Chapter 4
"Don't worry, Severus," she said, her voice quietly confident. "Love always finds a way."
Snape, in retrospect, could not believe he had not had even the slightest desire to sneer at Minerva, or, at least, roll his eyes derisively at her use of such an old and corny cliché. He had, in fact, done the exact opposite.
He had taken great hope from the words…
Now, as he sat before his fire, brooding on the morning's events, he found himself reviewing the remainder of that surprising, and sometimes downright mystical conversation.
Snape thought how cleverly Minerva had managed to assert that he loved Hermione without forcing him to say the words himself.
"And, why not, may I ask?" she inquired haughtily. "Honestly, Severus! It is not unheard of for two people who spend as much time together as you and Hermione do, to fall in love…"
Snape spun around to face her.
"Love?!" he raged. "Who said anything about love?!"
Minerva strode forward, determination in every step, until she was not a foot away from him.
"I am not blind, Severus!" she said, emphasizing each word. "Hermione lights up like a firefly when she is with you!" she insisted, poking a long bony finger into his chest. "And, judging by your current behavior, I'd say you return the sentiment!"
He had not denied it.
A deep, rumbling chuckle escaped him and a wistful smile spread across his face.
Very good, Minerva, he thought, mentally tipping his hat to her. A tactical move worthy of a Slytherin…
Snape had to admit that the rest of the conversation had been much easier without him having to dodge any questions about his feelings. It was, truthfully, much more productive than he had imagined it would be; all because he had not been obliged to prevaricate to protect himself.
He had, in fact, gone on to be brutally frank about the difficulties he saw preventing him from approaching Hermione with a declaration. But, Minerva had been unmoved.
Snape had been more than a little surprised at her reaction, for he had expected her to agree with him completely. Instead, she had insisted that all was not lost. She had laid out arguments against his reasoning…sometimes quite vigorously.
"Do you honestly believe that Hermione is unaware of what a death eater's activities are?" she pressed.
Snape stared at her through hooded eyes, wishing to keep his thoughts indiscernible. Minerva was undeterred.
"I think not. Hermione is a researcher and almost certainly follows the creed 'know your enemies'. It is far more likely she has read all she can get her hands on about the Dark Lord and his death eaters. And, yet, I think you would be hard pressed to find anyone who admires you more. She knows of the sacrifices you have made as a spy for the Order, and is more than a little awed by your willingness to do so."
Snape gazed suspiciously upon Minerva at this.
"And, how do you know that?" he asked mockingly. "Have you spoken to her about it?"
Minerva colored slightly, and Snape's face reflected triumph as he sipped from his cup languorously.
"As a matter of fact I have," she admitted a bit reluctantly. Snape nearly choked on his tea.
"What did you say?" he asked in dangerous tones.
"Now, Severus," she replied nervously, "I wasn't discussing your business, if that is what you are thinking…"
His look conveyed that that was exactly what he was thinking, but he said no more and waited impatiently for her to explain herself.
"When Hermione came to me about wishing to become your apprentice, she made it very clear how much she respected and admired you for your potions skills. And, from there, she let me know that she felt your willing service to the side of right was praiseworthy, as well. In fact, she demonstrated rather a keen understanding of what your duties entailed." she paused, a thoughtful look on her face. "I remember being most favorably impressed," she finished with a reminiscent smile.
It was on the tip of Snape's tongue to ask for the particulars of the conversation, but, for whatever reason, he wasn't sure he really wanted to know. It was enough to realize that Hermione was not entirely ignorant of his work as a spy, and the accompanying sacrifices he must make.
He felt unaccountably pleased, though he had no intention of showing that to Minerva, who was nervously fingering a quill and watching him for his reaction to her speech.
"I see," he said, his voice reserved, his expression neutral.
"So, I think perhaps, that you needn't worry about shocking Hermione when it comes to your stint as a fully fledged death eater or your current position as a spy posing as a death eater."
"Perhaps," he said cautiously.
"Almost certainly," Minerva insisted.
"But, I am still not satisfied that Hermione would be safe if she were known to be with me in any other capacity than as my apprentice," he said with a nonchalance he did not feel. "It is a miracle that the Dark Lord accepted my excuse that I must take her to my service because you insisted upon it. He hates her not just because she is a brilliant, muggle witch, but because he knows she has helped Potter defeat him through the years, and continues to help him now."
"Severus,"
Minerva attempted to interrupt, but Snape only spoke over her, his voice rising in desperation.
"Has it not occurred to you that the Dark Lord may, at some point, insist that I try to get information out of Hermione, or bring her to him, or, worse yet, kill her?"
At this point, Snape jumped up and strode to the fire place in an attempt to take cover. He felt he could not look at Minerva, for he was on the verge of losing all control, and he could not bear to have her see his anguish at his own words.
Minerva's voice floated to him softly, but nonetheless insistently.
"Severus, listen to me," she pleaded gently. "Hermione is all ready in great danger, for as you have pointed out yourself, she is one of Harry Potter's closest friends. I dare say she is well aware of the risks she is taking remaining loyal to him. Do you suppose she has not thought through what it would mean for her if she was to act on her love for you, and the Dark Lord found out?"
Snape did not answer her or turn back from the fire, so Minerva continued.
"Of course she has thought about it!" she said adamantly. "And, I think you should do her the honor of letting her follow her own heart and mind in the matter. She is an adult, Severus. You have no right to make such a decision for her."
Snape stared into the fire for some moments, digesting Minerva's reasoning.
"What about my position as spy?" he inquired abruptly, abandoning all pretence. "If the Dark Lord finds out about my feelings for Hermione, not only would she be in danger, I would no longer be of use to the Order…"
"Severus, although I cannot guarantee the Dark Lord will never know about Hermione, there are ways to conceal your relationship with her. Think about it, she is your apprentice. She works closely with you, and lives here in the castle. It is the perfect set up for conducting a secret relationship," she said softly. "Besides, we both know that one way or another, the day will come when you can no longer attend the Dark Lord, because the danger will become too great."
"And, what of the possibility of my not surviving, Minerva," Snape almost whispered. "I rather think that I will not live to see the end of this war. Would it be fair to Hermione to begin something with her that I most likely will not be able to finish?"
At this, he finally turned to regard his superior with a bitter glance. Minerva did not give in to her impulse to show the sorrow filling her heart at his words.
"We cannot know what will happen, Severus. We can only move ahead and hope for the best," she said with a sigh.
He only nodded his agreement and turned back to the fire. Both he and Minerva, being lost in there own thoughts, remained companionably silent for a time.
Snape's thoughts now returned to his own room, as he sat in his favorite chair before his own blazing fire.
He had a decision to make. And, he felt compelled to make it rather quickly, for he knew he would go looking for Hermione that very evening in the astronomy tower. He must decide what to say to her. That night would be the beginning of the rest of his life…with or without Hermione Granger by his side.
Hermione, after having left the lab, had gone to her rooms to collect her current research into Harry's quest to find the remaining horcruxes. She really had no heart to work on it, especially after her confrontation with Snape, but could not bear the thought of just sitting and doing nothing.
Though she often enjoyed a walk about the lake as a general rule, going outside did not appeal to her either, at the moment. So, to the Ministry library she would go.
After checking to see that everything she needed was in her bag, Hermione spiritlessly reached for the floo powder and took a pinch. She threw it on the fire, which in seconds turned a soft green, and emitted only the slightest warm breeze.
She stepped in, and, with an unenthusiastic intonation of, "Ministry library", she felt herself spinning away from her quarters. She felt it, rather than saw it, for she had learned keeping her eyes closed allowed her to travel with much more comfort…and much less motion sickness.
Stepping out of the library fire place, Hermione grimaced as she brushed soot from her robes. She hated floo travel, though she had never admitted it to anyone. It was just too…messy.
The library was largely empty, Hermione noted gratefully. Only Mrs. Markley, the sprightly, if ancient librarian could be seen flitting about from shelf to shelf, deftly replacing volumes, with her magenta robes swishing dramatically about her.
Hermione allowed herself a small smile as she watched Mrs. Markley working with her beloved books. Her expression was almost fearsome in her concentration. If Hermione had not known the librarian so well, she would have thought her a horrible old crank. The truth was that no witch could possibly have been friendlier, or more amiable.
"Hello, Mrs. Markley," Hermione said in her soft library voice.
Mrs. Markley looked up at her and immediately her intense expression gave way to a face wreathed in the pleasantest of smiles. She moved toward Hermione with astonishing speed for someone of her age.
"Hermione, dear," she replied in equally subdued tones. "How are you? I was wondering when I might see you again. It has been some time…"
"Yes, I have been quite busy." she said, trying to be cheerful and failing. "But, today I find myself unoccupied, so I thought I might catch up on some research."
Mrs. Markley, who was very perceptive, was not fooled by the younger witch's falsely bright demeanor. Her blue eyes narrowed knowingly behind her horn rimmed spectacles and her lips pursed.
"How about some tea, dear?" she asked, grabbing Hermione's hand and tugging her toward the front of the impressively large room.
Hermione, feeling somewhat shocked, nonetheless made no protest, but allowed her diminutive, but surprisingly strong friend to pull her along.
They did not stop at the long wooden counter that served as the checkout desk, but continued behind it to a door, which opened with a muttered password from Mrs. Markley.
Hermione stepped through at an insistent final tug of the librarian's hand, and felt herself immediately at home. This was not her first time in Mrs. Markley's private office. In fact, she and the old librarian had shared tea and quiet conversation in this room several times over the last almost two years. Mrs. Markley was a trustworthy friend and confidant.
Perhaps I have come here for something other than research, Hermione thought, as the seemingly ever present ache in her heart intensified.
At Mrs. Markley's invitation Hermione took her seat in a small, wooden chair before the desk and waited as the little, old, grey-haired witch prepared tea.
The office was small, cluttered, and somewhat gloomy, but touches of Mrs. Markley's distinctive personality were everywhere, from the doily on the back of the old horse hair chair in one corner, to the small knitting bag with a profusion of brightly colored yarn spilling out of it sitting next to the desk, to the tomes about ancient runes upon it. The walls were drab, and the air smelt of candle wax, old parchment, and dust. Hermione loved that smell.
With a sigh, she felt herself begin to relax into this unexpected moment of peace and rest in the midst of her personal storm.
"All right, dear," Mrs. Markley said gently, as she set the loaded tea tray on her desk, "how about if you tell me what is troubling you."
Hermione looked at her friend, eyes wide with disbelief.
"Is it that obvious, Mrs. Markley?" she asked.
"Very," Mrs. Markley confirmed, nodding her head vigorously, thus making her short grey curls dance about her wizened, yet somehow child-like face.
Hermione did not touch the tea cup her friend placed before her on the desk. Suddenly, all her emotions seemed to be struggling within her. She took a deep breath, and tried valiantly to push them back, but her eyes pricked with tears regardless. So, she let her head fall into her hands. She could not fight her despair any longer.
"Oh, Mrs. Markley!" she whimpered piteously.
Mrs. Markley sprang into action, rushing around the desk to press a handkerchief into her young friend's hand.
"Now, now, dear," she said soothingly, as she summoned her desk chair and sat beside Hermione to pat her hand. "Tell me what has happened."
"I feel so foolish," Hermione said softly.
"Is it a young man?" Mrs. Markley asked gently.
Hermione raised her tearstained face to stare incredulously at her comforter.
"How did you know?"
"It is a common ailment of the young, my dear." she answered sagely. "Besides, I know you to be very resilient. After all you have seen and done, only a broken heart could make you cry like you are doing now."
Hermione nodded.
"So, tell me about him, dear," the librarian encouraged with another pat on Hermione's hand.
Hermione steadied her breathing, and spoke very softly.
"He is brilliant, and noble, and brave," she said sadly. "He is well-read, fond of reading and research, and, without a doubt, the most exasperating man I have ever known." she finished with a little hiccup. "Excuse me…and…"
"And, you love him," Mrs. Markley supplied, with a sympathetic nod of her head.
"Yes," Hermione replied, despair in her every feature, "but, he does not love me."
"How do you know that, dear?"
Hermione stared at her questioningly. Mrs. Markley looked determined.
"Have you spoken to him about how you feel?" she asked, as if it were the most reasonable question in the world.
"No," Hermione mumbled.
"And why not?" she pressed, her all ready large blue eyes wide with surprise.
"I just can't," Hermione said, wringing the handkerchief in her hands agitatedly. "He is not exactly the most…approachable wizard in the world." she reasoned.
"Well, approachable or not, you might want to relieve yourself of this burden you are carrying," Mrs. Markley said pointedly. "Do you wish to pine after him forever, Hermione?"
"No," Hermione said miserably.
"Then, I say tell him what is in your heart," Mrs. Markley insisted. "After all, you are a brave girl, and what is the worst that can happen? If he rejects you, at least you will know how he feels, and then you can move on with your life."
Hermione felt as though enduring Snape's rejection would be about the worst thing that could happen to her, though she did not say so.
"And, you never know," Mrs. Markley continued, looking conspiratorial. "Your young wizard might surprise you. I have a feeling you might not understand him as well as you think."
Hermione looked doubtful, but the older witch only smiled and patted her hand again.
"Give it some thought, dear. Either way, whether you speak to him or not, you must find your peace."
"I suppose you are right," Hermione agreed reluctantly, as she stood to go.
Mrs. Markley smiled indulgently and showed Hermione out of her office.
Before she knew it, Hermione had made the floo trip back to her bright and cheerful rooms. She fell heavily into the chair before her fire. She had a lot of thinking to do.
Hermione knew somewhere inside of her that Mrs. Markley was right. It would not do to keep longing for a wizard who did not regard her as anything more than his competent assistant.
Is it even possible that Severus could feel something for me? she wondered.
It was true that Snape was very secretive, and very good at hiding his thoughts and feelings. His position as spy had only served to reinforce what Hermione saw as his innate proclivity not to be forthcoming in word or expression.
Perhaps a surprise attack is the way to get him to open up. After all, he certainly would not expect me to proclaim my undying love to him, would he?
Hermione let herself dwell on that thought for several minutes but found she could not take it at all seriously.
No, she thought sadly, yet more tears filling her large brown eyes. I just know what he would say. I just know he does not love me, and I would be risking our friendship if I spoke now…not to mention my apprenticeship. For how would I be able to continue working with Severus if I told him I loved him and he didn't feel the same way?
Feeling exhausted and heart sore, Hermione got up and stumbled to her couch to lie down.
Her decision was made.
She would not speak to Severus, and hope that one day she would get over him. It was the only way.
"Yes…the only way…" she assured herself, as she drifted off into a sleep destined to plague her with images of a wizard with a sallow complexion and long, lank, dark hair.