She was sure the inquiry shouldn't take this long.
Her hearth rug had a worn path in it now, that Hermione had devoted to making all afternoon and early evening.
She jumped a foot in the air when the clock struck the hour. It was 7 o' clock! What in the world was going on?
Snape had warned her not to contact him, lest she interrupt the inquiry, and perk the otherwise paranoid ministry with another question to grill him on.
She wanted to believe that he was being unduly unkind in brushing her off that way.
But before she left his home the night before, he had looked at her with such an expression, Hermione was not sure what it was, but it was certainly not meant to be a negative one. She thought she's imagined it when three words drifted to her ears, just as she was about to step into the Floo.
"Thank You, Hermione."
Whether she was pleased, or startled or a mixture of both, she couldn't say, but she did turn to him and whisper when his back was turned, "You're welcome, Severus."
There was no indication that he had even heard her, were it to the ordinary eye. Hermione had spent hours of day and night on end, working with him; she saw that his moments stilled for half a moment, before he resumed his task, which was sorting already sorted papers.
Hermione felt a small sliver of joy run through her that she had wanted to say was because he now regarded her as an equal, maybe even a friend of sorts.
But she knew that it was simply because she had finally been able to call his name aloud, not in secret, the way she did in her quarters, but without too much fear. She loved the feel of it on her tongue, and although forbidden fruit did taste sweeter, this was something she'd wanted to savour, from quite a while.
She realised she'd been standing in the middle of the living room, probably looking lost, when she heard the quiet cough from the portrait.
"Professor! Have you just arrived?"
"Quite the contrary my dear, I have now been here a few hours, " he raised a thin book in his hand, "had an opportunity to catch up on my reading."
"Oh," Hermione hadn't noticed him there; then again, Dumbledore could be really sneaky, especially when paintings didn't really make any noise when walking around. Which was strange, now that she thought about it, they could talk, but not make a sound when walking around?
"Well, I tried to watch you, but I was getting rather dizzy watching you wear out the rug."
Hermione flushed, "I was just worried professor," she paused, "Inquiries shouldn't nearly take this long!"
"Ah the ministry has its own way of working. I wish I could help, but," he shrugged, "I've been banned from his home too."
"Really?" Hermione was surprised, "and you never tried?" She raised both eyebrows.
"Of course I did," he smiled, "but our Severus has hexed the portrait sealed." Dumbledore stroked his beard with a smile, "he might just forget to un-seal it anytime soon."
Hermione laughed. It was likely true, knowing Sn...Err, Severus.
"I do wish he'd say something, anything," she sighed, "I'm as jittery as ever, here."
"I trust Severus will call you when he is ready," he smiled mischievously, "I wager you'd be the first."
Hermione blushed, "I doubt you'd win the wager, he'd likely want to stay away from my incessant questions and rest up while he can," she refused to meet his eyes.
"Ah! Ms. Granger, you have known me quite a long time, and should know that I will only make wagers on something that is likely the outcome," he wagged a finger at her, grinning a little,
Hermione wanted to say "irrespective of the cost of the outcome," but what slipped out of her lips were, "Perhaps."
"It may be that he might rest before he does, but you still may be the first."
So they settled to wait till Severus (hopefully) called, Dumbledore with his book ("Ways to ask Portraits on a date") which amused Hermione very much, and Hermione sat in the armchair nearest to the fire, pulling up a small table to keep the students' assignments and her pot of red ink on.
She was fast asleep when Severus' head appeared in the fire; it was rather late, and Severus wanted to leave her be, but he suspected she would expect to be disturbed if necessary, so he waited a moment, and called out.
"Granger?"
No response, except a mumble and she snuck into her blanket a little more.
"Granger? Hermione?" He tried a little louder, and then, "Granger!"
"What?" Hermione jumped to her feet, wand in hand, and the blanket pooled at her feet, revealing that she had slept in her robes, which meant she had probably been waiting for him all evening. Severus felt a little guilty, but schooled his face when Granger's sleepy eyes met his.
She smiled and Severus' breath caught. And then, she remembered and her face grew serious, "Severus?"
Hermione stifled a yawn, and Severus tried not to yawn himself. He was exhausted.
"Granger," he inclined his head, and looked around, "have you eaten yet?"
She seemed momentarily confused and slowly shook her head, "now that you mention it, I skipped dinner I suppose. Must have fallen asleep."
"I've yet to dine as well."
It took her a moment before it hit her that he was indirectly asking her to join him, "I suppose your place?"
He said nothing, but inclined his head, and stepped away from the Floo, leaving the connection open. Hermione cast a spell to straighten her robes and then her hair, and called for Winky with a wet cloth to wipe the sleep out of her eyes. Was she really that exhausted?
Snape was waiting patiently waiting near the hearth, and she nearly stumbled into him when she arrived. She reached out blindly, and he caught her easily, automatically wrapping his arm around her waist, while she grabbed the front of his shirt.
She could smell a hint woodsmoke, and cologne and spices and what not else, and she drew in a breath. If she took a tiny step forward, they'd be touching along their length. She looked up at his face, to find him looking at her with an unreadable expression; she felt his warm breath on her face.
She smelled the scotch on his breath.
"Severus?" she said softly, and he jumped back to reality, letting her go so quickly, she almost stumbled backwards while he put a safe distance between them.
"Watch your step," he said, voice a bit rough, and Hermione gulped. She wanted to kick herself, but she also knew that she didn't want him to later blame the scotch for any of his actions now.
He turned and let her follow his long strides to the dining hall, no matter that she had to trot to keep up.
Dinner was a quite affair, and he maintained strict radio silence, so eventually she gave up, wondering whether he was tense and quite because of the inquiry or something else. It was driving her mad, trying to understand him. Sometimes she wanted to shake him, and make him say something. Anything!
Finally, he gestured that she should follow him, and led her to his study, where a roaring fire and one glass of red and a snifter of amber liquids awaited them. Hermione was quite sure the inquire went not bad, if not swimmingly well, looking at mainly undisturbed glassware and furniture.
Either that or he'd managed to repair everything before she came.
But all in all, she was happy that he did contact her, and that he had not left her sleeping till morning.
He just sat there, staring into the fire, sipping his scotch, she figured, and saying absolutely nothing.
"I didn't take you to be someone so fond of your ale," she raised her glass to point in his direction.
His head snapped up to look at her, "what makes you think that, Ms. Granger?"
"Well, I have seen you so often with a glass of alcohol that I just thought..."
"That I was a hopeless drunk?" he sneered.
"No! Not that, just, well..." she shut up and sipped her wine, refusing to meet his eyes.
There was silence for a while and then, "I do not drink to get drunk, Ms. Granger," he added a beat later, "most of the times."
She looked at him, looking into the fire, and waited.
"Alcohol has more uses than drowning sorrow alone, Ms. Granger," he sipped his drink, and held it up to the fire. She was mesmerised with the patterns the fire formed through the liquid, and threw a warm amber glow on his face.
"It is an acquired taste, for scotch, or any other fine brew; one that the younger generation has very little taste in. All they want is the mindless state that it puts them in, so where does the taste come in? They probably don't know that each kind of scotch tastes different, and carries its own fragrance. One sip and you will know whether it is fine or swill."
He ran a finger around the rim, and Hermione coloured a little, but he was too involved with his thoughts to notice, "The slow burn of the alcohol combined with the burst of taste and spreading warmth is best savoured in that first sip. It is a feeling like none other, Ms. Granger," he slowly looked at her and said softer still, "it is truly divine, and you will want it," Hermione was lost in those obsidian pools, "Hermione."
Said person gulped and nervously sipped her wine. If she thought his impassioned speech in first year gave her shivers, this was something she couldn't put in words.
He broke the spell and turned back to the fire.
Hermione couldn't stand it anymore. "What happened? Why won't you tell me?"
"It went as well as it could, Ms. Granger," he sounded tired, "there is nothing more of concern to you."
"Concern to me?" she couldn't believe her ears! "Severus, we spent weeks together working on it, and how can you say it is of no concern to me?" her throat caught, and she closed her mouth, turning away.
"They expect me to pay a fine for neglecting to tell them I fired my last assistant," he sipped, "two hundred galleons."
"Two hundred... The nerve!" she exploded, "what's it any of their bloody concern if you decide to fire your assistant?"
"They found a point to snag me and they took it. That's all there is to it."
"How can you just accept it?" She stood, and took a step toward his chair, "how can you just let them?"
"And what would you have me do?" he snapped back, "fight?"
"Yes!"
"And give them a reason to poke a little deeper with that excuse? Do you think me Daft?"
"But two hundred galleons!"
"It's not that big an issue, Hermione, leave be."
Hermione deflated, but drained the last of the wine, "I'd best be going," she said sullenly, "at least tell me, if the spell worked as it should have?"
"It worked well, but I do not know if any of them would suffer any consequences," he smiled in grim satisfaction, "it cannot be traced back to you."
"And you?"
He said nothing, and Hermione lost it. "Snape! Answer the question!"
"It will not be traced back to me either."
"How? You cast it!"
"I have a special wand for such... purposes."
Hermione felt sick. "What else can they not trace back to you?"
"Mind your tone, Ms. Granger; I will not have you use it against me."
"I thought you were different now, but you're still the same cold heartless person," her eyes filled, "I thought..."
"That I was all better now?" he sneered, "that I would be all hearts and roses?" he stood and hurled the snifter into the fire, and Hermione winced as the glass shattered and the flames exploded for a moment. He stepped toward her and she couldn't help but move backward, till they back of her legs hit the armchair she was sitting in before. She collapsed into it, fear clouding her, and Snape smiled an evil smile as he grasped the arm rests and bent in close to her face.
"Once a death eater," he hissed, "always a death eater.... Hermione," he breathed and his eyes glinted in the firelight.
Hermione fought her fear. "No," she whispered and he was momentarily stunned, before his face took on the familiar sneer.
"How... Gryffindor... of you," he made to pull back, but Hermione grabbed his biceps, nearly making him fall forward, but he grabbed the arm rests to support himself, ready to berate her. Something in the way she looked at him made him stop. There was sorrow in those warm eyes, and fear and strangely...understanding.
He was distinctly afraid now.
"No," she repeated, and brought her face close to his, "you will not push me away now."
What?
She was so close that he could smell the wine, and tell that it was a Chianti, he could smell her hair and tell she had washed it this day, and he could feel the tender but firm command in her voice and touch.
Severus closed his eyes, and breathed in, not sure of himself, "Hermione," he faltered, "it will not be easy, and not the best of ideas." He pulled back a little, and closed his eyes. "I cannot be just a friend."
Hermione felt the weight of the words he spoke. How long? Her anger faded, and she made up her mind.
"If I wanted just a friend, I would have stuck with Ron."
His eyes snapped open, and there was such emotion there that she could not look away. She moved her hands from his biceps and brought them to grasp lightly on his now open collar; not pushing, not pulling, but just there. It was his move now.
He didn't say anything, but released his hands from the arm rests. Hermione was sad for a moment, and made to remove her hands, but he knelt in front of the arm chair, and brought his palms to frame her face.
Hermione's breath caught at the gentleness of his hold, and she held his questioning gaze. At her minute nod, Severus held back no more.
The agonisingly sweet touch of his cool dry lips on her warm moist ones sent a burst of electricity through her, and she gasped. This, she thought, as he slowly drove every coherent thought out of her mind; this was what it should feel like.
This was what she knew, was the perfect emotion; what his lips said without a word being uttered.
This was love.