the gift of intuition, but how much did she know? He wasn't comfortable with letting someone other than Dumbledore in on his little secret.
"Speak, Granger." He commanded.
"I'm sorry, Professor." She warbled, "I'm sorry for your loss." A hot tear was trailing down her cheek, inciting the fury within him.
He grabbed her by the shoulders, squeezing tightly, "Why are you crying, and what do you know of my loss? What do you know of my sacrifices? I don't need your assuming, self-righteous pity!" His yell trailed into a choked voice.
Her dewy auburn eyes looked at him with unwavering concern and indignation. "You're right, I don't know." She acknowledged. "But, perhaps, I would like to."
He let her arms drop. There was stifling silence. "It appears to be my turn to apologize, Miss Granger." He strained. She nodded in acceptance. Snape clarified, "Yet, I do not wish to examine this subject any further tonight."
"I understand." Her voice was growing more composed.
No matter how much he would have liked to have been the mean old Potion's Master and send her fleeing for safety, they were stuck in this arrangement for the night. He would have to make her feel at ease somehow. She seemed to have the same notion and spoke up, "I like a cup of tea before bed," He didn't know from where she drew strength, "would you care to join me on the sofa? We could watch the fire."
The corner of his mouth upturned, "Asking me if I would like to sit on my own furniture? I most assuredly will oblige." He stated mockingly. She smiled meekly. "And, I take mine black."