Hello all- a few notes: to flbanshee, never fear, they didn't leave Mrs Granger alone in the house for long. Don't forget, Severus promised to have her moved to St. Mungos, and he keeps his promises. He returned for her after sending Hermione off to bed with the Dreamless Sleep potion. To my guest reviewer worried about Severus being self depricating and therefore slightly predictable, I do have to warn you that he will be that way for a bit of this story. He's an easy character to give that trait to, and I do agree that its been done often. If you're looking for something a little different- perhaps a Snape that's willing to take what he wants and damn the consequences- might I suggest you read The Cure? Trust me, the Snape in that story is plenty forceful with what he wants ; )

Thanks for your patience, and I'll try to have another chapter up tomorrow as well! Happy Reading! ~Don't forget to review at the end! Have I mentioned how much I love your reviews?~

SS

His name was Mikhail. He'd come to a few meetings with the board of directors. He worked as the assistant to the minister (a post vacated by Percy Weasley) and took his job very seriously. So seriously, that at first he didn't even bat an eye in Hermione's direction. But how long can a woman like Hermione go unnoticed for?

The first time he came up to her, I glowered at him until he scampered back to hide behind the minister's skirts. The second time, he braved my glare and dared to speak to her. When he tried his miserable hand at blatant flirting, I sneered, "Surely you have better things to do with your time than harass my assistant," and swept from the room, knowing that Hermione would follow.

I knew I was in trouble when he flat out asked her to accompany him to the Three Broomsticks for a drink that night. I wanted to hex him into next week. But when Hermione looked up at me with those big brown eyes of hers, as if seeking approval or permission, I merely grumbled, "what you do with your social life is none of my concern, Miss Granger."

I do believe that my words hurt her feelings. But what was I supposed to say? 'No, don't go out with him, stay with me because I've decided you are the only witch I want to spend the rest of my miserable life with?' Over my dead body. Snark and snide had been my armor for so long that I would have felt naked with out them. Too vulnerable. And I never wanted to feel vulnerable again. So I grit my teeth and held my silence while she blinked up at me, swallowed hard, and turned back to Mikhail with a forced smile. I heard her agree to go, heard the slight tremor of fear in her voice, and hated myself for not putting a stop to it.

With only one final glance back at me, they left together.

I spent that evening getting drunk. I don't get drunk often, but there have been a few moments in my life that merited it. Knowing the witch I was hopelessly addicted to and yet could never have was off gallivanting with some dubious young man was one of them. Of course, I knew logically that she would be fine. She'd always handled herself with perfect composure. Even when Draco had tormented her in school, she'd never let her terror show, nor allowed him to get to her. Looking back, I felt a crushing guilt the likes of which I'd never known for allowing, and yes, encouraging, his torment of her. I to this day have no idea how she withstood it.

She admitted to me on one of our long talks before the fire that she'd always been able to push it back because she knew there were more important things at hand. The first time someone at Hogwarts had been outright cruel to her had been the Weasley boy, and it had sent her sobbing to the washroom for hours. After they became friends and she learned of the threat to Harry and the wizarding world, she simply decided that they needed her to be strong. She learned to bury her pain so that she could focus on aiding them.

The why I understand. Its the how that I still don't get. The fact that she was capable, no matter the circumstances, boggles my mind. And it was that inner strengthen I was counting on that night. As much as I wanted her to come home to me, to tell me she would never date again, I wanted more for her to be able to face her demons and conquer them. I wanted what was best for her, and knew that I wasn't it. No matter what my silly heart said. I reminded myself again and again that this was what I'd wanted for her. I was the one who'd told her nothing could happen between us. And if she'd come to my office right that moment and thrown herself into my arms, I would have said it again.

But she didn't come into my office that night. When I saw her the next day, she seemed perfectly fine. She went about her duties, smiled when appropriate, and acted wholly normal- if a bit cold- to me. I decided it was only fair since I'd obviously hurt her feelings the day before. And though I would never have admitted it to her, I did admire her ability to separate her emotions from her work. I had no doubt that if we had a drink together that night she was planning on tearing into me. But during the work day, she was a model of professionalism.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, we did not share a drink that night. Or the next. Over the course of the following weeks, we only met in my study twice. The first time, I asked her how things were going with Mikhail. When she started telling me about all the nice things he'd said to her and the pretty things he'd bought her, I made some snide comment about not needing to know every time the ingrate smiled her way. She'd fallen silent. Of course I knew it had been a stupid thing to say. But all I could think of was how I could never be able to say 'pretty' things to her. It simply wasn't in my nature. And I'd never think to buy her ridiculous little feminine gifts. A new set of quills or a book on potions, perhaps, but flowers? Chocolates? Never.

So all I could think of was how inadequate I was in all areas romantic when compared to her suitor. It wasn't a pretty feeling. And it made my words ugly and callous. Before I had a chance to come to my senses and apologize, she had returned to her room.

The second time, she admitted to me that she was ready to try and push the limits of her comfort physically with him. After the disaster of last time, I schooled my tongue and said nothing. She said that she wanted to finally know what everyone was talking about. Wanted to see for herself what it could be like. I knew she didn't love the idiot, but she said that she felt comfortable with him. That in itself was a huge step in the right direction. Grudgingly, I told her so. She beamed at me as if I'd just told her those blasted NEWT scores again. She seemed to excited, so happy, and I couldn't stand watching it. Knowing where it would lead. I fled.

In a very dignified way of course. Made some excuse about needing sleep more than I needed the firewhisky, and swept out of the study with my usual swish of fabric and billowing robes.

That Friday night, I made the mistake that almost cost us both everything.

Don't loose faith in me just yet, dear reader... I'm a romantic at heart, and Severus is the only one for Hermione 3