Author's Note
Please forgive any spelling and/or grammar errors. I hope you enjoy it, please let me know what you think!
Everything that is happening between Harry, Ron, and Hermione (from Ron making fun of her in class, to their bickering, to all of them fighting after Harry used the bezoar, and also Hermione finding the Horcrux reference) is canon, but I changed the order of events a little to make it work with this story a bit more.
Any dialogue you recognize comes from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Most is changed at least a bit though to fit right.
I'm not J. K. Rowling, so I don't own anything.
Ch 8: Something New
Hermione slipped inside Snape's apartments as quietly as possible, so as not to draw the attention of the Fat Friar who'd been floating at the end of the hall, his pearly transparent form showing the empty corridor beyond. The door had barely shut before her back was pressed against it. Snape must have felt her approach and been waiting for her to arrive.
Welcome hands slid languidly down her waist before gripping her hips and spinning her rapidly around. It was so sudden that she stumbled and was forced to brace her palms against the hard door while his hands coasted up her thighs, dragging the material of her school skirt up with them.
Without a word, Snape inserted his leg between her own, nudging her feet farther apart while he pressed her forward, tilting her hips back just enough. Hermione complied immediately, her core throbbing and begging to be filled, not wanting to wait even a second longer than necessary.
Fingers snagged the crotch of her panties, tugging them hastily aside, then he was entering her in a single swift thrust that joined them fully. Finally. Finally there was just the right amount of fullness to feel exquisite.
The wool fabric of his trousers roughly scraped against the exposed cheek of her bum, but somehow it felt wicked and delightfully naughty, rather than coarse and uncomfortably abrading.
Snape's hip rocked back, before bucking forward in a hard stroke that lifted her clear onto the tips of her toes. The motion caused her sweaty palms to slide across the textured grain surface of the door, and she curled her fingers into claws, scratching at it to keep from face planting.
Sensing her struggle, Snape snaked a hand around her waist and up to cup her breast, squeezing the mound as she'd done for him earlier that day, and using his arm to keep her immoble as he pistoned his entire length into her wet and willing sheath over and over again.
"So good," she gasped, letting her head fall back against his shoulder when his fingers found their way into her blouse to pinch and roll the pebbled peak of her nipple.
"Yes," he agreed, grunting slightly as he surged forward.
His other hand slid down to similarly play with her clit. Twin pinches and flicks that drove her ever closer to the edge of a cliff. Combined with the tantalizing caress of his sandalwood and butterscotch scent, her head was twirling, too light to remain attached to her body for a moment longer.
"More, please," she begged, as she always seemed to do with him. She was putty in his hands, and the knowledge was exhilarating.
She rolled her hips back, trying to meet his forward thrusts, ready to soar over the edge, eager for the promised plummet into a sea of bliss, but he had her pinned so tightly against him that she only marginally succeeded. Not that it mattered, because a second later he stilled.
"Come for me," he growled in her ear, frantically rubbing the bundle of nerves above where their bodies joined.
She did, gasping and shaking apart in his arms an instant later. Electricity rocketed through her and her nails scraped along the door as she jerked, feeling her joints come undone and her bones turn to so much spaghetti.
He entered her three more times in quick succession before he erupted, filling her with a rush of hot liquid while her inner muscles fluttered erratically around his length.
Warm, moist air fanned across the back of her neck in rapid pulses, making her shiver as Snape panted, trying to catch his breath after their wild tryst.
Slowly, Hermione uncurled her clenched hands, wiggling her fingers to renew her circulation. She was fairly certain the only reason she remained upright was because he continued to hold her firmly against him, one arm snug around her waist with his palm still cupping her breast and her nipple caught between two fingers, and the other positioned between her spread legs.
"Hmm," she moaned, jerking slightly when Snape tapped his fingers teasingly over her sensitive clit.
The fleeting caress made her head spin, but then his hands were gone and he was slipping from her center, a trail of liquid following the retreat.
While Snape refastened his trousers, she made for the loo on unsteady legs, needing a moment to clean herself up privately.
He was still standing by the door when she returned, making it clear by the way he was eyeing her plaid skirt distastefully that he wanted her to leave now that they had done what was necessary, but Hermione had no intention of going anywhere just yet.
"Actually, I need to talk to you about a few things," she stated boldly, wringing her hands behind her back so that he couldn't see her nerves.
"Of course you do," he said drolly, though the effect was diminished a bit by the fact that his breathing was still rather ragged and uneven.
"How long?" she inquired, assuming a seat on the sofa and curling her legs up under her. Stiffly, he joined her, sighing exaggeratedly as he did, but otherwise remaining mute. "Snape," she prompted.
"Since just before lunch," he replied in a clipped tone.
So he'd not had the spell as an excuse this morning after class. That was… Well, she didn't know precisely what that was. But the knowledge did make her stomach flip.
Immediately, she chastised herself for even briefly reading into things.
Guess he'd been right to warn her off about mistaking a sexual relationship for something more. Just because she enjoyed their encounters didn't mean anything else. It was something she'd do well to remember.
Snape watched her, probably correctly assuming that she was working out the significance of what his answer suggested. Uncomfortable with the revelation, he tried to turn the tables on her.
"I told you to come here after dinner," he said crisply.
Technically he'd merely said that night, but she stayed quiet because she knew what had been implied. If she could have come directly after supper, they'd have been done and she'd have been back in her dorm before curfew. Before the spell had likely caused him a degree of pain.
She regretted that he'd suffered at all. Particularly in light of how he'd made sure to spare her from feeling it for too long earlier that day.
"I tried. There were Slytherins hanging about, so I couldn't get in here," she explained, frowning.
"Obnoxious, inconvenient brats," he drawled, running a hand over his face and brushing his hair back.
Without the curtains of lank, greasy hair shielding his face he was actually rather striking. He'd never be considered classically handsome, but his face was so strongly, boldly masculine that it intrigued her. Especially when compared with the gawky, awkward teenagers surrounding her that were all still growing into their bodies and features.
"This isn't working. We will need to devise a different approach," Snape muttered, clearly unhappy with the situation.
"I tried to bring this –"
"Do. Not. Say. It," he ordered. Daggers flew from the depths of his inky gaze, piercing her with their deadly precision, and instantly halting the 'I told you so' on her lips.
Said lips immediately pursed in annoyance, but she leveled him with a speaking look that voiced her thoughts loud enough to have Snape up and pacing agitatedly in a matter of seconds.
She'd tried to discuss that very issue with him over break. Back before the school was filled with students, but he'd insisted this arrangement would be fine. He'd been the one unwilling to even discuss alternatives, too worried she was trying to move in with him or encroach on his sacred territory more than necessary. And if she remembered correctly, which she was sure she did, they had gotten sidetracked when she'd tried to discuss it before and never come back around to devising a sound plan for what they'd do.
On his next pass he caught sight of her expression and muttered, "Insufferable –"
"I am NOT insufferable just because I thought of something before you did. You aren't always the only intelligent person around," she railed, jumping to her feet and putting herself in his path. Snape came to an abrupt stop less than a foot from her, raising one sardonic brow as he waited for her to finish her rant. "I have spent this entire day listening to Ron make fun of me. Do not start in on me as well!"
"Very well, Granger," he said, sounding mildly impressed as he tilted his head slightly in acquiescence.
Gratified that he wasn't going to continue the name-calling or belittling, she settled back onto the sofa. Then what she'd just done registered. She'd told off a teacher. And Snape of all people. She was lucky to be alive after that. Let alone getting off without any sort of punishment or verbal setdown. Snape wasn't exactly known for letting opportunities to retaliate pass him by.
It was probably best not to tempt him though, so she quickly returned to the present problem, asking, "Do you have an alternative in mind?"
"Not my classroom. I will not do that again," he said tightly, his usual unreadable expression faltering momentarily.
Hermione felt his heavy gaze settle on the expanse of legs revealed by the school-issued skirt she still wore. The sight caused his lips to contort into a nasty grimace.
"Understood. I'm sorry," she tried, guilt for putting him in such a position in the first place wrapping a strangling hand about her throat.
"There was nothing for it," he sighed, waving her apology away. At least he didn't blame her unduly.
"I'll make sure not to wear my uniform anymore either if I can help it," she promised, attempting to make the circumstances of their joining a little easier for him.
"That would be…much appreciated," he admitted, turning away from the present sight of the short, pleated material decorating the recently shagged witch in his rooms.
"Last year I used charmed Galleons to communicate meeting times with the other members of the DA. Perhaps we can use those to signal when we need to meet," Hermione suggested, taking advantage of his willingness to finally recognize the problem they faced. She much preferred him being willing to hear her out, to when he'd been deliberately difficult at the start of things.
"I should have known those were your handiwork," he said quietly, admiration coloring his words in thick strokes like a Van Gogh painting.
Was that a compliment or merely a statement of fact? She couldn't tell, but an inkling of pride came over her regardless.
"I suppose those would work for arranging a meeting," he allowed, continuing to pace before the empty hearth.
The dungeon rooms were cold that evening, and a bit of dampness in the air made it even more so. Particularly in light of the drying sweat that made her clothes, wet from their frantic coupling, cling to her back and arms.
"Incendio," she said, lighting a fire to banish the chill from the air. Snape didn't remark or censure her for taking liberties in his personal space, nor did he slow his strides as he considered various solutions.
Reluctantly, Snape finally suggested, "My office. If it is during the school day, come to my office. Your overachieving nature is well known, so it will not appear out of character for you to seek out additional help on an assignment."
It was better than waiting until the end of the day.
"And if the spell affects either of us any other time?"
"You will continue to come here as you have been doing," he announced.
"I read in the book you lent me that at least during the first year the spell would activate most frequently –probably once a week for each of us. We're lucky it didn't happen sooner," she reminded him, having finally recalled what the text said about the spell.
It was supposed to be a bonus during the honeymoon period of a marriage. An increased sexdrive while a new couple adjusted to all the unexpected and likely challenging changes that came with binding two separate lives together. The longer the couple went between interactions, the more extreme and expedient the effects were when they began.
"That is probably because we only spend four hours a week in close proximity to one another," he said clinically. Probably, he'd spent the last few weeks analyzing the situation from a purely academic standpoint. She knew she had at times. Though she'd also considered her own reactions to what they'd done, new as they were for her.
"Yes, but wouldn't it make sense to placate the spell more often so that the effects aren't so sudden and overwhelming when they do happen? What if we picked one or two days a week to meet?" Hermione asked treading carefully because she did not want to offend Snape or have him thinking she was behaving as a lovesick teenager.
Honestly, she was motivated purely by self-preservation. She didn't want to risk falling apart in class again.
Well, it was mostly that. As she'd already admitted, privately at least, she did enjoy the sex enough to crave it a bit more frequently than they currently were engaging in it.
"No," he denied swiftly, shooting the idea down immediately. He turned to face her fully for the first time since he'd begun his restless pacing. "That is a line we have not yet crossed, and I am not prepared to at this juncture."
"Yes," she agreed, feeling sympathetic to his plight.
His distress that morning after the way he'd taken things further than necessary was still fresh in her mind. Particularly now that she knew he'd been acting of his own accord. Part of her hardly believed he'd been honest about it.
Though perhaps she shouldn't be so surprised. He'd yet to lie to her. About anything. If he didn't want to answer or share something, he told her so honestly. More like reminded her of her place and that it wasn't any of her business, but still, he told her so.
Maybe he spent so much time lying as a spy that he had decided that deceit and dishonesty held no place in his private life. Much like his opinion regarding nudity between them in his apartments. It was pointless and unnecessary.
"It is well after curfew if that was all you needed to discuss," he reminded her.
"It wasn't," she said flatly.
He inhaled audibly, chest rising grandly, a visible show of trying to restrain his reaction to the news. Despite his efforts, dry words slipped out, stating, "Of course not."
Hermione pinned him with a look, and was startled when his lips twitched in amusement at the sight of it.
"I'm not sure where to start," she began, pausing as she considered. Snape didn't say a word as he waited, though he did resume his seat beside her. Since he obviously wasn't going to be of any help, she finally settled for confessing, "Malfoy threatened me today."
"Explain." The single word held all the warmth of an icicle, and was just as long and pointed as the ones dripping from the Astronomy Tower.
"He said he'd tell Harry about the spell if I told Harry about him being a Death Eater."
"Then keep the information to yourself. Albus is aware. If he wanted Potter to know, then he would have told the prat himself," Snape said drolly, behaving as though Hermione was in the habit of keeping secrets from her friends, so it should therefore be easy to do.
She didn't though.
Except she had, on occasion, done that very thing. The time-turner in third year. Her date for the Yule ball in fourth year. Ginny's relationship with Michael Corner in fifth year. The spell and the loss of her parents over Christmas that year.
So maybe not all that unusual for her.
"He also said his father wanted him to drive a wedge between me and Harry," Hermione added, knowing Snape needed to have all of the information. His position demanded it. Not to mention the fact that she wanted his advice. It was her whole reason for telling him. "Do you think I should keep my distance? It might make keeping this secret easier."
Snape was silent for a long time as he contemplated the issue, mulling over all of the potential caveats and possibilities.
"I believe I have to ask that you not do any such thing," Snape finally concluded.
"Whyever not?" she asked, stunned. Given his dislike of her best mate, Hermione figured he'd have been thrilled to have her distancing herself from Harry.
"You know the gist of what Albus has asked of me," Snape said carefully, rolling the words over in his mouth as he spoke and leaving her to believe they left a foul, bitter taste on his tongue.
"To kill him," Hermione said bluntly, still finding it hard to believe, despite hearing it from the man himself. And even more difficult to realize Snape was willingly bringing it up with her after he'd been so quick to shut her down previously.
"When the time is right, yes," he said faintly.
"I don't understand why he would –"
"You do not need to understand. Suffice it to say it does not involve you." There it was. The rebuke to remind her of her place. She'd known it had to be coming at some point.
"Then what is your point?" she asked briskly, tilting her chin up stubbornly. He'd not start the conversation then refuse to finish it to its natural conclusion. She'd not be put off again.
"If you would stop interrupting, I would tell you, Granger," Snape warned impatiently.
Oh. Hermione started to apologize, but his black look had her closing her mouth and waiting with only the faintest illusion of patience as she bit her lip, worrying it between her teeth.
Snape's gaze flickered, darting down to momentarily stare at her mouth, before he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
"Once I have completed my assigned task," he sneered the word, drawing it out with disgust practically dripping from it, "the Order will not trust me. I believe Albus intends you to be my contact if I'm still to continue aiding Potter after that has occurred."
"You think that's what he intends?"
"That is what he informed me the first night when he stopped by to check on you," he said darkly, a scowl spreading over his face.
Hermione wanted to say something about him waiting almost a month to share that particular bit of news, but knew that wasn't really the point.
It had probably taken him this long to know for sure he could trust her. More likely, he'd wanted to wait and make sure he wasn't ready to off himself just to get out of their relationship before they ever reached the point where she could be useful.
"I'm to help you spy on Harry," Hermione mused, uncertain how she felt about doing any such thing, even if it was Dumbledore wanting her to do it.
"No," he said. Then with a sigh, frankly admitted, "Yes."
"You really think you can help Harry survive?" Hermione asked quietly, studying the man before her.
He was so closed off – bar his dislike of Harry – which was part of her conundrum. She knew she trusted him with her life, but could she really trust him with Harry's?
"That remains to be seen, but I will certainly try. And it would be easier to do with your help," he said flatly, no emotion slipping the tightly controlled leash he kept it on.
Memories of all the times she'd defended Snape to Harry flashed before her eyes like a movie trailer. All the times he'd been the one to protect her and her friends – Harry included – played out like a cartoon flipbook.
Not for a second did she believe he did it out of some misplaced desire to repay a debt he believed he owed James Potter as Harry had relayed Dumbledore saying. No. Something else drove him. She didn't know what, but given that he'd devoted nearly half his life to seeing this through, she trusted him to do right by Harry. Because Harry was the best chance they had of defeating Voldemort.
"Then you'll have it," she promised. "Speaking of Harry…"
"Surely the boy hasn't managed to do anything else. He's only been back for a week," he sneered, his low opinion of Harry on a whole readily apparent.
"Dumbledore gave him a task, and I was wondering if you could help," Hermione said a touch anxiously.
Given that she'd been unable to discover the information for herself in the library, she worried he'd be angry with her for meddling with something so obviously dark in nature.
"Doesn't he usually use you to cheat and do his homework for him?" Snape drawled scornfully, raising a single,sardonic brow at her as he'd taken to doing on a fairly regular basis.
"I never do the boys' work for them," Hermione insisted, scandalized by the idea that any, or possibly all, of her teachers might believe such a thing about her.
"You forget I've read every Potions assignment each of you has turned in for five years, and every Defense assignment for half a year," Snape retorted judgmentally, lips thinning as he made his negative opinion clear.
"Checking it over and pointing out what they've missed is not the same as doing it for them," Hermione said defensively.
"Agree to disagree," he said blandly, huffing quietly.
Hermione desperately wished to argue the point, but ultimately decided it wasn't worth it when he was being relatively pleasant. A rare enough state for Snape as it was.
"Regardless, Dumbldore wants Harry to retrieve a memory from Slughorn about Horcruxes. I've been searching the library all week for any reference to them, but I can't find them mentioned anywhere."
"No. You wouldn't," he said darkly, rising and going to the farthest bookcase.
"You've heard of them then," she stated, following him, though she got distracted when a title along one of the thickest spines on any of the shelves jumped out at her.
The Connection Between Language and Spell Casting.
How intriguing. She'd always wondered why some spells were in Latin while others were in Greek. Not to mention how anybody ever discovered why the pronunciation was so important in terms of channeling magic. Perhaps the answer to those questions was right in front of her.
Her hand came up to brush the thick leather, itching to grab the book, but she hesitated, not knowing if Snape would mind. With equal parts envy and amusement, she said, "Your personal library is better stocked than the school's."
Snape was busy flipping through the two books he'd pulled down. Without looking up, he proudly replied, "Only in certain subjects. Those that interest me personally."
Hermione scanned more of the books, catching sight of the ones he'd already loaned to her. A house-elf must have retrieved them from her bedside table for him. Mentally, she compiled a list of all the ones she ached to read. Most she'd not heard of, but a few she'd bet were tucked away upstairs.
Meanwhile, Snape discarded both of the books, returning them to their rightful place, and had begun skimming through another.
He shot her an absent glance, and offhandedly said, "You may borrow any you wish to read."
"Truly?" Hermione gasped, amazed at the blanket latitude he was extending to her.
"As my…wife," he said, struggling with the term so much that it almost sounded offensive, though she doubted it was intentional, "you will inherit my collection."
Hermione briefly debated pressing him about his certainty of dying, but the allure of the books won out. "Thank you. Should I inform you of which I take?"
"No need. If I find one I need missing, I will simply ask for it back," he said distractedly, far more focused on the book he was holding than her.
She'd never seen him reading a book before. Probably, he only did so in the privacy these rooms provided. It was fascinating to see the change come over him. He was utterly engrossed. Lost to all else.
How contrary the man was. He was as generous with his books as he was stingy with his knowledge. He made his students work for every tidbit he imparted, yet here he was letting her seek the same information he had already learned. Was that it? He wanted his students to want to learn for themselves instead of having the answers spoonfed to them?
There were whole rows devoted to books on the theory of spell development. Seeing them reminded her that he'd mentioned something about developing a spell to either counter the one on them or lessen its effects.
"Have you come up with anything yet to help temper the effects of the spell?" she asked curiously.
"Granger, for as much reading as you do, surely you recognize that I am trying to concentrate. One problem at a time," he said impatiently, glaring at her over the top of the latest book he was searching.
A surprised chuckle escaped her at his reaction, the titillated laugh bouncing off walls that had probably never heard a similar sound before.
She knew from personal experience how it annoyed her to no end when Harry or Ron would pester her while she was reading. Deciding she'd probably be there a while, she grabbed the first book she'd noticed and settled in to wait for Snape to find what he knew about Horcruxes for her.
Hermione had nearly dozed off when a book was deposited in her lap without fanfare. She blinked, noting the long slender finger pointing at a particular passage that appeared to be handwritten. "It isn't much, but here."
Of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction.
"That's annoyingly vague. And you haven't heard of them beyond this?" she asked, closing it to see the cover and the title of the old book. Magick Moste Evile. She'd never even heard of it, though to be fair, she'd not been through the entire restricted section yet.
"No. I only knew I'd read the name somewhere. Looks like Albus is keeping Potter better informed than myself," he said, a note of hurt trickling into the otherwise casual statement.
"I don't think that's it," Hermione said softly, sleepiness making her voice scratchy.
"Because he's been so forthcoming with the information he's sharing with Potter?" he asked mockingly.
"I think he's giving each of you part of the puzzle. Only Harry is learning of Horcruxes to help him defeat Volde–"
Hermione broke off when Snape flinched, hand automatically moving to clamp over the Mark on his arm at the sound of his master's name.
"Do not use his name in my presence," he requested tightly, teeth clenching hard enough to make a muscle tick along the line of his square jaw.
"A-all right," she agreed, uncertainly. Correcting herself, she restarted, explaining, "You-Know-Who, while only you know of what's happening with the headmaster."
"All pieces of a larger picture," he mused ominously, mood as black as pitch.
"And each of us working separately to assemble it," she added critically.
"You disagree with such an approach?"
"It is inefficient," she allowed, having already deduced as much from conversations with Harry over the years.
"It's safer. Should another Pettigrew infiltrate our ranks," Snape pointed out, playing devil's advocate for Dumbledore's benefit.
"I s-suppose," Hermione answered, yawning as she spoke. It was so late she could barely keep her eyes open.
"It may be the weekend, but it is very nearly morning," Snape said pointedly, closing the subject on the turn of a Knut. A polite dismissal if ever she'd heard one. Then he ruined it by adding, "I've had enough of your incessant chatter for one evening."
As if he'd not been the one to get lost in research for nearly three hours, and therefore the reason she'd stayed as late as she had. He could have kicked her out at any point with no more than a promise to share what he learned later. Except he hadn't.
"Can I borrow that book? I want to show it to Harry," Hermione requested.
"Where will you tell him you got it?"
"The restricted section, of course," she answered brightly.
"I suppose you will also be asking me for a blanket pass for access to those books whenever you wish in the near future as well?"
"The thought had crossed my mind…" Might as well take advantage of one of the side benefits to their arrangement.
"Go. Before I give you detention for your impertinence," he ordered, so straight-faced she couldn't tell if he was serious or not. Then again, his wit did run on the dry side, so perhaps it had been meant as a jest, and she was simply too tired to tell.
"What of the actual detention the class believes you assigned me today?" she inquired, clutching the book to her chest and heading for the door.
"Next week. It will happen when whichever of us begins feeling the symptoms first," he decided coolly.
It wasn't until she'd nearly reached the disapproving portrait of the Fat Lady that she realized that she'd forgotten to ask about a good time to speak to Dumbledore or ask again about his effort to come up with a potion or spell to help them.
"You cheated," Hermione accused, scowling at Harry as they headed to lunch.
Ron had been angry with Harry as well, and had already taken off to find Lavender. Probably, he hoped she'd be willing to console his bruised ego for not having been let in on the trick.
Harry, meanwhile, looked unaccountably smug for having just outsmarted and outperformed her in potions. Again.
They'd been studying Golpalott's Third Law, and she'd spent the hour painstakingly identifying each ingredient in her assigned poison, then blending the antidotes for each into the most complex potion she'd ever attempted. It had already been comprised of fifty-two ingredients when class ended, and she'd not even finished preparing it yet!
"You're just sore that Slughorn thought my idea was so clever," Harry said, failing to hide his triumphant smile.
"Your idea?" Hermione repeated pointedly.
Like just asking Slughorn for the real memory had been his idea. Wait. No. That had been Ron's brilliant idea, and it had worked about as well as she expected. So well, in fact, that Slughorn had taken to avoiding Harry outside of class so that he couldn't ask again. Which he'd tried to do after becoming curious over the meaning behind the passage in the book she'd shared with him.
"Well…"
"You mean the Half-blood Prince's idea. You didn't come up with using a bezoar," Hermione reminded him brusquely.
"So he helped me out a little. I'm still the one to actually be daring enough to try it," Harry countered, looking for all the world like a misbehaving child attempting to charm his way out of trouble.
"Daring? More like you didn't know how to do it properly," she chided, breathing heavily as she sped up the final staircase. "And there you go insisting the person has to be a he again."
"Because he is a bloke. I can tell," Harry insisted, unwilling to even consider an alternative possibility.
"Girls can be intelligent –"
"'Course I know that. I'm friends with you, aren't I?"
"Because you need my help on your homework?" Hermione asked defensively. The thought had been nagging her, lingering in the back of her mind like an unpleasant odor from so many old gym shoes for weeks now.
"I didn't say that. I've never said that," Harry said, sounding hurt. The look on his face was that of a kicked puppy. Betrayed and confused about what he'd done wrong.
As usually happened when he appeared so vulnerable, Hermione instantly softened towards him. "I just don't see why you can't do the work for yourself. Learn how to brew potions on your own the right way instead of taking a shortcut."
"Because the Prince's instructions have trumped those in the book every time," Harry said flippantly. "His way is better."
"I worked hard to do it right, then you went and showed me up after not even trying," Hermione growled, abruptly furious with Harry again for making it seem so reasonable that he'd do better just because he took someone else's advice.
"Can't you just get over it already? I won. It's over. Let's just move on," Harry said beseechingly.
"Fine. I'm going to the library," Hermione announced huffily.
How was she supposed to do better if Slughorn didn't go over what the best way was? The little things Harry did, the deviations from the instructions that yielded him better results. Where did the ideas to try that come from? And if there were better ways, why didn't the textbooks include them from the start?
Hermione wasted her entire free period in the library that afternoon looking for books on potion ingredient preparation, hoping she could find an alternative guide for preparing the next potion Slughorn assigned them. She'd found plenty of books on potion ingredients and the various uses, but none that suggested alternative recipes to those in Advanced Potion-Making.
It wasn't until dinner when Hermione noticed that Snape wasn't at the head table that she nearly smacked herself for not thinking of going to him sooner for a book recommendation.
After the meal she tried his rooms, assuming he was there since he hadn't been in the Great Hall. She'd been lucky enough to get there without running into anybody, thankfully, except he wasn't there either.
She knew she should go. That it was an invasion of his privacy to be in his sanctuary without him. But the temptation to search his collection was too much to ignore.
There were two tombs that looked promising, and she was deciding between the two when Snape returned looking beatdown and haggard.
"Granger?" he asked wearily.
He reached to touch his pocket questioningly, and she realized he was checking the coin they'd begun using the last few weeks. So far it had worked out relatively well. They'd met in his office as planned all three times it had been necessary. Once they'd had to forgo lunch to meet, then the other two times they'd managed to squeeze in a quick go during one of their mutual breaks between classes. Each time had been brief, with no extra time wasted on unnecessary chatter or discussion.
But she'd appreciated it immensely when he'd added a couch to make it a bit more comfortable after she'd accidentally banged her knee right good on the corner of his office desk the first time when they'd tried using the rolling chair he had in there.
"I'm not used to anyone showing me up academically," she said by way of explanation for her presence.
"And that has happened this year?" he asked indulgently, though a frown appeared, tipping the corners of his lips downward.
"Repeatedly," she admitted, beginning to fume over Harry's fraudulent success again. Snape looked ready to question her further, so she headed him off, announcing, "I don't wish to discuss it."
"Then why are you here? Obviously not because of the spell," he demanded.
"You have a better selection of advanced potion books," she said, slightly lifting the two books she was still holding from her seat in the corner of the sofa.
When she'd first arrived, she'd worried over staying without him there, but it was slowly dawning on her that while he'd approved her reading his books, he'd not invited her to come and go as she pleased to retrieve them at her leisure.
Right then she knew she was in the wrong, and braced herself for a caustic reminder that she wasn't welcome. A scathing rejoinder that they were only bound so far as the spell required. And he would be perfectly in his right to do so.
Instead, he shocked her by saying, "I have papers to grade, so no interruptions. Keep your questions to yourself – if you can."
Had he just given her permission to stay?
Quickly deciding it was best not to ask for confirmation, she watched him settle in at the corner desk and open a jar of red ink. He probably invested stock in the color, considering the amount he used daily.
Only a few minutes passed before he spoke. "I never got the impression that you favored Potions over your other subjects."
"I love Potions!" Hermione cried, wondering how he could possibly doubt it.
"More than Transfiguration?" he drawled lazily, already assured of her answer.
"Well, no, not really. How could you tell?" she asked curiously.
"You have no desire to experiment and improve upon what others have done before you," Snape stated simply.
His words strongly reminded her of why she'd come there in the first place and why she and Harry had gotten into it earlier. "There is nothing wrong with following instructions. They are there for a reason," she sniffed primly.
Snape glanced over her choice of reading material, and gave a small shake of his head.
"Which subject do you favor most?" he inquired, turning in his chair to face her fully. She thought she felt a strange fluttering in her mind, but she blinked and the foreign sensation was gone.
"All. None. They are equally fascinating given my background as a Muggle-born," she said frankly.
Everything was new and exciting. She wanted to know everything about everything. It didn't make any sense to her when others didn't feel the same. It drove her crazy when she didn't understand something that others clearly did.
A dark shadow crossed his face at her statement. It left his rough features appearing hard, as though hewn from granite and poorly chiseled. For the first time that evening, Hermione felt like an intruder.
What could she have possibly said to trigger his reaction?
Then it was gone, and he was asking, "What career path did Minerva suggest for you?"
"None that appealed," she said brusquely, recalling how unimpressed she'd been by the idea of working at Gringotts or becoming a Healer. Or worse, becoming a grunt at the Ministry.
She'd never work for such a biased, prejudiced organization.
"But you have a plan, do you not?" Snape prodded, seeming genuinely curious about the career path she intended to follow. Hermione had never really considered it, but students only spoke to their Heads of House about their opportunities. With so many students and so much to do, the Heads probably didn't find much time to talk to each other about their pupils' prospects. "You won't be at Hogwarts forever."
"I want to make a difference," Hermione admitted without hesitation, a yearning to see big changes in their society taking root at the heart of her soul.
"Bloody naive, idealistic, Gryffindors. You're all the same," he grumbled, returning to marking papers.
Hermione smiled privately, delighted by his gruff exasperation. Without Harry around to get angry, his attitude towards her house was actually quite amusing.
It suddenly occurred to her that this was the first conversation that they had ever had that was purely for the sake of having one rather than necessity. Furthermore, it was the first time they had ever spent time together without being intimate.
And he'd been asking questions. About her. Getting to know her as a person. Was that a sign that she could do the same? Probably not. No. He'd definitely not welcome any sort of personal invasion. Particularly not when he still looked so…strained? Guarded? Regretful?
Regardless, it didn't change the fact that he was being…nice.
Suspicion had her asking, "Why weren't you at dinner?"
"The Dark Lord desired my company," he intoned softly, a wealth of meaning wrapped up in the simple explanation. No wonder he was not behaving as himself.
"Are you hurt?" she asked, remembering the cut she'd healed on his back the last time she'd known he'd been with the other Death Eaters.
"I was the fortunate one this time," he said, scoffing at the irony he only barely concealed.
For all he'd stated that he wanted silence from her, he'd been the one to strike up a conversation. And that had been after not telling her off for trespassing and allowing her to remain in his rooms to read. What had he seen that put him in such a state that he didn't want to be alone with his thoughts?
Again, Hermione knew better than to ask. Surely nothing would destroy the camaraderie they were building faster. Given her own experiences, she could only imagine how difficult it had been for him to endure. And vividly at that.
Given all the consideration he had shown her since everything began, she owed it to him to provide whatever small measure of solace she could. He was such a solitary creature. But she wondered if that was truly by preference, or out of necessity as some sort of self-preservation instinct. Maybe he'd just isolated himself for so long he didn't remember any other way to exist.
"Are you hungry? I could nick something from the kitchens for you," she offered.
"I have…lost my appetite this evening," he replied tersely.
"Can I stay until curfew?" she requested quietly, prepared for his immediate refusal despite all other indications.
Never would she have imagined reading with Snape would be preferable to spending time with Harry and Ron, but here she was, asking for that very thing. It would certainly be preferable to pretending she wasn't still annoyed with Harry or watching Ron and Lavender snogging.
A lengthy pause weighted the air. It became dense and nearly suffocating as she waited. "Yes, Granger. But only if you give me some peace and quiet," he finally answered, the words curt, yet the set of his shoulders relaxed marginally, and the unforgiving lines of his face softened the barest fraction.
Final Author's Note
I want to write a one-shot this weekend, but I don't know what about yet. So if you have any requests, please let me know!