Author's Note: You guys are the absolute BEST. You don't know how fulfilling it is to know you're enjoying this. Makes my heart happy

Part Two: Together

Chapter 5: How Hard it Still Is

"Never mind what I knew, nothing seems to matter now
Ooh, who I was without you, I can do without
No one knows where it ends, how it may come tumbling down
But I'm here with you now
I'm with you now."

-Sara Bareilles, "The Light"

Classes, the weather, and Severus' mood that week were all truly horrible.

When he wasn't teaching, the professor spent his time in a firewhiskey-induced stupor, sitting solemnly in the dark confines of his rooms, brooding on a certain beautiful, dynamic witch and his own self-hatred.

He did not bother to clean up the broken mirror, nor did he try to remove the glass splinters from where they had embedded themselves in his chest and shoulders. They itched and stung, but he barely noticed.

On Wednesday, he came upon Hermione in the corridor and quickly turned around before she saw him. She had been laughing with a group of seventh years, her head thrown back, her wild curls cascading down her back. He briefly imagined knotting his fingers in that hair, pinning her to the wall with his hips, and biting her neck. Don't you know what you do to me, witch?

He wasn't stupid. He was attracted to her, but this was more than that. He wanted to kiss her, but he wanted to converse with her just as fiercely. He longed to slide his hands up into her shirt, but that desire was matched by the need to make her laugh. He couldn't escape it, the constant dual ache in his heart and his groin, needing her body and her mind equally.

So he resolved to let her go. He knew he could never be her friend; it was stupid to have thought he could. He would never want her friendship without wanting her in his bed, too. And he would never deserve the kind of friendship she gave. He knew deep inside of him that she was better off without his presence in her life. She had everything to offer, and he had nothing to give in return. Except his adoration and protection from afar.

On Saturday when they met in Hogsmeade, he would deny her offer of friendship. He would say that he thought it inappropriate to have such relationships with a silly child, and that she was better off with her idiot companions, Potter and Weasley. He hoped he could make himself sound cold, and he hoped she would hate him: it would be easier that way.

Saturday dawned bright and clear, but Severus' mood was still foul as he dressed in a black sweater and jeans and ascended to the Great Hall. The prospect of losing Hermione combined with the job of herding a group of rowdy Slytherins made the recipe for a horrible day. Shuffling the rambunctious sixth years into a semblance of an order, Severus overheard one tell another,

"Yeah, David heard they do it all the time, in the Head Girl room." Severus froze, listening. "McGonagall doesn't care if they follow rules, the Golden Boy and his posse."

The other boy frowned. "So what, Weasley just stops by for a quick shag and then leaves?"

"Guess so. At least, I've never seen him 'round the castle. Suppose he pops in, fucks his girl, then goes home to his mum's cooking!" The boys burst into laughter, and Severus, though disturbed by the information, thoroughly enjoyed this characterization Hermione's boyfriend.

The second boy let out a low whistle. "Lucky guy, Weasley. What I wouldn't give to get my hands on those tits..."

Snape appeared, smacking the sixth year's hands from the air where they hung, cupping the imaginary breasts.

"Gentlemen, please continue this enlightening conversation on the path to Hogsmeade," he ordered, pointing to the door. Flustered and blushing, the boys hurried away.

Severus sighed, shaking his head to clear it. No, he had to stay strong, think about Hermione's future, not her breasts...

But then she was there, bounding down the stairs, smiling beautifully, calling after one of her charges. Her hair was tied back loosely, her jacket open over a curvy waist and long, graceful legs. She stopped in the middle of the staircase, hand on her hip, eyes searching the crowd of students below. He couldn't bring himself to look away, and when her eyes met his, she lit like a firecracker, waving in greeting, grinning as if she was about to burst into laughter. She fought upstream against the students headed for Hogsmeade, still beaming as she made her way to him. She stumbled slightly before him, catching his elbows with both of her hands, and looked up into his face.

And he forgot everything.

He couldn't remember what he was supposed to tell her, nor that he was supposed to tell her anything at all. He forgot the tattoo on his left forearm and the scar on his neck and all the invisible ones too. He forgot his aging body and her vibrant youth and even how much he wanted to kiss her. All he could think as they stood there, surrounded by a sea of people, was that he wanted to stay right there, holding her by the arms and seeing her grin at him like that for as long as he lived.

But she pulled away, and they followed the stream of excited students out the front doors of the school, their arms carelessly touching as they walked, making it incredibly difficult for Severus to focus on what Hermione was saying. Is she doing this intentionally? Can she tell how much she's affecting me? He tried to focus on her words, but the details of what she was reading were far less interesting to Severus than the way her hair smelled, in such a close proximity, or the playful way she leaned her shoulder into him when she was trying to be funny. Remember, this won't last long, he told himself, you have to tell her soon; don't be too friendly.

She talked and talked, giving him no opportunity to rebuke her attention; he found himself focused on her words, all but forgetting his intentions to end their new friendship.

Hermione closed her eyes and raised her face to the sun. "Merlin, such a beautiful day," she mused as they approached the Three Broomsticks. "What do you say we get our drinks to go and walk around the village a bit?"

Severus was not exactly one for enjoying the outdoors, but he was not one to say no to Hermione, either. He nodded his assent, and they picked up their paper cups—him, a plain black coffee, and her, a cup of Earl Gray with milk—and left the bustle of the pub behind in favor of the sunny October day.

"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Hermione said suddenly, "I won't be in Potions again on Monday. McGonagall has us speaking to the Defense classes."

Severus was silent. The prospect of a Monday without his one ally was less than appealing.

"Of course I'll do anything necessary to stay on track!" She exclaimed, mistaking his brooding silence for anger. "And if I need to do extra work or something, I will, Professor."

He considered her for a moment, her eagerness and excitement.

"Please, call me Severus." He said simply.

She looked nervous. "All right...Severus." she tried out the name. He liked how it sounded, coming from her mouth.

"I suppose I cannot argue with a request by the headmistress," he sighed. But I don't know if I can handle not seeing you, when the thought of you propels me from one moment to the next.

"Thanks," she smiled a little sadly. "If it means anything, I don't even really want to do it."

"What exactly are you doing?"

"Oh, talking about the war and all that." She looked at her feet, "how we survived."

"I see. Sounds... important."

"It's total rubbish!" She told him, growing red in the face, "we're supposed to talk about the spells and potions and charms we used to help us, but all I really want to tell them is how much it sucks, to lose someone you love, and how hard it is after-how hard it still is, every fucking day—and bloody stupid they are for fretting about essays and who's snogging who when people have died, and..."

She paused briefly, searching his face. But he was listening fully, and she continued."

"And what I want to ask them is, how do you think it feels, to look into the face of you boyfriend's mom, and not wonder every bloody day if she wishes it was you who had died, instead of her own son? How do you deal with it all, when every fucking person on the street knows your name, and they all want an interview, want to ask you a million questions about the most horrible thing you ever went through?!" She was yelling now. "And what if—I want to ask them—what if you don't want to let your own parents remember you, for fear that they won't like what you've become? Because you're so fucked up from all the things you've seen?! Because you've killed someone, and you want there to be someone, somewhere, who doesn't already know that!"

Standing there in the street, staring at the beautiful girl with wild hair, all Severus could think was that he finally, truly felt sane.

"Hermione, I..." He ran a hand through his hair, searching for the right words. "I-I know."

Then she was there, her arms locked around his waist, her cheek pressed to his chest; he could feel her warmth through his sweater. His hands hung in the air for a moment, unsure, but then as though his body understood did what his mind could not process, he slowly wrapped them around her, one arm protectively around her shoulders, the other soothingly stroking her hair.

All his life, Severus had felt terribly misunderstood. As a very bright but odd little child, with parents more interested in their own affairs than in him, he had quickly learned that he mattered very little to most people. As a teenager, he had found that his peers were very different than him, though seemingly quite the same as one another. And so as an adult, Severus had come to terms with the idea that he would be perpetually alone. Whether a factor of his oddness or the cruelness of others, it no longer mattered. If they could not or would not, people just did not understand.

And yet somehow, the young witch whom he now held in his arms, barely a woman but wise beyond her years, had managed to once again speak aloud the mess of thoughts he himself hid inside. He did know, just as he told her.

After a moment, Hermione stepped back, brushing the hair off her face. He was sad to let her go, but she smiled up at him.

"Thank you, Pro—Severus. Now, what do you say we head over to the bookshop?" she asked, hooking her arm through his, which Severus liked very much. "They should have Montague's new book by now. I'm curious about the revisions to the sleeping drought..."

They walked in companionable silence for a time, arms looped, each supporting the other in more ways than one. Severus considered how he had felt when he'd seen Hermione the first night of the term, just over a month ago: how wrong he had been. She hadn't moved on, as he'd thought, but remained just as affected as himself. Of course, he would never wish pain on Hermione, but her openness with him, her fragility, made him feel stronger. Somehow, her weakness made his own seem far less important, and it was a good feeling.

"'Mione! What in bloody hell!" An angry voice came from behind them.

Hermione spun around and out of Severus's grip. "Ron!" She exclaimed. She glanced at her watch, then covered her eyes with her hands. "Ron, oh my God. I'm so sorry, I..."

Her furious boyfriend was upon them now, his face the same color as his hair. "We were supposed to meet at noon!" He bellowed at her, and Severus noticed her wince. "Where in Merlin's name were you? It's after one... I've been looking everywhere for you!" Ron didn't even acknowledge his old professor's presence.

"Ron, I'm so, so sorry." Hermione pleaded. "Severus and I got to talking, and I just lost track..."

"Severus?" Ron asked, his voice quiet but hate-filled as he narrowed his eyes at the other man.

"Um, yes. Professor Snape." Hermione squeaked out.

"How do you do." Severus said coolly, doing his best to keep the increasing desire to hex the ginger boy at bay.

Ron stared at Severus for a moment, his eyes suspicious, before wrapping Hermione up in his arms, pulling her against him.

"It's okay, 'Mione, I was just scared something happened to you." As Ron spoke, he stared at Severus pointedly. "I just love you so much."

Severus felt a stabbing in his chest. Perhaps Weasley's not as dim as I thought, he mused. He seems to have noted my affections for Hermione.

Severus did his best to look disinterested, waving his hand carelessly. "Yes, well, Miss Granger and I were simply discussing Montague's newest potions volume. If the young couple has plans, far be it for me to keep you." Severus didn't want to risk causing Hermione more trouble with her boyfriend. Without a word, Ron took Hermione by the arm, pulling her away. Hermione turned over her shoulder, mouthing a silent "sorry" to Severus.

He smiled at her reassuringly, but she had already turned back around, walking away hand-in-hand with her boyfriend, leaving him standing alone in the street.

That evening, as he read in his chair, Severus heard a knock on his chamber door. He didn't bother to answer. Bloody teachers can wait until Monday to talk to me.

It came again. Severus sat motionless, trying to be silent. Go. Away.

The knock came a third time. "Severus?" A small voice called from outside the door, "Severus, it's me. Please open up." It can't be...

But it was. Hermione stood in the doorway to his rooms, looking quite beautiful in the light cast from the fire. For a moment he just stared at her, not quite sure he believed she was really there.

"Hello," he said finally.

"Hi."

"Can I... help you?" Why in Merlin's name are you standing in my doorway at eleven in the evening on a Saturday night, wearing a t-shirt that appears to have been made for a small child?

She smiled meekly at him. "Can I come in?"

He wanted to say no, he really did. Or at least he knew he should. This was dangerous. But instead, he nodded.

Severus was suddenly very aware of his humble quarters and what Hermione might think of them. His dungeon rooms were poorly lit, with cold stone floors and no windows. The furniture was ramshackle at best, the unmade bed visible through the open bedroom door. Worst was the mess; books, parchment and quills littered every surface along with an abundance of half-empty mugs of coffee.

Hermione plopped down on the sofa as though she'd been there a hundred times and relaxed into the worn patchwork quilt that covered the back. Severus stared. She looked so... at home. He relished the thought. Could she be comfortable here? He imagined her curled up on this sofa, covered by the quilt, drinking at hot mug of tea as she devoured a book. His heart leapt.

He sat next to her, cautiously putting a bit of distance between them, and looked at her expectantly.

She stared at her hands. "I just came to say how sorry I am for today," she said to her lap, "and I hope you can forgive me."

He frowned at her. "Forgive you?" It's bloody Weasley who needs to be apologizing, and to her.

She smiled weakly. "Yes, I'm so sorry about what happened. I shouldn't have let Ron act that way. It's just that sometimes..." She trailed off.

"Sometimes what?" he asked. She shook her head. Boldly, he reached for her hand and held it between his own.

The gesture seemed to encourage her, and she lifted one knee onto the sofa, facing him while he held her hands.

"Sometimes," she continued, "Ron needs me to be weak, so that he can be strong."

Severus faltered at her words; if she could see this in her boyfriend, could she see it in him, too?

"Ron, he's not doing well," she confessed. "He has nightmares. He is angry a lot. I know it's hard, and I'm trying to be supportive, but sometimes..." she stopped again. Severus squeezed her hands encouragingly. "Sometimes, I feel inadequate. Like I can't be everything he needs me to be."

Severus nodded, but he wanted to pull her to him. Can't you see, Hermione? You are everything I need and want and so, so much more.

"He needs me to be strong for him, a lot of the time," she continued. "And he—I think to compensate for that—he gets really protective, like he's going to shield me from... from I don't know what."

"And you let him."

"And I let him." She looked to her lap again. "I know it's as bad as lying, but I-I care for him." Severus noted that she didn't say love.

"And what about you?" He asked.

"What about me?"

"Do you feel strong?"

She seemed to consider this for a moment. "No," she said finally, "but I don't feel weak either. I just feel sad. And angry, sometimes." She looked up at him. "With you."

"With me? You feel angry with me?"

She laughed. "No, not angry with you," she clarified, shaking her head furiously. "I just feel—when I am with you—that I can be angry, or sad, or confused or whatever, and you don't think I'm weak. I'm still just me."

His chest swelled with pride. But before he could speak, she shook her head again.

"Ron, he cares for me, I know he does. I just don't know if he loves me." She was moving her hands in his, rubbing his palms and tickling his wrists with her fingertips, which Severus found very distracting. Gods, it feels so good when she touches me.

"And you—you don't love him?" He was almost afraid to ask, but he had to know.

Hermione ran her palms up the inside of his forearms. She looked as though she was about to answer, but stopped short, staring at the path her hands had made. Her right hand just grazed the edge of the faded gray tattoo.

Severus froze. So this is how it will end. She sees the mark and runs screaming from my presence—who could blame her. Bloody thing ruins my life yet again. He watched carefully for her reaction, but she just looked at it quizzically. Slowly, she inched the sleeve of his sweater further up his arm. He didn't move; twenty years of reflexively pulling down his sleeves were at the mercy of her touch. With warm fingers she traced the skull and snake, the dull gray lines that once ruled his life.

Severus jerked his arm away suddenly, leaping from his seat and pushing down his sleeves hastily. He tried to run a hand through his hair, but realized it was still tied back off his face from earlier that evening. Great, she can probably see the snake's scar, too, he thought. Way to go, Snape, exposing all of your fucked-up self at once this evening.

"I'm sorry!" She exclaimed, reaching for him. He wanted to go to her, bury his face in her neck, but he couldn't. "I'm so sorry, Severus, I shouldn't have."

He watched her, so distraught, so fearful of hurting him. He stood perfectly still as she rose to meet him, taking his hand in hers again.

"Wait," he eyed her warily, "you're not... I mean, you're not afraid?"

"Of your mark?" she shook her head. "No."

"Not of the mark—of me."

She laughed. What is she laughing at? "Of you?!" She looked incredulous. "Why would I be afraid of you?!"

"Hermione, the mark—it's..."

"A scar." She interrupted. "I have one too, see?" She pulled up the sleeve of her cardigan to expose her own right forearm.

In the dim light of his sitting room, Severus could clearly see the large, garish letters that marred Hermione's pale arm from wrist to elbow:

"MUDBLOOD."

He touched the scarred pink flesh. "Who did this to you?" He whispered.

"Bellatrix Lestrange," she announced confidently. "In April. Now look," She pushed up his sleeve again, setting their two arms side-by-side in the firelight. "Two arms, two scars from the war. That's all." She sounded so firm, so sure, that Severus did not dare to challenge her. Instead, he reached for her hand and squeezed, the only kind of acknowledgement he could manage.

"I've got to get to bed," Hermione told him, moving toward the door. Feeling bold, Severus led her there with his hand on the small of her back.

"Hermione?"

"Yes?" She turned around, very close, and looked up into his face. Just do it.

"Would you... would you like to come by... maybe for coffee... on Monday evening?" His chest was tight and anxious; he wasn't used to putting himself out there.

Hermione squeezed his elbow. "Oh, Severus, I would love to, but Ron and Harry will be in the castle next week, remember? For speaking to defense classes? So maybe another night soon, hmm?" He nodded weakly. "And you look nice like that, with your hair off your face."

And with that she disappeared into the dark corridor, leaving Severus staring after her, alone and rejected for the second time that day.