Author's Note: Consider this fair warning that this chapter does get a little graphic. If that offends you, please stop reading now.

Part Three: Always There

Chapter 7: Should You Need Me

"Please don't stand so close to me; I'm having trouble breathing.

I'm afraid of what you'll see right now.

I give you everything I am, all my broken heartbeats, until I know you'll understand.

And I will make sure to keep my distance."

-Christina Perri, "Distance"

It was Thursday. Or at least Severus thought it was; he hadn't left his rooms in days.

"No," she repeated, "No, no no no!" But she held his gaze.

A knife in his gut since she'd gone, since he'd seen her cry because of him.

"Hermione," he reached to her, but she took a step back.

"No," she repeated, shaking her head.

What had he done? Everything was ruined; he'd lost the only real friend he'd ever had. And now he was holed up in his cave, hiding from the consequences.

"Hermione," he repeated, "Please, don't say 'no.'"

He had been so desperate, so entirely consumed with longing for her. He needed her to know, to understand how he felt. But he'd never been good with words.

She stared at him, tears falling steadily.

And then his heart broke. No, not broke: his chest burst open, and the deepest, most hidden version of himself splintered into a million tiny fragments.

"No," she whispered. And slipped out the door.

He couldn't make sense of it. He'd been through the pensieve a hundred times or more, obsessively searching for a sign, something he'd missed, something that would have told him she didn't care for him the way he did for her.

Hermione smiling at him from the top of the stairs; letting him hold her in her moment of weakness; holding his hand tight in hers as she confided in him about Ron. Hermione brushing against him in the potions closet, and Hermione pressed against him, his fingers tangled in her hair, gasping for breath as she kissed him.

But none of that mattered anymore. Every moment Severus thought he had felt could be explained away with the premise of a growing friendship. And now he didn't even have that.

Severus took a long drink of firewhiskey. He had not, since that afternoon, left the safe confines of his quarters, not even to teach a class or have a meal. He was hiding, a bat from his light, like the coward he was. Pathetic. But how could he see her? What would he say? Please come back to me? And risk scaring her more?

Severus looked around his dark apartment. He knew he couldn't stay in here forever. McGonagall had already tried to send Poppy in to check on his feigned illness. He would eventually have to return to classes, or else leave Hogwarts all together. That's not an option. I need to be where she is, even if she never looks at me again. But it was sweet oblivion to stay drunk on firewhiskey and lack of sleep, and spend all his time drowned in his pensieve watching the sweetest memories he could call his own.

Severus was scared, beyond any fear he'd ever known, that these would be last good memories he'd have.

XXX

In a beautiful dream, Hermione was with him. She was smiling softly at him and her curls tickled his cheek as she knelt next to his bed. Her small hand curved around his cheek, her thumb gently caressing his face and setting off those familiar faint purple sparks.

Dream Hermione was sparkling, her eyes glittering with magic, her hair defying gravity and floating wildly around them, a soft chestnut cloud. And she had wings...

"Severus," she whispered, trying to wake him.

"No," he mumbled. He wasn't ready to let her go again. Reality pulled at him through the haze of alcohol and sleep, threatening to take her.

"Severus, it's me, please wake up."

"No!" He protested, trying to focus his mind on the dream. Don't leave me again.

"Please, I need to talk to you."

Something felt wrong in this dream. It was too cold, and he could hear laughter somewhere far off. He cautiously opened one eye.

"Hi," she whispered. Her sparkly face was just inches from his, as it had been in his dream.

"What are you doing here?" He replied. He regretted how cold his voice sounded.

Hermione looked down. "I was worried about you," she said finally, as though reluctant to admit it.

"Why are you dressed like that?"

She smiled, pulling at one a charmed, floating lock of hair. "Halloween. I'm a fairy."

"Oh, yes, I forgot." Because I've been hiding here, avoiding this very conversation. I should have known she'd find me. Severus noticed then that the glowing make-up covering her face was streaked, as though... "Were you crying? What's wrong?"

Hermione drug the back of her hand across her face, smearing the glitter even more. "Oh, no, I'm fine," she insisted. "Listen, you have to come back to class. Slughorn is nice, but I'm afraid he's starting to lose his marbles. Probably why he retired in the first place, I suppose..."

"Hermione." She looked up at him, expectant. "Hermione, please. I'm so sorry. I didn't..."

She put her hand on his face again, and he leaned into her touch, savoring. "Severus, listen. I think it's going to be better if you and I sort of... take a break for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I think we need to spend some time apart." He cringed and hope she couldn't see him in the dark. "I care about you, Severus, I really do."

"Hermione," he whispered. "I have to tell you something..."

"Severus, please."

"No, just listen. I don't know how to say... I mean, I'm sorry about..."

"Severus," she pleaded. He could tell she was crying again. "You have to stop. Please. I can't... you can't do this. Stop drinking, stop hiding, and come back to class."

"I'm not drinking," he lied.

"I can smell it on your breath."

The room was quiet for a moment, with only the sound of what Severus now realized to be Halloween partygoers yelling and laughing outside.

"Severus?" She whispered after a long silence.

"Hmm?" He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she had to say now. Every word from her mouth tonight had been another stab of pain.

"I need you to know, if you ever need someone... I'm here." She brushed the hair back from his forehead. "Even though I think some time apart would be good right now..." she trailed off. Severus tried to remain completely still, as if his movement would send her away. "You should know that you have a friend, and always will. Should you need me."

She stood to go, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss on his temple before disappearing once again. His hair was wet from her tears, and when he heard the apartment door shut quietly behind her, he whispered into the dark: "I need you now."

But in the morning, as Severus prepared to return to class, he noticed that every bottle of firewhiskey in his kitchen was gone, and he felt the odd, jittery feeling he now knew to be hope.

XXX

November was, as Novembers often are, damp and dreary. Severus felt it complemented his outlook.

Unsure what time apart was supposed to accomplish, he tried to go on. He tried to teach his classes and prepare for exams. He tried to eat and sleep normally, and to avoid firewhisky. He tried to occupy his busy mind with new potions and other academic pursuits. In the evenings, he took long, meandering walks in the forest in an effort to clear his head.

But still, he pined for her. He detested himself, yearning for her like a heartsick fourth-year, always wondering where she was and what she was doing. When he saw her in class, though careful to avoid her gaze, he watched her closely. And at night he dreamed of her, all wild hair and purple sparks and soft, warm lips. As he lay in bed listening to the late autumn winds, he would close his eyes and imagine her there, curled against him between the sheets. It was a beautiful fantasy that only served to make him miss her more.

He was a masochist.

He watched his memories, over and over again. Re-living, feeling, seeing her face again, the look of horror after he kissed her. Watching himself holding her in the street in Hogsmeade, only to feel again the pain of her words: spend some time apart. It was the same sick game he'd played when Lily was killed: he lived without her until he couldn't anymore, then saw her again in his memories, only to lose her again. Only now it was Hermione, with her strong will and fierce courage and sharp mind; so much Lily wasn't and could never be for him. He tortured himself with these thoughts, of both of the women he'd needed this way.

The holidays approached, and Severus grew increasingly dour at the prospect of spending Christmas isolated in the bright quiet of Spinner's End. Somehow, since their friendship had begun, he had imagined he and Hermione sharing Christmas at Hogwarts, reading silently together for hours, walking in the snow. Nothing scared him more, now, than being here alone without her. He made himself sick with his stupid fantasies.

Holly was hung around the castle and the portraits sung carols, but Severus only thought of Hermione, about to spend three weeks at the Weasley's, undoubtedly shagging her boyfriend the entire time. Masochist as he was, Severus tried to imagine it in detail: their sweaty bodies heaving and grinding, the stupid oaf pawing at her, panting and moaning like Severus had heard in the corridor that night. Did their shagging (Severus refused to call it lovemaking) satisfy Hermione? Could Weasley do for her what Severus imagined he himself could? When Ron kissed her, did Hermione think of him? Had she told Ron?

When his sick imaginings were too much to stand, Severus stood and heaved into the kitchen sink. Firewhiskey burned even worse coming back up. This is out of control. Get yourself together.

Alone and quite drunk on Christmas Eve, Severus climbed into his creaky old bed in the house he'd never called home and closed his eyes. On the back of his eyelids he saw, in perfect detail, the vision of Hermione wearing that tiny t-shirt, reaching to stretch above her head, as she had that day in the library.

She pulled it off over her head and reached behind her to unclasp her bra, letting her incredible breasts free. Leaving her jeans on the floor, she climbed onto the bed, crawling over Severus before coming to sit, straddling his hips. She moaned quietly as she moved against his hardness and he gasped.

Severus released his stiffening cock and gave it a long, slow pull. He sighed.

Hermione pressed her mouth against his fiercely, devouring him. He cupped her breasts, squeezing and rolling the nipples between his fingers. She gasped and arched her back in pleasure, grinding herself against him. "Oh, Severus..."

He stroked himself slowly, lost in his fantasy.

She left a trail of kisses and gentle bites from his ear to his belly, his cock rubbing against her breasts as she knelt over him. She took it in her hand, running her thumb over the sensitive head, and Severus' hips bucked into her touch.

His own hands performed as Hermione's in the fantasy, stroking and teasing his aching member.

She took the tip of him in her mouth, sucking lightly, and he cried out, relishing the feel of her lips around him. She sucked harder, taking him all the way in, until he wasn't sure he could take it any more. He begged her to stop, to slow down, but she wouldn't listen. She bobbed faster, and he felt he was about to lose it... and when she reached between them and cupped his balls, squeezing gently, he did.

Severus' free hand held his balls and he came, gasping her name as he did.

It was a sweet, sweet moment, but as the glow of orgasm faded and she wasn't really there, he felt suddenly more alone than ever.