Part One: Coming Home

Chapter 3: Something I do

"Light up, light up
As if you have a choice
Even if you cannot hear my voice
I'll be right beside you dear."

-Snow Patrol, "Run"

Severus tore through the hall, wrapping his billowing cloak around his body. He had to be quick, had to make it back to his rooms. He took the stairs two at a time, dispelling groups of students as he walked briskly through without so much as an acknowledgement. The headmistress called his name, but he pretended not to hear her. He burst into his quarters and slammed the door behind him, leaning back against it, breathing hard.

That insufferable Granger. Didn't she know what she was doing to him? Merlin, I hope she doesn't know. I hope nobody ever knows. He just wanted a book, some time alone in the library on this quiet Sunday morning. He hadn't expected a student to be there, nonetheless the one who had been a fixture in his mind the last several days. He watched unseen from behind a shelf like the total fucking stalker that I am as she read, curled up in an overstuffed armchair and chewing her bottom lip. He wasn't sure how long he watched before she got up to stretch. That was where he ran into trouble.

She reached over her head, her tiny purple t-shirt – how does she get away with wearing a shirt that small anyway? —rising to expose her soft-looking stomach and more of her hips above her low-rise jeans than Severus believed she would be comfortable with him seeing. Her body nipped in at the waist, and he had a strong desire to put his hands there. The outline of her bra was visible through her shirt, and when she closed her eyes, stretching and rubbing her neck, Severus actually shivered. She was beautiful, and he really, really wanted to touch her.

Herimione's book suddenly dropped from where she had left it, laid open on the arm of her chair, and the resounding clunk snapped Severus out of his daydream. Suddenly, he was very aware of the growing bulge in his trousers. He could hardly believe himself; ogling a student, and getting a hard-on like a teenager! What the fuck, Snape. What are you doing? She's a child! And Potter's best friend! But his thoughts did not quell his erection. He shifted, willing himself to think about Umbridge or even Hagrid, but his hormones had other plans. Whether it was his movement or simply the feeling of being watched, Hermione turned her gaze in his direction, and he was forced to duck behind the shelves or risk being caught spying, and with a raging erection. Well that certainly wouldn't look good.

Now, safe in the confines of his rooms, the problem in his pants had subsided, but he couldn't shake the image of her lithe body twisting and her skin exposed. He was furious with his mind and body both for reacting to her in this way; it was horrible: for a student, Potter's friend, that girl...

But as disgusted as he was with himself, a profound feeling of relief washed over him: this kind of thing hadn't happened to him since before the war. Perhaps he was finally beginning to heal.

Classes on Monday were unbearable, what with the combination of Severus' increased self-loathing and the unseasonable heat they were experiencing; if he had to sit through another period averting his eyes from Hermione's open shirt, her wild hair piled on her head, exposing her neck, her flushed cheeks... Gods, I cannot take it. He wasn't sure if it was the heat or his anger or his attraction to her, but as he passed between the aisles of desks and his hand brushed against her hair, a few purplish sparks crackled between them.

On Tuesday morning, over a hundred house points were taken during the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor fifth year double potions class. Word spread across the school of the professor's foul temperament. Severus himself was keen enough to understand the origins of his mood: first, there was no seventh year potions on Tuesday, and second, he had not slept well, due to a terrifying dream involving a tight purple t-shirt and his hands cupping two full, beautiful breasts...

She was invading every part of his life.

On Wednesday afternoon, the dungeon classroom felt like an oven. The seventh years were having difficulty concentrating, as was their professor, though for an entirely different reason: with her legs crossed at the knee, Hermione's skirt inched up and exposed her thigh to a most dangerous height. As she copied from her book, Severus watched her, eyes drifting back to that leg every few seconds. He idly wondered what kind of panties she wore, just inches higher than he was able to see right now. He flexed his fingers beneath his desk, itching to touch her skin, hold her against him and run his hand up her bare leg...

"Out!" he bellowed suddenly, startling his class. "Class dismissed, now leave!"

The befuddled mix of Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered their possessions hastily, running from the room. Hermione was among the last to leave, and she gave him a quizzical look as she passed his desk.

When he was sure that the last of the students were gone, Severus slipped into the supply closet and locked the door behind him with his wand. Merlin, what is she doing to me? His breathing was ragged; he was so aroused. His erection once again strained against his trousers. I can't believe I'm doing this; he chided himself as he removed it from his pants, in the supply closet, and because of a student, nonetheless. He held his cock awkwardly in his hand; it had been so long since he had done this; since before the war, at least... he couldn't remember, exactly. He stroked himself slowly, thinking of her stretching in the library, cross-legged in his classroom, reaching to the top shelf...

Whoa. He shuddered slightly. It felt good. He let himself relax, enjoying his ministrations. His cock throbbed, and he rubbed faster. Hermione's soft lips against his, Hermione pinned between him and a wall, Hermione in his bed...

Suddenly, Severus froze. What the fuck am I doing? He glanced around the empty closet, feeling a sickening lump in his stomach. Almost immediately, he went soft in his hand. What the fuck, Snape? Wanking to Hermione-fucking-Granger? He sank to the floor. As if you stand a fucking chance. You are old and scarred and horrible, he berated himself. And not to mention she fucking hates you. Despite the deep ache in his heart and in his groin, at least he was finally wanking to a girl who was alive.

Thursday, there was no seventh year potions, which Severus was grateful for, given the lingering heat and the events of the previous day. And thanks to a heavy dose of firewhiskey, his sleep was also blissfully peaceful.

On Friday afternoon, it had finally cooled down enough that all the students remained in the appropriate amount of clothing, but Severus couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed. His spirits were up, but sank quickly when McGonagall crept in just a minute to the bell to inform him that she had Hermione performing a special task and the girl would not be in his class today. Severus was short with the headmistress, but had no choice but to oblige.

The next time he saw her—and not a moment too soon—it was the middle of the night in a corridor near Ravenclaw tower, and she was reprimanding two awkward fourth years.

"C'mon, Hermione! You don't have to do that!" one whined.

"Matthew, you know the rules. You break them, I take points." Hands on her hips, she did not notice Severus as he approached.

"But we know you broke curfew when you..."

"...And Miss Granger was punished accordingly," Severus finished, staring down at the boys from beside the Head Girl. Merlin, she smells so good. "Now, off to bed with the both of you. And ten more points from Ravenclaw for your petulance." The boys trudged off, reluctant to argue with their intimidating Potions Master.

With a scowl, Hermione turned to him. "I could have handled that just fine on my own," her expression irritated but amused, "but thank you."

"Of course, Miss Granger."

Despite his better judgment, Severus fell into step beside her as she continued down the corridor. The pair walked in comfortable silence for a while, but Severus wanted desperately to strike up a conversation with her.

"Head Girl, then." What a stupid thing to say; surely she knows!

"Yes." She didn't even look at him.

"Are you... enjoying your duties?"

She studied him warily, as though it might have been a trick question. Finally, she sighed. "It's just something I do, you know?" she asked, shrugging.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, it's something I always wanted, before. So when McGonagall offered it to me... I just do it to remember. I do it for the person I used to be." She spoke the last words softly, looking at the floor as they walked.

"So you don't want to be the Head Girl?"

"It's not that... it's just that it feels... odd."

"How so?"

She sighed. "My friends are dead, and so much has happened, and yet here I am, going on like it didn't. I wanted this once, but that was before the war. Now, I don't really know what I want."

For a time, their footsteps were the only sound in the dark corridor. How was it that this young witch had voiced so clearly exactly what he himself was feeling?

"So why do it, then?" he asked finally.

"Do what?"

"Act like nothing has changed?

She considered his question for a moment. "I guess it's just easier to pretend everything is the same than to figure out how to live knowing everything has changed." Fuck, she has me pegged. How does she do this?

"I see."

"So I suppose the answer is no," she laughed dryly, "I am not enjoying it."

He glanced at her, his brows furrowed. "I'm sure if you spoke with the Headmistress..."

"No!" she yelped, grabbing his elbow and turning him to face her. She is so close. "Professor, no. I'm fine." She said desperately. "You can't tell McGonagall." He looked down at her. She was so serious, staring up at him with big, hazel eyes. Such nice eyes.

"I'm sure she would understand, given..." he trailed off. For a moment they just stared at each other, her still holding his arm, both thinking of those they had lost and knowing the other was doing the same. She is so beautiful... and perhaps just as damaged as I am?

"I just want to pretend, for a while longer, that things haven't changed." She said finally. Well, he knew what that was like. And he found himself nodding, complying, following her down the hall again.

I will do anything she asks of me.

His own thought surprised him; he had not felt this kind of attachment not to mention this kind of attraction to anyone in a long, long time. What was this?

"What about you?" she asked, bringing him out of his thoughts. "Have you enjoyed being back?"

He did not know how to answer. How did he tell her that he knew how she felt, that he just wanted to live as it always had been so that he did not have to accept all the horrible things that had come to pass? Don't get too personal with a student, Snape; he scolded himself, especially this one...

"It's been fine." It's been incredibly difficult, but easier now.

"And your classes? How are they this term?"

"As trying as ever." Especially the ones you're in, though for a different reason.

"You're being awfully evasive, Professor."

Severus stopped in the middle of the corridor and stared at her. She was smirking, her eyes narrowed... playfully?

"Miss Gran..."

"Call me Hermione." Is she moving closer?

"Miss Granger, you are quite insufferable, and nosy as well." He failed to keep the amusement from his voice.

She laughed a pure, loud laugh that echoed down the hall. What a great sound. He found himself smiling, in spite of himself. "Professor, you sound just like my boyfriend." She laughed again.

Severus was sure the disappointment was evident on his face, though she probably didn't see in the dark hall. Her boyfriend? Ah yes, that stupid oaf Weasley. Of course she has a boyfriend, you idiot, look at her! For some reason, Severus felt enraged. Why? Is not as though she's actually interested in you. What do you have to be possessive of? But still, he hated the idea of that idiot with his hands... Stop. You're here with her now.

Hermione must have sensed the awkward silence, because she quickly changed the subject. "Anyway, it's Quidditch on Saturday," she said, resuming her pace.

"I have never cared for Quidditch." Now, now, no need to be an arse.

She laughed again—I made her laugh! —"No, I don't care for it much either. But I do love Quidditch days; the castle is so quiet."

"Hmm."

"I used to sneak off to the library." Oh Merlin, the library...

"Yes, Hogwarts is more pleasant when the incessant chatter is at a minimum."

She smiled. "Will you be going to the match? Or enjoying the quiet inside?"

"I was actually hoping to use the weekend to clean out the storerooms. Slughorn left them in all kinds of disarray..."

"How very dull."

Before he knew what he was doing, he let out a short laugh that sounded more like a bark. She looked frightened for a moment at the odd sound, but then joined in. Soon, they were chuckling together as they walked.

"Yes, I suppose it is quite dull," he agreed. "Ask me any more personal questions, and I'll be forced to assign you to detention just to avoid the task myself." The thought of a Saturday afternoon alone with Hermione in the dark, cramped storeroom was enough to tempt him...

"I'll admit, I am quite tempted." She told him, looking coy.

"What?"

"It would be lovely to have a solid excuse for Ginny why I can't go to Quidditch." She laughed again. "And oddly, an afternoon of peace and quiet sounds ideal about now."

Severus stopped walking again, looking down at her. "Well, then, Miss Granger, I will be forced to assign you to detention with me this Saturday at noon on the grounds of over-familiarity with a professor." He announced this firmly, but his mind was reeling. Alone in a cupboard with Granger? Are you going to be able to handle yourself? Better yet, do you want to?

She crossed her arms in an exaggerated gesture and stuck out her bottom lip. Oh, that lip! "I suppose I just won't be able to make it to Quidditch, then!" She shrugged sarcastically. He smiled, at the prospect of her detention more than her act.

A few more passes through the central corridors, and they found themselves in front of the fat lady's portrait. Hermione yawned and stretched, and Severus could not help but watch as her breasts strained against her t-shirt, the hem rising to expose her flat stomach. What am I getting myself into?

"I'm going to get some sleep," she announced. Severus, disappointed, made to leave her behind at the portrait, but she caught his arm and squeezed. "Goodnight, Professor. I'll see you on Saturday." And then she winked.

She disappeared into the hole behind the portrait, leaving him staring after her, holding the spot just above his elbow where she had just touched him.

"I know smitten when I see it, professor." The fat lady whispered conspiratorially.

"Oh, shut up," he spat, disappearing down the hall.