AN: I love reading your reviews so much. You're all so funny, and smart and wonderfully kind.
8. Sense
H.
From the moment Ron arrived home, he droned incessantly about business at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Apparently, there had been some sort of mishap with one of their new products and their entire stockroom had fallen into chaos.
"Well, I'm glad you got it sorted", she said, as she folded clean laundry on the bed and he leant on the dresser and watched.
"Yeah, it's a good job that I was able to get there so quickly. George was in over his head."
He paused and for a second she thought that he was going to offer to help put the clothes away. Instead, he walked to the wardrobe and began pulling shirts off their hangers, deciding on what to wear the next day as he did every evening.
"I thought we could go out tomorrow night instead to make up for it?" he said.
"We're going to Grimmauld Place, remember? You promised Ginny that we'd take the baby for the night so that they could go out?"
"Right", he said, "Damn. How about Monday?"
She stuffed a folded burgundy jumper, crossly, into Ron's drawer and slammed it shut.
"You told George you'd work the late shift next week."
"Right."
She sighed her irritation.
"Ronald, just pick up a bloody jumper and help me?"
"I'm not a mind-reader ", he snipped, picking up a thin pink sweater. "You can ask nicely, you know?"
He lay it out on the bed and folded it, clumsily, into quarters.
"You're doing it wrong! It'll be all creased if you leave it like that."
You've seen me do this a thousand times, I swear you just don't bother learning how to do it properly, so that I don't ask you to.
"Sorry", he laughed. "You know I'm useless at stuff like this."
"Useless is right", she muttered under her breath.
"What was that?" Ron asked, dropping the sweater to the bed and turning to face her.
She swallowed.
"I said you're right. I was agreeing with you."
His ruddy face turned redder still.
"I don't think that's what you said."
Hermione let out a groan of frustration and began to shove the clothes into the drawers, without even bothering to fold them.
"That is what I said Ronald, whether or not you choose to believe me."
He sat on the bed and kicked off his shoes.
"Alright, Mum", he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"What did you just say to me?"
"I said... 'alright, 'Mion'"
"No you did not!" she snapped.
He gave her a droll smile and raised his eyebrows, ready to mock her; she'd seen that look before.
"That is what I said, Hermione, whether or not you choose to believe me."
She took a deep breath and tried not to lose her head. She'd known from the outset that he would be difficult sometimes, and she needed to learn to control her temper.
"Let's not go to bed on an argument again", she said, kindly, moving towards him with what she hoped was an open posture that offered forgiveness and a willingness to move on.
"You started the bloody argument!"
"It doesn't matter who started it."
"Yeah! Only when you're the one who starts them", he snipped. "If I start an argument, you don't let it go. You're like a dog with a bone! Everything's my fault, all the time. Unless, of course, you can't find a way to hold me to blame, and then suddenly, it doesn't matter whose fault it is! It's nobody's fault!"
He threw his hands in the air as he got off the bed and grabbed his shoes.
"Do you know what... forget it. I'm going to stay at Harry's."
"Ron?"
"Nope", he said, pulling on his shoes. "Don't want to hear it."
"Ron! Come back!"
:
S.
Hermione took her seat opposite him, cupping her mug of hot chocolate in both hands. She had clearly made an effort with her appearance, and she would occasionally stoke the nape of her neck. It was as though she wanted him to look.
Not fair.
He knew that having an understanding of the library's filing and reference system would be of great benefit to her, so he had brought along all of the notes he had made when he had first started. He'd almost thrown them out a couple of years ago, but he had decided to hang on to them, just in case. This was not quite the 'case' that he had anticipated - prepping Hermione for an interview - but he would not complain. It was nice to be around her again. In fact, he was beginning to quite forget why he had pulled away in the first place.
She ordered her second hot chocolate as he ordered his third coffee, then changed his mind and opted for water. The last thing he needed was to crash and burn sometime in the middle of the evening, since he was supposed to be joining the Malfoys for one of their dinner parties later. He felt his mouth open, ready to extend her an invitation before snapping it closed and scolding himself for his idiocy. He was falling back into old patterns, he could feel it. They were so familiar. As if no time at all had passed. But time had passed. Seven damn years of it.
They weren't the same people. Time had a way of pulling you apart and moulding you back together, a little differently. Still recognisable, but not the same. But no matter how much people changed, history did not, and those years had passed without contact, he thought, for good reason.
As the morning became the afternoon, and they shared a meal together, he started to suspect that their attachment was still as secure as ever. They still had the same humour, they still had their interests in common, but this time there was an understanding. This was a professional undertaking. She was with Weasley. He was not interested in revisiting whatever they had almost stumbled upon before, just as he had been disinterested then. They were friends. That was all.
Just friends. It doesn't mean anything.
:
H.
This is going well. It's not awkward. This could be the beginning of a good working relationship. A friendship even, or whatever it was that we had before we... I... messed everything up.
Yes, she thought, we can fix this. We can return to what we had.
"Mr Stedman asks everybody what their favourite book is", Severus said, "and while there is no wrong answer, if you say something that is purely academic he will consider you boring. If you choose fiction, he will think that you are not engaged in academia. Do you see the conundrum?"
"So what should I tell him is my favourite?"
"Tell him the truth, but be prepared to defend it. It is that discussion that will secure you a job more so than any qualifications or experience. If he likes you, you're in."
Well, I'm screwed then.
"I hardly make the best first impression", she said, and Severus' lips twitched, before a smile took over his entire face.
"No, I suppose not", he said. "I think it goes without saying that I was not your biggest fan when we first met."
She folded her arms.
"I was eleven! I wanted to please you."
I want to please you still.
"You were a smartarse!" he said with a low chuckle. "You couldn't keep your mouth shut long enough to learn anything. You thought that you already knew everything."
"Well, you weren't exactly the best teacher..."
Severus clutched his chest as though in agony.
"Ouch. You got me. Right where it hurts. My teaching ability!"
Hermione heard a roar of laughter, that took her a while to place as her own.
She hardly recognised it, and with a pang of sadness in her stomach, she realised what it meant that she was surprised by her joy.
When was the last time I laughed?
:
S.
Hermione flicked through the pile of his notes. She dropped her hair to the side and rubbed her neck.
Is she doing that on purpose?
"What's this?" she asked, sliding a torn sheet of parchment across the table. "It was stuck between the pages. It's just numbers... are they dates? Or maybe reference numbers?"
As he took it and studied it, with a smile, he remembered.
"Not quite", he said. "I was given a book of poetry to catalogue in my first week, and I couldn't help but read it all, pretty as it was."
She raised her eyebrows and her lips puckered into an 'o'.
"You read poetry?"
"That surprises you?" he asked.
"A little, yes."
Good. I hope I continue to surprise you.
"Anyway, they're page and line numbers. So here '28-11' refers to page twenty-eight, line eleven. I made note of my favourites."
"Why?" she asked.
Tell her the truth. Watch for her reaction.
"Well... for a woman."
Hermione bristled and her lips twitched as though to frown, but her face remained still.
Interesting.
"And did she like them... the poems?"
He nodded.
All women love poetry, Hermione. That was entirely the point. And on the odd chance that they don't... they do enjoy the knowledge that you have thought about them.
"So, poetry, huh? What else are you hiding?"
Severus felt a buzz of irritation.
"I'm not hiding anything. We got to know each other under absurd circumstances. The person you knew... I'm not usually so... wretched."
Hermione's eyebrows furrowed and she tilted her head as though she hadn't understood a word he'd said.
"'Wretched'?" she repeated, shaking her head. "No. Moody and closed off sometimes, sure, but 'wretched'?"
Oh?
"You were, at worst..." she said, rolling her eyes to indicate that this was not her interpretation of 'worst' but his, "... vulnerable."
Yes. Precisely. Awful.
"And there is absolutely nothing wrong with showing a little vulnerability".
Beg to differ.
"Sure", he said, stiffly.
Vulnerable. Wretched. It's just semantics.
"It was nice to see a different side of you", she said. "You weren't at all what I expected. You were... well-"
"Go on..."
Don't stop there. I was what? Pitiful? Needy? Making a damn fool of myself?
"I thought you were quite charming, truth be told."
"Yeah?" he said; he felt the smile on his lips and heard the pleasure in his voice.
Oh, cut that out.
"Mmhm", she said, and she began to flick through the pages of notes, without quite meeting his eyes. "Yes, I still think fondly of that time-"
She pressed her hand to her mouth as though she knew she had said too much. But it had been said all the same.
I miss it.
"Towards the end, I suppose it was rather agreeable", he said.
Agreeable? You sound like you're discussing a business arrangement.
"I am eternally grateful for what you did for me", he corrected.
And now you've swung too far the other way. Get a grip!
"I was glad to", she said, and thankfully, the topic of conversation seemed to have reached a natural end.
She rifled again through the papers, then held the stack vertically and tapped them together on the table.
"I should get going", she said, as she looked at the clock.
"Yes. Of course. You have quite overstayed your welcome".
You see. You're fine. It doesn't mean anything.
"Your interview is tomorrow?" he asked.
She nodded and pushed the books and papers into her bag.
"Eleven in the morning. Will you be there? Do you want to meet up afterwards?"
Yes.
"My lunch break isn't until one."
She smiled as she pulled the bag onto her shoulder and he felt it like a kick to his groin.
"I'm sure I can kill some time", she said. "I'll wait for you."
It doesn't mean anything.
:
H.
Hermione returned from her interview feeling pleased with herself. It had gone well, better than she had expected; all thanks to Severus. They had met for 'breakfast' they'd said, 'just a couple of hours', but she had stayed long past lunch. It was as though no time at all had passed, and yet, somehow it was seven years ago that Severus had stood on the landing, watching her with eyes like bullets. She was undressed, pink with the thought of being seen; hot with the knowledge that it was Severus who saw her. It was the first time she'd really considered her attraction to him, but all at once, it was undeniable; so obvious, she couldn't believe she hadn't realised it sooner. So much had happened since then.
So why are those feelings resurfacing?
As Severus had crept down the stairs, and she stood in her room looking at Ron - this man, this boy, who loved her - she felt her heart pulled from both sides. She made her excuses, rebuffing his romantic advances, deciding to sleep on her uncertainty. She woke with clarity the next morning and told him that she wasn't happy. He had pressed her to admit to the truth, because even he, clueless as he was at times, figured that her 'unhappiness' somehow involved Snape. She was attracted to somebody else, she told him. Nineteen was too young to struggle to make a relationship work, she told him. Severus was not the issue. It was them. If it's not easy at nineteen, only months into a new relationship, it will never be easy. Reluctantly, he had agreed.
And so the world had flung wide open. There was more to life than awkward kisses and pointless arguments. She had felt more excitement in those mere seconds with Severus than she had in years of fawning over Ron. She had returned for him to Spinners End, shaking and unsure what she would say, not knowing what would come next, but she had to try. But he wasn't there, nor was he home the night after, or the rest of the following week. She sent him two letters by owl, but the birds returned with regret in their talons; her heart returned to sender. She took her letters from their talons and burned them. She did not send a third. What could have been, never would. Whatever they had, was no more.
Even when she knew that she had no chance with Severus, she was steadfast in her decision. Ron sulked for a while, but they had found a way to be civil, if not friends. After eight months in her own company, she dated Matthew, a muggle boy. He was funny and exciting to be with, but he was not the settling kind, and so their flame flickered and extinguished fairly quickly. Ron had consoled her, and a lot of wine later, they had reconnected in his bedroom, and it was assumed that they were together again. They would break up months after, date outside the relationship and return once more to one another.
It was Cho's 25th birthday party that was the catalyst - bringing McLaggen as her 'new boyfriend' was indefensible. Suddenly, all bets were off. Ron was livid but he didn't make a scene. He waited until they were back at The Burrow before throwing things and cursing under his breath. He called her names and chucked out what was left of her belongings. Even though they weren't together, it was an unforgivable crime, he said. She had known it would be before she had even committed it. But she hadn't expected him to dismiss their friendship in so formal a fashion; like she was being fired from her position as member of the Golden Trio. Harry and Ginny were new parents. They were far too busy with baby James to concern themselves with so-called 'highschool bullshit'. And so they refused to pick a side, they said, which defaulted to Ron's side, given that Ginny was, first and foremost, Ron's sister and Harry? Ron's best friend. Somewhere near the bottom of their list of priorities, sat Hermione.
The centre of her universe had shifted and she was freefalling. Perhaps she should have taken the opportunity to find a different focus, but instead, she panicked. Her heart told her to run, but her head told her to stay. Ron agreed to give her another chance, her final chance. If the relationship ended again, he would take his family, her friends - all of the people who loved her - and she would be without them forever. Of course, he had not said that in so many words, but she had understood the sentiment well enough. Ron had never been very good at hiding his feelings.
Trust your logic, she had told herself. Your mind has never failed you. And it is logical, Hermione thought, to stay with what you know; to stay where it is safe.
And Hermione Granger was nothing, if not logical.
Hermione turned from the mirror to face Ron who stepped out of the bathroom, dabbing his face with a towel.
"What do you think?" she asked, turning from side to side. "Do I look like a librarian?"
"You look fine", he said, throwing the wet towel on the bed.
"Ron, it's my first day. I want to make a good first impression."
"I'm sure you'll knock 'em dead", he said, with his foot out of the door. "Tell me all about it later?"
No kiss goodbye? When was the last time he kissed me? When was the last time he held me? When did we last say that we loved one another? Do we still love one another?
:
S.
Snape nodded at Hermione as he passed reception, and took the lift up to this office on the top floor. He'd specifically asked for this office, even though it was smaller than some of the others on offer, because it was a stone's throw from the balcony. He'd always wanted a balcony at Hogwarts, but since the Slytherin kids were dumped in the dungeons like prisoners, so was he.
Is it any wonder some of them turn into little terrors if you treat them like criminals from the moment they are sorted?
Just past the balcony, was where he'd found the true hidden gem of the library; a staircase that led to the roof, from which he could see the whole city, and watch the world pass by. The whirr of the traffic, that sounded almost like running water. The bustle of people, tourists posing for pictures in front of buildings and businessmen and women hurrying past them - just blurs in their lenses. It seemed that nobody had been up here in years.
My secret place.
He flicked through the stack of papers his assistant had left for him on the desk, skimming the ones she had tagged with yellow sticky notes, and he signed all of the forms that she had indicated with blue sticky notes. How he loathed her fucking sticky notes; he often found them stuck to the bottom of his shoe, but it had been his choice to hire a squib, and sticky notes were a bearable punishment for his kindness. He left out a puff of air as he sat back in his chair with a mug of coffee in his hands, and put his feet up on the empty box he kept under the desk.
One of these days I'll get myself a proper footstool, like the one I had at Spinner's End.
He'd abandoned the place years ago. First, he crashed at the Malfoys' with Draco, both pretending as though he was doing the boy a favour. But when Narcissa and Lucius returned from Azkaban, he'd rented a little one bedroom flat in Oxford, to allow them their space to reconnect. When he'd made and saved enough money to buy a place, he moved to the Cotswolds into a comfortable three-storey house in a muggle dwelling, near to the local wildlife park, because after a stressful day, he liked to watch the otters.
It doesn't mean anything, he would tell himself, as he took his seat on the bench beside their enclosure.
He rested his knuckles on his lips and concentrated on the files that were covered in pink sticky notes. Pink sticky notes meant that he had to pay attention. Yet all he could think about was her.
It's her first day. She loves a challenge. So why did she look so troubled?
The far-away stare like she was deep in thought. The way that her body sagged over the desk. The dark circles around her eyes. The way that she looked at him, like she was just about to say something, before changing her mind and shifting back to her task.
At lunch, he approached her at the desk and without even attempting small talk - they were long past that - he lifted her chin and looked at her.
"You're not sleeping", he said. "What's going on?"
"Oh, I'm fine. It's just been a long week. I'll catch up on sleep soon."
"At your desk? I'm not sure that's good etiquette on your first day."
She laughed, at what he didn't know, because he was entirely serious, but all of the light returned to her face, and she was Hermione again; all golden sunshine. She ran her hands along the desk and he couldn't help but follow her fingers, as she curled them around a pencil and pulled a sheet of paper from beside her.
"I should get back to work", she said, and he lifted his gaze from her hands to her face and nodded.
"Meet me after work?" he said. "I want to show you something."
"I finish at six", she said.
"I'll meet you here?"
She nodded, and as her eyes moved across his face, hers returned to a state of sadness.
It doesn't mean anything.
"Okay", she said. "What is it you want to show me?"
"A secret place."
:
H.
Severus left and she watched him walk away. How many times had she stared at his back, wishing that he would turn around to face her? Her hope was a candle that would not burn out, even though he had made himself perfectly clear, years ago. The injection of attraction into their friendship had been too much for him, she assumed. She had pushed him too far, she assumed. All she had were her assumptions, because she could not ask him and if she could, would he tell me?
But more than that, their 'will they, won't they?' would only ever exist in her head, because the real world that she knew was Ron's world too; they shared it. They had done so since childhood. To remove herself from his lifeblood would be to lose everything and everyone she cared about.
It was almost, she thought, by design. Why do I have nobody in my corner?
It was fleeting - too horrible to consider - and with a heavy sigh like a sob, she fell back into her desk chair.
I'm stuck. Which is fine. Totally fine.
But as she searched for reasons to stay, all she found were excuses to leave. Would she resign herself to misery again, simply because they did not know how to be apart? She was afraid, that was all. She could be brave, right? She was a Gryffindor, after all.
But as she arrived home from work and the evening wore on, the lion went to sleep and all that remained was her fear. She and Ron shared friends, history, savings; their home even. To end it, would be to walk away forever from all she had invested over fifteen years. For what? A man that may or may not want to be more than friends? She circled around again hours later; her thoughts wearing and heavy. She had never really felt like a Gryffindor. She had sat with the sorting hat on her head all those years ago, absolutely convinced that she would be placed in Ravenclaw. She had always felt more at home in that house, where people followed their sense instead of their sensibilities. They valued their brains instead of their bravery.
And where had being brave gotten her so far? Face to face with a three-headed dog? Petrified by a basilisk? In the crosshairs of a werewolf on a full moon? In the snares of a pack of Death Eaters? Three bloody times.
Lying beaten and bitten and bloodied on the floor of Malfoy Manor...
She had been brave, hadn't she? When she had erased her parents' memories, only to find they were happier in their new life than they had ever seemed in their old one. She had been brave, hadn't she? When she had walked away from Ron to find her place in the world, only to find that she didn't seem to have one. She had been brave, hadn't she? When she had let Severus watch her. She had been brave when she had sent him the letters. She had been brave when she had searched for him. She had offered him her lion-heart, only to find that he did not want it.
No. Her courage had caused her nothing but sadness. Bravery now would only hurt her further.
Head? Or heart? Head or heart?
Head, she decided.
But my heart? What will become of my heart?
:
S.
"Severus, you can't be serious!" Lucius said, as he waited for Snape to take his move. "How deep have you buried your head in the sand, for you to be so in denial? I was in Azkaban for two years and when I returned you were hankering over the girl still. Now you're telling me that you have the opportunity... and you're squandering it?!"
Severus moved his black pawn to d5, and took a sip of his brandy.
"Unless... Severus, are you playing the long game?" Lucius asked, raising an eyebrow, and jutting his head towards the chess board between them. "Is that what it is?"
"It's not a game, Luce", Snape said and eyed his opponent as he moved his white pawn to c4. "And if it is, I have no interest in playing."
He wants me to take that pawn. I'm not going to.
"Rubbish! Romance should always be a game, and you should always play. It is the greatest adventure in life."
"Easy for you to say", Severus sneered. "You have Narcissa."
"If you remember rightly, you had her first", Lucius said, with a proud snip to his voice. "Perhaps if you had tended to your relationship with a lighter hand, it might have blossomed."
"Alright, Lucius, no need to show off."
"I'm not showing off", he said, "I am giving you advice. Is it so difficult to believe that I have your best interests at heart? That I might actually care for you, old boy."
Snape smirked.
"I meant the game", he said, gesturing to the chess board. "You're about to take my bishop."
"Oh", Lucius said, and quickly snatched Severus' piece from the board and placed it to the side. "Right."
They grinned at each other.
"It's good to know that you care about me, though. I hadn't realised you'd gone soft in your old age."
"Oh, bite me", Lucius said, knocking over his king.
"You give up?!" Snape goaded. "Ah! The Malfoy way. Walk away when you are losing..."
"You know me too well, Severus", he said with a smile on his lips and a maddening little twinkle in his eye, "just as I know you."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I am not so foolish as to believe that I can win", he said. "You are meticulous. You have played a thousand games in your head before I have even moved my pawn. You always think two moves ahead."
"It's chess. You're supposed to."
"And in life, Severus?" he asked. "How many thoughts do you have before you make a decision? How many conversations do you rehearse before you open your mouth? How many times do you consider the consequences before you act? How many moves ahead do you think?"
Lucius took a sip of his brandy and sat back on his armchair.
"Would you like to get to your point a little faster?"
"Love is a game and you have to play if you want to win", he said. "But, Severus, you cannot play it like chess."